Saturday we held what I thought would be my last (and possibly THE last) CWC meeting. I had announced a few weeks earlier that I'm still struggling with my writing and need to step away from even listening to critiques. I've also cut back on reading agent blogs and those that dispense writing advice. I haven't canceled my subscription to Writer's Digest, but I have dropped Poets & Writers for now, and WD is going on the shelf until I feel like it won't negatively influence me.
Since Mary and I carpool down to Pueblo, she wasn't sure she wanted to keep making the drive each month alone, especially since she's been struggling with her own writing and might not have anything to submit for a while. Shane, too, hasn't been able to write, not so much out of writer's block, but because it's his first year as an English teacher and that pretty much eats up all his time.
That would leave just Ali and Jenny. And Jenny has another critique group (she's fickle that way). So, death to CWC, right?
Wrong.
I returned to the table after a bathroom break. Conversation ceased, heads turned. Oh-oh. "What?"
They decided, in the five minutes tops that I was gone, to change the format once again. We'll still get together once a month for dinner--on Saturday, which works better for everyone--to talk. About writing, other kinds of storytelling, what we're having trouble with, what's working, our lives in general. Basically, whatever. Sorta like the old Pirate days. If someone wants to submit something, they can, of course. And, if I still need to avoid all critiques, I can read it and mark it up (for some reason that doesn't bother me), drop Mary off with my feedback so they can discuss, and go somewhere for an hour to hang out or write. Then I'll join the rest of the group for dinner.
Cool, huh?
Second transformation of the group in almost two and half years. Most writing groups don't make it a year. And big changes will kill even the strongest group. But we seem to be the little Timex group. We just keep ticking.
Showing posts with label Ali. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ali. Show all posts
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Friday, May 7, 2010
Blind Rewrites
Jenny and Ali talk about a method of rewriting short stories called "The Blind Rewrite." I don't know that it warrants capitalization and quotation marks, but that's the way they always say it. What you do, as I understand it, is rewrite without looking at the first draft. Hence, blind. The theory behind that is that you will remember what it important and forget what isn't. Not sure that I completely agree, but it's a method.
However, how does one manage that with a novel? Yeah, I didn't even want to think about going there. But I came up with something that worked.
Step 1) Print out a clean copy of manuscript.
Step 2) Read and mark up.
Step 3) Add in any pertinent comments from critique group.
Step 4) Using the now not-so-clean copy, retype the whole thing.
Oooh, you say, no wonder it took you so frikkin' long to get that rewrite done. Well, yeah. But I think it was worth it. We'll find out at the end of the month if the CWC agrees.
There were areas in the original where I'd started telling instead of showing. There were missing scenes needed for tying others together, for clarifying certain things, for heightening tension. I had dreaded having to write those new scenes, but by retyping the whole thing, those scenes just kind of organically appeared.
Another benefit was noticing a lot of continuity issues and many other missing scenes. I was also more aware of repetitions--words, phrases, ideas, actions. I know I didn't catch or fix all of them--that's what critique groups are for--but I caught a lot more than I did in the read-through.
One of my fears going into the rewrite was that I wouldn't have enough when I finished. I started with just shy of 200 pages, maybe 50,000 words. Way too short for a mainstream novel. What if there wasn't enough 'there' there for a full novel? Well, not to worry. The finished product was 603 pages and a little over 104,000 words. Which gives me a nice buffer for the things CWC will cut.
Cutting and pasting would not have solved nearly so many of the problems. Especially not the problems I didn't realize I had. This may be a time-consuming method, but it's one I'm going to keep using. At least for the 1st rewrite after receiving feedback from the gang.
There will be other things to fix, but I hope that this version is in good enough shape that those won't be major.
Fingers crossed.
However, how does one manage that with a novel? Yeah, I didn't even want to think about going there. But I came up with something that worked.
Step 1) Print out a clean copy of manuscript.
Step 2) Read and mark up.
Step 3) Add in any pertinent comments from critique group.
Step 4) Using the now not-so-clean copy, retype the whole thing.
Oooh, you say, no wonder it took you so frikkin' long to get that rewrite done. Well, yeah. But I think it was worth it. We'll find out at the end of the month if the CWC agrees.
There were areas in the original where I'd started telling instead of showing. There were missing scenes needed for tying others together, for clarifying certain things, for heightening tension. I had dreaded having to write those new scenes, but by retyping the whole thing, those scenes just kind of organically appeared.
Another benefit was noticing a lot of continuity issues and many other missing scenes. I was also more aware of repetitions--words, phrases, ideas, actions. I know I didn't catch or fix all of them--that's what critique groups are for--but I caught a lot more than I did in the read-through.
One of my fears going into the rewrite was that I wouldn't have enough when I finished. I started with just shy of 200 pages, maybe 50,000 words. Way too short for a mainstream novel. What if there wasn't enough 'there' there for a full novel? Well, not to worry. The finished product was 603 pages and a little over 104,000 words. Which gives me a nice buffer for the things CWC will cut.
Cutting and pasting would not have solved nearly so many of the problems. Especially not the problems I didn't realize I had. This may be a time-consuming method, but it's one I'm going to keep using. At least for the 1st rewrite after receiving feedback from the gang.
There will be other things to fix, but I hope that this version is in good enough shape that those won't be major.
Fingers crossed.
Monday, May 3, 2010
May Goals
Not many blog posts last month. It may have had something to do with working on those April goals. I felt that if I had time to write anything, I should be working on MMG. So I did. Although I missed the deadline for getting everything to CWC, I did finish the rewrites at 9:45 p.m. on 4/30/10. So I did complete them in April. The final pages went to Ali, Jenny & Shane on Saturday (after I took the full manuscript to Carrie so she could be first). I will deliver Mary's to her today on my lunch break. Phew!
I hope to blog more this month on the experience of revising something so big. It came in at a little over 104,000 words. I'm sure I'll be told to cut many of them, but it definitely needed more than the first drafts had.
So, May goals. I'm taking it easy this month, gang.
--Expand on one of the prompt responses for CWC.
