On Writing, In Repose

Reminders

2012-03-05T14:26:00.001-06:00

So, I've noticed all these little cryptic notes lying around my night stand and the papers and books around it. Apparently I've been waking up at night and writing myself things on the notepad close to my bed. The latest one says "Darkness within darkness. The gate to all mystery." I think they're ideas for poems. If not, I'm worried.

Richard Russo is Ruining My Life

2012-02-28T15:00:00.002-06:00

Anne Lamott told me to listen to my broccoli, and I did. Or, at least I thought I did. In actuality, I was listening to Richard Russo's.

You see, I wrote a short story a couple years ago called "Trespassers" about a group of children in an orphanage who escape to the abandoned convent across the field. The main character has a safe word he mumbles to himself whenever he's scared. For this, he thought of the least scary word there is: broccoli.

The unfortunate thing here is Richard Russo thought of it first. And what's more--somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this. Why I dislike Russo is another blog post altogether. Anyway, I may not like him personally, but even I can admit he's a damn good screen writer. This being said, Keeping Mum is one of my favorite movies. It's a fun, silly British comedy with Maggie Smith, Rowan Atkinson, and Patrick Swayze to name a few. In it, Rowan Atkinson's son is being bullied at school. Maggie Smith signs on as a nanny, and one day she tells him to think of a magic word--any word. He chooses broccoli.

I remembered this scene abruptly about two months ago while riding in my boyfriend's car. I became outraged. Richard Russo stole my broccoli! And then I thought back to the date the film was made: 2005. No, no. He didn't steal anything from me; I stole from him. This man whom I am loath to admire is the one from whom I plagiarized.

There are no grand revelations in this post other than the fact that my mind likes to screw me over now and then by prompting me with things I think are original, when, in fact, they aren't. This includes, but is not limited to, titles of poems. I wrote a poem about fall in New England a little over a year ago and couldn't think of a good title. I thought of the leaves crunching on the ground beneath winter boots, and my brain said, "Eureka! 'Trampled Under Foot.'" On the score of its originality, I think Led Zeppelin would disagree.

You might protest and say, "Well, Russo isn't the one ruining your life. You are! Or, your brain, anyway." And you'd be right. Just let me have my drama for now. It's apparently all I have.

2011 Book List

2011-12-23T19:58:00.002-06:00

It's that time of year again. I could wait until the 31st to post this, but I doubt I'll finish another book before then. And if I do, I'll just ammend the list. As always, books I recommend will have an asterisk next to them. And just because something doesn't have an asterisk next to it doesn't mean I didn't like it.

My goal for this year was to read 50 books, and I'm pleased as punch to announce I surpassed my goal.

1. Illumination Night - Alice Hoffman*

2. Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind

3. Ethan Frome - Edith Wharton

4. Long Day's Journey Into Night - Eugene O'Neill

5. Take the Cannoli - Sarah Vowell

6. The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson*

7. Empire Falls - Richard Russo

8. The Beans of Egypt, Maine - Carolyn Chute

9. Traveling Mercies - Anne Lamott*

10. Murder on the Orient Express - Agatha Christie

11. Selected Stories - Andre Dubus

12. Elizabeth Bishop the Complete Poems*

13. The Early Church - Henry Chadwick

14. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald*

15. The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene

16. Poetic Form: An Introduction - David Kaplan

17. The Mind's Eye: A Guide to Writing Poetry - Kevin Clark

18. 100 Great Poets of the English Language - Dana Gioia

19. One Art: Elizabeth Bishop Letters

20. Bless Me, Ultima - Rudolfo Anaya*

21. The Little Prince - Antoine de St. Exupery***

22. The BFG - Roald Dahl*

23. I Am Legend - Richard Matheson

24. Pride of Baghdad - Brian K. Vaughan

25. Blankets - Craig Thompson*

26. World War Z - Max Brooks*

27. The Complete Persepolis - Marjane Satrapi

28. On Writing - Stephen King*

29. Angela's Ashes - Frank McCourt

30. The Color Purple - Alice Walker*

31. Lord of the Flies - William Golding*

32. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain

33. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius - Dave Eggers

34. Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro*

35. In Cold Blood - Truman Capote

36. Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson

37. Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett*

38. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck*

39. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain

40. The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle*

41. Howl's Moving Castle - Dianna Wynne Jones*

42. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey*

43. The Bluest Eye - Toni Morrison

44. Did You Say Chicks?! - Ed. Esther Friesner

45. Stardust - Neil Gaiman*

46. Push - Sapphire

47. King Rat - China Mieville

48. A Dirty Job - Christopher Moore*

49. The Complete Maus - Art Spiegelman*

50. Dog Blood - David Moody

51. Mirror Mirror - Gregory Maguire

52. Sonnets from the Portuguese - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

53. Mythology - Eith Hamilton

54. Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris*

55. Tent Number Eight - Gloyd McCoy

56. Lamb - Christopher Moore*

57. Night - Elie Wiesel

58. A Grief Observed - C.S. Lewis

Soooooo yeah

2011-09-22T05:07:00.003-05:00

That whole I'm-going-to-post-more-really-I-promise-I-am thing? Sorry about that.

One of my friends has pointed out the error of my ways, and I am here to rectify it.

However, it's 5:09 in the morning, and I've been up since 2:00. The reason?

When I was just about to fall asleep, I had a sudden thought. This was that thought: "Did I take my sleep aid medication? I don't remember! But that would be bad if I took a second dose. Eh, I'm really sleepy. I bet I took it."

I was wrong.

I'll make no more posting promises this semester--this fall marks the start of my journey through Capstone, and this is the busiest I've been in a long time. Capstone, other classes, work, making necklaces, submitting writing (yes, I really am submitting), and oh, talking to my wonderful boyfriend. I feel he needs a mention here.

So anyway, this friend told me that I should write a poem for/about him. Here are the fruits of my 5:00am labors.

Limerick for Nick

There once was a young man from Sweden,
who shunned the fruits of Eden,
preferring prawn crackers,
and making rice snackers—
he really liked stuff by Joss Whedon.

Cough Cough

2011-07-01T22:05:00.002-05:00

So, for those of you who are kind enough to still follow me, you might have noticed my severe lack of updating these days.

And you may or may not have noticed that I deleted about 50% of my posts on here. It's not that I don't love you or that I don't want to share my work. It's just lately I've grown paranoid. I read somewhere that most journals don't like to publish poems which have been previously posted on blogs. Not that I've submitted anything in the last two months, but still. The poems I have left up are special for one reason or another, and I will probably still continue to post more of my creative work in the future. In fact, I need to in order to keep myself accountable. I haven't been writing a lot recently. In fact, I've really not been writing at all.

I had an idea that I should finish up the novel I'm working on (a full draft of it anyway) by the end of the summer. That just isn't happening. Life really decided to get in the way. It has a funny way of doing that, you know? At least all this life has given me things to write about. Boy, has it.

Next semester marks the beginning of my senior year in college. That means Capstone. I know I will be doing a creative project. What will I be doing? I hope I can answer that question by the time proposals are due in the fall. I'm considering poetry more and more. Something in my head keeps telling me, "Work on your prooooose." But my heart bleeds in meter. I might just be jonesing for another Bishop experience, but I can't see anything wrong with that. I'd love to immerse myself in another poet mentor and just let their work wash over me.

Dear God. Dear stars, dear trees, dear sky, dear peoples. Dear everything. Dear God.

2011-06-06T23:14:00.003-05:00

How much better can thoughts on writing be than the ones freshly evoked when some piece of literature stirs you?

I've been reading The Color Purple by Alice Walker, and it resonated deep inside me.

"Dear Nettie,
I don't write to God no more, I write to you.
What happen to God? ast Shug.
Who that? I say.
She look at me serious."

I want to convey how these passages made me feel--what they made me think, but I'm not sure I can do that quite yet.

"She say, Celie, tell the truth, have you ever found God in church? I never did. I just found a bunch of folks hoping for him to show. Any God I ever felt in church I brought in with me. And I think all the other folks did too. They come to church to share God, not find God. "

Shug and Celie are talking very seriously in this chapter--Celie's in her forties at this point and has experienced much in life. However, she still has questions and doubts. She writes to her sister Nettie, believing that Nettie's still alive out there somewhere. Shug's character develops so much through the course of this novel--if you haven't read it, you need to soon. I could probably read it through again and just focus on Shug.

"Naw, she say. God made it. Listen, God love everything you love--and a mess of stuff you don't. But more than anything else, God love admiration.
You saying God vain? I ast.
Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
What it do when it pissed off? I ast.
Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back."

These quotations are all from the same chapter. In my copy, it starts on page 199. A groundbreaking epistolary novel, a testament to the human spirit, a shining example of strong women in literature--of strong African American women in literature. I didn't think I would love it this much.

On Writing A Memoir of the Craft

2011-05-26T15:07:00.002-05:00

^That is what I'm currently reading. There are a lot of things from it I'd like to share, but there are so many I think I'd break several hundred copyright laws in doing so. That being said, if you're a writer--read this book. Go out and buy it. That way you can mark it up and make personal notes to yourself. If you're someone who struggles with passive voice and the overabundance of adverbs (points to self), you need to know it. Stephen King will tell you--he's telepathic, trust me.

Another thing--"Murder your darlings" was a quote originally by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, but commonly misattributed to many other writers such as William Faulkner (by yours truly). I was informed of this on page 196 of On Writing. Oops.

One more thing--Stephen King just gave me one dollar.

I found it sandwiched between pages 212 and 213. In actuality, it's probably just the book marker from some businessman who bought a copy of this book at an airport store, hoping to alleviate some layover stress. However, I'm taking it as a personal token. The sentence this dollar was resting on is, "Get back to work on it! Hell, you're ready! You're fuckin Shakespeare!"

Please note that this is entirely out of context and not intending for me to brazenly plow my way through the manuscript. However, I'm taking it at face value anyway--this book about writing keeps telling me to write. So, I have some work to do.

