It's almost halfway through November, my tenth year of participating, at least on some level, in Nanowrimo. This is the first year, believe it or not, when I've actually had a day or two where i was ahead of the daily word count goal. I think it will stay that way from here on out, mostly because after ten years, it becomes an institution to be honored, and somewhat of a family tradition. Only my kids are participating this year, from the ten year accumulation of writing buddies. I have to wonder what all those other writers are doing these days. Maybe they published best sellers and are doing world wide book tours under their real names. Let's go with that.
At the risk of jinxing it, I'll confess that I'm well on the way to having a rewrite finished. By the end of 2011, it is my expectation to have work out there in Agent-ville. I don't feel nervous about that. I don't feel that if what I submit is not published, that I will quit. When I look through my comuter files, and my credenza files and the stacks of paper that keep me company in my office, I know that writing isn't optional for me. I'm okay with that too.
It is a muggy November morning, and I've got characters trapped in some space and time warp that none of us quite understand. That's the beauty of Nanowrimo. It lets you play.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Saturday, October 01, 2011
another Oscar Wilde quote
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
- Oscar Wilde
- Oscar Wilde
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Resurrection
In the process of preparing my old computer files for migration to the new laptop, i have come across a happy discovery of journal entries that were once posted elsewhere and which i thought were lost. I'm not so vain as to think anyone will want to go back and read my ancient musings, but i'm happy to have the writing just the same. I'll be plugging them in to their rightful chronologocial space as time permits.
I think I've once again talked myself out of signing up for an MFA program. I read a whole book comparing programs and found 4 that sounded promising. Then i went to the sites and looked at the specific curricula and realized that I don't want to spend a lot of time on critical reading of other people's work. I just want to write. So i will embark on a "semester" of self discipline, taking the guides from the programs i was interested in and self motivating, but not spending time socializing or getting to know the voices of other students. And if i don't do it... perhaps that is my answer. No point in letting others count on me to not do the work.
It is Texas Summer now, which is the equivalent of an Iowa Winter. Neither are times when there is much room for outdoor pursuits so it is the perfect time to read and write and work on the computer. I'm going to see if i can rebuild my website. How long have i been saying that?
I think I've once again talked myself out of signing up for an MFA program. I read a whole book comparing programs and found 4 that sounded promising. Then i went to the sites and looked at the specific curricula and realized that I don't want to spend a lot of time on critical reading of other people's work. I just want to write. So i will embark on a "semester" of self discipline, taking the guides from the programs i was interested in and self motivating, but not spending time socializing or getting to know the voices of other students. And if i don't do it... perhaps that is my answer. No point in letting others count on me to not do the work.
It is Texas Summer now, which is the equivalent of an Iowa Winter. Neither are times when there is much room for outdoor pursuits so it is the perfect time to read and write and work on the computer. I'm going to see if i can rebuild my website. How long have i been saying that?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thoughts about process
Shall I just get it over with and admit to having slept too late to see sunrise today? I did open my eyes, and got up before the kid left for school, but it got light without me noticing. That's how it goes sometimes.
I got another thousand words on Invisible, the latest WIP today. This is the novel I worked on during November, for NANOWRIMO, and i was pleased to see that most of the writing actually wasn't so bad. I had stopped writing in November at the point in the story just before climax, and had begun thinking of it as "novelitus interruptus," fearful that I'd never actually get back to it to write the climax. Honestly, I didn't know what happened, and even though I'm a thousand words closer, I still don't.
The fun part though, is that this is a bit of a mystery story... no, it is all mystery I guess, though you, precious reader, have met both sides, you know the villain and what he's thinking, and you know the victims. You have been getting to know the protagonist, but she needs a little more work. She keeps surprising me, so I have to admit I don't know her fully yet either.
Today though, she figured out a piece of the puzzle that was missing, that if she ever goes down the stairs to dinner with her friends, where all the parties will be in the same room (well, they don't know the villain is "there") She might be able to talk about what she is thinking and the 4 adults involved will put it all together. Or at least have a good idea.
The writing process continues to fascinate me. Anyone who knows me personally will tell you how much I do not like horror, suspense or mystery. Yet I am drawn to write them over and over, always the escape from the literary prose that I *want* to write. I have learned though to just go with it. No sense trying to make myself drink from a dry well.
I got another thousand words on Invisible, the latest WIP today. This is the novel I worked on during November, for NANOWRIMO, and i was pleased to see that most of the writing actually wasn't so bad. I had stopped writing in November at the point in the story just before climax, and had begun thinking of it as "novelitus interruptus," fearful that I'd never actually get back to it to write the climax. Honestly, I didn't know what happened, and even though I'm a thousand words closer, I still don't.
The fun part though, is that this is a bit of a mystery story... no, it is all mystery I guess, though you, precious reader, have met both sides, you know the villain and what he's thinking, and you know the victims. You have been getting to know the protagonist, but she needs a little more work. She keeps surprising me, so I have to admit I don't know her fully yet either.
Today though, she figured out a piece of the puzzle that was missing, that if she ever goes down the stairs to dinner with her friends, where all the parties will be in the same room (well, they don't know the villain is "there") She might be able to talk about what she is thinking and the 4 adults involved will put it all together. Or at least have a good idea.