--Work on short stories.
--Work on poetry.
Just playing with words for a while. Soon enough I'll have to get serious with either Vesta or TKoS.
I hope to blog more this month on the experience of revising something so big. It came in at a little over 104,000 words. I'm sure I'll be told to cut many of them, but it definitely needed more than the first drafts had.
So, May goals. I'm taking it easy this month, gang.
--Expand on one of the prompt responses for CWC.
--Work on short stories.
--Work on poetry.
Just playing with words for a while. Soon enough I'll have to get serious with either Vesta or TKoS.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Two Unexpected Hours
Monday night was our regularly scheduled Pirates' Night. We gather, eat pizza, drink whatever and talk. About books read and movies watched and life lived, but mostly about writing. It's informal. No critiques, although pages are swapped once in a while. A night I look forward to all month.
I arrived at 5:30, ordered my slice of pizza, found a seat and pulled out my manuscript to mark up. I ate the slice while I continued to mark up pages. I wrote missing scenes. Every so often I glanced at the door. Ali had said she'd be + 1, but late. Fleur couldn't make it. But no one else showed up either.
About 7:10, I texted Ali. She was about 15 minutes away. Then I ordered a decaf latte. And I marked up more.
At 7:30 Ali + 1 arrived. I put my marked up pages away, and the usual talking commenced. No one else made it. Life managed to interfere with more than one Pirate this month. Emails had been sent after I'd left work for the day. But the talk was interesting, and the next two hours flew by.
It wasn't until the next morning that I pulled out those marked up pages to see how many there were. Surely I'd made my 30 page goal for the day. Goal + 67! 97 pages in two hours. Two hours I didn't expect to have. Two hours that prove how much can be accomplished if the butt is planted in a chair and a pen is kept in the hand.
And I'd managed to get past the worm hole without being sucked in. You know the point. The place where I'd decide I needed to go back to the beginning and start over. But I just scribbled right past it. I'm now in "new" territory.
This means I'll have revisions done well before the CWC meeting this month. I may even get a second pass (quick though it will have to be) to do more clean up. All because of two hours.
I'm keeping a look out for two more.
I arrived at 5:30, ordered my slice of pizza, found a seat and pulled out my manuscript to mark up. I ate the slice while I continued to mark up pages. I wrote missing scenes. Every so often I glanced at the door. Ali had said she'd be + 1, but late. Fleur couldn't make it. But no one else showed up either.
About 7:10, I texted Ali. She was about 15 minutes away. Then I ordered a decaf latte. And I marked up more.
At 7:30 Ali + 1 arrived. I put my marked up pages away, and the usual talking commenced. No one else made it. Life managed to interfere with more than one Pirate this month. Emails had been sent after I'd left work for the day. But the talk was interesting, and the next two hours flew by.
It wasn't until the next morning that I pulled out those marked up pages to see how many there were. Surely I'd made my 30 page goal for the day. Goal + 67! 97 pages in two hours. Two hours I didn't expect to have. Two hours that prove how much can be accomplished if the butt is planted in a chair and a pen is kept in the hand.
And I'd managed to get past the worm hole without being sucked in. You know the point. The place where I'd decide I needed to go back to the beginning and start over. But I just scribbled right past it. I'm now in "new" territory.
This means I'll have revisions done well before the CWC meeting this month. I may even get a second pass (quick though it will have to be) to do more clean up. All because of two hours.
I'm keeping a look out for two more.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
You've Got To Be Carefully Taught
My sister is watching South Pacific in the other room as I work, can you tell?
Sometimes one does have to be carefully taught. Other times it's the casual lesson that works best.
As you all know, I've attended conferences and workshops on craft. I have dozens of writing books on my shelves. An embarrassing amount, really. And they've all helped shape my writing to a greater or lesser degree.
Then last Monday night, we critiqued Ali's full manuscript that had gone through a first revision. What a lesson there was in that. So many of the questions and comments struck home for me.
"What does this scene accomplish?"
"You need more tension here."
"Why is she doing this?"
and a biggie for me "Where is the emotion?"
Ali has done an amazing job with her story. The amount of improvement from first draft to this version is truly impressive, especially given that she accomplished it in less than two weeks. There is more for her to do (isn't there always?), but it's really really good.
I'm using what I've learned--both the more formal lessons and those important ones I've picked up giving and listening to critiques--as I read through MMG. I'm 98 pages into a 300 page manuscript. I should be done reading by mid-week. Then the dissecting begins.
Is it salvageable? Only a lot of work and a bit of time will tell.
Sometimes one does have to be carefully taught. Other times it's the casual lesson that works best.
As you all know, I've attended conferences and workshops on craft. I have dozens of writing books on my shelves. An embarrassing amount, really. And they've all helped shape my writing to a greater or lesser degree.
Then last Monday night, we critiqued Ali's full manuscript that had gone through a first revision. What a lesson there was in that. So many of the questions and comments struck home for me.
"What does this scene accomplish?"
"You need more tension here."
"Why is she doing this?"
and a biggie for me "Where is the emotion?"
Ali has done an amazing job with her story. The amount of improvement from first draft to this version is truly impressive, especially given that she accomplished it in less than two weeks. There is more for her to do (isn't there always?), but it's really really good.
I'm using what I've learned--both the more formal lessons and those important ones I've picked up giving and listening to critiques--as I read through MMG. I'm 98 pages into a 300 page manuscript. I should be done reading by mid-week. Then the dissecting begins.
Is it salvageable? Only a lot of work and a bit of time will tell.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Baby Steps
Using Ali's methodology, I've broken up my monthly goals into smaller, bite-size chunks. So instead of just a blanket "Work on revisions," I've got small, concrete steps. Each one looks a lot easier to tackle than just "Revise." And I'll get more tick marks.
Thanks, Ali.
