Can I say that revisions to an existing story are harder than just writing a new one?
But I have revised and resubmitted.
Now off to rest my bleeding eyeballs.
gush gush
September 6, 2008 Leave a Comment
Is it seemly for a writer to love her own book as much as I’m loving Season of Rains right now? I just did a read-through of it prior to massive revisions. And instead of compiling a long list of all that’s broken, I just sat and chuckled over my own witty dialogue and turns of phrase. For example,
The rain muttered all around them, like a senile old man.
And this, which pretty much sums up the sort of rotten circumstances Jhayni finds herself in for most of the book:
She was too trusting, he’d said, and look at her now. In the dark, barefoot and cold, committing a crime in the company of a man she barely knew.
However, I did not spend this entire time admiring my own cleverness. There were some parts that left me scratching my head.
For instance, gentle readers, what is a Five-Star Royal?
And, what in the world happened here?:
It would be heresey bnhjumik to say that out loud.
I’d blame the cat, except I don’t have one.
And,
A. unwound the rope, and a faint light flickered over the metal [spiky thing?] tied to one end. He… threw it up… heaved on the rope. The [spiky thing?] remained caught.
The spiky thing, as my dear husband informed me last night, is a grapnel. Why didn’t I know this before? Where was the Husband/climbing expert while I was writing this, anyhow?
More fun and games to follow.
stranger than fiction
September 4, 2008 Leave a Comment
The Husband (who apparently trawls the Internet looking for random trivia) sent me this item about a natural rock pool at the very top of a giant waterfall in Africa. It is appropriately nicknamed “The Devil’s Swimming Pool”.
And this, folks, is one of the reasons why I read so much non-fiction. There’s nothing like Real Life to amaze, appal and entrhrall me.
the secrets that we keep
September 3, 2008 2 Comments
I had a revelation last week while I was doing a bit of freewriting on why I write. Amidst the usual reasons of megalomania (“I am GOD of this world! Tremble, all ye minions! Bwahahaha!”) and delusions (“The voices in my head told me to write this”) of grandeur (“I will be rich and famous!”), I came up with this unexpected motivation:
I write to have something that is just mine, something I don’t have to share with the people I live with, to have a reason to carve out time and space for myself.
I’m not especially saintly and altruistic, but I do spend a lot of time doing things for other people. I kinda have to, seeing as I’m at home with three kids under the age of four. I feed and clothe and diaper; I sweep floors and wash dishes; I read books aloud and help with puzzles; I mediate disputes and drive my cherubs to playdates and doctor’s appointments. I don’t say this because I think I merit some kind of Mommy Prize–pretty much every mommy I know does this, and is happy to (except for maybe the dishes part). I say this because I am inherently a selfish person who needs a lot of down time for herself and mental and physical space to just think. Writing allows me a guilt-free way to get all that; after all, I’m not just flipping through a magazine or aimlessly surfing the Internet. I’m being productive, creative, inspired, thoughtful, disciplined, risk-taking, adventurous.
Oh, yeah, and getting that time to just myself.
I’m not sure whether this revelation changes anything. But it was a neat “huh, I never knew that about myself” moment.
the big bad blank page
September 1, 2008 Leave a Comment
Hello. *raises hand* I’m a writer, and, um… I’m afraid of a blank page.
For several months now, I’ve talked/dreamed/blogged about taking up drawing as my secondary hobby (which means that in terms of priorities it has to fall way below things like “putting away laundry” and “cleaning the oven”). I’ve bought and borrowed how-to books. I got myself fancy pencils and a fancy sketchbook. I hunted around for local drawing classes for when I am no longer continuously attached to my little nursing buddy here.
But I never got around to actually putting my fancy pencil on my fancy paper and so much as drawing a line.
And I finally figured out why. It wasn’t that I had no time (if I have time to follow Internet rabbit trails, I have time to draw!). It was quite simply, a fear of the blank page.
You may laugh. As a writer, I have no problem filling up the (metaphorical) paper with lots and lots of words. Even if those words are just “blah, blah, blah”, heh. If I don’t have the mental energy to work on a story, I journal or do a writing exercise. Blank pages are meant to be written on.
But not drawn on, apparently.
So, the other week, I got out this book of drawing prompts
