Saturday, August 22, 2009
A Cure for the Common Home
Several members of my family have come down with Lostadigit Syndrome. This neuromuscular disorder causes creatures with opposable thumbs to act as though they have none. Symptoms include inability to get clothes in hamper, involuntary shoe tossing, and a complete lack of understanding of how to close a cereal box. One severe case observed involved an eight-year-old boy who actually repelled random household objects, resulting in a neverending trail of socks, toys, and bits of cellophane wrappers from snack foods. If left unchecked, the disease can, in advanced stages, lead to flushing toilet deficiency and extensive CCUB (Crap Crammed Under Beds). As yet, there is no known cure for Lostadigit Syndrome. In this particular home study, Momma-HissyFit, Slamming Doors, and Martyr's Salve mixed liberally with Guilt Trip Serum were all applied, to no avail. The only clinical option available at this point is to treat the symptoms with chocolate, delivered prn round-the-clock to the solitary household member not afflicted with Lostadigit Syndrome. Further study should be applied to how the concept of inertia may play into the origin of the illness and into gene isolation, as some studies show a strong hereditary link, typically passed through the father. Long-term follow-up with patients in clinical trials is crucial, as some reports suggest symptoms may significantly improve or even disappear once all members of the household are over the age of eighteen and move on to their own homes.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Livin' the Dream
Now and then a moment comes along that is so completely perfect, it leaves one breathless. I've actually enjoyed two such moments so far this year. My theory is that once you attain a certain level of contentment and peace in life, it's easier to savor the small stuff and you begin to notice the glimpses of absolute joy in everyday life.
One of these moments was in June, when we took the kids on vacation to Wisconsin Dells. One afternoon my husband was splashing around and playing with the kids in the pool. I sat poolside with a book and fruity drink with an umbrella. The sky was a perfect Crayola drawing and the temperature was fit for Goldilocks: not too hot, not too cold, not too humid. My kids were shrieking in delight, my husband was laughing, and I was enraptured by coconut, pineapple, and a good plot. This is the good life. It doesn't get any better than this.
Last night was another perfect moment. My husband took me out for a delayed birthday dinner, since he had to work on my birthday. We went to a nice restaurant and got stuffed full of pasta and rich sauces, then headed over to Barnes & Noble. We go to B&N on nearly every date. On our first date, my husband was aghast to learn I'd never read Anne Rice, so immediately after dinner he took me to B&N and bought me the boxed set of the Vampire series. In hardback. Our shared love of reading is just one of a hundred things that absolutely delight me about him. On this latest trip, we actually only bought two books but we agreed that it was just the shared experience of prowling the aisles and meeting up to show each other our finds that makes it fun. We had some coffee, plus a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake for me, and I was in heaven. It truly doesn't get any better than this.
At my core, I am a simple creature with simple desires. Family, fiction, and food are all it takes to wring from me great sighs of contentment. Lately, when someone asks my husband how he's doing, he replies, "Livin' the dream." People usually laugh, assuming he's being sarcastic. The funny thing is, he's not. Like anybody else, we'd like to have more money, more time, and more stuff, but we know we have all we need to be happy. That is something worth savoring.
One of these moments was in June, when we took the kids on vacation to Wisconsin Dells. One afternoon my husband was splashing around and playing with the kids in the pool. I sat poolside with a book and fruity drink with an umbrella. The sky was a perfect Crayola drawing and the temperature was fit for Goldilocks: not too hot, not too cold, not too humid. My kids were shrieking in delight, my husband was laughing, and I was enraptured by coconut, pineapple, and a good plot. This is the good life. It doesn't get any better than this.
Last night was another perfect moment. My husband took me out for a delayed birthday dinner, since he had to work on my birthday. We went to a nice restaurant and got stuffed full of pasta and rich sauces, then headed over to Barnes & Noble. We go to B&N on nearly every date. On our first date, my husband was aghast to learn I'd never read Anne Rice, so immediately after dinner he took me to B&N and bought me the boxed set of the Vampire series. In hardback. Our shared love of reading is just one of a hundred things that absolutely delight me about him. On this latest trip, we actually only bought two books but we agreed that it was just the shared experience of prowling the aisles and meeting up to show each other our finds that makes it fun. We had some coffee, plus a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake for me, and I was in heaven. It truly doesn't get any better than this.
At my core, I am a simple creature with simple desires. Family, fiction, and food are all it takes to wring from me great sighs of contentment. Lately, when someone asks my husband how he's doing, he replies, "Livin' the dream." People usually laugh, assuming he's being sarcastic. The funny thing is, he's not. Like anybody else, we'd like to have more money, more time, and more stuff, but we know we have all we need to be happy. That is something worth savoring.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Don't Forget to Stretch
One can never overestimate the importance of warming up when writing. I guard my writing moments like precious jewels, wresting them from the jaws of pesky work and school responsibilities, manuevering them carefully around important landmarks like husband and children, rescuing them from the hobgoblins of Facebook and Twitter. When I finally sit down at the keyboard in those precious minutes, I hardly want to fritter away the first fifteen on fluff.
Without warming up, though, my brain begins to cramp (to stretch the analogy to its breaking point) and that's when the blinking contest between myself and my cursor begins. Blink. Blink. I have no idea what to write. Blink. Blink. No one is ever going to want to read this crap. Blink. Blink. I wonder if anyone's responded to my last Facebook status . . .
And so the entire night's treasure trove of sparkly writing minutes ends up flushed down the toilet like a dead goldfish. How tragic.
Even more painful are the times when I've set aside a proscribed amount of time to write, only to find that I didn't really hit my stride until three minutes before time's up and I have surgically remove my feverishly pounding fingers from the keys in order to go to work, pick up my kids, etc.
Another tragedy that could have been avoided by a warm-up. A pre-writing writing activity to get the brain juice flowing (and doesn't that sound yummy?), work the caffeine through to the tips of the fingers, and wake up the muse. Five to fifteen minutes invested wisely at the start of a writing session can pay off faster than compound interest--and who doesn't love compound interest?
Warm-up activities are as varied as writers themselves. Some of my writing friends have proclaimed the virtues of some elusive beast known as "Morning Pages." This was described to me as "opening up a blank page first thing in the morning and writing whatever comes to mind." