Ugh, could it really have been so long since my last post? Worse yet, has it been so long since I made any progress writing, well, anything? Sometimes life just gets busy, and there's no way around it. And I don't want to find a way around things like spending time with my family during my normal writing times because other responsibilities came up. So I have been thinking about some goal to help me. Something to keep the momentum going.
What I need to do is write every day. Even fifteen minutes of writing (no including the time it takes to get my computer going) a day would help. Writing each day will help keep the ideas fresh and the details synced. Even doing just that little would mean over two hours a week. And most weeks I will get my night to put everything else aside and go write (or edit) for a few hours. Two things which I commit to: giving myself time to write, and writing to keep the ideas fresh.
Will it be enough? Is fifteen minutes a day enough, or will I just be wasting my time? Any thoughts out there? I'll find out soon enough, I suppose. :)
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Balance
You all know those big scales in a doctor's office. There's a square, black pad of ribbed rubber to stand on, with a single metal bar rising up against the wall. One cold arm reaches out, almost daring you to find your weight. After removing your shoes (because they weigh at least eight pounds) your carefully step up. And then you wait so the scale settles down and doesn't mistakenly add a few pounds. Finally, the moment comes to balance the small, white triangle.
Moving the large weight into position you begin tapping the smaller one. Back and forth you nudge it, trying to find that sweet spot were the arm sits balanced. A tap to the right and the arm flies too high, then clanks sharply against the bottom after a left-tap goes too far. Tap. Tap. Tap. Finally you begin to start guessing a number, averaging a weight that is over the balanced middle with one that slipped a little below.
So much like writing. The little square of the computer screen or pad of paper provides the measure. Somewhere in your head is a small arm with sliding weights and the search is on for balance. An extra comparison or sloppy adjective sends the overweight bar crashing down. On the other hand, skimp on the dialog and the story loses too much weight. You add a phrase here, and adjust the tense there. Each time the arm rises or falls. A single word may sound wrong or an entire page may stumble aimlessly. Tap. Tap. Tap. Somewhere is that sweet spot with balances between writing enough to create a compelling story without writing so much that readers are force-fed every detail. Even-handed rather than heavy- or light-handed. The right tense, voice, dialog, description, comparison, length, hook,... the list is a long one.
Balance in a story may be the hardest thing for me to find. I'm still trying to understand when I've found it, let alone how I got there. Even this early in my "career" I enjoy when the words flow seamlessly from thought to reality, just as I struggle when they clomp out of my head and stumble onto the page--which happens more often than not. Talent and experience, however, help us nudge our work closer, faster, towards a great story. And so we all go: learning; crafting; applying. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Moving the large weight into position you begin tapping the smaller one. Back and forth you nudge it, trying to find that sweet spot were the arm sits balanced. A tap to the right and the arm flies too high, then clanks sharply against the bottom after a left-tap goes too far. Tap. Tap. Tap. Finally you begin to start guessing a number, averaging a weight that is over the balanced middle with one that slipped a little below.
So much like writing. The little square of the computer screen or pad of paper provides the measure. Somewhere in your head is a small arm with sliding weights and the search is on for balance. An extra comparison or sloppy adjective sends the overweight bar crashing down. On the other hand, skimp on the dialog and the story loses too much weight. You add a phrase here, and adjust the tense there. Each time the arm rises or falls. A single word may sound wrong or an entire page may stumble aimlessly. Tap. Tap. Tap. Somewhere is that sweet spot with balances between writing enough to create a compelling story without writing so much that readers are force-fed every detail. Even-handed rather than heavy- or light-handed. The right tense, voice, dialog, description, comparison, length, hook,... the list is a long one.