Thanks, Ali.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
December Goals
Obviously didn't get much done on the writing front last month. Didn't even manage to keep up with blogging. I did, however, think a lot about revisions. Not just for MMG, but for Vesta and TNN as well. Neil Gaiman has said, "Thinking about writing is not writing." While I hate to disagree with the great and powerful Mr. Gaiman, thinking about writing is definitely an important part of writing. Especially in the revision process. What's working, what isn't? Which characters are three-dimensional and which are only two (sorry, guys, but one-dimensional isn't possible)? Do I have a well-defined goal for my protagonist? Am I beating him/her up enough? Is the setting visible for the reader? Etc, etc, etc.
I did get my one critique done. This month, I also have only one critique to do. Next month will be the same. So no excuses there.
But it's December, with all that entails. Even with all the days that have things planned, there are more than enough that do not. So, can't really use that as much of an excuse. Dammit.
Three writing goals this month:
--Finish all Christmas shopping/decorating and card sending by 7th and mail packages by the 10th
--Work on MMG revisions
--Complete CWC critique (0/1)
Why is Christmas stuff a writing goal? Because something that like can become a major distraction when I do sit down to write. The old "I should be . . ." [fill in the blank] instead of sitting here.
So, that's it. Ali's is "get stuff done." I like it. What about you?
I did get my one critique done. This month, I also have only one critique to do. Next month will be the same. So no excuses there.
But it's December, with all that entails. Even with all the days that have things planned, there are more than enough that do not. So, can't really use that as much of an excuse. Dammit.
Three writing goals this month:
--Finish all Christmas shopping/decorating and card sending by 7th and mail packages by the 10th
--Work on MMG revisions
--Complete CWC critique (0/1)
Why is Christmas stuff a writing goal? Because something that like can become a major distraction when I do sit down to write. The old "I should be . . ." [fill in the blank] instead of sitting here.
So, that's it. Ali's is "get stuff done." I like it. What about you?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
WPW: Scratching
See Ali's blog for the guidelines for Writing Prompt Wednesday.
The scratching started up again. Under the sink. Where the huge bag of dog kibble was stored. I told him to buy one of those big Rubbermaid tubs to put it in. But no.
I reached back and smoothed the hairs on the back of my neck, the ones that stood up whenever I was scared. I knew what made the noise. Recognized it from childhood. Mice. Back then it was field mice that came in the house to get warm. "They're more scared of you than you are of them," my mother said. Impossible. And now it was late October and the weather had turned cold.
We'd tried traps, all kinds. But the scratching continued. Always when he was at work. Night shift, of course. That's when bartenders get the good tips. He said he believed me. But there was that look.
So I bought a book. Then I collected the supplies: a small cauldron, charcoal, sage for cleansing, a tiger's eye to protect and draw down spiritual energy, black salt to keep away evil (and mice are evil), and a mixture of herbs for banishing.
Early evening on the 31st, I started by lighting the sage and smudging the whole house, all four rooms of it. Then I lit the charcoal and threw the herbs and salt on it. As the smoke rose toward the ceiling (making my eyes water so I opened the window a crack), I clutched the stone in my hand and pictured the mice rising up and away on the smoke. I threw a few more herbs on the fire for good measure.
I awoke to him standing over me. My teeth chattered in the coldness of the room. All the windows were wide open and the ceiling fan spun above me. "The neighbors thought the house was on fire."
The scratching didn't return.
Missed Hallowe’en, though. Rats.
The scratching started up again. Under the sink. Where the huge bag of dog kibble was stored. I told him to buy one of those big Rubbermaid tubs to put it in. But no.
I reached back and smoothed the hairs on the back of my neck, the ones that stood up whenever I was scared. I knew what made the noise. Recognized it from childhood. Mice. Back then it was field mice that came in the house to get warm. "They're more scared of you than you are of them," my mother said. Impossible. And now it was late October and the weather had turned cold.
We'd tried traps, all kinds. But the scratching continued. Always when he was at work. Night shift, of course. That's when bartenders get the good tips. He said he believed me. But there was that look.
So I bought a book. Then I collected the supplies: a small cauldron, charcoal, sage for cleansing, a tiger's eye to protect and draw down spiritual energy, black salt to keep away evil (and mice are evil), and a mixture of herbs for banishing.
Early evening on the 31st, I started by lighting the sage and smudging the whole house, all four rooms of it. Then I lit the charcoal and threw the herbs and salt on it. As the smoke rose toward the ceiling (making my eyes water so I opened the window a crack), I clutched the stone in my hand and pictured the mice rising up and away on the smoke. I threw a few more herbs on the fire for good measure.
I awoke to him standing over me. My teeth chattered in the coldness of the room. All the windows were wide open and the ceiling fan spun above me. "The neighbors thought the house was on fire."
The scratching didn't return.
Missed Hallowe’en, though. Rats.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
It's October As Far As I'm Concerned
I usually hold out until the last gasp of a month before I decide on my goals for the next one. But after getting my feedback on TNN from CWC last night, I know I'll need the extra day or two to get where I need to be by the next meeting.
The group did it again. I don't think there was a single suggestion that I didn't think was valid. Even if a couple might have been contradictory, I knew where each person was coming from. And either way would work. It's just down to me on how I want to go.
My goals are listed on the left. As you can see, there is a lot of prep work to do before I actually get back to work on what's next. The time line is going to be tightened, which means deciding where to start the story for the most impact. I'm adding a job for the mother and a family member. I need to draw out a floor plan for each of the 3 (possibly 4) floors in the house so that I don't gain and lose space as I'm doing now.
I would be more frustrated with myself, but I'm learning that this is all part of my process. Would it be easier if I had a clearer idea of what the whole plot was when I started? Well, of course. But I seem to need to write at least half the book before I can really decide what it's about. Maybe I'll grow out of that as a writer. I kinda hope so. But, for now at least, the gang seems to be willing to go along with me.
October is going to be crazy. I have a lot of social events to attend--I know, poor me. There's the trip to visit family and friends in the middle of the month. And we need to schedule Ali's dinner for winning the race. I'm thinking after that, NaNoWriMo is a definite pass this year. Besides, Jenny pointed out that I really need to submit a complete and revised version of MMG to the group so they can evaluate what I've done with the feedback on that. And there are two other novels waiting for revision as well. It doesn't make sense to start something new until I'm really truly done with those.