The writing process continues to fascinate me. Anyone who knows me personally will tell you how much I do not like horror, suspense or mystery. Yet I am drawn to write them over and over, always the escape from the literary prose that I *want* to write. I have learned though to just go with it. No sense trying to make myself drink from a dry well.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The frosting
Monday, January 3, 2011
The sunrise is so consistently beautiful at the beach that it is hard to find new words to describe it, like too much vacation, I just start to take it for granted. Today, the fire-y pink oozed over the horizon like melted frosting on a too-warm cake, and I remember, it is the last day of the holiday break, and time to throw out all the excess from the celebrations. Time to get back to work, but not quite yet, one more day of radiant warmth, of writing when I want, reading, napping and enjoying the lack of schedule.
And taking down the tree, washing clothes, organizing the week, organizing the work, organizing the travel schedule, and oh my god, look at my desk. When is the next day off?
The sunrise is so consistently beautiful at the beach that it is hard to find new words to describe it, like too much vacation, I just start to take it for granted. Today, the fire-y pink oozed over the horizon like melted frosting on a too-warm cake, and I remember, it is the last day of the holiday break, and time to throw out all the excess from the celebrations. Time to get back to work, but not quite yet, one more day of radiant warmth, of writing when I want, reading, napping and enjoying the lack of schedule.
And taking down the tree, washing clothes, organizing the week, organizing the work, organizing the travel schedule, and oh my god, look at my desk. When is the next day off?
Sunday, January 02, 2011
jam and bread
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The sun rose quickly today, painting the horizon with a layer of strawberry foam, like what forms on the top of homemade jam, and layered like that, the deepest red next to the horizon, the lightest pink toward the sky. The sweetness didn't last long, as soon as the sun itself was over the horizon it was sharp and metallic, a knife cutting through the morning, silver white and intense, almost threatening. And I still feel soft and sleepy, so I guess that makes me the bread, because the heat of it is what made me get reluctantly out of bed. I'm going to have to remember to either close the blinds, or sleep facing the other way.
The sun rose quickly today, painting the horizon with a layer of strawberry foam, like what forms on the top of homemade jam, and layered like that, the deepest red next to the horizon, the lightest pink toward the sky. The sweetness didn't last long, as soon as the sun itself was over the horizon it was sharp and metallic, a knife cutting through the morning, silver white and intense, almost threatening. And I still feel soft and sleepy, so I guess that makes me the bread, because the heat of it is what made me get reluctantly out of bed. I'm going to have to remember to either close the blinds, or sleep facing the other way.
celebrate
Saturday, January 1, 2011
I watched the sun lift inch by inch above the sea this morning, and saw as the fog kissed the waves, rolling to shore wrapped in them, an infant swaddled, then gently released on the land as the waves unrolled. It would have felt spooky and mysterious, the way it did two nights ago when it was so dark I got claustrophobic under the open sky. But the sun was there to turn the cloud to glitter and the sensation of a joyous birth reflected off the sparks—it reminded me to celebrate all these perfect days of sensations.
I watched the sun lift inch by inch above the sea this morning, and saw as the fog kissed the waves, rolling to shore wrapped in them, an infant swaddled, then gently released on the land as the waves unrolled. It would have felt spooky and mysterious, the way it did two nights ago when it was so dark I got claustrophobic under the open sky. But the sun was there to turn the cloud to glitter and the sensation of a joyous birth reflected off the sparks—it reminded me to celebrate all these perfect days of sensations.
Sunrises and such.
Happy New Year! I have decided to revive an old writing drill to kick start the new year and re connect with my most successful writing routine. For about 6 years at the beginning of the last decade, I made an effort to write every day from about 4:30 A.M. ending at sunrise every day, with a description of the sunrise and an attempt to tie that to something in my subconscious memory. Most of the people who read this blog have been part of this exercise. To keep the practice focused not on astrology but on writing, my "rule" is that I don't post the sunrise on the day I write it, giving myself a day to review and edit.
I wrote one this morning, and spent some time reviewing notes from 2002-2004 when I was contemplating a publishing project called Lake Shore Lit. The project died with my mother, my focus so distorted that I knew it couldn't be successful without concerted effort and concentration that I couldn't sustain. So I let it drop. Then epublishing hit and I see that had I taken on the project, the struggle would have been excessive.
Each time I get involved in something like that, I am reminded that it is the writing that matters, not the game of publication. But without publication, the writing is a silent scream, a masterpiece left in the closet.
It's time to be seen, and heard and read. Come along with me.
I wrote one this morning, and spent some time reviewing notes from 2002-2004 when I was contemplating a publishing project called Lake Shore Lit. The project died with my mother, my focus so distorted that I knew it couldn't be successful without concerted effort and concentration that I couldn't sustain. So I let it drop. Then epublishing hit and I see that had I taken on the project, the struggle would have been excessive.
Each time I get involved in something like that, I am reminded that it is the writing that matters, not the game of publication. But without publication, the writing is a silent scream, a masterpiece left in the closet.
It's time to be seen, and heard and read. Come along with me.
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