I am penitent, I am ashamed, I confess: my lack of writing has been atrocious lately. Shortly after I created this blog, in the hopes that it would encourage me in my writing discipline, I simply short circuited. I can point to a lot of external factors. We decided to sell our house, moved into temporary lodging with a friend, bought and moved into our new home, and then found out I was pregnant. Whew. When I encapsulate it all in one sentence it sounds even more overwhelming than it was. The problem, of course, is that I still had plenty of time to read books and watch television. It's just so easy to become distracted from any attempts at writing more regularly, and as soon as I flounder off track, I contentedly trundle along my new way without a worry for writing in my complacent mind.
Books are wonderful distractions and time fillers, and when I can't seem to find a minute to work on writing, I can find ten or twenty or more to read a good story. Since this blog is about both of my hobbies in the literary world (the one I pursue intermittently yet doggedly, and the other that I can't stop myself from falling into every day will I or nil I), the next few posts will be about some of the books I've read recently. I'll be writing about my reading which has kept me from my writing, which sounds very Borges and I'm sure he could make a fabulous story about it.
Why don't we wander in the complex interlacing worlds of writing and reading a bit longer? I'll describe a book I just read that is about writing, written by an agent who was once an editor and also a writer of poetry. The Forest for the Trees: An Editor's Advice for Writers by Betsy Lerner. (Thanks for sending that book my way, Anne!)
The book is divided in two sections, one about writers, and one about the publishing process. Her insight on writers is humorous and incisive. She is a writer herself, so she has that inside perspective, yet she has worked with so many other writers as an editor and an agent that she can also step outside and show what the world sees. The six chapters detail different types of writers, from the self destructive addict to the neurotic megalomaniac. Her point was that all writers tend to share some of these traits, to greater or lesser extent. And, in truth, I found many truths that applied to my own writing life, even though I am a far cry from a professional, nor have I devoted my faith and love to writing to the same extent as others, even Lerner herself. The second portion was also fascinating, as she details the many trials and tribulations that face a book after being accepted but before the physical copies hit a bookstore shelf. To be honest, the thought of all a writer and her work has to face before the book is an accomplished fact is daunting, but if I ever even reach that stage I'd be grateful. I enjoyed this read, and I think it helped spur me in my own writing ambitions. Highly recommended for all readers and writers out there.
Now I should go attend to my other writing, but a monsoon storm is finally brewing outside my house, and "Murder She Wrote" is calling my name. Choices, choices.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Monday, September 28, 2009
A High School Fantasy
Let me warn you - the following excerpt is bad. Really. It makes me cringe when I read it. And then I remember that I wrote it and I cringe some more, with a little embarrassed snicker thrown in. What can I say? I was in high school. I was crazy about fantasy, empowered women warriors, evil creatures and magic, and romances that always began with hate and ended in love. Wait, reading back over that sentence, I realize that I haven't changed all that much ... only I would phrase myself with more sophistication and subtlety these days. I was a tad heavy handed back then.
Wow. Shades of Lord of the Rings, much? And what man would even say something like "you should let men handle this situation"? She didn't notice the huge entourage accompanying the golden carriage? I won't even touch on the execution of the writing, except to say, Holy repetitions, Batman! All that aside, there are some cute ideas here, like the secret female bodyguard to the queen, and her knowledge of dark tongues. Also, I can't deny that the imaginative ideas flowed much more freely when I was less worried about trivialities like style and verisimilitude. Ah, teenagedom.
Wow. Shades of Lord of the Rings, much? And what man would even say something like "you should let men handle this situation"? She didn't notice the huge entourage accompanying the golden carriage? I won't even touch on the execution of the writing, except to say, Holy repetitions, Batman! All that aside, there are some cute ideas here, like the secret female bodyguard to the queen, and her knowledge of dark tongues. Also, I can't deny that the imaginative ideas flowed much more freely when I was less worried about trivialities like style and verisimilitude. Ah, teenagedom.
A Few Good Tips for the Struggling Writer
1. Hang with your writer buddies. I have a surprisingly large amount of friends who also like to write - well, maybe not too surprising since I met them mostly through writer's groups and conferences - and they are always great for a self esteem boost. After all, they know the ups and downs, they've lived them, they've been there, man. Plus, you have a bunch of ready made volunteers who are eager (at least willing) to read your work. Just don't only talk about writing with them, or they'll think you're using them.**
2. Look back over your old work. Wait, scratch that. First, save your old work, even if it is horrendous. Second, read it again years later and savor the improvements.
3. Start a blog. Then you'll be writing on a (supposedly) more regular basis and that will remind you that you have other things you're supposed to be writing and then you will procrastinate on your personal writing and then you'll work on your blog ... It's the whole "If you give a mouse a cookie" syndrome. Okay, maybe not, but that was fun to write. Actually, some of you might accuse me of being just as lax in my blog updates as I am in my story writing, and that is true of late, but I have an excuse. I've been meaning to scan something in to post here and didn't want to bother with digging it out. See, I was thinking about some old stories I found and how they made me laugh out loud and how I should share them on this blog. Remember tip #2, looking back at old work? Ah, it all ties together now. Anyway, I'll be scanning those pages in and posting them tonight. Enjoy!
** I have to give a special accolades here to some of my friends who have been constructively supportive of my writing by reading whatever I throw at them and supplying me with comments. Melanie, who is a busy college professor but always reads my work, and Anne Loving (I mean Lilly) who is an editor without being paid as one. Seriously, her page by page comments are priceless and wise and a tremendous help. Much thanks, chicas!
2. Look back over your old work. Wait, scratch that. First, save your old work, even if it is horrendous. Second, read it again years later and savor the improvements.
3. Start a blog. Then you'll be writing on a (supposedly) more regular basis and that will remind you that you have other things you're supposed to be writing and then you will procrastinate on your personal writing and then you'll work on your blog ... It's the whole "If you give a mouse a cookie" syndrome. Okay, maybe not, but that was fun to write. Actually, some of you might accuse me of being just as lax in my blog updates as I am in my story writing, and that is true of late, but I have an excuse. I've been meaning to scan something in to post here and didn't want to bother with digging it out. See, I was thinking about some old stories I found and how they made me laugh out loud and how I should share them on this blog. Remember tip #2, looking back at old work? Ah, it all ties together now. Anyway, I'll be scanning those pages in and posting them tonight. Enjoy!
** I have to give a special accolades here to some of my friends who have been constructively supportive of my writing by reading whatever I throw at them and supplying me with comments. Melanie, who is a busy college professor but always reads my work, and Anne Loving (I mean Lilly) who is an editor without being paid as one. Seriously, her page by page comments are priceless and wise and a tremendous help. Much thanks, chicas!
Friday, August 21, 2009
How I Spent my Summer Vacation
This summer, I went to China. I saw the Great Wall, and the Forbidden City, and Summer Palace. It was awesome. We ate strange foods. I saw my family. The people were nice. Someday I hope I can go again.
(That would be my expository paragraph if I was a third grader. Except the spelling would probably be worse.)
Wow. Summer is officially over, at least according to Arizona school schedules, and I am still wondering where those sweat-filled days went. I did go to China, but it was in April, so technically it doesn't count. From May through July I spent most of my time trying to a) watch my daughter and keep her entertained, b) keep the house moderately clean, and c) unsuccessfully look for a job. My requirements aren't that high, I just want a job that allows me to work part-time, not have to pay for childcare, do something that I enjoy, preferably from the house. It shouldn't be that hard, right?*
As far as writing is concerned ... Let me spare you, or rather myself, the details. Just one word: ug. This blog is definitely helping me push myself back in to writing, but it is a struggle. I find that I can be very productive when Aubrey is napping! I need a place to get away every day to write, but even that has taken a second place to my guilt over needing to find a job. Still, every little bit of writing matters.
*I'm interested in this tutoring position, and have the application all ready to go, but am still waiting for the letters of recommendation from my old employers. I even went to the school for face-to-face motivation. I know that it's the beginning of the school year, but it's been over three weeks now. Urg. The positions will be gone by the time I can apply.
(That would be my expository paragraph if I was a third grader. Except the spelling would probably be worse.)
Wow. Summer is officially over, at least according to Arizona school schedules, and I am still wondering where those sweat-filled days went. I did go to China, but it was in April, so technically it doesn't count. From May through July I spent most of my time trying to a) watch my daughter and keep her entertained, b) keep the house moderately clean, and c) unsuccessfully look for a job. My requirements aren't that high, I just want a job that allows me to work part-time, not have to pay for childcare, do something that I enjoy, preferably from the house. It shouldn't be that hard, right?*
As far as writing is concerned ... Let me spare you, or rather myself, the details. Just one word: ug. This blog is definitely helping me push myself back in to writing, but it is a struggle. I find that I can be very productive when Aubrey is napping! I need a place to get away every day to write, but even that has taken a second place to my guilt over needing to find a job. Still, every little bit of writing matters.
*I'm interested in this tutoring position, and have the application all ready to go, but am still waiting for the letters of recommendation from my old employers. I even went to the school for face-to-face motivation. I know that it's the beginning of the school year, but it's been over three weeks now. Urg. The positions will be gone by the time I can apply.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
and again and again ...
In honor of my last post, here are the beginnings of (some of) the projects that I am working on currently. Respectively, they are my first novel, a short story that is on its first draft, and a short story I am hoping to someday publish.
Through the Woods
As soon as her carriage entered the forest, Caetlyn could feel the thin veil of awareness settling around her body, a feeling of being watched from afar. Words too soft to be heard, bodies too indistinct to be seen among the trees. She vaguely remembered these woods, but not the feeling. Leaning forward, peering into the night, Caetlyn searched out the darkness. She thought she saw a flicker of a cape, but it was just a leaf; a slender arm, but it was just a bare tree branch. Sighing, she leaned back in her rough seat and stared straight ahead.
(Untitled)
Shadows danced along the wooden fence of the backyard, awkward balls of arms and legs, bodies arching into a curve, followed by an explosion of raindrops that resulted in dark stains splattering against the wooden slates before quickly drying in the hot night. Shouts of laughter from young children drifted past the water stains and carried in the desert night air up to the clean stars, shining in a sky that was the undecided blue color of somewhere between night and day.
We Once Believed in Fairy Tales
Abbie made an attempt to descend the bus steps with dignity. She struggled with her huge suitcase and the tote bag that she knew the bus driver had smirked at when she first got on. Lemon scented skin and frosted hair may mark her out as a city girl, but that bright tote read country bumpkin all over it. Not that the driver had any right to judge, not smelling like raw earth as he did. A farmer’s smell. Abbie had worked hard to rid herself of the stench. Even after several months inNewark
Through the Woods
As soon as her carriage entered the forest, Caetlyn could feel the thin veil of awareness settling around her body, a feeling of being watched from afar. Words too soft to be heard, bodies too indistinct to be seen among the trees. She vaguely remembered these woods, but not the feeling. Leaning forward, peering into the night, Caetlyn searched out the darkness. She thought she saw a flicker of a cape, but it was just a leaf; a slender arm, but it was just a bare tree branch. Sighing, she leaned back in her rough seat and stared straight ahead.
(Untitled)
Shadows danced along the wooden fence of the backyard, awkward balls of arms and legs, bodies arching into a curve, followed by an explosion of raindrops that resulted in dark stains splattering against the wooden slates before quickly drying in the hot night. Shouts of laughter from young children drifted past the water stains and carried in the desert night air up to the clean stars, shining in a sky that was the undecided blue color of somewhere between night and day.
We Once Believed in Fairy Tales
Abbie made an attempt to descend the bus steps with dignity. She struggled with her huge suitcase and the tote bag that she knew the bus driver had smirked at when she first got on. Lemon scented skin and frosted hair may mark her out as a city girl, but that bright tote read country bumpkin all over it. Not that the driver had any right to judge, not smelling like raw earth as he did. A farmer’s smell. Abbie had worked hard to rid herself of the stench. Even after several months in
Monday, August 10, 2009
Begin again and again and again ...
I love starting new stories. The clean paper has so much potential: characters and dialogue hanging on the rim of my mind, settings that are hazy and beautiful, all perfect in their incompletion. Like fragments of a dream that are illogical but perfectly comprehensible to the sleeping mind. The problem begins as soon as I try to drag those lovely ideas unto the paper and force them to fit my words. No finished story is ever complete; it always lacks the wonder of my half-formed ideas.
What happens in my writing process, then, as I become disillusioned with the cold, black words that are trying to encompass my images? Typically, I start strong, with powerful evocative descriptions and glimpses of the story to come, and generally a sense of wonder and excitement. As I continue on, however, my writing starts to lose force. I slog through the bits that don't feel as natural and then suddenly stumble on a new scene that feels fresh, a new start. At the end, I have a story with a great hook and some later lovely passages, but one that doesn't quite hold together, and doesn't fulfill the promise of its first pages.
Enter revisions.
When I was little, of course, there was no persevering. I started, and when the shine began to wear off, I stopped. I got bored. I have an abundance of ghosts from my childhood, stories that were started and then abandoned, lost.
(I also like beginning new books. These I always finish, but when the temptation is on me I'm liable to pick up another novel, which leaves me reading an awful amount at the same time. I can easily hit six or seven works in progress at once.)
What happens in my writing process, then, as I become disillusioned with the cold, black words that are trying to encompass my images? Typically, I start strong, with powerful evocative descriptions and glimpses of the story to come, and generally a sense of wonder and excitement. As I continue on, however, my writing starts to lose force. I slog through the bits that don't feel as natural and then suddenly stumble on a new scene that feels fresh, a new start. At the end, I have a story with a great hook and some later lovely passages, but one that doesn't quite hold together, and doesn't fulfill the promise of its first pages.
Enter revisions.
When I was little, of course, there was no persevering. I started, and when the shine began to wear off, I stopped. I got bored. I have an abundance of ghosts from my childhood, stories that were started and then abandoned, lost.
(I also like beginning new books. These I always finish, but when the temptation is on me I'm liable to pick up another novel, which leaves me reading an awful amount at the same time. I can easily hit six or seven works in progress at once.)
Friday, August 7, 2009
What's the Point?
My husband and I already have a blog, which is mostly about our lovely daughter, Aubrey, who is just over a year old. We started it when she was born, and at first I was more diligent in updating it, but lately the posts have slowed down to one or two a month, if you're lucky. Or not, I suppose. I've just never been good at maintaining diaries and journals, and our blog is basically an online version. So why in the world am I starting a brand new blog, when I can't even keep up with the first?
I've been in a real writing slump lately. I'm revising a novel, and revising is just about as much fun as giving a cat a bath; revising a novel can be positively maddening. It's the first one that I have ever written, and so many details have to be maintained, story strands and character developments and themes and consistency. At times I begin to hate that book - which actually happens with all my work, but that's an entry for another time.
Also, I've been sending out my work and receiving rejection letters. I know, I know, that is the gauntlet that all would-be writers must run: the steady inflow of "Thank you for considering us, but while your work shows merit, I'm afraid it is not right for us at this time." Sigh. Even if you know that they're coming, that doesn't make it any easier. I've only received 9 rejections so far and my courage is flagging.
So, I started a blog, in an effort to encourage myself to write more and have thicker skin. After all, narcissism is a powerful tool. On this page I will detail my current writing adventures, reminisce about past experiences, and revel in my reading. Hopefully, I will go straight from here to working on my current projects (baby permitting). Hey, maybe I will even keep this page updated regularly. Forget nature - online inspiration, darling, is the new muse.
I've been in a real writing slump lately. I'm revising a novel, and revising is just about as much fun as giving a cat a bath; revising a novel can be positively maddening. It's the first one that I have ever written, and so many details have to be maintained, story strands and character developments and themes and consistency. At times I begin to hate that book - which actually happens with all my work, but that's an entry for another time.
Also, I've been sending out my work and receiving rejection letters. I know, I know, that is the gauntlet that all would-be writers must run: the steady inflow of "Thank you for considering us, but while your work shows merit, I'm afraid it is not right for us at this time." Sigh. Even if you know that they're coming, that doesn't make it any easier. I've only received 9 rejections so far and my courage is flagging.
So, I started a blog, in an effort to encourage myself to write more and have thicker skin. After all, narcissism is a powerful tool. On this page I will detail my current writing adventures, reminisce about past experiences, and revel in my reading. Hopefully, I will go straight from here to working on my current projects (baby permitting). Hey, maybe I will even keep this page updated regularly. Forget nature - online inspiration, darling, is the new muse.
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