So, no pressure.
The group did it again. I don't think there was a single suggestion that I didn't think was valid. Even if a couple might have been contradictory, I knew where each person was coming from. And either way would work. It's just down to me on how I want to go.
My goals are listed on the left. As you can see, there is a lot of prep work to do before I actually get back to work on what's next. The time line is going to be tightened, which means deciding where to start the story for the most impact. I'm adding a job for the mother and a family member. I need to draw out a floor plan for each of the 3 (possibly 4) floors in the house so that I don't gain and lose space as I'm doing now.
I would be more frustrated with myself, but I'm learning that this is all part of my process. Would it be easier if I had a clearer idea of what the whole plot was when I started? Well, of course. But I seem to need to write at least half the book before I can really decide what it's about. Maybe I'll grow out of that as a writer. I kinda hope so. But, for now at least, the gang seems to be willing to go along with me.
October is going to be crazy. I have a lot of social events to attend--I know, poor me. There's the trip to visit family and friends in the middle of the month. And we need to schedule Ali's dinner for winning the race. I'm thinking after that, NaNoWriMo is a definite pass this year. Besides, Jenny pointed out that I really need to submit a complete and revised version of MMG to the group so they can evaluate what I've done with the feedback on that. And there are two other novels waiting for revision as well. It doesn't make sense to start something new until I'm really truly done with those.
So, no pressure.
Monday, September 21, 2009
What A Weekend/Everyone Should Have Friends Like Mine
And I don't mean "What a weekend" in a good way.
I dog and house sat for two very dear friends. One of the dogs has developed some special needs over the past year. She is blind, but gets around okay except right after she wakes up. She also has IBS. I won't go into details here. Suffice it to say that she often needs to get outside RIGHT NOW and doesn't always wake up in time to do so. Even when she does wake up, she might start in the wrong direction and not want to believe me that I know where it is and it's this way and please, please, please hurry.
Friday night's multi-interrupted sleep was nothing compared to Saturday night's getting maybe three hours total and not more than an hour at a time. Each time she moved, I had to be ready to help her get outside. Even when she was asleep, I had to be aware of whining and tummy rumblings so I could wake her up in time. As I said in an email to Jenny, not conducive to sleeping or writing.
I would finally feel like I might maybe be starting to get a flow or words going and have to stop, deal with things and then try to figure out where I was and where I thought I was going. It only takes a few of these to just kill any desire to even try to put one word after the other. After about ten o'clock Sunday morning, I just quit trying.
There was a point late yesterday that I decided that not only was I going to throw in the towel on the contest, but on the whole writing thing. Why was I bothering? Most people seem to be quite content, happy even, going to work and coming home day after day. They might work out and/or go to movies or plays or concerts. But mostly they work and take care of their homes and families, and watch television. Basically what I do already except that I give short shrift to everything except the television watching, because I write or try to write or think I should be writing.
And then it happened.
I heard everyone's voice in my head. I heard Jenny, Ali, Fleur, Mary, Shane, Nicole and all the rest of the Pirates saying, "What the hell are you talking about? You're making excuses. Get over yourself and get back to work." I heard Carrie saying, "If you don't finish something for me to read, I'll shave your head. You won't even see it coming."
How great is that? They don't even have to be around to give me a verbal--mental?--bitch slap.
It's going to be like starting a marathon, getting out front in the first mile, stopping to have a big lunch--maybe a nap--and then deciding that you are going to try to win it after all. But I'm not throwing in the towel. I may finish dead last, but I'll finish. And I'll have more words of TNN than I had when I started. And that was sort of the point all along.
I dog and house sat for two very dear friends. One of the dogs has developed some special needs over the past year. She is blind, but gets around okay except right after she wakes up. She also has IBS. I won't go into details here. Suffice it to say that she often needs to get outside RIGHT NOW and doesn't always wake up in time to do so. Even when she does wake up, she might start in the wrong direction and not want to believe me that I know where it is and it's this way and please, please, please hurry.
Friday night's multi-interrupted sleep was nothing compared to Saturday night's getting maybe three hours total and not more than an hour at a time. Each time she moved, I had to be ready to help her get outside. Even when she was asleep, I had to be aware of whining and tummy rumblings so I could wake her up in time. As I said in an email to Jenny, not conducive to sleeping or writing.
I would finally feel like I might maybe be starting to get a flow or words going and have to stop, deal with things and then try to figure out where I was and where I thought I was going. It only takes a few of these to just kill any desire to even try to put one word after the other. After about ten o'clock Sunday morning, I just quit trying.
There was a point late yesterday that I decided that not only was I going to throw in the towel on the contest, but on the whole writing thing. Why was I bothering? Most people seem to be quite content, happy even, going to work and coming home day after day. They might work out and/or go to movies or plays or concerts. But mostly they work and take care of their homes and families, and watch television. Basically what I do already except that I give short shrift to everything except the television watching, because I write or try to write or think I should be writing.
And then it happened.
I heard everyone's voice in my head. I heard Jenny, Ali, Fleur, Mary, Shane, Nicole and all the rest of the Pirates saying, "What the hell are you talking about? You're making excuses. Get over yourself and get back to work." I heard Carrie saying, "If you don't finish something for me to read, I'll shave your head. You won't even see it coming."
How great is that? They don't even have to be around to give me a verbal--mental?--bitch slap.
It's going to be like starting a marathon, getting out front in the first mile, stopping to have a big lunch--maybe a nap--and then deciding that you are going to try to win it after all. But I'm not throwing in the towel. I may finish dead last, but I'll finish. And I'll have more words of TNN than I had when I started. And that was sort of the point all along.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Stoopid Stoopid Stoopid
That's me.
Just accepted a challenge with Jenny and Ali. Whoever produces the highest wordcount in two weeks, starting next Monday, wins. The one who comes in last has to buy dinner.
**CORRECTION** The losers go in together to buy the winner dinner. Which makes more sense since the winner is the only one getting something and the losers share the pain of losing.
I still say, "Ack!"