Sound Advice

2011-05-19T22:24:00.003-05:00

“Read a lot of poetry—all the time—and not 20^th century poetry. Read Campion, Herbert, Pope, Tennyson, Coleridge—anything at all almost that’s any good, from the past—until you find out what you really like, by yourself. Even if you try to imitate it exactly—it will come out quite different. Then the great poets of our own century—Marianne Moore, Auden, Wallace Stevens—and not just 2 or 3 poems each, in anthologies—read ALL of somebody. Then read his or her life, and letters, and so on. (And by all means read Keats’s Letters.) Then see what happens.”

This advice comes from Elizabeth Bishop in a letter she wrote to "Miss Pierson." According to the book One Art: Letters, "The identity of Miss Pierson , obviously a stranger to EB, is unknown. The editor is grateful to James Merrill, whocame into possession of this letter in Amherst at a book-signing event, where he was given a copy by a man who disappeared before explaining how he acquired it. It bears EB's full signature."

I'd like to think that mysterious man was a time traveler and that "Miss Pierson" is an error because of handwriting and that it actually said "Miss Kristin." I've been reading a lot of poetry, seemingly all the time. I tried to imitate Keats and Bishop, and it's turned out quite differently. I read ALL of bishop and then her life, her letters, and so on. However, I've not read Keats's letters yet.

All things considered, I'm pretty pleased with my progress. And I'm also very sad. I had to let Elizabeth die. Again. The last word she ever wrote was "affectionately." Polite until the end.

A Reminder

2011-05-17T11:31:00.002-05:00

I was going through the poems in the packet from my New England literature class and stumbled upon "For the Young Who Want To" by Marge Piercy. I now have it tacked to my bulletin board as a reminder of what I should do if I want to keep being me. The more I think about my future, the more I agree with the ideas in this poem. I'll post it here for you all to see.

For the Young Who Want To
by Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say

you have after the novel

is published and favorably

reviewed. Beforehand what

you have is a tedious

delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done

after the play is produced

and the audience claps.

Before that friends keep asking

when you are planning to go

out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you

had after the third volume

of remarkable poems. Earlier

they accuse you of withdrawing,

ask why you don’t have a baby,

call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.’s,

take workshops with fancy names

when all you can really

learn is a few techniques,

typing instructions and some-

body else’s mannerisms

is that every artist lacks

a license to hang on the wall

like your optician, your vet

proving you may be a clumsy sadist

whose fillings fall into the stew

but you’re certified a dentist.

The real writer is one

who really writes. Talent

is an invention like phlogiston

after the fact of fire.

Work is its own cure. You have to

like it better than being loved.

For those of you, like me, who don't immediately know what phlogiston is, here's the definition: a nonexistent chemical that, prior to the discovery of oxygen, was thought to be released during combustion.

Also, here's an interesting blog post from Penelope Trunk Brazen Careerist about grad school: http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2011/05/09/what-you-can-do-instead-of-grad-school/

Villanelle for Amy

2011-05-07T10:39:00.004-05:00

Last night my friend continued his saga in poetry by attempting to compose a villanelle about a mutual friend. However, my being on the phone with him at the time and offering "helpful" suggestions was getting in the way. The whole thing ended on a fairly happy note, but the undertone resembled, "Why don't you write your own?" "Fine, I will!" Anyway, this is my version. It didn't come out the way I wanted it, and I don't think it does my friend justice. But, a draft is a draft.

Envenomed Pen

With plaintive hands she serves by day
and grasps an envenomed pen by night--
the creative token's price to pay.

She sifts and molds with a writer's cosmic clay
to free her to a steward's simple right;
with plaintive hands she serves by day.

Thankless drones take from her what they may,
leaving a weakened soul to compose in moonlight--
the creative token's price to pay.

Her fists pound out a rhythm, and they lay
opinions down to rest so that she also might--
with plaintive hands she serves by day.

Her poems find a seaweed cadence to the bay
at which her mind rests from her fight--
the creative token's price to pay.

Her world revolves, revealing golden rays,
hounded by the silver side she keeps gripped tight.
With plaintive hands she serves by day--
the creative token's price to pay.

First Poem for Mia

2011-04-06T19:30:00.004-05:00

I decided a while ago that I should write a poem about my adorable niece Mia, who is now teething. This is what came out. The pets in that household have no idea what's coming. She can stand on her own, and when she can walk--look out.

Lullaby for the Sentinel

Climber, curl up and dream,
close your weary, feline eyes;
around your lair, Baby prepares
a startling surprise.

Dearest Climber, sleep while you can,
just coalesce,
for soon Baby will pull up to stand
and clamp her teeth to your distress.

Peace and calm will both be yours,
Climber, don’t be blue.
Bite-free days are coming soon—
but you must rest before they do.

I Think It's Time

2011-03-23T23:02:00.002-05:00

Edmund Spenser, I owe you an apology. I might not dig Calidore, but after giving you a few more chances, you're alright. In fact, your sonnet form is really pretty awesome. In lieu of all my protests and badmouthing, I wrote you a sonnet. Yes, it's stolen from one of yours. And yes, it mocks you by using archaic spelling. I said you're alright, OK? You're still not my favorite person. I'm working on the whole friends with dead poets thing. We might get there one day. I'm sure you'll wait.

No Hard Feelings, Eddie

See! how the steadfast bard doth depraue
   my modest verse with derisive scorne:
   and by the poem which I vnto him gaue,
   accoumpts my selfe his convict all forlorne.
The poem (quoth he) is of the conquerors borne,
   resigned them by the trampled as theyr meeds,
   and they therewith doe poetes brows adorne,
   to chant the grandeur of their exalted deedes.
But sith he will the triumph provocation needs
   let he accept me as his steadfaste thrall,
   that his famed score which my skill exceeds,
   I may in finesse of honor blaze ouer all.
Then would I decke his head with brilliant bayes,
   and heap the earth with his auspicious prayse.

Poetry Fail

2011-02-24T15:49:00.003-06:00

Today, we were supposed to workshop the first poem I submitted in my Poetry Writing class. This was supposed to happen a couple weeks ago, but eh, extenuating circumstances. Anyway, today got very messed up very quickly. Once the chaos subsided, it was learned everyone had their critiques for me, so I accepted them and resolved to read through them later. We went through class, work shopped my second poem (I got a lot of great suggestions), and that was that.

I got home a while ago and started browsing through the first set of critiques. One stopped me in my tracks.

I haven't been posting my poems for work shopping on here because I haven't wanted anyone in my class to see them early. I'll eventually put them up, but this one definitely calls for some editing first.

But back to that critique. The poem I wrote is an emulation of the sonnet Elizabeth Bishop wrote in 1979, just before she died. In it, I philosophize about a man gazing into a mirror, then setting himself free from the temptation of vanity by breaking it. Anyway, I use several "big words" in it. One of these is the cause for concern, and yes, embarrassment. In my mind, the Latin word for mirror is speculum. And speculum therefore = mirror. I needed another word for mirror, so that is the one I chose. What I neglected to remember is that a speculum is also a gynecological instrument. You know, that scary ratchety clampy you know?

Anyway, I was breezing through this critique. The first half was full of compliments and yadda yadda. Then I got to paragraph two. Let me quote from it for you. I won't mention the name of the person who wrote the critique to spare them any shame I might accidentally bestow regarding this matter.

"Also, on my first read, I did not know what a speculum was. I Googled it and the first image that popped up was an anatomy diagram of a woman during a gynecological exam. After seeing that, I can only think of gynecologists every time I read through your poem. I'm not sure what message you were trying to get across with the use of the speculum, or if maybe it was the first piece of medical equipment that came to mind, but if that choice was unintentional, you may want to pick a different instrument, since I'm probably not the only person who didn't know what a speculum was. Other than that, I thought your poem was great."

When I read it, I burst out laughing. And then I cringed as my cheeks flushed. And then I felt like crying. I was a failure at poetry. In an attempt to write a beautiful, artistic look at the anguish people feel by being trapped by self-image, I brain farted away any chance I had at that, leaving my poem as an awkward look at women's yearly exams.

To you, wise critic of my poem, I apologize. I was most certainly not trying to think of a medical instrument, and even if I was, I wouldn't want to choose that one. I think most women who go in for yearly exams know exactly what it is, and I have no idea why my mind forgot the second meaning.

At least it's only a draft. Right?

The Flow

2011-01-09T17:59:00.003-06:00

"Poetry is the language in which man explores his own amazement." ~ Christopher Fry

I haven't let my poetry flow in a while. Sure, I've let it pour out of me, but then I jumble it around and prod it with a meter stick. I've been reading cummings the past couple days, and I never ceased to be amazed by that kind of writing. I decided the easiest way to capture the ease of sound and feeling he creates was to outright copy him. So I picked one of his to use as a starting form, and I let my feelings fill in the blanks. Then I got angry with myself for using a form at all in this instance of flow, so I moved the blanks, deleted them, added more, then put in some punctuation. cummings's symbolism through punctuation is grand, but that's definitely not what I'm trying to embody.

There's something really magical about the world after the first snow. I took a grand afternoon nap today, and when it started to snow outside, I heard my mother say as much. With a smile on my face, I drifted to sleep. When I awoke, there wasn't a thick quilt of snow. It's more of a loosely-crocheted thing. But it still quiets everything. I felt like if I stood at the kitchen window long enough with my ear close to the glass I would hear the heartbeat of the bird in our neighbor's tree.

After the First Snow

I thank you Father for this most marvelous
day: for the soaring spirits of falcons
and a gray ballet of sky; and for everything
which is lovely which is finite which is true.

The world, which had died, is alive today,
this the moon’s birthday; this is the budding
of life and mist and love and stars, and of the
phenomenon boundless earth.

How should any breathing gasping snoring
sighing being be lifted above the nothingness
of all human-stardust merely seeing doubt?

Now the eyes of my fingers are opened and
the ears of my hands are awake.

