Writing is like my abusive husband. When it’s good, it’s great. Then it beats me up and works me over, leaving me a little broken. And I think about quitting it, leaving it behind and never looking back. Then it crawls back to me, sorry, promising never to hurt me again. And I believe it
Which makes very little sense really, but sounds fun. The threat level is RED and I’m on fire. I’m working on a Very Important Work filled with Serious Things and balls. Amanda Palmer is my musetastic Muse for the time being. I’m basking. I’m glowing. I’m stressed to no end. It’s difficult to concentrate lately.
Hanging in Boulder has been good for the soul. I’ve been working on my super secret new project but it’s been tough going. The plot, the story, are all awesome, and I’m one hundred percent certain that this is THE story, but it’s been tough getting started. The difficulty is in striking the tone and
I’ll be making a move soon, a move out of Florida to Colorado. I’ve hated FL for a long time but couldn’t think of where I wanted to live. A friend suggested CO, so I looked into it. Immediately I felt stupid that I’d never thought of living there before. Skiing? Check. White water rafting?
I made a mistake. I used to have this superstition where I never discussed a work in progress (WIP) until it was so solid that nothing could shake it. The reason for this is that 99% of all fiction requires that its writer not think too much about the ludicrousness of the actual story. Especially
History was always my least favorite subject. Memorizing all those facts didn’t appeal to me. I like literature because there are no right answers. But in history, Person A did Thing B which resulted in Catastrophe C. There would always come a point when we had lectures where my professor would throw out a line
I’m shooting for the new project to come in at about 80k words, which I think is a nice good size for something of this nature. I’ve been writing in small, choppy chapters. Not too choppy, mind you, but this is an action story so for every chapter where people stand around talking, I want
I’ve been debating, this week, on what to start writing. I have two stories. Both are in the YA vein. Both hit the same age range as DDL. But they’re both different. One is more quirky and character driven, and the other, while still focusing on a character’s struggles like I do, is more action
I’ve wanted to write since third grade. We had a creative writing class in a conservative christian school (a school I was eventually, but politely, asked not to return to at the end of 4th grade). I wrote stories about the Kool-Aid man and hiding from teachers in bathrooms. My stories were absolutely ludicrous, but