Just accepted a challenge with Jenny and Ali. Whoever produces the highest wordcount in two weeks, starting next Monday, wins. The one who comes in last has to buy dinner.
**CORRECTION** The losers go in together to buy the winner dinner. Which makes more sense since the winner is the only one getting something and the losers share the pain of losing.
I still say, "Ack!"
Sunday, September 6, 2009
September What?
Wow! Six days into the new month. Guess I should post my goals, huh?
Getting my submission ready for CWC cut into my roll on MMG, but it needed to be done. I'm pretty happy with the result as I submitted 98 pages--the longest submission so far. I also finished the critique for Mary.
My goals for September are going to sound familiar, but with a twist.
--Flesh out the rest of TNN and get it ready for submission. [I want this done before I get feedback on the first part. Otherwise, I have a tendency to want to change direction based on comments rather than letting the story unfold the way I first envisioned it. I've learned that people can change their opinion of the first bit after they read the rest. And it lessens future pressure when it comes time to submit.]
--Get revised bio to Ali by 9/7/09. Yeah, not much wiggle room on this one.
--Critique Shane's submission.
And that's it for this month. Didn't expect that, did you? Where's MMG? I figure I've got about 150 pages of TNN to knock out. Using Jenny's writing math, that comes to almost 7 pages a day in order to be done by the CWC meeting on the 28th. That's NaNo level page count. I think that's plenty to shoot for in one month. Especially one month that's already seen a week go by. And one in which I'm taking on a new tap and jazz class.
With that amount of new writing and trying to get my body to move in new and unusual ways, I think I'm pretty much taking on Ali's challenge as well.
How 'bout you?
Getting my submission ready for CWC cut into my roll on MMG, but it needed to be done. I'm pretty happy with the result as I submitted 98 pages--the longest submission so far. I also finished the critique for Mary.
My goals for September are going to sound familiar, but with a twist.
--Flesh out the rest of TNN and get it ready for submission. [I want this done before I get feedback on the first part. Otherwise, I have a tendency to want to change direction based on comments rather than letting the story unfold the way I first envisioned it. I've learned that people can change their opinion of the first bit after they read the rest. And it lessens future pressure when it comes time to submit.]
--Get revised bio to Ali by 9/7/09. Yeah, not much wiggle room on this one.
--Critique Shane's submission.
And that's it for this month. Didn't expect that, did you? Where's MMG? I figure I've got about 150 pages of TNN to knock out. Using Jenny's writing math, that comes to almost 7 pages a day in order to be done by the CWC meeting on the 28th. That's NaNo level page count. I think that's plenty to shoot for in one month. Especially one month that's already seen a week go by. And one in which I'm taking on a new tap and jazz class.
With that amount of new writing and trying to get my body to move in new and unusual ways, I think I'm pretty much taking on Ali's challenge as well.
How 'bout you?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
WPW: Grilling
This is my entry in Ali's Writing Prompt Wednesday challenge. See the rules here.
The pile grows. Mostly magazines. Men's Health. GQ. Runner's World. Field and Stream. Seriously, Field and Stream. The man's never been out of Manhattan.
I find a couple Playboys and a Penthouse tucked in the back of his nightstand, and turn to the most rumpled pages. No big surprises. Silicon and airbrushing. These are tossed on top.
And then there's the cookbook. I take my time with the cookbook. Each page is torn from the binding and crumpled, dropped around the perimeter. Certain pages receive special treatment. I tear these into shreds and then shred the shreds.
"Well, it's close, but still not like Mom's. Did you call her for advice? Maybe you should try this one next time. She says even a child could make it."
I click the lighter and hold the flame next to the recipe kindling I've made. The edges catch, quiver and hold the fire. It spreads to the rest. Pages fan, an image becomes clearer, prettier then it blackens and curls in on itself.
That damn paprikash. I'll never have to cook it, or eat it, again.
The pile grows. Mostly magazines. Men's Health. GQ. Runner's World. Field and Stream. Seriously, Field and Stream. The man's never been out of Manhattan.
I find a couple Playboys and a Penthouse tucked in the back of his nightstand, and turn to the most rumpled pages. No big surprises. Silicon and airbrushing. These are tossed on top.
And then there's the cookbook. I take my time with the cookbook. Each page is torn from the binding and crumpled, dropped around the perimeter. Certain pages receive special treatment. I tear these into shreds and then shred the shreds.
"Well, it's close, but still not like Mom's. Did you call her for advice? Maybe you should try this one next time. She says even a child could make it."
I click the lighter and hold the flame next to the recipe kindling I've made. The edges catch, quiver and hold the fire. It spreads to the rest. Pages fan, an image becomes clearer, prettier then it blackens and curls in on itself.
That damn paprikash. I'll never have to cook it, or eat it, again.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
WPW: Enough Like Midnight
Writing Prompt Wednesday
Even now, nearly midnight, the ground is still very warm as I sink my fingers into the earth. The moon is out, just a sliver of it. My favorite to look at, but little help to work by. At least the dirt is soft and easy to grasp. Dark, loamy. Good for growing things. Rich enough.
A strand of hair slides in front of my left eye, and I swipe it back behind my ear, most likely smudging my cheek in the process. It'll wash off easily enough.
Sitting back on my heels, I survey my work. The hole is almost perfectly round; I'm tempted to go back in and find an old compass to check, but resist. The bottom is rounded like a bowl. Three inches should be deep enough.
I set the reason for the hole in it and look at it for a minute--two--three. Long enough.
The dirt sifts through my fingers back into the hole, exactly as it was before. Not exactly, I guess. But close enough.
The ring is out of sight. I couldn't sell it, but I don't want it either. This is a compromise. Unlike him, will it be good enough?
Even now, nearly midnight, the ground is still very warm as I sink my fingers into the earth. The moon is out, just a sliver of it. My favorite to look at, but little help to work by. At least the dirt is soft and easy to grasp. Dark, loamy. Good for growing things. Rich enough.
A strand of hair slides in front of my left eye, and I swipe it back behind my ear, most likely smudging my cheek in the process. It'll wash off easily enough.