Seeker of Truth

2011-01-07T12:11:00.003-06:00

I just finished up reading Wizard's First Rule, which is part of the Sword of Truth series. This poem came out of that along with some thoughts on poetry I've had lately. What does it really mean to be a poet? etc.

Seeker of Truth

Two sides to the same magic,
loneliness and positivity,
pressed against each other
with the mint of Time.

The visionary must cast
his spells in silence,
even if completely surrounded
or utterly alone.

The endless circling path
of poetry magic winds
tightly, squeezing out space
for anything else, including Therefore.

Seekers of Truth in distorted
realities must check their
revelations against the
mirror of the coin at hand.

The course may take them
far from the start, toward
edges of reason, but they need
only look down at their feet.

Truth is scrawled in the shadows.

On top of this poem, I have a couple quotes for you from poets far wiser than I.

"Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance." ~ John Keats

"The poem is the point at which our strength gave out." ~ Richard Rosen

Explosions Off In the Distance

2011-01-01T22:28:00.002-06:00

I didn't expect 2011 to feel any different, but when I woke up this morning (once I got past severe grogginess) I felt really optimistic. This year will definitely be better than 2010 for me in general, and I hope it will be better for my writing as well. I've been writing poetry off and on throughout break, so I've made writing into a new habit. That's one goal from last year I can check off my list. One other goal from last year was to read 50 books by the end of the year. I didn't quite get there, but 47 is still fairly respectable, I think. So, that goal is carried over to my list for this year. 50 books by the end of 2011. I'd love to make the goal of having the first draft of my novel complete and cohesive, but I won't set that one just yet. I don't know what God wants me to work on this year, and I need to take things as they come while trusting Him. I found a poem I wrote two years ago just after New Year's, so I'll post it here.

Folding the Map

Withering, fading wandering wrecked
grays of speckled haze of a winter day
know not more than they know for their own
appointed moment.

Mist vanishes versus vernal dreams
clearing a course for the rest of time,
which they contain no vision of.

For the suspicion of eternity is
only a suspicion, but for One
Who subsumes every solution and never
a single speculation.

Every speck of pollen holds
a glimpse of time but will never know
the ages of the oceans.

Celebrate Me Home

2010-12-25T06:58:00.008-06:00

I was intending this post to be on New Year's Eve, but I can't wait. I may have to update it before then with revisions, but it's 7:00 am on Christmas morning, and I'm antsy.

Every year I compile a list of books I've read and denote recommendations. As you should know by now, I'm quite fond of lists. So, this is mine for 2010. I encourage you to make a book list as well. I'd love to know what other people are reading. Many of these were chosen by myself, others were required reading, and still others were recommendations. I love getting book recommendations. They make me feel warm and fuzzy, like when I eat gingerbread Pop Tarts while cuddled up in a blanket. (Yes, that's what I'm doing right now.)

So, happy reading, and Merry Christmas!!!

Dracula - Bram Stoker*
The Children of Hurin - J.R.R. Tolkien
Bird by Bird - Anne Lamott *(If you're a writer)
A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving*
Lawrence of Arabia - Anthony Nutting
The Death of Ivan Ilych - Tolstoy
The Awakening - Kate Chopin*
Confessions of a Non-Barbie - Kinda Wilson*
We Have Always Lived in the Castle - Shirley Jackson*
The Screwtape Letters - C.S. Lewis
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger*
The Shining - Stephen King*
Lady Chatterly's Lover - D.H. Lawrence
Different Seasons - Stephen King*
The Lathe of Heaven - Ursula Le Guin*
All's Well That Ends Well - Shakespeare
A Novel Idea - various authors including Angela Hunt and Terri Blackstock*(If you're a writer)
Their Eyes Were Watching God - Zora Neale Hurston*
The Mysteries of Udolpho - Ann Radclffe*(If you're okay with an exhaustingly long read/if you're a die hard Austen fan)
The Stranger - Albert Camus*(If you like weird French writers)
The Complete Greek Tragedies including Hecuba, The Trojan Women, Andromache, andIon - Euripides III
The Return of the King - J.R.R. Tolkien*
Mere Christianity - C.S. Lewis*
The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner
The House of the Seven Gables - Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Complete Sherlock Holmes Volume 1 - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle*
Moo - Jane Smiley
Death in the Garden - Elizabeth Ironside*
The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas*
Sushi for One - Camy Tang*
Antigone - Sophocles
Hamlet - Shakespeare*
American Gods - Neil Gaiman*
Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand*
The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins*
Catching Fire - Suzanne Collins*
Mockingjay - Suzanne Collins*
Smoke and Mirrors - Neil Gaiman*
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson* (DISCLAIMER) Very explicit violence and sex. But, worth the read. It's fantastic.
The Girl Who Played With Fire - Stieg Larsson*
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest - Stieg Larsson*
Jane Slayre - Charlotte Bronte & Sherri Browning Erwin* (If I had never read Jane Eyre, I'd still love this. It's wonderful.)
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? - Edward Albee*
Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury**
Something Wicked This Way Comes - Ray Bradbury**
A Streetcar Named Desire - Tennessee Williams*
Only Uni - Camy Tang*

Favorite Words

2010-12-22T12:15:00.002-06:00

Last semester, I was instructed to compose a poem using some of my favorite words. It turned out to be very nautical, which surprised me. Although I think it's because I tried to use the words I love and not very many extras. I like fathom as a verb rather than a noun, but eh. It fit. It was a very fun exercise to do, so I think you should try it. I'd certainly like to know other people's favorite words.

Ode to an Oarsman

A beetling minion
Gilds the depths
With round alchemy.
His sleight-of-hand rudders
Against thumpable fathoms.
The arrowy surface smoothes,
Placates itself and basks.

Invective

2010-12-15T21:49:00.002-06:00

I hesitated posting this here, but new poetry is new poetry. I wrote it in trochaic tetrameter. Okay, so I didn't write it that way at first. But I revised it in that meter anyway. It's addressed to my own personal demon.

Scorn for the Scorner

Bureaucratic sycophant
rising up in rank, your reign
discontinues here and now.

You suppose my heavy eyes
cannot see you in the night,
but I feel your bulk against my
chest, just pressing to my core.

You are not a skulking shadow,
nor a many-horned beast.
You are nothing but a cheap suit.
Probably borrowed that tie as well.

A Mephistopheles you are
not. A fallen angel locked
low under a raging river?
Hardly. Just a peon who will
not fulfill his given task.

Now my soul will not meet with your
loathsome teeth. Instead the soup
d’jour will be a bit more dour.
Dreary. Demonic. Dispossessed.

And Other Poems

2010-12-10T14:13:00.002-06:00

The word count on my story has not increased any since my last post, so in order to appease your righteous indignation, I offer this explanation:

I have been writing poetry.

When I enrolled in the course titled Studies in Poetry, I believed I would be submerged in the mechanics of poetry, able to appreciate great works of the past in new ways.

That has certainly been achieved, but quite a bit more on top of that has happened as well.

The group of people I took the class with are some of the most talented I've ever met, and as we plodded through the course, it became obvious that writing copious amounts of poetry was helping us understand and appreciate things better. So that is what we did. On the last week of class, our benevolent professor collected three poems from each of us and bound them in a book titled The Darkness Consumes All Light And Other Poems. Credit goes to my friend Caleb for the title. It bears the same name as one of his poems in our small anthology.

You won't find it in stores. I think we may be the only ones who own copies, and I'm proud to have a piece of this semester to keep.

Next semester I'll be in the 4000 level Poetry Writing class. There are four main poems assigned throughout the semester to be beaten and prodded and edited and revised and tortured numerous times through workshops. I'm sure there will be other small assignments, so I'll try to post those. For now, I'll try to keep up with my blog until the spring semester begins.

So now as part of my penance, please accept this poem. It isn't one I composed for the class. I'm sure I'll post plenty of those later.

Hate That

I’ve been moping around today
with some sick sense of anticipation
and trying to place exactly what it feels like.
A little like the thrill of the chill when
the air is cool enough to frost the windows
on my Volkswagen.
A little like opening a parcel from a relative
who doesn’t know how to buy presents.
Then it hit me.
This is the feeling that comes right when someone stops
in the middle of their sentence.
That hanging dread and gnawing agony.
Don’t you just—

Broccoli, Broccoli, Broccoli

2010-07-27T10:04:00.003-05:00

So, it's been a while. I wish I could tell you that my absence could be equated with an astronomical word count, but honestly it equates to bupkus.

You see, for the past six months I've been dealing with some health issues. Starting near the first of this month they became much, much worse. I decided to get checked out, and the results of the (extensive) blood work told me that I was extremely anemic. My iron levels are desperately low, I'm lacking B12, and my vitamin D is quite questionable.

Severe anemia is exhausting. This has been my main problem--I sleep for eight to nine hours a night and still find myself tired all day. I supplement this with a three to four hour nap in the afternoon just so I can keep myself going, but even after that I'm still tired. It's no way to live. And it's no way to work. I have things to do!

So I'm undergoing a radial change. Lots of protein (particularly red meat, which I do not particularly enjoy eating), lots of iron rich foods (I should eat my broccoli as well as listen to it), and I need to exercise past the pain. Just going up the stairs makes me feel like I've just run two miles, so it will take some time to build up any kind of tolerance.

Needless to say, I haven't been writing. My mind as well as my body has been exhausted. I've been suffering some slight hallucinations as well. I'm paranoid enough as it is, and I don't want my neurotic tendencies showing through all that much in my writing. I had been identifying with one key character very much, but she's almost normal. She doesn't need my ill health-related quirks.

But with eating right and taking loads of vitamins, I should be back on my feet in no time. And back at my keyboard more often. JulyWriMo won't be completed by me this time, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try again. Thank you to my wonderful friends for your encouragement and prayers. I hope all your writing is going well and that you don't have to drink inordinate amounts of orange juice.

First She's Jekyll, Then She's Hyde. At Least She Makes a Lovely Pair.

2010-07-13T11:56:00.002-05:00

I almost started ranting about how some people refuse to acknowledge the Tiara and continue to play "Sweet Home Alabama" on their phones at full volume, but then I thought, "What good would that do?"

