today, the black dog is prowling. i told Twitter about it, and my tweeps instantly set about cheering me up. or, in one particular case *looks hard at @peevishpenman* bullying me to do something about it. Carrie's suggestion was to join her blogfest.
after a little persuasion, i guess i may have one or two things to add, with the caveat that most of the advice probably comes not from me, but from Saint Neil (better known as Neil Gaiman - thoroughly bigged up in this post on how i became a writer and got my name).
1) write. just write. doesn't matter what. emails, blog posts, poems, short stories, scenes, *anything*. if you haven't been trained, you need the practice. even if you *have* been trained, it'll keep the writing muscles in your brain nice and limber.
2) write about stuff you find interesting. if *you're* not interested, your readers sure as hell won't be.
3) read. lots. sounds obvious, i know, but that's how i learned to write. just by having my nose (literally) in a book from the age of seven or eight.
4) read different stuff to what you'e used to. you may not enjoy a lot of it, and that's fine. but *give it a chance* before you put it down and say "this isn't for me". you may be surprised. also, it will give you clues as to what you in particular probably *shouldn't* be writing. (see #2)
5) ask yourself "what if?" ALL THE TIME. this is how stories are made.
6) most importantly (for me, at any rate) find a support network!!! seriously. Twitter (where i found mine) has more value to me as a writer than i could possibly, possibly express. for advice, opening up new genres, and a vast, limitless supply of support, encouragement and Twitterlove, i woldn't call myself a writer if it wasn't for those little 140 character messages, cheering me on from all over the world.
it gives me the warm fuzzies. ^_^
hey, carrie, whadya know? it seems to be working! *smile*
.
Showing posts with label am i worthy?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label am i worthy?. Show all posts
Friday, 18 June 2010
Monday, 5 April 2010
nothing to see here..move along, please...
today, i find myself with a feeling that i appear to have had for most of my life. desperate to write something, but with no idea of what to write.
oh, the joys of blogging!
to be able to write about nothing much if i so wish, just to assuage the desperate need to write! at this point, i refer you to the note under the blog's title - please feel free to wander off and watch paint dry - i won't hold it against you - how do you think i feel? i have to live in here.
when i was a kid and overtaken by this urge, i would get a picture book of fairy tales i had, and copy out the tales until the need to use paper and pen or pencil to make words was quietened for now.
actually, now my mind is wandering off the path and wondering if i am cursed. this thought tends to occur for many and varied reasons in my day-to-day life, but in this particular instance....a (fledgeling) writer, wants to write, in fact needs to write, but completely devoid of inspiration or the kind of mind that can pull together random elements and put them togethter in unusual and unexpected ways, and use it to tell a story to amaze/amuse/pull forth emotions/whatever. also - a writer with nothing much to say about anything, if i'm honest.
or maybe i'm just an inveterate chatterbox with a stationary fetish?...
hmmm....
well, anyway, like i said - less even than usual to say, but when did that ever stop me?... the first stage of editing the WIP is finished. i've fixed the spelling, the wonky sentences, and argued constantly with the spelling and grammar checker over whether or not a sentence is too wordy, or should/should not end on a preposition.
...by the way - WTF is a preposition anyway?!...
and hubby has read it. this is a first, him not being someone who generally reads for pleasure. and he says he enjoyed it, which, of course, pleases me immensely. :o) he was also kind enough to point out one or two plot holes and inconsistencies. these, i will file away for later. having lived with the blasted thing for the last 5 months, i'm far too close to it and, frankly, heartily sick of the bloody thing. it's a disappointment to me, especially after the first one. however, i already have another couple of ideas settling into the silt for next november, so maybe i'll just leave them there, and see what occurs. or maybe they'll make themselves into short stories between now and then.
because i thought i might have a go at short stories next.
i know, i know - short stories are hard. really hard. and that's good. i want a different challenge, and i understand short stories can be wonderful learning experiences foran author a writer (feels weird and presumptious to refer to myself as an author - i'm just someone who wants to write). personally, after this last one, i hope i can give myself a few lessons in cutting out the waffle. it also means i'm gonna have to tune my brain in to the odd details of the world - the things that pique my interest. a word, a phrase, a situation, an incongruous juxtaposition of ideas. i'm going to have to have my writer head on most, if not all of the time. it will be interesting to see if i can keep that little entity that sits at the back of my brain (on a three-legged stool with a pen poised over a reporter's notebook) alert, and watching. i wonder what she'll come up with? i also wonder if she'll notice things that i don't, and poke me as i'm writing?
gods, i hope so...
