From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

It's been a while...a long while. What's that adage about life happening when you were busy making other plans? Yeah, that happened. I remember finishing last year's A-Z blog in April, then I wrote my reflection post in May---which was closely followed by a depressing Mother's Day post (that I have since removed). And then, there's nothing. After that, I sort of faded away from the blogoshere--quite unintentionally. One missed blogging day turned into one missed blogging week, which became a month and now, finally, a year... I never planned on dropping out of sight, but then, life stuck its nose in and messed up my plans. Sad thing, nothing noteworthy happened during my year-long hiatus. I just did other things. I did complete another year of NaNoWriMo -- my 8th year--in November! And, it was the first year that I blew away the word count goal and set my personal best at 85K!! So, there was definitely a noteworthy month during my absence. Christmas cam...

That's 2 ins of solid ice folks, solid and unmoving Yesterday was my first official day of vacation , and what did I do? Watch the sleet and freezing rain accumulate and cover our entire little world---- surprising because it had been ~60 F the day before. Not so surprising because, well, it's bipolar season for the South. My husband didn't make it home last night. His boss convinced him to stay overnight for safety reasons, even agreed to pay him---wish I could get paid to have a sleep-over at work. Thankfully, we didn't lose power. So, the cat and I snuggled in the recliner, enjoying that we didn't have to go anywhere. I know the South gets a bad rap for our inability to cope with winter weather. But, give us a break, it's hard to deal with something you only see 3 days out of the year. Really, though, the issue isn't piles of snow, it's ICE. Because we have such bipolar weather, a 2-in "nothing" of snow will melt at noon, only to...

I've given a writer friend a few pep talks lately. They weren't anything too dramatic, just a bit of: ---it's okay to ignore your internal editor for awhile. ---it's natural to feel like everything you write is horrible. ---it's fine to have bad days. Most were directed toward his insecurities, which, not surprisingly, mirrored my own. And, since those conversations, I've taken some time to reflect on what we talked about, musing on just who I was trying to pump up more-- him or me. There's something about trying to encourage someone else that makes inspiring thoughts stick with oneself. It's like, you've taken in all this information meant to promote your own thoughts of well-being and creativity, but it isn't until you've tried passing on the digested motivation that the wisdom finally sticks. And, there's a lot of motivation out there, some inspiring, some ass-kicking, some even intended to make you buck-up (because how could ...

Today...tonight... 2 hours ago, I did something I've put off, procrastinated, and shied away from for the last 10 years--- I submitted my first work of fiction to a literary journal. When I first started writing (no, let me phrase that better), when I first began writing again, just after college, all I could think about was someday becoming published---one day I could call myself an author. It's funny, but when I was an 11-year-old poet, I never thought about using my writing to make a living. I just wrote because I wanted/needed to. And, while that want/need is still the same, 23 years later, now...NOW... I'm thinking of my writing with a career in mind. It isn't so much that I believe I can truly make a living from what I write---though I would love it if I could. No, what I'm thinking about now is the cold, hard fact that writing must be treated as a profession, and not a hobby, if I ever intend on doing anything with it. Every year I've accumulat...

Overheard a conversation in the bookstore the other evening between 2 twenty-something women as they walked through the store--- "I should really get my notes out again....I need to finish that book I was working on." The first woman commented. "Yeah," her companion added, "it ain't that hard to write a book." ***** Not sure how I would have responded if that conversation had been directed at me. As it was, I did everything I could to not laugh outright... didn't really need them upset because I was eavesdropping--- REALLY didn't need them thinking I was unhinged if they mistook my laughter (as there was no one near me) as a failing of my own sanity, however close to the truth that might be. Yes, I had to admit to myself, her companion was right--- "it ain't that hard to write a book." Truthfully, it doesn't take anything to plop a bunch of words on paper, finish the collection with "The End" and call ...

Writers are strange creatures... we know this, we are this, we don't mind this---- I actually think writers have the only socially acceptable form of mental disorder. I mean, who else can get away with having multiple personalities and murderous intent.... if the FBI ever researched our browser histories, we'd all be on the watch list (though, who's to say we aren't already). And, because we are such strange creatures, there are a few traits, er... habits, some of us have picked up along the way. Even famous writers still cling to rituals that run the gamut from the eyebrow-quirking unusual to the absolutely bizarre. Like Capote, who only wrote while lying down and smoking/drinking. Or, Nabokov, who wrote his novels on small index cards that he kept paper-clipped together. Then there's Cheever who purportedly wrote in his underwear. And, lastly, there's Eliot, who would, occasionally, only respond to "Captain" while sitting with his face tinted g...

