My muse is flabby. No, that's an understatement. My muse is downright obese. Love handles everywhere and not a single bit of self control or will power to be found. My muse needs an exercise program. Heck, *I* need an exercise program and if I can't make myself do it, how can I rope and hogtie that flighty wisp of creativity that's so scarce and dull these days?
Help--muse intervention needed.
Just need to take a nap first...
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
On The Use Of Pain
To hell with zen and wandering around. Time still flies and nothing gets accomplished and here it is, nearly two weeks since vacation came to an end and I haven't even picked up the writing yet. Not to mention other, extremely important mundane tasks that we won't mention here.
And speaking of wandering around... since I gave myself the perfect seque away from what I wanted to write about, I guess I better take it. What do you do when LIFE pokes into your happy, sleepwalky routine and throws a lot of anguish and anxiety around? For instance, like now.
I should explain. I have a long history with an abusive parent who seesaws between repeated emotional stabbings and blithely muttering platitudes he thinks are glowing compliments but exist only to bolster his own sense as a good, long-suffering father. I have medicine that helps me survive the emotional stabbings, or at least limits my depths of rock-bottom despair and suicidal thoughts to 15-20 minutes of excruciating insanity followed by a long, albeit slow upswing back to rational thought. And, as life would have it...sorry, as LIFE would have it, this happens to be a period of prolonged nastiness wherein I'm feeling, most days, about as worthy and competent as those damn invisible leaf chewing caterpillars that destroy vegetable plants. In other words, not good. Really, really, not good. What to do, what to do...
I wish I was one of those people that could channel heartache into something useful. Like cleaning. Or any kind of work, really. Especially writing. If intrepid wizard Harry Dresden can use anger and sorrow as fuel for his magic, good grief, why can't I? If for no other reason than there will come a day I need to remember this emotion and use it in a story and I won't be able to! Memory's like that when it comes to trauma. It's hard to wring something of its essence when your mind has taken great pains to lock away, bury, and wipe clean the things that caused so much pain once upon a time.
I shy away from writing my feelings down, inking for posterity the hurt and terrible anger, the gnawing fear that skulks beneath, the helplessness and general vulnerability of a ridiculously flailing emotion wreckage that I so dearly want to deny I have ever sunk into becoming, for a time. Or that I can always see a ghost of that wreckage, lingering, waiting for the inevitable sequel.
Maybe, though, maybe pouring out what I don't want to be into someone else...
Part of my problem as a writer is that I don't want to do evil, terrible things to my characters. My life sucks and so I want their lives to work out, to at least have solutions that are only a tiny bit rocky and not rollercoaster-like draining. Lives that go somewhere, that aren't hopeless, that aren't victims of something bigger and larger. God, but it *hurts* to be a writer. And if it were only me that were hurting, it wouldn't be so bad...
But I *am* a writer. I can't write like I read or run to writing to be soothed or entertained. Writing is about truth and truth, though breathtaking, has sharp-sharp edges.
There's a famous adage for the writing life: kill your darlings. I would add, truth your roses with thorns. If you bleed, so will your readers. And if you have to bleed--for life is too often about bleeding--catching it upon a page is just as much an exorcism as crying can be a balm.
I know I'm off to take my own advice.
And speaking of wandering around... since I gave myself the perfect seque away from what I wanted to write about, I guess I better take it. What do you do when LIFE pokes into your happy, sleepwalky routine and throws a lot of anguish and anxiety around? For instance, like now.
I should explain. I have a long history with an abusive parent who seesaws between repeated emotional stabbings and blithely muttering platitudes he thinks are glowing compliments but exist only to bolster his own sense as a good, long-suffering father. I have medicine that helps me survive the emotional stabbings, or at least limits my depths of rock-bottom despair and suicidal thoughts to 15-20 minutes of excruciating insanity followed by a long, albeit slow upswing back to rational thought. And, as life would have it...sorry, as LIFE would have it, this happens to be a period of prolonged nastiness wherein I'm feeling, most days, about as worthy and competent as those damn invisible leaf chewing caterpillars that destroy vegetable plants. In other words, not good. Really, really, not good. What to do, what to do...
I wish I was one of those people that could channel heartache into something useful. Like cleaning. Or any kind of work, really. Especially writing. If intrepid wizard Harry Dresden can use anger and sorrow as fuel for his magic, good grief, why can't I? If for no other reason than there will come a day I need to remember this emotion and use it in a story and I won't be able to! Memory's like that when it comes to trauma. It's hard to wring something of its essence when your mind has taken great pains to lock away, bury, and wipe clean the things that caused so much pain once upon a time.
I shy away from writing my feelings down, inking for posterity the hurt and terrible anger, the gnawing fear that skulks beneath, the helplessness and general vulnerability of a ridiculously flailing emotion wreckage that I so dearly want to deny I have ever sunk into becoming, for a time. Or that I can always see a ghost of that wreckage, lingering, waiting for the inevitable sequel.
Maybe, though, maybe pouring out what I don't want to be into someone else...
