I made a Big Audacious Goal that I would blog for 365 straight days and I did it!
I made the goal because I have a tendency to drop things when I get bored, and I want to break that habit. I don’t know that I have, but 365 sustained days is an accomplishment.
I’m going to take a short break and then begin to blog again. See you later!
Yesterday, I thought I was blocked writing. Then I wrote 1800 words, which is the most I’ve written in a good while. I don’t know how I did this, except I kept writing what I had on my mind.
I still don’t know if I like the book. I feel like there’s a lot of talking and not a lot of action. The action is coming up, but is it enough? This book may take a lot of rewriting once I get it down. We shall see. It also might not make it to daylight.
Sometimes I think I am toward the end of my writing career. It has been — what? 10 years? It’s been a good ten years, but I think I’ve gotten as far as I am going to. It’s hard for me to maintain and not go forward. I haven’t had a Big Audacious Goal toward writing for a while. We shall see.
I am 15 days from my latest not-so-big audacious goal, writing in this blog for 365 straight days. Yet I keep forgetting to write! Luckily, I catch myself before the day is over, but all it would take is one day of forgetting entirely, and I would be back at zero.
I don’t really like all or nothing goals like this. They’re less about performance than persistence. ButI’ve been doing this blogging for 350 days, so…
I wrote two or three chapters that are all wrong. The main male character seems perfect, the main female character is too ambivalent (although ambivalence is not a bad thing here), and it’s too talky. What does one do when the characters are all wrong?
Revise, revise, revise. I know writers say not to edit your work until you’re done, but this section can’t stand as is. It’s wrong. It’s going to lead the reader to the wrong place. It’s already leading the writer to the wrong place. So, there’s at least 5000 words down the drain (two of the chapters were only partially written) and time to write them over again.
I know what I will be doing at Starbucks today.
I’m writing a book right now, where the female protagonist is (among other things) a folksinger, and her significant other is an immortal who wants to be human because he thinks it will cure his loneliness. One song she performs at open mic night is Child 39a, an old ballad called Tam Lin.
The ballad is about Tam Lin, a captive of the fairy realm who holds a plot of land, and any unaccompanied woman who passes there has to give up something of herself, including her virginity. One woman, who gets pregnant, returns to demand he support his child. He agrees to marry her if she takes him from captivity. He warns her he will turn into all sorts of vicious forms, and if she continues to hold on, he is hers. This goes according to plan and they live happily ever after.
I realized in the middle of writing this section that their story is basically Tam Lin, with a few changes. He is held captive by his loneliness. She rescues him and holds onto him as several layers of his existence are shed — immortal, being made in the image of humans, and then his final layer — inevitably other. No vicious forms, but the alienness of his being stands in. In the end, their story is bittersweet as I suspect Tam Lin’s is — how do you live in the ordinary world when you have been touched by the fey? How do you have a relationship with someone that alien to you?
I’m using the song as a framing device. I would tell you it all fell together accidentally, but I know the subconscious of a writer is a powerful thing.
Last day of writing retreat — and I wrote a lot. Two chapters. It felt good. Also visited kitties. Ate Jamaican chicken curry. Had a marvelous time.
I’m on a writing retreat in KC, and although I haven’t written anything yet, I got to watch fireworks from the 35th floor of my hotel.
Today is writing, followed by going to the cat cafe to pet cats. Then maybe more writing. We shall see.
I’m at a crucial place in my story, a big reveal, and then chaos. It’s a bit intimidating to write. But I will make it.
I am finally back to writing. The current book, which has the same name as the previous book I was having trouble writing (Hiding in Plain Sight), is flowing nicely so far and is enjoyable to write. No feeling like I’m drifting along killing time. So far.
I am using the usual “plantsing” method for writing this book. I have a rough plot outline in Scrivener that I follow — it tells me what to expect in the chapter. Then I fill in the action from there. I feel more secure in this outline so far. I might get to the point where I wish I was writing a novella, or I beat my head against the wall looking for plot, but it hasn’t happened yet.
I like Alice Johnson as a protagonist. An anthropology grad student, a little absorbed in her folk tales, perhaps a little naive, she seems the perfect protagonist to contrast with the centuries-old yet new to relationships William. I think there’s enough to keep going.
Wish me luck.
My life is not very exciting. I don’t have any big vacations to get excited about; no momentous occasions. We didn’t have a big party for my 60th, and that’s the last milestone before I retire in about 5 years. The events of my life are mundane, and I have seen them before. I’m going to Lincoln, NE for an internship visit tomorrow. I will go to New York Hope in late July/early August (somewhere in there). I will probably go to Kansas City for Thanksgiving. There’s just nothing that I’m that excited about.
I think it might be my age. At my age (61), things can get pretty mellow. Life is not a rollercoaster ride anymore. It’s more like a road trip to an accustomed place — nice, but not new grounds. The terrain is pretty even, the travel smooth, the scenery familiar.
The thing I’m most looking forward to is getting more writing done on my latest book. I’ve finally found a book that wants to be written, and I’m having fun with it. Not a bad thing to look forward to.
My husband suggested to me that I might be writing the wrong story.
I have been writing on a novel that has been, simply, lackluster. I don’t like the main character well, it’s writing slow, and the drama comes too late. Everyone’s sitting around talking. There’s no love story. There’s no tension. Writing it is an exercise in tedium.
Richard suggested I’m writing from the view of the wrong main character. And he’s right. Much of the main story, which in the current novel is written as a side story, is the relationship between the human Alice Johnson and the Archetype William Morris. Alice is an anthropology grad student who is persistent in following her suspicions that William is not what he seems. William doesn’t want to be discovered, but he is falling for Alice. And they have a rocky relationship, given William’s trauma and Alice’s persistence. All this in the backdrop of beings that cannot afford to be discovered.
I still don’t know if there’s enough tension in this one other than William and Alice, who eventually have the daughter Anna Johnson, later to be adopted by Arthur Schmidt. She is the main character of Whose Hearts are Mountains, which explores the mystery of her birth. But there is something to hold onto, something that might keep me writing.
Words Like Me 