.
oh, the joys of blogging!
to be able to write about nothing much if i so wish, just to assuage the desperate need to write! at this point, i refer you to the note under the blog's title - please feel free to wander off and watch paint dry - i won't hold it against you - how do you think i feel? i have to live in here.
when i was a kid and overtaken by this urge, i would get a picture book of fairy tales i had, and copy out the tales until the need to use paper and pen or pencil to make words was quietened for now.
actually, now my mind is wandering off the path and wondering if i am cursed. this thought tends to occur for many and varied reasons in my day-to-day life, but in this particular instance....a (fledgeling) writer, wants to write, in fact needs to write, but completely devoid of inspiration or the kind of mind that can pull together random elements and put them togethter in unusual and unexpected ways, and use it to tell a story to amaze/amuse/pull forth emotions/whatever. also - a writer with nothing much to say about anything, if i'm honest.
or maybe i'm just an inveterate chatterbox with a stationary fetish?...
hmmm....
well, anyway, like i said - less even than usual to say, but when did that ever stop me?... the first stage of editing the WIP is finished. i've fixed the spelling, the wonky sentences, and argued constantly with the spelling and grammar checker over whether or not a sentence is too wordy, or should/should not end on a preposition.
...by the way - WTF is a preposition anyway?!...
and hubby has read it. this is a first, him not being someone who generally reads for pleasure. and he says he enjoyed it, which, of course, pleases me immensely. :o) he was also kind enough to point out one or two plot holes and inconsistencies. these, i will file away for later. having lived with the blasted thing for the last 5 months, i'm far too close to it and, frankly, heartily sick of the bloody thing. it's a disappointment to me, especially after the first one. however, i already have another couple of ideas settling into the silt for next november, so maybe i'll just leave them there, and see what occurs. or maybe they'll make themselves into short stories between now and then.
because i thought i might have a go at short stories next.
i know, i know - short stories are hard. really hard. and that's good. i want a different challenge, and i understand short stories can be wonderful learning experiences for
gods, i hope so...
.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
mind's wandering again...
today, i typed approximately 2,750 words. that's about 5 days' worth. not bad. happy with this. tomorrow, i may see if i can repeat the feat, and make it 5,000. odd how easy it is when i ignore the siren call of twitter, innit?... also, at a running total of 32,00 words, i finally got round to backing it up on a memory stick. show's you what i feel about this one, when compared to the last one, which i backed up every time i wrote any more. or maybe i now trust my slightly shaky and delicate laptop not to do something catastrophic? personally, i think it's probably the former. not that there isn't some (to me, at least) good stuff in the new one (i'm particularly fond of the clowns - they are what started this one, after all), but ... Oh, i dunno. i think there are at least some of my treaders (hah! all ten of 'em!) who may be disappointed having read the first one. and the first third REALLY needs a kick up the arse. but that is a problem for later. right now, i'm actually quite enjoying the story. i may even post a little of it here, if i get around to it - and if i think anyone else may want to read it.
(*re-reads what has just written* hmmm...three sets of brackets in the first paragraph. i may get told off for that...)
now i have a headache, possibly from typing, but more likely from how much i smoke when i'm typing (or writing, for that matter). bad girl, squeaky! :( really, at my age, you'd think i would know better. especially since my mum glories in the story of the time when i was at a neighbour's house party and, at four years old, proudly and vehemently told a lady who had just produced a cigarette "If you smoke, you'll die!"
i was that sort of kid.
the lady in question apparrently said "Well, that's told ME." and returned the cigarette to its packet. history is silent on whether she took my four-year-old's advice to heart. probably not, though.
