Here's a link to an interview I did with some teen writers last month.
http://www.psdschools.org/services/channel10/nowplaying.aspx?pageid=6801#bookends
Guess I need to look up how to make the link light up. Well, meanwhile, try copying it into your browser. . .
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
deadline or aliveline?
It's been a while since I posted to this blog. Why can't a writer keep up with her own blog? The short answer: deadline. The long answer is too long, so I won't go into it.
I did make my deadline for revisions to my latest fiction book: VIOLET WINGS, which will be published next year.
I truly love revising. The dreaded first draft is a long way in the past, and so are the second, third, and fourth drafts, etc. During final revisions, the whole point is to get very close to the story that originally inspired all the work of writing it down. It's a time to add in what's missing, cut what doesn't need to be there, and enhance what belongs. For me, and for many writers I know, polishing is much easier than digging a jagged, ugly-looking jewel out of the ground. (If you prefer writing first drafts, there's nothing wrong with that. Remember there's no such thing as a "typical" writer.)
I like working with a deadline looming. I like it so much that I'm thinking "deadline" could be called the "aliveline" instead. Yes, I know that if the deadline isn't met, the "dead" part of the line becomes more prominent. But there's just so much aliveness about having a definite goal in time. It's motivating. It's so motivating, in fact, that when I'm under the influence of a deadline, I find all sorts of inner resources that seem to lie dormant otherwise. Every part of my mind rallies to the cause of getting finished. It's exciting. Enlivening.
I did make my deadline for revisions to my latest fiction book: VIOLET WINGS, which will be published next year.
I truly love revising. The dreaded first draft is a long way in the past, and so are the second, third, and fourth drafts, etc. During final revisions, the whole point is to get very close to the story that originally inspired all the work of writing it down. It's a time to add in what's missing, cut what doesn't need to be there, and enhance what belongs. For me, and for many writers I know, polishing is much easier than digging a jagged, ugly-looking jewel out of the ground. (If you prefer writing first drafts, there's nothing wrong with that. Remember there's no such thing as a "typical" writer.)
I like working with a deadline looming. I like it so much that I'm thinking "deadline" could be called the "aliveline" instead. Yes, I know that if the deadline isn't met, the "dead" part of the line becomes more prominent. But there's just so much aliveness about having a definite goal in time. It's motivating. It's so motivating, in fact, that when I'm under the influence of a deadline, I find all sorts of inner resources that seem to lie dormant otherwise. Every part of my mind rallies to the cause of getting finished. It's exciting. Enlivening.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Not scent from heaven
Either I have a really sensitive nose or there are an awful lot of people in my neighborhood making use of some really intense chemicals disguised as dryer sheets and "air fresheners."
When I jog, sometimes I feel like gagging as I inhale a big burst of fakey "perfume" that is so strong it burns the inside of my nose. I feel so sorry for the dogs! Can you imagine what it's like for them? Their God-given noses are about a zillion times more sensitive than mine. And these scents are definitely not from heaven.
What does this subject have to do with writing? Well, everything. For one thing, have you ever noticed how important words are in advertising? Take "air fresheners" for example. Now, these things are not fresh. They have nothing whatsoever to do with fresh. If they were named using accurate words, they would be called "things that pollute the air you breathe and then cover it up with a very strong smell." But advertisers don't mind naming things the opposite of what they are if it makes people buy them.
And words are powerful.
When I jog, sometimes I feel like gagging as I inhale a big burst of fakey "perfume" that is so strong it burns the inside of my nose. I feel so sorry for the dogs! Can you imagine what it's like for them? Their God-given noses are about a zillion times more sensitive than mine. And these scents are definitely not from heaven.
What does this subject have to do with writing? Well, everything. For one thing, have you ever noticed how important words are in advertising? Take "air fresheners" for example. Now, these things are not fresh. They have nothing whatsoever to do with fresh. If they were named using accurate words, they would be called "things that pollute the air you breathe and then cover it up with a very strong smell." But advertisers don't mind naming things the opposite of what they are if it makes people buy them.
And words are powerful.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Writing it out
I just erased a rant I wrote about how often I hear the phrase "whatever it takes." I gave myself permission to go into a snide commentary about cliched scripts and how tiresome they are, and also how much I love it when someone speaking in public actually uses original phrases.
Somehow hearing certain scripts repeated over and over bothered me enough to feel the need to vent about it. So I wrote out my thoughts and feelings. Then deleted them. I don't know why I feel better having done that, but I do.
Maybe you will too.
Go ahead. Vent. Write it out. No one has to see it but you.
You might learn something from yourself. And chances are good you'll feel better afterward.
Somehow hearing certain scripts repeated over and over bothered me enough to feel the need to vent about it. So I wrote out my thoughts and feelings. Then deleted them. I don't know why I feel better having done that, but I do.