Anyway. It's another day and another quota. In order for me to meet my goal, I've been crunching some numbers to figure out what I need to do to catch up. I'm not as far behind as I thought, and reaching the end triumphantly is possible.

I had a really great conversation this morning with a friend about a great many things. One of them was how some people can be offended at tiny details while they can sit idly by while large issues parade right in front of them, as long as they're not affected. It's something that needs to be addressed--and soon! It turns out that both of us are addressing this very thing in both our stories (though in very different ways).

I've been told by a great many people that I shouldn't set out at the beginning of a project with a goal in mind to tell a story with a specific moral or message--my characters and art will suffer! They say I should just focus on the story, and the message will weave itself in. I'm not sure which of those tactics I'm commencing with, but things do seem to be getting done. The characters are developing, the story is moving, and little conflicts and problems are being brought up and addressed.

I think I need to take some time and write to a few of my characters and get their specific opinions on things. I've been spending a lot of time in my own head lately, and it would be great to get into theirs instead. I wonder what my antagonist will say about my Tiara. On second thought, it's probably better not to mention it to her.

Fake Canopic Jars

2010-07-12T09:04:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the stillness in my blog lately. Life seems to have struck again. I accomplished that 3,000 word goal on that day way back when, and I haven't written anything since. My parents and I got iPhones, so my laptop has been relinquished to my father's grip fairly often this weekend.

I also took some time to visit the Philbrook Museum of Art and see their new ancient Egyptian exhibit. Maybe it was because it was family free day, maybe because they spelled ushabti wrong on each exhibit, or maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day, but it was a bad day. Those have been happening to me a lot lately--don't get me wrong. Good things do happen to me, and I am grateful for them. But looking back the bad seems to outweigh the good by quite a lot.

Heartache and sorrow and disappointment are what writers live for, yeah? Well, I should be able to crack down this week and utilize my fury. I think my characters are all feeling a bit neglected from my absence. I can't say I blame them. And, thanks to the suggestion of the wonderful Camy Tang, I may relinquish my Cone of Shame for a tiara. Any name suggestions? I haven't thought of anything terribly clever.

How is your writing going? Your life? I hope it's all well--you all are in my prayers. Thanks for your constant encouragement through this turbulent month, and hopefully I'll be back to post here again tomorrow.

Word Document of Dry Bones

2010-07-08T09:53:00.002-05:00

Did I fulfill that 1,000 word promise? Why yes, I did.

Did I write anything yesterday? Nope. Insomnia has been wreaking havoc in my life.

What am I going to do about it? 3,000 words today. That's right.

When I was writing that last segment of 1,000 words, I realized that my writing has started to suffer a little bit. These goals and pushes for word counts are getting me to write, but I'm doing everything in odd spurts at a pace I'm not used to. It dawned on me that the lovely descriptions I like to include just aren't there. Sure, the story is moving along just fine. It's decent without them, but it's definitely not good. I think I may take some time out today to focus on things that have been happening in my story, places, characters, and things to come. I can place my descriptions in later. What good is creative writing when it's not terribly creative?

Tip for the day: Don't sacrifice your art.

I know I can always go back later and edit and add and revamp, but it's easier when the bones of a story have a little bit of meat on them.

My Mind's Heart. Peace. Pieces.

2010-07-06T12:15:00.002-05:00

Yesterday's word count: Zero.

If you're feeling disappointed in me right now, that's okay because I am too. This weekend brought forth so many problems and feelings and issues that my brain can't seem to deal with them all let alone be creative. I'm going to take some time today to journal, get my brain fog cleared up a bit, then I'll crank out at least 1,000 words. That's a promise.

I hope by the end of things my word count today looks more like 10,000, but we'll see.

Writing is cathartic, and I'm going to trust God that in doing what I know I'm supposed to do (writing), He will ensure I have peace.

Over and over, I have to remember this blessing: And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

I'll be speaking it over you too. I hope that your writing endeavors are progressing, but above all that you have joy and peace.

Believe It or Not, I'm Walking on Air...

2010-07-04T10:42:00.003-05:00

This morning I decided to indulge my list-making urges. How so? Well, you see I have a list of books I want to read. They're not prioritized or anything, but they're there. Every so often I go through it and delete the books I've read. Why is this big news? I've finally broken 300. That's correct ladies and gentlemen, I only have 275 books to go.

Please note that this list expands at exponential rates whenever I get recommendations and things, so my victory will be short-lived.

In other list-related news, my JulyWriMo count is looking a little pitiful. Since my entire family is home for four days (due to the holiday weekend), I've had some trouble finding peace and quiet in moment when I feel like writing. Now, I know what you're thinking--you don't have to feel like writing to do it; just get over yourself!

Yes, you have a point. But may I ask you--have you ever tried to hunker down and write for a long period of time on an empty stomach after you've been made to watch a Eureka marathon that made your brain want to explode? Probably not. But if you have, and if you have successfully, I thoroughly commend you. It seems like the world is against me and my 50,000 word count dreams this weekend, so I'm embracing it and getting other things done.

That's one thing I've learned lately--roll with the punches, even in your writing. Someone you've just met finds out you're a writer and badgers you for minute details about the novel you're working on? Have patience, be as vague as you want to, remember to be polite, and let it slide off. A family member asks three times a day how your novel's coming? Chances are since they're family, they know you have a breaking point--so when you finally snap and start shrieking about your characters not wanting to talk to you, they'll understand.

And another thing courtesy of Zombieland--you've gotta enjoy the little things.

One piece of birthday cake left? Eat it. BOGO sale at Shoe Carnival? At least go and look. Greatest American Hero marathon? Go indulge your cheesy TV tastes a while.

I'm Not Really Better at Titles Than This

2010-07-02T10:35:00.003-05:00

But thank you Susan for the vote of confidence.

So, yesterday kicked off my JulyWriMo endeavor. I cranked out 1,751 and managed to introduce three characters. Was that my goal? It totally was. Oh, including my blog yesterday my word count is 1,871. Is it cheating to count blog words? Probably. I'll make notes along my list.

I'm having to fight myself so I don't make a huge calendar with blank spots and highlights and boxes and all sorts of organizational tidbits. I could be using that time to write, and I don't need to feed my list-making tendencies any more than I already do.

I'm still reading The Sound and the Fury right now, and I'm about 3/4 of the way through. Even though it's probably the most difficult book I've ever read, I'm really enjoying it. I'm able to incorporate some themes Faulkner uses into my own story. During Quentin's narrative (the second part of the book) the watch his father gave him and time in general play a huge role. One of my characters needed to visit a shop yesterday, and it turned into a clock shop. The small clock on my desk provides large, ample ticks and pushed my fingers along the keyboard nicely.

I still haven't made a writing hat for myself, but I do have a few ideas. If worst comes to worst I'll just strap a party hat on my head. Or face. Maybe I could double them up so they cover my ears. That way it's not only obvious I'm writing but also it blocks out some sound. I wouldn't look ridiculous at all right? Right? Eh.

I'm jealous of the Wrap of Wrath and the Fedora of Fury. I'll think of a better name for my Cone of Shame later.

I Think Anne Lamott is Always Right

2010-07-01T07:58:00.003-05:00

After a much needed break, I'm back. The past few days have been full of fun, friends, and exhausting partying. Such a hard life, eh? I really am glad to have taken a break from blogging and writing in general. Why? Today's the kickoff of JulyWriMo. If I average about 1,600 words per day or about 11,200 a week I'll stay on track.

My goal before the conference was about 2,000 words per day and I kept up with that pretty well. I'm feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Why's it always a mixture?

I hope your writing is going well and progressing nicely. I'm taking mine a little at a time, bird by bird.

All Twenty Boxes--No More and No Less

2010-06-26T09:44:00.002-05:00

I was reading through some of my old writing journal entries, and I found this quote from Carolyn Chute [quoted in Bird by Bird] which says,

“I feel like a lot of time my writing is like having about twenty boxes of Christmas decorations. But no tree. You’re going, Where do I put this? Then they go, Okay, you can have a tree, but we’ll blindfold you and you gotta cut it down with a spoon.”

Can anyone else relate to that? I have all those boxes. Some of the decorations are dusty and I can't see them completely clearly, but they're definitely there. My tree? I have it in my possession--except it's a put-it-together-yourself-piece-by-piece fake tree. I've got the bottom up in a stand, and I've actually already started decorating it. I have the top of it all fluffed out and ready for ornaments, but all those fiddly bits in the middle still call for me to sit down and work them out one by one. I can see them all there, laying haphazardly on the floor. But I don't know what order they need to go in and how big each piece will be when I put it on the tree.

Since I'm participating in JulyWriMo (copyright Megan), I guess that will all work out soon. The goal is to write--write! I'll inevitably count some of my research I'm bound to go back and do and my character journals as writing. In fact, I'll probably painstakingly number my words so I can legally reach my count, but I do need to focus on free writing. And by free writing I mean writing creatively, binding those middle parts together and making a complete, freestanding tree.

Have I taken this metaphor too far? I feel like I can smell plastic pine needles and dusty tree toppers, so I'll take that as a yes and stop for now.

What does your tree look like?

Yes, Chababaland is a Real Place

2010-06-25T10:03:00.002-05:00

So I fell behind in my writing yesterday--both blog-wise and in general. Did I do something productive in its place? Well, I unlocked all the meals in Cooking Mama. I know--I'm terrible. I'm not sure I'll get any writing done today either. Why? Both my parents are off today, and they're going to be dragging me all over chababaland.

I just got done grocery shopping in 80-something degree weather at nine in the morning. That's just ungodly. The heat pricklies have started to go away as I sit under a blasting air conditioning vent, and I don't want to leave my icy sanctuary. However, duty calls.

Writing advice for today? Just do it. Even if it's for five minutes. I'll take my own advice too--I promise, at least five minutes of writing today at the bare minimum.