so, unless we acquire another judge, it seems i won the competition. this makes me happy, of course it does. but it feels a bit weird, too. like i'm an impostor, or something. like somebody's going to sneak up behind me and whip the mask off and expose me for being one with a writing well the depth of a puddle. i guess i'm reasonably good at describing scenes. i certainly enjoy it, a lot, and i had the most marvellous fun with the competition. but it's the finding of the stories, and the stringing together of them, and the dialogue (*groan* the dialogue! i'm sooo bad at it, and i *hate* having to write it!). i keep expecting the well to suddenly run dry and to be left on the bottom, flopping and gasping like a dying fish, whilst the slime of centuries drips around me. and as for doing something original, or telling it in an original way - forget it! i am too forgetful (or lazy, more likely) for proper plotting, multiple storylines, or the gradual reveal. too instinctive. no sense of structure. i just write, and see where my pen takes me. sometimes this is good - someties bad. often indifferent. but i do kind of enjoy writing that way, too - seeing where the story will lead me. it's almost like the reading of another person's novel. i just wander down the path, going "Oooo!" at any wonders i'm shown along the way. when i was writing this one, for instance, i got an image in my head of how i write. i will share it with you, dear reader, and hope it makes some sort of sense:
imagine a windy day. there is a girl, standing on a bright and grassy hillside. for some reason, she has long, dark hair, a slender, willowy build, and beautiful, creamy skin. in her hands, she holds a long, long strip of red chiffon, a couple of feet wide. she is holding this chiffon by the corners of one end, and it is the unwritten story. it is fluttering and weaving sinuously in the wind. as i write the story, the words i put onto the page gradually appear on the edges of the chiffon as stones the colour of the sky, weighing it to the ground along its length. the end of the chiffon continues to dance in the wind, but the story as it is written, it gradually lays down a red path on the hillside, and the dancing portion becomes less and less until i finally write "The End".
and now, The Most Wonderful Woman In The World has arrived with her two adorable lurchers, so i must stop.
(*re-reads what has just written* hmmm...three sets of brackets in the first paragraph. i may get told off for that...)
now i have a headache, possibly from typing, but more likely from how much i smoke when i'm typing (or writing, for that matter). bad girl, squeaky! :( really, at my age, you'd think i would know better. especially since my mum glories in the story of the time when i was at a neighbour's house party and, at four years old, proudly and vehemently told a lady who had just produced a cigarette "If you smoke, you'll die!"
i was that sort of kid.
the lady in question apparrently said "Well, that's told ME." and returned the cigarette to its packet. history is silent on whether she took my four-year-old's advice to heart. probably not, though.
so, unless we acquire another judge, it seems i won the competition. this makes me happy, of course it does. but it feels a bit weird, too. like i'm an impostor, or something. like somebody's going to sneak up behind me and whip the mask off and expose me for being one with a writing well the depth of a puddle. i guess i'm reasonably good at describing scenes. i certainly enjoy it, a lot, and i had the most marvellous fun with the competition. but it's the finding of the stories, and the stringing together of them, and the dialogue (*groan* the dialogue! i'm sooo bad at it, and i *hate* having to write it!). i keep expecting the well to suddenly run dry and to be left on the bottom, flopping and gasping like a dying fish, whilst the slime of centuries drips around me. and as for doing something original, or telling it in an original way - forget it! i am too forgetful (or lazy, more likely) for proper plotting, multiple storylines, or the gradual reveal. too instinctive. no sense of structure. i just write, and see where my pen takes me. sometimes this is good - someties bad. often indifferent. but i do kind of enjoy writing that way, too - seeing where the story will lead me. it's almost like the reading of another person's novel. i just wander down the path, going "Oooo!" at any wonders i'm shown along the way. when i was writing this one, for instance, i got an image in my head of how i write. i will share it with you, dear reader, and hope it makes some sort of sense:
imagine a windy day. there is a girl, standing on a bright and grassy hillside. for some reason, she has long, dark hair, a slender, willowy build, and beautiful, creamy skin. in her hands, she holds a long, long strip of red chiffon, a couple of feet wide. she is holding this chiffon by the corners of one end, and it is the unwritten story. it is fluttering and weaving sinuously in the wind. as i write the story, the words i put onto the page gradually appear on the edges of the chiffon as stones the colour of the sky, weighing it to the ground along its length. the end of the chiffon continues to dance in the wind, but the story as it is written, it gradually lays down a red path on the hillside, and the dancing portion becomes less and less until i finally write "The End".
and now, The Most Wonderful Woman In The World has arrived with her two adorable lurchers, so i must stop.
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