Argh!! Why oh why does editing have to be so painful??? Wait, strike that---- why does reducing a document by a third feel like dismemberment??? Editing really isn't that bad. Usually I look forward to what a really good edit will do to whatever piece I'm working on....but, cutting a story to pieces??? 6,000 words....not a long document to start with, but, apparently for the market it's intended for,  it's 2,000 words too long *sigh* So, 48 hrs later and 2 pages shorter, I've managed to shave 1,016 words... the hardest part is trying not to alter the overall workings of the piece. It's not easy trimming the fat from something that was already svelte to begin with.... If I can manage to slice away the remaining 984 words while still keeping the essence of my story, I'll be amazed. But, if my story doesn't survive the crash diet, I could always harvest its remains for decorative purposes....

What makes a writer? The easiest and most straight-forward answer is: A writer is a writer because he/she writes... The real truth is, there is no answer--- at least not an answer that could comfortably fit in the space of a single blog post, or that could hold the attention span of anyone reading this. There's no magic formula, no magic pill, no magic anything that will make you or anybody a writer... a writer just is. Period. 'How do I know if I'm a writer?' one might ask.... if you have to ask this question, then you aren't a writer. As a child, I was always awestruck by the idea of being a writer. There was something mysterious about being a writer. In my eager, curious and developing mind, being a writer was akin to being a master magician (this was before I realized there was no magic writer formula/pill). I believed that the books we read, the books we held in our hands, were priceless treasures and that the writers of these books were the gods of t...

Day 2 since my 2-month escapade into the world of challenge writing ended... day 2 without a specific deadline hanging over my head----- annnnnnnnnd, now??? hello?? anybody?? *sigh* Suddenly I realize why I was so desperate to jump into the Story A Day challenge right after the A-Z challenge ended--- I needed the challenge to focus my energies. I needed the guillotine hanging over my head. Now I have all the energy (manic at times) but, none of the focus. So, I sit here.... drumming my fingers across my laptop, fingernails bitten down to the quicks, struggling to create the kind of funnel for my energies that these challenges provided for me. The beauty of these challenges was that they only lasted a month (long enough for results, not long for me to get discouraged) and they were completely different from anything I'd ever done before--- (novelty does wonders for relieving boredom.) Now I'm back to where I was before the beginning of the April A-Z Challenge--- A mill...

Today's post is an off-shoot of yesterday's new-found inspiration. After spending a blissful night, reveling in the fact that I was heading in the right direction with my frustratingly slow-moving story, I woke this morning, ready to work. I busied myself scouring primary source narratives to further my research and to ensure the authenticity of what I'm trying to say. While taking a break, mind whirling after pouring through 4 or 5 narratives, I stumbled upon a wonderful essay by Chuck Palahniuk. He is known for offering sage and direct advice to would-be writers. And, in his essay 'Hiding a Gun', I had a profound eureka moment! I think I may have figured out one of the nagging plot holes that has bothered me since I started writing this story---- I had no idea how to end---- Well, that's not completely true, I had a vague notion of what needed to happen, but I had NO CLUE how to get there. But, then I read  Chuck's Essay , and viola! Not only do I ha...

Ever had one of those moments where suddenly nothing makes sense anymore? You've spent days, weeks, months working on something-- learning a new skill, learning a new language, creating a new world-- and now, at this exact moment, you feel as if your entire life was wasted, nothing you do will save the project/activity. Self-doubt is a horrible, ugly monster bent on destroying everything that means anything to you. Everybody has one of these annoyingly, grotesque buggers inside them, but, some of us imagine them the size of a Leviathan, and some of us are quite content with our little mice. My own monster tends to shape-shift between the size of the Loch Ness Monster and that of a Pixie, depending on the enormity of the project or just how well-equipped I feel to deal with said project. The last couple of weeks my Nessy has become rather portly as I've fed all my hopes for "Tangle of Matter and Ghost" to him without a second thought. I have see-sawed so much betwe...