Each Laser Is Stupidly Powerful

2010-06-23T09:34:00.002-05:00

I finally exhausted all my notes from Glen Eyrie, so you're safe from extremely long posts for now. I think.

I've been trying to find balance between reading and writing. I'm in the middle of Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury right now. Aside from being a great (if ridiculously confusing) book, it's a requirement for my Literary Traditions class in the fall. I decided that I should read the books on the list for that class I hadn't yet read this summer so I could be prepared. I'm glad I chose to read this one before the fall. It's taking quite a bit of effort, even though I'm enjoying it.

I keep getting caught up in whatever I'm doing though. If I start reading, I don't stop until some pressing need arises. That means I've most likely overstepped my time frame and wasted some precious writing time. Now I know you've got one burning question in your mind--"You're not working right now; what do you mean you don't have time to write?!"

I'm glad you asked. What else is taking up my time? Well, there are the run of the mill excuses: laundry, cleaning, cooking, showering, taking care of the dog, etc. What I should really tell you is that there's a stupid flash game I've been playing mindlessly. It's called Super Bloons Monkey, and for whatever reason I'm hooked. Today I'm taking a Bloons moratorium so I can really focus. Just watch--as soon as I sit down to do some research and outlining, someone will text or call me. I love how life happens in such inconvenient bursts.

Setting with Nancy

2010-06-22T10:51:00.003-05:00

Last Workshop with Nancy at Glen Eyrie

Setting is an often neglected character in a story—it can bring the reader into the environment.

The setting needs to breathe as much as the characters do.

Is your protagonist living in the wrong place? It’s part of the story! Their relationship with the setting can grow and change.

Never let the setting be generic! Unless you have a very specific reason. Don’t be afraid of descriptive passages! Weave it into the story.

EXERCISE:
What is the specific setting for your story overall?
Is this setting your protagonist’s ally or antagonist?
It is your job to make sure the reader knows that relationship.

Write a quick paragraph in which your main character expresses his/her feelings about the place (can be to you):
[Insert paragraph here]

DONALD MOSS WORKBOOK (recommendation) (After the first draft!)

Find one symbol, inherent in the place that could point to the answer to the question. (What might you put on the cover of the book?)

Write a paragraph where the protagonist comes upon that symbol the first time:
[Insert paragraph here]
Make little copious details about the places you go. Don’t think that you’re not making progress if you’re not increasing your word count. Specificity and details and preparation are work!

Get some of the experience on you! “You don’t know what you don’t know unless you go there”

Principles of setting a la Angie:

Heighten the tension by putting the characters in a setting they can’t escape them.
Make sure the story couldn’t take place anywhere else.
Remind the reader of the setting at least once in every chapter. Make it subtle, but keep the reader anchored.

Characters with Nancy

2010-06-21T08:07:00.002-05:00

Workshop from 6/8/10

“Our scriptures have an aversion to abstractions of any kind and prefer to use stories and metaphors to keep us involved and participating in what is right before us.” – Eugene Peterson

Harry Bosch crime novels (recommendation from Nancy)

Truths must be felt in some way! Characters must experience the truths and feel them. Don’t make things melodramatic with pure sentiment.

For the reader to be able to feel what the character feels, they have to relate to and understand the character. AND the author has to as well.

HERE’S ONE APPROACH TO CHARACTER PLANNING

Protagonist: the best vehicle for answering your theme question

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Unique physical characteristics:
Personality traits that make him/her the best vehicle:
Background – what’s made your character the way he/she is?
Most important relationships:
His/her goal in the story/what drives him/her:
His/her hidden need in the story:

Antagonist: the best vehicle for getting in the protagonist’s way
(same breakdown)

Protagonist’s Allies: who will provide him with support?
(same breakdown)

Antagonist’s Allies: who will help her get in the way?
(same breakdown)

You can have a journal for each protagonist where you can write to them and they can write to you. (This may seem extremely weird at first, but just try it!)

Rules for characters:
1. You have to make them suffer.
2. You have to allow their attempts to reach their goal to fail, at least sometime.
3. You have to get them to a place of no return. (Bleakest moment)
4. Have your protagonist question the assumptions they had at the beginning of the story.
5. You have to give them qualities that sometimes serve them well and sometimes don’t. They can’t be perfect. You don’t have to have your antagonist turn out perfect
6. You have to provide them with tension on every page. TENSION.

Donald Moss literary agent in New York – Writing Your Breakout Novel (get the workbook!!)

No back story in the first thirty pages! Trust the reader to move along.

Good Thoughts About Writing on a Sunday

2010-06-20T10:56:00.002-05:00

Sorry about my lack of posting yesterday. I spent Friday afternoon through Saturday night out living life, seeing concerts, hanging with friends, and soaking in the whole anime experience at Tokyo in Tulsa. But, I'm back! And I have a good chunk of info for you all. It's from Nancy's individual workshop at the conference. These are my notes from the first day.

Relationships with Nancy 6/7/10

Psalm 45 (Message) “My heart bursts its banks, spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the king, shaping the river into words.”

Finding the core of what you’re working on

Eugene Peterson Christ Plays in 10,000 Places “Story is the most natural way of enlarging and deepening our sense of reality, and then enlisting us as participants in it. Stories open doors to areas or aspects of life that we didn’t know were there, or had quit noticing out of over-familiarity, or supposed were out-of-bounds to us.”

Christ rarely interpreted his stories. He only explained that to his disciples—stories speak for themselves.

Book – Love Walked In (recommendation, novel)

Consider your story:
Is it enlarging and deepening someone’s sense of reality?
Are you enlisting other people to participate in it?
Is your story going to open doors to aspects of life that your readers may not know were there?Are you reminding people of the importance of some facet of life? (Ex. Hook)
Are you showing them they can understand things they thought they were beyond them?
Are you welcoming someone in and giving them a sense of home?

How to do these things:

Don’t think that you have to know exactly how to finish it and how you’re going to ensure its success. There is no guarantee of “success.” There is a guarantee it will not be successful if you don’t commit to it completely.

What a Christian novel is:

1. Christian elements can be overtly spoken, covertly alluded to, or it may never be mentioned at all. BUT it must be inherent to the story. You need to make sure your story wouldn’t work without it.

“Preach the gospel always. Use words if necessary.” – St. Francis of Assisi

It can’t be plastered on—it has to be woven in.

Psalm 16:2 “I say to God, ‘nothing without You makes sense.’”

It needs to show Christianity in people’s lives as it is, not as we wish it would be. How much banana are you going to put in your pie? Because it needs to be a banana pie.

2. It should provide a mirror for readers to identify with characters.

3. It should entertain as well as to edify. It’s a story. Make them cry, make them laugh!
Nancy’s own advice—it should be a book that people want to OWN. I want the story to be a place where my readers wish they lived.

Sunflower seed

The big, beautiful sunflower you want to create has to start as a seed.
One word that captures what you’re trying to say in your novel:

Examples: Equality, justice, family, hope, etc.

“What if” question:

Ex: What if something wrong is so widely accepted it becomes normality and combat seems impossible?

What do you think is the answer?

[Insert answer to your question here.]

Write a paragraph in which you briefly tell how your protagonist can come to the answer.

[Insert paragraph here.]

The closer you get to the truth, the more you want to resist it. (from Nancy)

There is freedom in limitation. Don’t be looking at other things than what God intends for you to be looking at. Don’t be like an Irish Setter!

Book of Common Prayer - Send us out to do the work you intended for us to do with gladness in our heart.

Have a verse of Scripture that underlines your question and answer.

Name of protagonist:
Obvious need as it appears at the beginning:
Protagonist’s hidden need:

“Plot is what happens. Story is what it does to the person it happens to. Plot is the motion. Story is the emotion. Plot is the outer journey. Story is the inner journey. Plot is the road it takes to get there. Story is the path to the truth.”

Inciting incident (22 minutes into the movie):
(If it’s in the first chapter, that’s not where it belongs.) You have to make the readers care about the characters. Inciting incident needs to be a quarter of the way in. (Fantasy can be a little different. See what works!) Keep the reader moving forward.

What goal is produced for protagonist through inciting incident?

Jim's Address and a Short Summation of My Struggles

2010-06-18T09:06:00.004-05:00

James Scott Bell - Recharge

Process

1. Inspiration – John Gardner “The good artists are the people who are creating out of deep and honest concern . . .” The wallowing world needs writers with a vision. They don’t need more “pooping bear material.” “Great art makes you homesick for heaven.”

2. Imagination – Allow it to run free—don’t edit yourself as you write. “The Greatest Story Ever Told” John Wayne centurion. “Awe, surely this is . . .” Give your mind free reign—write stuff anyway.

3. Intention – be intentional about learning the craft. Do things with excellence.

4. Instruction – Seek out books and teachers. Otherwise you might end up with clunky writing. “He was as tall as a six foot tree.” Take your writing to the next level.

5. Implementation – Take what you learn and put it into action. Make yourself finish. Set a quota for yourself. If you have trouble with a daily one, set a weekly quota. If you miss a day here or there, you can make it up later. “Go after it with a club” – Jack London. Take a writing Sabbath once a week.

6. Irrigation – Fresh watering that you need to sustain yourself—Holy Spirit—nurture your spiritual life. A. W. Toser “Natural gifts and talents are not enough in God’s work. The mighty spirit of God . . .” Holy Spirit = chief energizer. When you get rejections, they could have been a blown call. Instead of getting mad, allow it to hurt for fifteen minutes and no more.

7. Impatience – Be prepared to wait. Priorities can be a hazard. Don’t sacrifice other things to the writing dream.

8. Envy – Be ready! It sneaks up. Go to the Lord with it. (R.A. Torrey) Keep in step with the Spirit. Movie—The Hustler (with Paul Newman) – example of a story that isn’t done with spiritual terms BUT still reaches people.

*End of Address*

I have just agreed to do NaNoWriMo in July. Yeah. It's my first time, and my brain may be sizzling by the end of the month, but I think this is necessary for me. I wasn't too sure, but I was praying about it last night and I kept bargaining with God to get out of doing it. I could tell He wasn't amused. So, I asked him for grace to get through it, and the mood lightened. God can do amazing things in my life. I just need to be cooperative.