Balance in a story may be the hardest thing for me to find. I'm still trying to understand when I've found it, let alone how I got there. Even this early in my "career" I enjoy when the words flow seamlessly from thought to reality, just as I struggle when they clomp out of my head and stumble onto the page--which happens more often than not. Talent and experience, however, help us nudge our work closer, faster, towards a great story. And so we all go: learning; crafting; applying. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Writing prompt
At my first meeting with my writing group the group leader brought a box of writing prompts. I picked out a picture of a man and his dog, sculpted to appear as if walking into the wall with only the back half of their bodies visible. This was my first experience using a writing prompt and it wasn't easy. The following is what came out, written in one sitting and without edits--I don't have a story to use this in so I wanted to leave it in "original condition:"
'A vanishing night. That's what his dad would have called a night like this one. Thornton looked around at the fog and drew his patched coat closer around his neck. It was like being on a stage with the curtains drawn, he thought. The normally intrusive city noises were cowed into submission and street lights that usually glared through the night's depth were mere ghosts that wavered through the misty sheets.
"Heel, Slate." At his command a short-haired dog obediently padded over. Together they turned beneath a lamppost and trudged down Oak Avenue, the name on the sign the only actual tree on the street. Reaching out, Thornton let his hand slap against the rough limestone corners of each set of stairs leading up to another building--another sagging pile of dark apartments. At number seven he turned and rose up the stairs, grasping for the key in his pocket. Around him now a few squares of yellow light peered blearily at him and he bit back the urge to start shouting at them, if only to hear a voice in the darkness. ...' Read the rest.
'A vanishing night. That's what his dad would have called a night like this one. Thornton looked around at the fog and drew his patched coat closer around his neck. It was like being on a stage with the curtains drawn, he thought. The normally intrusive city noises were cowed into submission and street lights that usually glared through the night's depth were mere ghosts that wavered through the misty sheets.
"Heel, Slate." At his command a short-haired dog obediently padded over. Together they turned beneath a lamppost and trudged down Oak Avenue, the name on the sign the only actual tree on the street. Reaching out, Thornton let his hand slap against the rough limestone corners of each set of stairs leading up to another building--another sagging pile of dark apartments. At number seven he turned and rose up the stairs, grasping for the key in his pocket. Around him now a few squares of yellow light peered blearily at him and he bit back the urge to start shouting at them, if only to hear a voice in the darkness. ...' Read the rest.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I'm A Writer
Since joining a local writing group I've shied away from identifying myself as a writer. There are people in the group who write--it's what they do, the creative outlet that drives them. They talk about writing weekends, editing groups, publishers and seminars. Most of them have investigated publishing houses or agents and have at least one manuscript they are polishing up to shop around. They are writers; I'm a hack.
Recently I read something that changed my mind. In his book The First Five Pages, Noah Lukeman wrote, "You may feel uncomfortable thinking of yourself as a "writer." This is commonly encountered in new writers. They will often duck the label, insist they're not writers but have only written such and such because they had the idea in their head... Despite popular conviction, a writer doesn't need to wear black, be unshaven, sickly, and parade around New York’s East Village spewing aphorisms and scaring children... All you need is the willingness to be labeled "writer," and with one word you are a writer."
He had me pegged. Just an hour before I had spewed the same excuses. For the next few weeks I pondered my seriousness in wanting to write, learning the craft, and sharing what I write. Finally, I can say that I am a writer. Maybe not a good writer and certainly not a great one, but I am a writer. Some things have definitely changed. I am not writing to be published (although I wouldn't cry if a book landed on store shelves someday). I am writing to write, and no one else has to like it (although it would be nice if someone eventually liked something).
Thanks Noah.
Recently I read something that changed my mind. In his book The First Five Pages, Noah Lukeman wrote, "You may feel uncomfortable thinking of yourself as a "writer." This is commonly encountered in new writers. They will often duck the label, insist they're not writers but have only written such and such because they had the idea in their head... Despite popular conviction, a writer doesn't need to wear black, be unshaven, sickly, and parade around New York’s East Village spewing aphorisms and scaring children... All you need is the willingness to be labeled "writer," and with one word you are a writer."
He had me pegged. Just an hour before I had spewed the same excuses. For the next few weeks I pondered my seriousness in wanting to write, learning the craft, and sharing what I write. Finally, I can say that I am a writer. Maybe not a good writer and certainly not a great one, but I am a writer. Some things have definitely changed. I am not writing to be published (although I wouldn't cry if a book landed on store shelves someday). I am writing to write, and no one else has to like it (although it would be nice if someone eventually liked something).
Thanks Noah.
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