Maybe you will too.
Go ahead. Vent. Write it out. No one has to see it but you.
You might learn something from yourself. And chances are good you'll feel better afterward.
Friday, September 19, 2008
seashells and moving ahead
I've subscribed to a few blogs lately. Some bloggers keep up daily! And when I read them, I have vast appreciation for the discipline they are showing. Then I feel like a slacker, and now that the feeling has built up enough momentum, here I am with a post.
I'm thinking about seashells, and they seem loaded with symbolism today. Yes, they're pretty, almost endlessly fascinating in their variety of shape and color, their grace of form. However, right now I have the sense that I should grind them into powder rather than admire them. Why? Because they are, essentially, memorials to a phase of life that's over. And as I look upon their delicate, calcified shapes, I am thinking about the lives that outgrew them, about the creatures that moved on, choosing life instead of stagnating within a shell that no longer fit.
Seashells rest upon
ever-shifting shores of sand--
and life keeps moving.
I'm thinking about seashells, and they seem loaded with symbolism today. Yes, they're pretty, almost endlessly fascinating in their variety of shape and color, their grace of form. However, right now I have the sense that I should grind them into powder rather than admire them. Why? Because they are, essentially, memorials to a phase of life that's over. And as I look upon their delicate, calcified shapes, I am thinking about the lives that outgrew them, about the creatures that moved on, choosing life instead of stagnating within a shell that no longer fit.
Seashells rest upon
ever-shifting shores of sand--
and life keeps moving.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
playing pretend for real results
I used to love finding time alone to write. Now I'm finding that--especially while writing a first draft--it's easier to motivate myself in the company of friends.
At first this seemed strange. What was the matter with me? Why wouldn't I just get going on my own the way I used to do? But now I think those are the wrong questions to be asking. Why not accept that I've changed, and put some things in place to adjust to this new way of doing things? I mean, it's easier to get interested in taking a walk when it's with a friend. (Fortunately my husband has started taking the bus to work so I often walk him down to the bus stop in the morning or meet him in the late afternoon. It's fun--but it wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable without him.) And cooking is also more fun in company with others. Lots of things in life are just better with a friend.
So anyway, I put out the word amongst my writing friends, inviting them to set up meetings for writing together. So far only one person has been committed to meeting twice a week without fail. Others have more draconian schedules with demanding jobs, etc. But even once a month here or twice a month there might make us all more productive. And somehow when someone else is sitting across the table with a notebook or a Notebook, the question of motivation disappears.
I've also decided to play pretend. Why not let my imagination help me? On the days when no one is scheduled to join me, I will pretend. I'll set up my day "as if," and then when the time arrives to write, if a real person doesn't show up, an imaginary friend can sit across from me and scribble away.
At first this seemed strange. What was the matter with me? Why wouldn't I just get going on my own the way I used to do? But now I think those are the wrong questions to be asking. Why not accept that I've changed, and put some things in place to adjust to this new way of doing things? I mean, it's easier to get interested in taking a walk when it's with a friend. (Fortunately my husband has started taking the bus to work so I often walk him down to the bus stop in the morning or meet him in the late afternoon. It's fun--but it wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable without him.) And cooking is also more fun in company with others. Lots of things in life are just better with a friend.
So anyway, I put out the word amongst my writing friends, inviting them to set up meetings for writing together. So far only one person has been committed to meeting twice a week without fail. Others have more draconian schedules with demanding jobs, etc. But even once a month here or twice a month there might make us all more productive. And somehow when someone else is sitting across the table with a notebook or a Notebook, the question of motivation disappears.
I've also decided to play pretend. Why not let my imagination help me? On the days when no one is scheduled to join me, I will pretend. I'll set up my day "as if," and then when the time arrives to write, if a real person doesn't show up, an imaginary friend can sit across from me and scribble away.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
golden dragonfly
golden dragonfly--
what is it you know? I stop
to remember now
I saw a golden dragonfly this morning. It flew past my eyes and then paused for a full minute on a leaf in front of my face. Its wings were clear except for a pattern of purest gold. Its body shimmered against the green leaf and it had a jeweled head. Wow.
I've seen blue-green dragonflies before--many of them. But this golden one seemed to have flown straight from the realms of mythical alchemy into my yard.
what is it you know? I stop
to remember now
I saw a golden dragonfly this morning. It flew past my eyes and then paused for a full minute on a leaf in front of my face. Its wings were clear except for a pattern of purest gold. Its body shimmered against the green leaf and it had a jeweled head. Wow.
I've seen blue-green dragonflies before--many of them. But this golden one seemed to have flown straight from the realms of mythical alchemy into my yard.
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