Anyone else doing NaNoWriMo next month?

An Excerpt from Kathy Mackel's Keynote Address

2010-06-17T09:12:00.004-05:00

Rebirth

Writers are always pregnant with ideas. But no one says to you, “Congratulations! You’re with story!”
Conception—when you commit time and energy
Stretching—having to go further and deeper

Isaiah 26:17-18 – "As the pregnant woman approaches the time to give birth, she writhes and cries out in her labor pains, thus we were before you, O Lord. We were pregnant, we writhed in labor, we gave birth, as it seems, only to wind. We could not accomplish deliverance for the earth, nor were inhabitants of the world born."

Make sure that your writing gives birth to more than wind. How disappointing would that be? To work on something for so long, but since you didn't do it for God it amounts to nothing?

At some point, those faithful to God will meet God in their writing.

Not everything we write will see the light of day, but everything will see the light of life.

You might have to go back and re-birth it.

Ezekiel 37:1-10 (Valley of dry bones)
- what God is asking of you
- be born again as a writer
- re-birth each other!

Will you surrender to love?

*End Keynote Address*

That part about giving birth to wind--yeah, that's when I started bawling. It's something I worry about a lot. What am I doing all this for? I think I'm listening to God and letting him lead me through my writing, but what if it's just me? Writing for the Lord is a heavy responsibility, which is why you might need to rebirth your story to make sure it produces more than just wind. Rebirth each other. Renew, refresh, rebirth, recharge. Be reinspired!

I Cannot Control My Book Lust

2010-06-16T13:26:00.002-05:00

I fully intended on getting someone a present (in which I succeeded). I did not intend on buying (new) books for myself, but I succeeded in that anyway. Oh well. They were on sale. That excuses me right? Right? Fine.

I got quite a bit further in my outline yesterday. Instead of ploughing on writing and writing, I decided to outline what I already had so I could continue on outlining the middle bits I need. (I have the ending. Mostly.)

To help the rest of you, as well as myself, with the writing process here are 10 characteristics of a good writer according to James Scott Bell:

1. Desire—It has to come from you. You have to be willing to sacrifice.
2. Discipline—You have to find a way to produce the words (a minimum on a regular basis)
3. Commitment to the craft
4. Patience
5. Honesty
6. Willingness to learn
7. Business-like attitude
8. Rhino skin—Rejection of your work is not a rejection of you unless it is accompanied by a punch on the nose.
9. Take the long-term view
10. Talent (& discipline)

I really need to keep these in mind and try to embody them in my work. Especially number two. I have to keep at it. Just keep swimming . . .

Notes from Angie Hunt's Keynote Address at Glen Eyrie

2010-06-15T09:52:00.002-05:00

Rather than trying to sum up what I learned in each lesson, I figured I might as well just give you my notes. I wish I had a taken a tape recorder so I could put down verbatim what I heard. I can't describe the feelings and nuances of each session, but I wish I could. I also cannot read my own sloppy handwriting sometimes. There is a sentence in my notes that looks like, "Sonutinus can't place crucial message until 3rd or 4th draft." Yeah, I don't know what that's supposed to be. But the rest of it is pretty straightforward I think. More notes from the conference to come in the future. Enjoy!

“You must write. You must finish what you write.” – Robert Heinlein

6/7 Angie Hunt

“Praise the Lord and stay at the computer.”

Fiction is a microcosm of the world. If it presents a false version of truth, it cheats the reader. It’s lying propaganda.

Re-inspire

What inspires you? “The mortgage.” What inspires your ideas, hard work, to keep going?

Proverbs 3:4-5 “Trust the Lord with all your heart . . .” Pads are made for walking. Lean not on your own understanding, but still use it. Do what you think is sensible and logical—then let God direct your path. Don’t whine about it—be grateful. Conventional wisdom isn’t for you. Success is God’s doing, not yours.

Colossians 3 “Whatever you do or say, do it as a representative . . .”

Our work is an offering to the Lord. That’s why we polish! Focus on offering a worthy sacrifice.

“Excellence is the place where precision meets passion.” – Pastor Derrick

2 Samuel 24 “I cannot offer to the Lord that which cost me nothing.”

Don’t send manuscripts prematurely.

Start walking! Prove yourself a good steward! When God gives you a small thing, he isn’t doing it to see if you can. He’s doing it so you can see that you can. You are and always will be in the middle. There are always writers less talented than you and some more talented. Keep a healthy perspective.

God is waiting to see what you do with what you’ve been given. Beware of eternal consequences. Write as though your piece is bought, paid for, and distributed. Think of the brothers and sisters you can encourage. Don’t look for shortcuts. Write an irresistible story until you find an editor that agrees. Getting you foot in the door is hard; keeping it there is harder.

Avoid being distracted by illustrious offers asking you to work for the praise of men. We have to see ourselves as ministers to an unseen audience months down the road. Know what springs from self and what springs from spirit. Write wholeheartedly! Give the Creator praise! When we wield words, we reflect God’s image and creative drive. We’re driven to show the greatest truth to the world. Don’t put yourself under a lot of pressure. Laugh, learn, have fun, laugh when you need to. Strive for excellence, support brothers and sisters.

Icky Thump

2010-06-13T22:55:00.003-05:00

I heard a noise earlier tonight, and when I went to see what it was, I found a tree frog attached to the window by the door. It was a nice little surprise. :)

So, I got back into town today. It's nice to be home, but I miss Colorado, my family, Glen Eyrie, and the amazing scenery. When the flight got into Tulsa, the flight attendant noted that, "It's hot. It's muggy. It's hot and muggy." I'm glad she didn't give an exact temperature, otherwise I would have been tempted to stow away on the plane. It was about 95 degrees outside. I don't even want to consider the humidity.

I'm unpacked, laundry is on its way, and I'm uploading my photos to Facebook in batches. Apparently it doesn't like my uploading things in bulk. Oh well, it will cope.

I keep waking up with the theme song in my head. It might be annoyingly catchy, but it's a nice reminder of last week and all that went on. It was easily the best week of my life. I got closer to God, learned some amazing things, met some fantastic people, and spent some time both relaxing and going non-stop having endless fun. Side note--Cooking Mama for Wii is on my birthday list now. My bday is June 28th, so you still have time. ;P

Reinspired

2010-06-09T00:14:00.002-05:00

This place is something special. I'm not talking about the castle or the scenic views and wildlife or any of that. There is a peace here and such a blessing that I cannot even begin to know how to describe it properly. I haven't posted in a bit because I've been taking everything in. And I mean everything. The writing workshops, the fellowship, everything. And everything God has been intending to say to me.

I would love for my mom to have come with me and experienced this, but being alone out here has given God a chance to speak to me. I just thank Him so much for all He's done. The blessings in the past day alone are almost innumerable.

I just settled into my room for the night, got ready for bed, and took off my make up. Not that there was much left. I just spent the past few hours talking to a wonderful brother in Christ. He exorted and uplifted me so much not only by his own personal testimony, stories, and opinions, but also through what he ended up saying to me personally. The Holy Spirit had a lot going on tonight in the third floor workshop room. He said that when he walked by and saw me alone with my laptop that he felt in his heart just to come in and say hi. What we talked about has benefitted me so much already.

I thought I'd been feeling closer to God, mostly because I was surrounded by godly people and this amazing setting. But now that I think about it, it was mainly sentiment. This discussion has given me and incredible amount to consider, to pray about, to do, and to relax in.

And I've realized that all writers go through hurt--many of them go through the most heart-rending pain imaginable. We've been advised on how to make our protagonist have a "bleakest moment" and that we should take something we've written that's bad to them and make it worse. And then we need to go at it again. And a third time for good measure. I thought that was extreme, especially in the context of my own story but now I know that God wants us to mirror our own lives through every aspect of what we offer up to Him as our writing and our craft.

I hope that you all know how much God loves you, how tender He is, how He loves being Daddy--Abba. I'm praying continually for the people I've met here, and those I already know and love.

I guess I just want to end this post by saying thank you. You, my friends, have done so much for me. I'll never be able to tell you how much. But I'll try.

6/7/10 4:28 am (Colorado time)

2010-06-07T11:15:00.001-05:00

Yes, I’m awake. Apparently the extreme stress of yesterday is preventing me from resting and has managed to turn into my stomach feeling like it’s doing flips. I ate some almonds, and it’s feeling better. But now I’m awake. There were a couple of things I forgot to mention yesterday. The first is that I saw seven Spanish-speaking Shaolin monks on the Dallas airport train. The second is that gate agents are just as insane as I am—the woman calling for passengers for my second flight got tongue tied while giving the message and just let it play out. She also forgot to take her hand off the intercom button. It came out something like, “Now all passengers wcouldmuffumpalum. Hahaha, I got a bit tongue tied there. I can’t even say it now. All aboard! *long pause* Wow that was really ba—is this still on? SHH!” Also, it seems like I have a strange talent for finding Canadians. I’ve met the three who happen to be here, and of course like them all. Canadians are much pleasanter than Americans on the whole I think. At least the Americans in the airport yesterday. I really have nothing bad to say about this place. Except maybe that air conditioning would help. It’s hard for me to sleep in a place warmer than 76 degrees.

Oh, the flashlight reference from the first entry. I’m glad you asked. The lodge I’m staying at isn’t terribly far from the castle, but it is uphill and in the dark. I walked back last night with a group of about four other women, and we were all trying to use our phones to light the way. The road in between things seems to be the only place I get phone reception. This wouldn’t normally be a bad thing, but apparently since I didn’t get to text my mom more than once after I got here she was a little antsy. Very understandable. We’re quite cut off really. Rather than continuing on blogging and yawning, I think I’ll get back to my manuscript. I need to prepare myself mentally for the things we’ll be doing in Nancy’s workshop today. I’ve heard stories.

P.S. I just heard two people out in the hallway, so apparently I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.

