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my blog, 1 year hence.
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my blog, 1 year hence.
It was a dark and stormy night. I understand this is considered a writing nadir but actually I think it makes a pretty good opening line, irregardless of what the naysayers say about it.
P.S. I am also rooting for Pluto to regain status as a planet.
I want to write a novel that makes people feel the way my favorite songs make me feel.
Damn, I really thought I was on a roll and had figured out how to incorporate writing-a-daily-blog-entry into my life. Now, two days in a row, life (and especially the stupid old day job) have interfered. Here I am at bedtime with no energy or ideas or clarity. Which probably means I shouldn’t be typing and yet here I am. Today’s blog has become symbolic of the larger struggle between life’s obligations versus the things that make life worth doing in the first place. I have always been too bound by obligations. I need to do better at eating dessert before I finish the veggies.
If I talk about what I am writing – or planning to write – I make the writing more difficult and put the piece at risk of getting set aside, ne’er to be finished. It doesn’t matter what the listener’s reaction is – enthusiasm or boredom, support or disdain – sharing the ideas damages my process of converting ideas to fiction. After I talk about writing, I simply feel less urgency to get it done.
Seems like it would be fun to brainstorm with other writers or use them as sounding boards. But I’m not sure I could even talk to the cats without jeopardy. Maybe I could talk to a mirror? Never mind about that. Creepy.
Am I the only one in this situation? That doesn’t seem possible. Other writers, which side of this fence are you on?
I do a lot of planning for every novel. I have the whole thing roughly laid out before I start writing and I decide what I want to accomplish each day before I begin. And yet, I never sit down to think about my writing. All my best ideas come when I am brushing my teeth or weeding the garden. Then, when I do sit down to write, the unplanned, unanticipated bits are so often the best products of any writing session. Furthermore, if I need to solve a particular writing problem, I can’t sit down and stare at the screen or the page. I have to take a hike instead, or do some housework, or go to sleep.
All of which makes me conclude that my un-, sub-, and super-*conscious brain is a better writer than my conscious one. And I speculate that all the planning and the structure are craft equivalents of brushing my teeth: they give my conscious brain something to do while the rest of my brain gets the real job done.
*Damn, now where did I get that phrasing from? “Un-, sub-, and supernatural forces” I think that is how the original went … something by Stoppard, I believe… Rosencrantz?
I have had so many jobs, and quite a few careers. Writing is my calling, so that has persisted through change after change of day job. But if I could have just one job – and if I got my choice – I would be a musician. I guess I would need to be a musician who writes songs, as I’ll always need to write. Yes, that’s a plan I could live with.
The only problem with my being a musician is that I’m no good at it. No talent. No vision. Incredibly average voice. Skill that rarely breaks past the rudimentary barrier. My best hope of being a musician was back in the early days of punk,when desire trumped ability. I don’t know why I wasn’t in a band back then, say a goof of a band like Heather once had in my novel Scar Jewelry. I suppose I lacked the right kind of cojones.
All four of my novels (three completed, one in progress) have musicians in them and two of them have music as a focus. I only just noticed this as a pattern. Sometimes the author is the last to know.
When I started this blog, I feared it would eat into my novel-writing time. Two weeks into the experiment, all is well on that front. Creating and writing the blog turns out to be like anything else:
As for how the blog impacts my new novel, if anything blogging may have helped by giving me an outlet for stray ideas.
Now I’ve got a new concern (maybe I’ve always got to have a concern). When people Like or Follow my blog, I of course check out their blogs and that has been a revelation. There are so many interesting and informative and inspiring blogs! I could spend all my time reading them.
So I find it easy to Like, but hard to Follow. The latter feels like such a serious commitment. What’s the point of following a blog if you don’t stay engaged with every post? Still, I don’t mind letting posts flow and slip away on Facebook. What’s the difference? Maybe that blogs are writing and Fb is chatting?
For my birthday, a friend gave me a book about the Replacements (my all-time favorite band). With the book came a card that read
Happy birthday. Also, rock on!
Now, this has a certain poignancy, because she and I are both getting pretty frigging old by this point. But I mention it here simply because I so love the way she put it. Also, rock on!
P.S. The book is The Replacements, All over But the shouting: an oral history by Jim Walsh.
When it comes to a plot, like anybody I want a story that hangs together — and for me it is so satisfying to get to the end of the book and find that all of the subplots were intrinsic and pivotal to the main plotline. However, when it comes to a plot, what I most cherish is surprise. This is a consequence of my many years working as a motion picture story analyst. At the rate of 5 novels or 10 screenplays per week, I read and critiqued materials submitted to movie studios. After several years of this, you’ve seen it all, plot-wise. That was a long time ago, but unfortunately I still anticipate most plot twists. Sometimes I like an otherwise mediocre movie just because it has some story element that I didn’t see coming. I am less charitable with mediocre novels; I suppose that is because my emotional investment in a novel can be so much greater.
One of the (many) things that hooked me on the Potter books was how many surprises J.K. Rowling conjured. I think I was in book 5 before I anticipated a single surprise. Ahhhhhhh.