Part of my problem as a writer is that I don't want to do evil, terrible things to my characters. My life sucks and so I want their lives to work out, to at least have solutions that are only a tiny bit rocky and not rollercoaster-like draining. Lives that go somewhere, that aren't hopeless, that aren't victims of something bigger and larger. God, but it *hurts* to be a writer. And if it were only me that were hurting, it wouldn't be so bad...
But I *am* a writer. I can't write like I read or run to writing to be soothed or entertained. Writing is about truth and truth, though breathtaking, has sharp-sharp edges.
There's a famous adage for the writing life: kill your darlings. I would add, truth your roses with thorns. If you bleed, so will your readers. And if you have to bleed--for life is too often about bleeding--catching it upon a page is just as much an exorcism as crying can be a balm.
I know I'm off to take my own advice.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Yes, it looks bad. I haven't posted since July 2nd and that probably means the writing has fizzled, right? Nope. I *did* work ahead because I knew I was going on vacation and even a Herculean effort wouldn't save me if I tried writing during vacation. It's just not that kind of trip. Very little fun, lots of obligations, and catching up with friends that are very much family (and sometimes just as annoying and hard to get along with, even thought I love them dearly).
And since most of them read this occasionally, I have to add: I'm not talking about you. You know you're the exception. It's those other friends... LOL
The story's still in that stage where I'm struggling to get a handle on the emotion, the heart, of my character. Not *exactly* sure what her real story is, you know, the stuff that underlies the events not just the events themselves.
In truth, I was just tootling along until I started listening to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. He's just too good. I'm just so involved in his characters and world and why can't I get the same feel when I'm writing!?! Foot stamp. Whine. I suppose the answer is, if I'm going to go wandering off down an unknown road and not bother with maps (or ye olde Medieval GPS daemon), then I can hardly complain about feeling lost and anxious and indecisive, now can I?
And I'm still on vacation, so though I can blog about my writing process, I can't actually do some writing... oh crap, time to beat myself into constructive action, then. The lesson for the day, then, is (now pay attention, folks!): if you're feeling directionless, don't know where a plot or some characters are headed and thinking you need to do some backing up and better planning, well, maybe so, but what could it hurt to keep wandering around a little bit more? Have some faith in the occasional zen outcome of your creative subconscious. Wander some more, enjoy the scenery, and keep a casual eye out for crossroads or dragons. You'd be amazed how fast you'll get to the one or the other.
Now I gotta go see a man about some organic conditioner and a pile of brass grommets.
And since most of them read this occasionally, I have to add: I'm not talking about you. You know you're the exception. It's those other friends... LOL
The story's still in that stage where I'm struggling to get a handle on the emotion, the heart, of my character. Not *exactly* sure what her real story is, you know, the stuff that underlies the events not just the events themselves.
In truth, I was just tootling along until I started listening to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. He's just too good. I'm just so involved in his characters and world and why can't I get the same feel when I'm writing!?! Foot stamp. Whine. I suppose the answer is, if I'm going to go wandering off down an unknown road and not bother with maps (or ye olde Medieval GPS daemon), then I can hardly complain about feeling lost and anxious and indecisive, now can I?
And I'm still on vacation, so though I can blog about my writing process, I can't actually do some writing... oh crap, time to beat myself into constructive action, then. The lesson for the day, then, is (now pay attention, folks!): if you're feeling directionless, don't know where a plot or some characters are headed and thinking you need to do some backing up and better planning, well, maybe so, but what could it hurt to keep wandering around a little bit more? Have some faith in the occasional zen outcome of your creative subconscious. Wander some more, enjoy the scenery, and keep a casual eye out for crossroads or dragons. You'd be amazed how fast you'll get to the one or the other.
Now I gotta go see a man about some organic conditioner and a pile of brass grommets.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Slogging On
I did that which I am never, ever, supposed to do--at least in this stage of the game: re-read what's been written and give in to the temptation to edit. Just a weeeee bit. Fortunately, I think it didn't do much harm. Felt a bit like a loosening of a clog, to be honest.
Second issue of the writing day: style. Was flogging myself today already, even before re-reading, that I am falling into the trap of telling/narrating too much and not showing. And dialogue. There are two words spoken so far, that's it! Nearly 2000 words in, which sounds ominous to me. Happily, I just started listening to the audio version of Patrick Rothfuss' Name of the Wind and after a single chapter (with a full minute of Mr. Internal Writing Critic blathering on before I finally managed to shut him off and enjoy what I was hearing), I cheerfully said to Hades with my style worries. Either it's who I am and it works--and I won't know that til the end--or the whole thing needs to be re-written anyway and I need the whole thing completed to do a good job of that anyway. Which is what the rewrite is for. So, congratulate me, another stupid worry down the proverbial drain.
Oh, and did I mention I'm up to 2442 words?! Just checked. Pleasant surprise. Though I haven't even gotten to some of the really juicy parts yet. Arrgh, setup is a pain. But it's important and I'm starting to learn the important bits as I write.