Sitting back on my heels, I survey my work. The hole is almost perfectly round; I'm tempted to go back in and find an old compass to check, but resist. The bottom is rounded like a bowl. Three inches should be deep enough.
I set the reason for the hole in it and look at it for a minute--two--three. Long enough.
The dirt sifts through my fingers back into the hole, exactly as it was before. Not exactly, I guess. But close enough.
The ring is out of sight. I couldn't sell it, but I don't want it either. This is a compromise. Unlike him, will it be good enough?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Critique Group (And Critique) Love
Last night was another example of why I love my critique group. And it wasn't just that we all were a little slap-happy, running off on tangents and giggling about Vampire Eric.
We critiqued two great submissions last night. The submissions are always great, which is another reason I love this group. I always look forward to doing the critiques, because I know I'm going to enjoy what I'm reading. Ali gave us another installment of her (literally) kick-ass book with the smart-ass voice. Way too much fun, and having to wait until September for the next installment is heartbreaking. Jenny's first installment of the novel she thought would be her under-the-bed book sets up what promises to be a creepily fun ride through a fictional Colorado county.
And as great as the submissions were, we all had a few problems with each of them. No surprise. Even in published works by my favorite authors I can find things that I think would work better a different way. Or I find typos that weren't caught by any of the edits. Something.
Here's the difference between this group and others I've been part of: these two excellent writers accepted the feedback and asked for more. There may have been explanations of "This is what I trying to say," but those were quickly followed by "Obviously, I need to clarify." At one point, Jenny pleaded, "Just tell me what to do!" This doesn't mean that they'll be writing something different from what they set out to write. It means that the changes will help them tell the story they wanted to in a way that readers will get it.
One of my earliest critiques of a short story went fairly well. But the climactic scene was of a man with terminal cancer being told by his family that it was okay for him to let go and die. Just about everyone in the room commented on whether they agreed with euthanasia or not. One person even called it the euthanasia story (I had submitted two that night). When it came around to a friend of mine, he defended it, saying that HE understood what was going on and that I shouldn't change a thing. Of course, I left that night secure in the fact that if this person got it and if I respected this person's opinion (which I do) and thought he was a good writer and editor (which I do) then I didn't need to change anything in my story. But by the time I got home, I realized that I wasn't writing the story for just him or people like him. That if only one person in twenty understood what I was going for, then I failed and failed miserably. I needed to rewrite the story so that it was clearer.
You may not agree with all of the critiques you get. You may get contradictory feedback--even in CWC we don't always agree and that's a good thing. You may think the negative feedback is dead wrong. But don't discount it completely. Think about WHY you are getting the feedback you are. "He just didn't get it." Okay. So why didn't he? Were you unclear? Were your facts wrong? Have you set up a character in such a way that she would never ever do what you've just had her do? That can work, but you have to show the reader a really great reason for her to act against her character. Have you not done enough world building? Sci-fi and Fantasy are not the only genres that require you build the set for your characters to act on. Are those characters realistic whether they are aliens or zombies or lawyers?
None of us write perfect first drafts. Well, some of my colleagues come close and I hate them a little for that. Shhh. Don't tell them. Even they have to revise, though. Everyone revises. At least, the really good ones do. Edittorrent addresses this on her blog as well. [Hyperlink supplied to further impress Oliver]
Embrace the critique! Embrace the revision! I'm learning to. It's not always easy. But you'll be glad you did.
We critiqued two great submissions last night. The submissions are always great, which is another reason I love this group. I always look forward to doing the critiques, because I know I'm going to enjoy what I'm reading. Ali gave us another installment of her (literally) kick-ass book with the smart-ass voice. Way too much fun, and having to wait until September for the next installment is heartbreaking. Jenny's first installment of the novel she thought would be her under-the-bed book sets up what promises to be a creepily fun ride through a fictional Colorado county.
And as great as the submissions were, we all had a few problems with each of them. No surprise. Even in published works by my favorite authors I can find things that I think would work better a different way. Or I find typos that weren't caught by any of the edits. Something.
Here's the difference between this group and others I've been part of: these two excellent writers accepted the feedback and asked for more. There may have been explanations of "This is what I trying to say," but those were quickly followed by "Obviously, I need to clarify." At one point, Jenny pleaded, "Just tell me what to do!" This doesn't mean that they'll be writing something different from what they set out to write. It means that the changes will help them tell the story they wanted to in a way that readers will get it.
One of my earliest critiques of a short story went fairly well. But the climactic scene was of a man with terminal cancer being told by his family that it was okay for him to let go and die. Just about everyone in the room commented on whether they agreed with euthanasia or not. One person even called it the euthanasia story (I had submitted two that night). When it came around to a friend of mine, he defended it, saying that HE understood what was going on and that I shouldn't change a thing. Of course, I left that night secure in the fact that if this person got it and if I respected this person's opinion (which I do) and thought he was a good writer and editor (which I do) then I didn't need to change anything in my story. But by the time I got home, I realized that I wasn't writing the story for just him or people like him. That if only one person in twenty understood what I was going for, then I failed and failed miserably. I needed to rewrite the story so that it was clearer.
You may not agree with all of the critiques you get. You may get contradictory feedback--even in CWC we don't always agree and that's a good thing. You may think the negative feedback is dead wrong. But don't discount it completely. Think about WHY you are getting the feedback you are. "He just didn't get it." Okay. So why didn't he? Were you unclear? Were your facts wrong? Have you set up a character in such a way that she would never ever do what you've just had her do? That can work, but you have to show the reader a really great reason for her to act against her character. Have you not done enough world building? Sci-fi and Fantasy are not the only genres that require you build the set for your characters to act on. Are those characters realistic whether they are aliens or zombies or lawyers?
None of us write perfect first drafts. Well, some of my colleagues come close and I hate them a little for that. Shhh. Don't tell them. Even they have to revise, though. Everyone revises. At least, the really good ones do. Edittorrent addresses this on her blog as well. [Hyperlink supplied to further impress Oliver]
Embrace the critique! Embrace the revision! I'm learning to. It's not always easy. But you'll be glad you did.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday Writing Prompt
Yeah, I know. It's Thursday. Whatever.