I think I may have finally  made it past the horrific pains of caffeine withdrawal. This, the 8th day of Lent, and not a single mg of caffeine has crossed my lips, not a single migraine in 3 days. I do still have a tightness and twinge at the base of my skull (what would normally indicate a full-blown migraine was on its way)...but, so far, all it does is make for a stiff neck-- somewhat like waking with an annoying "crick". ---- much easier to handle. Second day off from work in a row--- What bliss!--- and I have nothing planned that might interfere with a day of relaxing, story plotting, crafting, etc. So, I have allowed myself two days of leisure, in hopes to ensure those pesky migraines are indeed gone. Which means, I haven't accomplished much in the way of actual writing, but, I'm not going to let myself stress about it..... not yet---- did I mention how bad migraines suck! But, having a not-writing-leisure-day, doesn't mean I haven't been plotting an...

~~~~~ Meet Painted Man, the silent member of Aunt Agatha's traveling night carnival. Born mute and abandoned at a Civil War orphanage after the death of his parents, Billy strikes out on his own once a tragic turn of events at the orphanage sends him and two other boys into hiding. Once he runs into Aunt Agatha, he never looks back. And, instead, grows into Painted Man, whose unspoken truths find their own way to be heard. ~~~~~              Come see the Painted Man. The Painted Man has stories of his own to tell, stories that have no spoken words. The Painted Man holds the stories he wants to tell in his heart. He holds them tight and screams them inside his head. But, never a sound leaves his lips.               The place where a tongue should flick words through his teeth is hollow, empty. He can scream no words from his mouth. But, all those words have to go somewhere. There is only so much room insid...

Said the spider in her web, "won't you come and sit awhile," Said the bat, "instead, won't you come and fly in style." Said the cat who'd watched their dance, as they flitted to and fro, "you'd both make tasty snacks, just thought you ought to know."

I am reveling in the fact that the last couple of days have been immersed in literary splendor. With everything digital popping up--- the latest app, the newest cell phone, the greatest gaming system--- it's easy for the wonderful world of story-telling (which has been around since man first mastered the simple sentence) to be stepped over, passed over and ignored as something old and unappealing. Yesterday was National Grammar Day, everyone was told to: March forth on March 4th to speak well, write well and help others do the same.  Last night was World Book Night, some thousands gathered in Trafalgar Square, London to celebrate and share in readings of Literature. Today is World Book Day, a day where thousands of books are given away to a literary-hungry world, hoping to promote reading and a love of the written word.  We celebrated Dr. Seuss' birthday several days ago, an author that has started many young readers on the path to love and revel in the written word thems...

Why do I write? Why do I lock myself inside my mind? Why do I hide from the world around me? Why do I take myself out of life? It's no easy thing to ponder, the solitary writer's path that's been chosen. Sometimes, it feels as if we have no control over what decisions we're making-- like the journey has already been laid out for us and there is nothing we do that will alter it.... But, for writers, most writers, some writers--- okay, at least for me as a writer.... I can do nothing other than what I am already doing. Even when I wasn't trying to be a writer, I was writing. Even when I wasn't trying to compose a story, the tale was already writing itself in my sub-conscious. The solitary, writing life might be no easy thing to ponder, but it beats the reality-- that being a writer is a helluva scary thing.... or, it can be, if you really think about it. Books have the power to change lives. Which means, by extension, writers have the power to change the...

story???? I've noticed, recently, that my writing style has a distinctly "hourglass" shape. Whenever I'm working on something--- especially, a piece that's longer than a flash/ short story--- I find that my writing tends to move in 3 stages: 1/ Broad, relatively vague descriptions that lead to 2/Narrow, almost indecipherable introspection from the narrating character, which then leads to 3/ Broad, story specific descriptions that finally resemble a fully-matured story Somehow, the alternating views of the telescope to the microscope and then back to the telescope again, form some sort of logical "story-building" method for me. I still haven't figured out if it works....but, at least knowing that this is the current process my writing takes, I can now remind myself NOT to give up on a story just because it doesn't make sense and isn't clearly defined---- as I am still obviously in the top half of my hourglass.....

Annnnd, I got nothing..... While getting ready for work this morning, I had a pretty good idea for a witty, perhaps even humorous blog post. I was sure that bemoaning the current state of my jumbled WIP  would quickly drive everyone (myself included) up the proverbial wall. So, I endeavored to find a lighter subject to discuss. I had one, and I went off merrily to work. Then, I got home and sat down to write.....annnnnnnd, I got nothing---- The silly bugger of an idea slipped right out that stupid hole in my head. That hole has been instrumental in causing more than one missed birthday and several late car payments... speaking of which, must post that car payment check tomorrow ***brain, you will not forget.... brain, you will not forget*** On a more literary note--- finished Charles Portis',  True Grit, this evening. I can't honestly say I've ever read a Western before, though with its young, female protagonist, I almost hesitate to call it a Western in the technica...

Okay, so much of the problem I'm having with my WIP is coming from the criss-crossing my characters seem to insist on doing with each other. I should have known when I titled this story, Tangle of Matter and Ghost,  that I was sure to curse myself.... and this Voodoo hex may have no cure   >_< Quick list of characters: Aggie            Joseph           Billy          Ralph       Chester      Jefferson      Ambrose       Charlotte Emily            Aldia              Benjamin   Esther      Letty          Marie          Jebediah        Granny Preacher       Nathaniel Now the ties: Aggie/Joseph -- Runaway slaves dabbling in Voodoo Ol' Gray Granny -- Healer that...

 So, I've been doing some research for my current work-in-progress from NaNoWriMo, Tangle of Matter and Ghost. I've been really excited about the direction this story might go, but, I am also coming across more problems than I've ever encountered with a story. I don't want the reader to drown in the emotions of what is going on, but the emotions are exactly what I'm going after. I've been toying with how to get the information across without bogging the description down with factual data and sweeping the reader from the page with an emotional tidal wave. Here's a link to the  discussion  I've opened on my facebook  page for anyone that wants to discuss, contribute, or just chide me for my ridiculous attempts to stuff every emotion possible into one book.....