I love that I am writing this story and learning it while I write. It's like knitting and creating yarn while you knit, without any control or thought about it, the color, the feel... Hard to describe, but humbling and exhilerating, both.
I'd love to stick around and chat, but I want to see where this scene is going. A new character just popped out of the woodwork and I gotta see what she's going to do. She's making me a little nervous...
Second issue of the writing day: style. Was flogging myself today already, even before re-reading, that I am falling into the trap of telling/narrating too much and not showing. And dialogue. There are two words spoken so far, that's it! Nearly 2000 words in, which sounds ominous to me. Happily, I just started listening to the audio version of Patrick Rothfuss' Name of the Wind and after a single chapter (with a full minute of Mr. Internal Writing Critic blathering on before I finally managed to shut him off and enjoy what I was hearing), I cheerfully said to Hades with my style worries. Either it's who I am and it works--and I won't know that til the end--or the whole thing needs to be re-written anyway and I need the whole thing completed to do a good job of that anyway. Which is what the rewrite is for. So, congratulate me, another stupid worry down the proverbial drain.
Oh, and did I mention I'm up to 2442 words?! Just checked. Pleasant surprise. Though I haven't even gotten to some of the really juicy parts yet. Arrgh, setup is a pain. But it's important and I'm starting to learn the important bits as I write.
I love that I am writing this story and learning it while I write. It's like knitting and creating yarn while you knit, without any control or thought about it, the color, the feel... Hard to describe, but humbling and exhilerating, both.
I'd love to stick around and chat, but I want to see where this scene is going. A new character just popped out of the woodwork and I gotta see what she's going to do. She's making me a little nervous...
UPDATE: word count
1854 words so far. Sewing...falling a bit behind. Just can't have my cake and eat it too.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
UPDATE: Word Count
1am and all's well! 837 words so far. As beginnings go, I might still be finding my feet, but I'm trying not to worry. Time to go back to the "real" world and get some food... and sewing done.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
ANNOUNCEMENT: Write A Book With Me
Holly Lisle, bless her heart and nourish her muse, is offering herself as a "pace rabbit" while working on her latest novel, inviting her peeps to Write A Book With Me. 250 words a day is a sedate enough pace that I should be able to keep up, even with work, frantic costume sewing, reluctant house cleaning (in the category of Herculean Efforts), and getting ready for my big trip. So I'm in! I announce my candidacy!
The ghost and pirates story has been forefront in my mind of late. Right in the middle of The Master of Ballantrae, I got one of those unfortunate character insights--I say unfortunate because I was only watching the movie to keep myself sewing and more distractions were definitely not called for. Ah, if only distractions were something I could sell and market... But anyway, there it was, the proverbial bolt of lightning and smack to the head (I swear I could see Thorn with his stupid Cavalier-looking hat frowning at me and threatening me with another hat-whacking if I didn't pay attention!) So I smacked the pause button, put my cuff ruffle down, spat out a mouthful of pins, and dutifully scribbled a note. And no, children, I will not share the brilliance of the insight, you will just have to wait and see it on the page. I can say, for those of you who've read snippets of Jessebah already, it's an insight on par with her birth so I'm feeling pretty flush with anticipation. And that is why it's gonna be the ghosts and pirates story for me, oh boy.
Now where did the novel book for that world go to, I wonder. Oh lord, I think it's part of the desk mess disaster... Hmmph. I'll just start writing without it for now and see how far seat-of-the-pants gets me. It's a draft and all it has to be is finished (not brilliant, not polished, not perfect). All that other stuff comes during The Second Coming (ie, the second draft), right?
So now, where to begin...
And I promise to keep y'all updated both here and on Facebook.
Viva La Progress!
The ghost and pirates story has been forefront in my mind of late. Right in the middle of The Master of Ballantrae, I got one of those unfortunate character insights--I say unfortunate because I was only watching the movie to keep myself sewing and more distractions were definitely not called for. Ah, if only distractions were something I could sell and market... But anyway, there it was, the proverbial bolt of lightning and smack to the head (I swear I could see Thorn with his stupid Cavalier-looking hat frowning at me and threatening me with another hat-whacking if I didn't pay attention!) So I smacked the pause button, put my cuff ruffle down, spat out a mouthful of pins, and dutifully scribbled a note. And no, children, I will not share the brilliance of the insight, you will just have to wait and see it on the page. I can say, for those of you who've read snippets of Jessebah already, it's an insight on par with her birth so I'm feeling pretty flush with anticipation. And that is why it's gonna be the ghosts and pirates story for me, oh boy.
Now where did the novel book for that world go to, I wonder. Oh lord, I think it's part of the desk mess disaster... Hmmph. I'll just start writing without it for now and see how far seat-of-the-pants gets me. It's a draft and all it has to be is finished (not brilliant, not polished, not perfect). All that other stuff comes during The Second Coming (ie, the second draft), right?
So now, where to begin...
And I promise to keep y'all updated both here and on Facebook.
Viva La Progress!