This is my take on Ali's weekly challenge. Here are the rules. The prompt, from Juanita's blog, is highlighted and links to said blog.
“I’m STILL waiting for my doll class.”
“Sorry?”
“My doll class. I’ve been waiting for it for ever so long.” The ragamuffin slumped between the craft store and tiny toyshop, her clothing reminiscent of a Dickens orphan.
The strip mall would close in just a few minutes. Certainly no doll class would be starting now. I scanned the window of the craft store for a class schedule, but found none. “Did your mother go into that store?” I pointed.
She shook her head. “My mother left me here ages ago, but she didn’t go into that store.”
“The toy store then?” I opened the door of the toyshop and strained to see. The lights were dim and no one was in sight. “Hello. Does anyone know this little girl?” I stepped back outside. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Her head tilted down as if to hide her face. “It used to be Rebecca Louise. But then my mother started calling me Doody Head and Puke Face.”
Disgust for the woman who would do something like that to her own child filled me and almost choked off my next words. “I’m going to call someone to help you.” My cell phone blinked “no service” at me, and there was no sign of a security guard anywhere. “Stay right here, I’m going into the store to make a call.”
I dashed into the craft store. Maybe the horrible mother was inside it after all. At least that was the justification I gave for not just stepping back into the toyshop. The toyshop that felt off somehow.
There were no customers inside, and the woman behind the counter knew nothing about a doll-making class. After reporting the lost girl, I went back outside to wait with her for the police and, I suspected, social services. She wasn’t there. I tried the door of the toyshop, but it was locked. Panicked, I ran the length of the mall, stopping at each of the six other stores. Most were already closed, but the few people remaining had not seen the little girl.
An hour later, the police officer finally seemed satisfied with my statement. “Maybe her mother picked her up while you were calling,” he offered for the fifth or sixth time.
“Maybe.” It was as much as I could manage. I had been watching out the window the whole time I made the phone call. No one had passed the store. And I hadn’t seen the little girl, Rebecca Louise, walk away. But I had my own children to get home to.
“Thank you for your concern,” the office said. “Not everyone would take the time.” He closed his notepad and walked back to his squad car.
I leaned against the window of the toyshop, going over the event, trying to figure out when the girl’s mother could have retrieved her without my seeing it. The interior of the shop was brighter than it had been when I’d been inside. It looked more cheerful as well.
As I gathered my bags, a display near the back of the shop caught my attention. One doll pointed at a blackboard. Three other dolls sat at desks facing her. One had short marcelled hair and was dressed like a flapper. One looked like she’d just come from settling the old west. And the one closest to the door looked like, she looked like, well like Rebecca Louise.
I shifted to see what was written on the blackboard. The teacher pointed at, “How To Find A New Mommy.”
This is my take on Ali's weekly challenge. Here are the rules. The prompt, from Juanita's blog, is highlighted and links to said blog.
“I’m STILL waiting for my doll class.”
“Sorry?”
“My doll class. I’ve been waiting for it for ever so long.” The ragamuffin slumped between the craft store and tiny toyshop, her clothing reminiscent of a Dickens orphan.
The strip mall would close in just a few minutes. Certainly no doll class would be starting now. I scanned the window of the craft store for a class schedule, but found none. “Did your mother go into that store?” I pointed.
She shook her head. “My mother left me here ages ago, but she didn’t go into that store.”
“The toy store then?” I opened the door of the toyshop and strained to see. The lights were dim and no one was in sight. “Hello. Does anyone know this little girl?” I stepped back outside. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Her head tilted down as if to hide her face. “It used to be Rebecca Louise. But then my mother started calling me Doody Head and Puke Face.”
Disgust for the woman who would do something like that to her own child filled me and almost choked off my next words. “I’m going to call someone to help you.” My cell phone blinked “no service” at me, and there was no sign of a security guard anywhere. “Stay right here, I’m going into the store to make a call.”
I dashed into the craft store. Maybe the horrible mother was inside it after all. At least that was the justification I gave for not just stepping back into the toyshop. The toyshop that felt off somehow.
There were no customers inside, and the woman behind the counter knew nothing about a doll-making class. After reporting the lost girl, I went back outside to wait with her for the police and, I suspected, social services. She wasn’t there. I tried the door of the toyshop, but it was locked. Panicked, I ran the length of the mall, stopping at each of the six other stores. Most were already closed, but the few people remaining had not seen the little girl.
An hour later, the police officer finally seemed satisfied with my statement. “Maybe her mother picked her up while you were calling,” he offered for the fifth or sixth time.
“Maybe.” It was as much as I could manage. I had been watching out the window the whole time I made the phone call. No one had passed the store. And I hadn’t seen the little girl, Rebecca Louise, walk away. But I had my own children to get home to.
“Thank you for your concern,” the office said. “Not everyone would take the time.” He closed his notepad and walked back to his squad car.
I leaned against the window of the toyshop, going over the event, trying to figure out when the girl’s mother could have retrieved her without my seeing it. The interior of the shop was brighter than it had been when I’d been inside. It looked more cheerful as well.
As I gathered my bags, a display near the back of the shop caught my attention. One doll pointed at a blackboard. Three other dolls sat at desks facing her. One had short marcelled hair and was dressed like a flapper. One looked like she’d just come from settling the old west. And the one closest to the door looked like, she looked like, well like Rebecca Louise.
I shifted to see what was written on the blackboard. The teacher pointed at, “How To Find A New Mommy.”
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday Writing Prompt
Ali is at it again. She has started a new weekly challenge. The quick explanation is to take inspiration from any blog using a post made in the previous week. Bold the phrase in your scene, poem, dialogue, etc. with a link to the original blog.