Supplementary Blog 6/6/10 Sergeant

2010-06-07T11:14:00.000-05:00

“817, 817 . . .”

“Redhorse. Just remember Redhorse. We were special ops. He’ll know.”

And now that he’s gone, I wish I had asked his name. I know he was born in 1937, he served in Vietnam (he was in Laos, but he’s not really allowed to say that), he lives in Florida, and he loves white water rafting. Reading, intent on delving into C.S. Lewis’ wisdom I was interrupted by his phone conversation with his wife. It’s raining in Jacksonville right now—he hopes they’ll be able to land. He’s just coming from Denver—visited his daughter, a registered nurse, who had a bowel blockage (that can be a very serious thing). He hopes this is the last time he’ll have to fly—he hates it. He’s not supposed to anyway. He still has shrapnel in his leg and face. Plus he can barely hear. Only ten percent in this ear—the right one. I had to suppress a laugh. The terminal was roaring with noise and I was speaking quietly, yet he could clearly hear me. He learns I’m from Oklahoma. Do I know the Will Rogers Turnpike? Why yes. I drive it almost every day. They have the world’s largest McDonald’s, in that city Vinita. The one over the road? That’s the one. And if I ever go to St. Louis I have to look for the floating barge by the Arch—it’s a McDonald’s too.

He’s glad to be coming home. Colorado’s not what he thought it was. Riff raff and crime. He likes peace. He’s lived in Kentucky, too. Never had to lock his doors. He called about his handicap sticker expiring. The woman greeted him and knew him by the sound of his voice. She said don’t bother with renewing it. Just get a Brillo pad and give that square a good scrub. He wrote in the new date as ’14.’ Goodwill wanted to know if he’d like to o back to Vietnam with them for a benefit. Hell no. His family thinks he’s not a good American for it, but he still hates the people over there. He can’t forget what happened. I said I didn’t think he was so bad.

I can’t relate to what he saw in that war, but I could feel the import of the tears welling up in his eyes. He was never close to his kids. They grew up while he was on duty. But he provided for them—college tuition for each one. And now when they’re sick, they call for Daddy. In all that time I sat next to him, thinking about his life and how hard things were for him to give so much up for his country, I never thanked him. He walked up to board his plane and wished me well. I returned the sentiment but nothing more. I know how he retired after 28 years of service, and how he worked in a coal mine to pay for his surgeries and for his family. But I’ll never know his name. Maybe this can be my thank you.

Written 6/6/10 10:14 pm (Colorado time) Sorry it's so long. :P

2010-06-07T11:12:00.000-05:00

So, I promised to blog as I go and I’m doing just that. However, I can’t post it. Why? There’s no wifi in the Big Horn Lodge (where I am currently situated). There is also no air conditioning, but I’ll leave that alone for now. My first day. What to say? Where to start? I should start at the beginning, but I might end up turning this day into a novel accidentally. Eh, I have the time and the solitude. I may as well.

My day started around 4:00 am (Tulsa time). Things went swimmingly. I remembered to pack all the things I needed (although now I wish I had brought a flashlight—I’ll get to that later). I made it through check-in and security, and my flight to Dallas was a breeze. Then came the layover. I just had to wait around from 8:05 until my next flight, which was leaving at 11:10. I had pancakes at T.G.I. Friday’s and proceeded to start reading Mere Christianity (which I highly recommend to everyone—Christians or non-Christians or whatever). I met a really amazing person while I was waiting, and as a tribute I decided to write about them. It will be a blog entry much like this one, but a supplementary one dedicated just to them. But, back to Dallas at 10:40 am.

I had been checking the board, studying my ticket, and waiting at my gate. Everything was fine. Right? When someone asks, “right?” the immediate response should be “wrong” so I won’t dedicate a whole sentence to it—whoops. I’m tired. Anyway, the gate changed. I didn’t see it. I wondered why they weren’t calling me. I tried to find the gate. About two hundred feet from where I started, I saw where I needed to be in the distance. I got there too late. Yes, I missed my flight. After a slight panic attack and a frantic call to my mom, who sounded nice for the most part. She encouraged me, told me what I should do, and tried to conceal the disappointment and anger in her voice the best she could. I talked to the world’s meanest gate agent who said he would put me on stand-by for the next flight, leaving at 3:45 pm.

Zoom forward a few hours and bottles of water and crying trips to the bathroom later.
It turns out he registered me on the flight properly. I was never stand-by and shouldn’t have had to fret about getting on that flight for those long agonizing hours. I have many things to say about that gate agent, but I just won’t do it. Out loud. Or here.

So, I landed in Colorado Springs, got in my car, and headed off to Glen Eyrie. I forget mountains get bigger as you get closer. Now, before you laugh hear me out. I really do know that this happens, but sometimes my mind doesn’t fully grasp it. How do I mean? Well, I’m used to seeing the Rockies at a goodly distance (yes, goodly). Now that I’m right up in them, I can fathom their immensity once more. Garden of the Gods is wonderful as ever. Kissing Camels is starting to erode and lose its shape, but hey I still knew what they were. The castle itself is magnificent. There really are tons of Big Horn sheep on the property. There were five by the road when I pulled in. Yes, I took pictures. After flinging my belongings into my room at the lodge, I trekked back to the main castle for dinner. I’ve met so many wonderful people so far—I don’t even know where to begin. I met Ann at the airport. Helena from Ontario came next. Then the Tulsa CWA club found me. Then came Megan. Nancy Rue came right up and hugged me. If you don’t know who she is, then shame on you.

Dinner was quite tasty, and the conversation was lively. For the most part of the day, however, I forgot why I was really here. When someone asked me, “So, what do you write?” my mind’s gears jammed. What do I write? What? Who? What? I fumbled for an answer and finally eased into something satisfactory. Apparently that question gets asked a lot here. Oh, and since I had nothing else to say to a few people I asked it too. A magpie flew up to the car as we were driving in. Was it a sign? I won’t dwell on it.

After dinner the first General Session commenced. The mentors introduce themselves, and the theme song was presented. Yes. I’ll see if I can video it on my phone at least once. Apparently we have to sing it each time we meet. The mentors explained their individual tracks for the conference and took questions. I’ve been wanting to take the course with Angie Hunt because of her wonderful methods, her organization, and her list making. Oh, I love lists. But the more I listened, the more I thought I needed to extricate myself from my comfort zone. Developing a relationship with the reader? Developing one with your characters? Utilizing your characters for a common theme? These questions make me panic. They’re the ones Nancy Rue will address, and that is why I have signed up for her workshops. I might indulge in Angie’s next year.
Kathy Mackel (one of the mentors) had us play a get-to-know-you game. After learning a fact about each person in our group (we had been herded against our will) with the help of strange cards, we were given an assignment: work with your group to create something that incorporates each of these things named. It can be a short story, a play, a skit, whatever. Once we stopped squawking about the impossibility of it all and got to work, our group threw together a skit. We were blessed to have a script writer among us, and she played the lead. The rest of us either narrated or were side characters. Kinda, I did a plug for your book in my segment. You can thank me later—I like dark chocolate, by the way. And people laughed. We were funny. The other groups went and some were much funnier, but that doesn’t diminish our success in my eyes. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good write!” I spent five minutes on that pun. Revel in it.

Holy Schnikes

2010-06-05T16:16:00.003-05:00

So, today's my last day in Oklahoma for a while. Did I use it to write to the extent of my ability? No, but I did finish my packing early, read a chapter or two of Return of the King, and watched The Wolfman.

How does that equate to being productive? It doesn't. Well, the packing was productive and necessary. I can hide behind that for now.

I've been having a lot of dreams about the conference and about airports in general. I hope none of them come to pass. They've not been all bad, but they have all been weird. In the latest one I ran into Stephen King during my layover in Dallas, and he took me out for lunch. I took a picture next to him, and so our faces were level I had to stand on a chair.

That wouldn't be terrible, but it would be quite awkward.

I'm bringing my laptop along with a notebook and pen. I'm bound and determined to record everything that happens. Will I post it all here? Maybe, maybe not.

There are going to be four main mentors at the conference, and after the first night we have to choose a track. I'm fairly certain I'll pick Angela Hunt--I'm wanting to focus on Process, which is the subject of her workshops. Just thinking about it, I'm getting nervous. I've been reading her books for years. I've sent her emails and things due to the fact that she helps out so much with the conference. She assures me that she looks forward to meeting me and that I should call her Angie. Please pray I don't throw up on her. And that I remember everyone else's names. And my own. And that I don't fall down any stairs.

Maybe just a blanket of prayer in general for me, if you would be so kind.

Hamburger or Hot Dog?

2010-06-04T09:26:00.003-05:00

That question in the title engendered about two hours' worth of discussion yesterday. Amazing.

Not sure if I have any profound advice today. I have the Weebls Scotch egg song in my head going round and round on loop.

I did finally get some writing done yesterday--about 2,300 words' worth. This is your cue to applaud and smile. Thank you, thank you.

Looking back on my fiction journals, I found an entry I spent musing over some advice. Said advice was that you should write at the same time every day. I don't do that. I tried for a while though. I thought, "Hm. 9:00 am sounds good." So I tried it. And failed. Right now I write whenever I can. I really like to be mostly alone in the house. I don't like having to explain myself and break my concentration when someone walks up and asks me what I'm doing. Is that selfish and eccentric? Yes. Can I get over that? Maybe. My mom suggested I make a writing hat that I plop on my head whenever the creative juices were flowing. I laughed, immediately thinking of me sitting at my laptop with a dunce cap on. But now I'm thinking about it more, it might be a good idea. It could be a visual aid to those around me so I don't have to wrench myself back into the real world after trying so hard to delve into my imagination. That's probably really silly though. Any suggestions from other writers out there? Anybody? Hm, I think I'll put that thought on the back burner for now.