Here is my contribution:
Sure, you can pummel
Vegetables to death, but
Hollandaise is best
Here is my contribution:
Sure, you can pummel
Vegetables to death, but
Hollandaise is best
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Taking Ali's Challenge Plus
Fred, a member of the Sunday Group, passed away over the weekend as the result of a stroke and the complications that followed. He was a highly intelligent, funny, odd and just plain nice man. Ali's May Challenge is in Fred's honor. It is simply to learn something new just for the pleasure of learning.
One of the last times I spoke with Fred was right after I read Dante's Inferno. Although I stated that I understood how it had stood the test of time and the artistry and craft that went into writing it (see post in archives), the mere fact that I didn't enjoy it appalled Fred. He seemed to take it as a personal affront. So, in Fred's honor, I will finish The Divine Comedy this summer. I also picked up a copy of the Poetic Eddas and will read them over the summer as well.
Rest well, Fred.
One of the last times I spoke with Fred was right after I read Dante's Inferno. Although I stated that I understood how it had stood the test of time and the artistry and craft that went into writing it (see post in archives), the mere fact that I didn't enjoy it appalled Fred. He seemed to take it as a personal affront. So, in Fred's honor, I will finish The Divine Comedy this summer. I also picked up a copy of the Poetic Eddas and will read them over the summer as well.
Rest well, Fred.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Taking My Own Advice
So, yesterday I packed up my bag with a couple different notebooks and journals and headed to It's A Grind for what Ali calls out-of-the-house pages. I was disappointed at first because the place was packed with Sunday after church and Sunday not so much church people. Only one table left and that one in the middle of the room. But I slung my bag into a chair to hold it and went off to order my coffee.
A few minutes later, I was so deep into my Morning Pages I almost missed the woman bringing me my triple Nutty Cow (hazelnut latte). Finished morning pages and pulled out a very pretty journal that I hadn't written in since last October. That surprised me. I think about that book all the time, but it seems that thinking about writing really isn't writing (Neil Gaiman was right). I looked around the coffee shop, wondering what to write about. I hadn't brought any prompts with me and couldn't think of any that sounded interesting. Then I spotted a guy who bore a slight resemblance to Stephen Fry, the actor and King of Twitter. That was all it took. Several pages later, I had what could turn out to be a fun short story with a little work.
As I sipped my coffee and looked out at the beautiful Colorado day, a woman sitting by the window asked me, "Are you writing a book or just writing for yourself?" "Both actually." We chatted for a while. She's from Michigan, too, not far from where I grew up. Then off to King Soopers for some healthy-ish food for the week.
When I got home, I took my bag into the writing room, pulled out the draft of MMG and started on rewrites. I had fun with them for the first time in a while. Actually liked what I was producing. Seventeen pages that sound like me. Not like a pale imitation.
I rock.
A few minutes later, I was so deep into my Morning Pages I almost missed the woman bringing me my triple Nutty Cow (hazelnut latte). Finished morning pages and pulled out a very pretty journal that I hadn't written in since last October. That surprised me. I think about that book all the time, but it seems that thinking about writing really isn't writing (Neil Gaiman was right). I looked around the coffee shop, wondering what to write about. I hadn't brought any prompts with me and couldn't think of any that sounded interesting. Then I spotted a guy who bore a slight resemblance to Stephen Fry, the actor and King of Twitter. That was all it took. Several pages later, I had what could turn out to be a fun short story with a little work.
As I sipped my coffee and looked out at the beautiful Colorado day, a woman sitting by the window asked me, "Are you writing a book or just writing for yourself?" "Both actually." We chatted for a while. She's from Michigan, too, not far from where I grew up. Then off to King Soopers for some healthy-ish food for the week.
When I got home, I took my bag into the writing room, pulled out the draft of MMG and started on rewrites. I had fun with them for the first time in a while. Actually liked what I was producing. Seventeen pages that sound like me. Not like a pale imitation.
I rock.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Synchronicity Again
I've been having a rough couple of weeks. Nothing major. No health issues or big money woes. Just a sort of malaise. An "I suck at everything" feeling. I get this once in a while. Lots of negative self-talk and such.
Mentioned my mood to Jenny and Ali before the CWC meeting last week, and Jenny said she'd been in a bad mood. Sort of an "I suck at everything" mood. Now we both know we don't suck at everything, but when one of these moods sets in, it's not about what we know but what we feel.
The next day I took a few of my trusty index cards and put together a set of affirmations. Positive responses to the negative things I'd been telling myself about myself. Started reading them a couple times a day. Unfortunately, my first few times through that nasty little voice answered each one with the nasty stuff I'd been telling myself. But repetition helps silence that. After a while it does help. So does letting myself relax. Doing other things I enjoy.
So, imagine my surprise when I check out Pat's blog and see a whole post on the dangers of negative self talk and some suggestions on what to do about it. Sometimes these things are just out there in the air.
And, if you're convinced that you too suck because something didn't turn out quite the way you planned or wasn't done when you thought it should have been (my personal suckage trigger), go over to Courtney's blog and listen to J.K. Rowling extol the virtues of failure.
By the way, YOU certainly don't suck, especially not at everything. And I'm realizing that I don't either.
Mentioned my mood to Jenny and Ali before the CWC meeting last week, and Jenny said she'd been in a bad mood. Sort of an "I suck at everything" mood. Now we both know we don't suck at everything, but when one of these moods sets in, it's not about what we know but what we feel.
The next day I took a few of my trusty index cards and put together a set of affirmations. Positive responses to the negative things I'd been telling myself about myself. Started reading them a couple times a day. Unfortunately, my first few times through that nasty little voice answered each one with the nasty stuff I'd been telling myself. But repetition helps silence that. After a while it does help. So does letting myself relax. Doing other things I enjoy.
So, imagine my surprise when I check out Pat's blog and see a whole post on the dangers of negative self talk and some suggestions on what to do about it. Sometimes these things are just out there in the air.
And, if you're convinced that you too suck because something didn't turn out quite the way you planned or wasn't done when you thought it should have been (my personal suckage trigger), go over to Courtney's blog and listen to J.K. Rowling extol the virtues of failure.
By the way, YOU certainly don't suck, especially not at everything. And I'm realizing that I don't either.
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