Here's part of a writing journal entry from 1/20/10:

I was reading Bird by Bird today, and I ran across a quote by Carolyn Chute which says, “I feel like a lot of the time my writing is like having about twenty boxes of Christmas decorations. But no tree. You’re going, Where do I put this? Then they go, Okay, you can have a tree, but we’ll blindfold you and you gotta cut it down with a spoon.” It made me laugh—maybe a little too loudly because other students inhabiting the same general area in the library shot me stern glances. Not only is that how I feel about my writing, particularly the plot lines, but it’s also how I feel about my life right now. Everything is working out, and I know I’ll be fine but I’m slowly realizing that Bird by Bird really is instructions on writing and life. You’d think I’d realize that right away since the cover states it plainly, but no.

For those of you who don't know, Bird by Bird is a book on fiction writing by Anne Lamott. It's incredible, helpful, and funny. I'll probably be reading it again soon.

Colorado Springs, You are Not Prepared

2010-06-02T12:48:00.002-05:00

I'm really looking forward to being around other writers soon. I've been holing myself up a lot lately to write, and I've started getting extremely weird. Getting past a head cold has meant a lot of naps with a lot of cold-medicine-induced dreams. Those have started blending into reality. My idiosyncratic tendencies have also ramped up a bit. I don't normally consider myself an eccentric person, but lately I've gotten pretty batty.

Side note--beluga caviar comes from beluga sturgeon, not beluga whales. That has nothing to do with writing unless you want to include a character who eats illegal caviar, but just in case I thought I'd let you know.

After posting yesterday I got hit with patchy brain fog, and I only managed to crank out about 500 words. Not good. So, I have more ground to make up. Oh well. I hope the rest of you are having better fortunes with what you're working on. For now, I'm signing out. Off to lunch where I can showcase my new knowledge of sturgeon.

I'm baaaack

2010-06-01T14:09:00.007-05:00

So blogging world, it's been a while. I may not have made many entries in here during the last semester, but I was still writing. In fact, I was writing quite a bit. On top of short stories and things, I kept up a fiction journal. I might start going through those entries and posting them if there's anything worth sharing. Maybe I actually stumbled across something profound or inspirational. Or maybe it will just be amusing to see what comes out my imagination at four in the morning before a deadline.

Speaking of short stories, I picked one that I had been working on and decided to expand it. It's currently between 20,000 and 30,000 words. I'd give you an exact number, but I'm too lazy to open up Word at the moment. Is it the most life changing amazing thing I've ever written? Probably not. But it's definitely my longest work to date. Why take a 6,000 word story and try to blow it up in such a short time? Well, I'm glad you asked.

On Sunday, I leave for a writers' conference in Colorado Springs at Glen Eyrie. I'd really love to have my manuscript wrapped up by then, but it's not looking possible. So, I'll be glad at this point just to have the bulk of the first draft down. I'll give you a hint: it's not called No Horns or Trumpets.

I'm trying to get back into the habit of blogging because I'd really like to chronicle my experience out at the conference. We'll have time during the day for freewriting and aside from using that time to work on my story (and to take loads of pictures of the Glen), I'd like to use it to post things here. I'll be in the presence of several great, well-known authors. After the first general meeting, we will choose a track for the remainder of the conference. There are four tracks to choose from; one author will be the mentor for each track. I'm leaning toward picking Angela Hunt and her track about Process. I loved what she had to say in A Novel Idea, and I'd love to hear more.

Now that I've primed the writing pump, I think I'll get to work on that manuscript again. Must resist Facebook.

Hear ye, hear ye

2009-07-17T20:48:00.002-05:00

So, my resolution to blog more seems to have fallen short. I really like exploring other avenues the internet has to offer lately. I've also stepped up my reading. I apologize if my unexplained hiatus put off anyone.

I have some rather exciting news. It's not writing related, but it affects me directly. I finally have a photography site! http://www.sineceraphotography.com/

It was designed by Evan Olsen with Ink Blot Media.

Please check it out. And I know it's new, so there's bound to be a few kinks. If anything's not perfect, be sure to let me know.

Creativity

2009-06-04T16:40:00.002-05:00

More than ever, I'm striving to be creative in all I do. I was recommended The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp. I've only read excerpts as of yet, but it's all brilliant. Doing mundane things creatively and pushing yourself to be the best and loveliest you can be are great goals. I love to try new things and go on adventures. If you hadn't noticed, my posts dropped off a bit last month. Well, more than a bit. It's because I was out enjoying the world.

Writers can write until their fingers are numb, but without experience their words would be void. I've gotten a lot of fodder for stories and feel really refreshed.

So, good day to you. I'll be seeing you again soon.

Listography

2009-05-01T14:02:00.002-05:00

It's that time again--time to figure out my time. Back in December I set a lot of goals for myself, including my writing, but I didn't go into specifics about the summer. Finals week is almost ended, and I have a vast expanse laying ahead of me.
My first goal has to be to write every day--no exceptions.
I've been pretty content with writing at least once a week, or even whenever I get around to it. My classes have required a lot of time this semester, and I rationalized it out freely. Now, there's plenty of time.
My second goal should deal with what type of writing I want to do.
Do I want to dedicate the summer to a single long work? I'll always free write, and I'll always get distracted by little projects. But, is that where I want to focus my time? I have a few solid concepts I'd like to expand into novels. How do I choose?
My third goal needs to be more technically oriented.
I need to better understand how the writing world works. Even though I'm not ready to send anything in, I should start practicing writing query letters. And I should find places where I'll potentially send manuscripts in the future.
I'd also like to see where short stories can be submitted. Short fiction has always been a passion of mine, and I don't want to have to wait around until my name is out there in the literary world to write a compilation of short stories ad poetry. I don't necessarily want to submit things piecemeal, but the exposure would be beneficial, and I'm impacient. There's also a writer I know who would like to submit her stuff.

To my readers: what are your writing aspirations for the next season?

I want to challenge you to really work them out. Mine definitely aren't finished here. I've got a lot of tweaking and list-making to do. I encourage you to do the same.

Waiting Builds Character

2009-04-30T08:24:00.002-05:00

But the God of all grace, who has called us into His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that you have suffered a while, make you perfect, strengthen, settle you. 1 Peter 5:10

This is what I needed to read today, even though I didn't want to.

I hope it helps you, too.

At least napkins are less costly than tattoos

2009-04-20T10:25:00.003-05:00

I finally started organizing my ideas today. They've gone from haphazardly scrawled fragments to haphazardly scrawled sentences in a pretty notebook. Will I ever stop scribbling all over restaurant napkins? Probably not. I've started to develop the odd Memento-reminiscent habit of leaving myself notes all over the place. The weird thing is I don't remember leaving them until much, much later, or sometimes never. Sometimes there are sticky notes in my sock drawer. Sometimes there's a letter in the fridge. Sometimes I have Sharpie all over my elbow. My eccentricities are taking me over. How does the rest of the civilized writing world keep track of all their little ideas for stories? I can't carry around notebooks wherever I go--my purse already weighs about ten pounds. I'll find a better system someday. Or maybe I won't.

You forget yourself, sir.

2009-04-09T16:55:00.002-05:00

I wonder how many people are synesthetic. I think that everyone experiences some level of this whether they know it (or would like to admit it). In fact, this sparked a miniature debate in my philosophy class today. Philosophy was really pretty interesting. Today we moved onto David Hume, one of the last British empiricists we're taking a look at. His beliefs are really close to those of John Locke's, but he's a true cynic. He doesn't even think one can rationally believe that causes lead to effects just that causes lead to events. It's one of his main arguments. I just find stuff like that mindblowing. He's so cynical, he doesn't believe in anything outside of what can be sensed, though. He got rejected when he tried to become a member of some religious board, and I think that spurned him for good. After that he just sat around with his little intellectual group and giggled at the people who dressed up for church on Sundays.

My latest short story was work shopped yesterday. My creative writing professor enjoyed talking about it so much that she lost track of time, and we spent the entire class on it. I felt bad for my classmate, because his story won't be critiqued until Monday. Oh well. I got a lot of great feedback. It was liked unanimously. They also gave me a lot of great suggestions on how to improve what I have. I think it's going to be substantially longer when I hand in the final draft in a couple weeks.

On a much different note, I totally weirded myself out today. I'd like to weird you out, too. Last night I had some difficulty shutting my mind off in order to go to sleep. I finally wound down, and all of a sudden "Natty Bumppo" popped into my head. I thought, Natty Bumppo? Who was Natty Bumppo? Natty Bumppo. Then I fell asleep and dreamt about everything else in the world besides Natty Bumppo (as far as I can remember). I forgot about it upon waking and went on with my normal Thursday routine. In history we were talking about the literary awakening Ralph Waldo Emerson helped jumpstart, and The Last of the Mohicans was mentioned. I've never read the book, but I did see the movie quite a while ago. My teacher inquired if any of us knew the protagonist's name. No one responded, so he gave the hint that it was the same as a character on a 1960s show involving war and medicine. So I said, "Hawkeye!" My teacher smiled triumphantly. He asked if anyone knew the real name of the character. This was followed by a substantial amount of silence. He reassured us that it was real trivia and not many people really know. Natty Bumppo. Natty Bumppo.

Possibilities Before Breakfast

2009-04-08T08:44:00.000-05:00

So, I've finally taken the first step in "putting myself out there." I'm really hoping that I can change the name of this blog later. My brain is foggy and not able to think of many unique things this early. Last night I attended a great lecture about agenting. I had the opportunity to listen to three great agents and their views on many things. I'll probably post more about this later, when I feel like getting up and grabbing the notebook I had with me at the time.
Today I have a creative writing class at 12:00. We're worshopping one of my short stories along with one from another classmate. I'm looking forward to what everyone has to say. I think my main character is very strong, but I'm really not sure if I like the way I wrote the piece. And as always, my title is a work in progress. My mother is really the one who gave me the idea for the plot. And the title. Maybe she should write her own version--she'd probably do it more justice. I started out wanting to write an action story, because that's not a usual thing for me and it seemed the thing to do. I don't know how to classify what I ended up with. It's a bit dark, like most of my other work. But, it ends happily. I just can't seem to write light or fluffy things. Maybe someday.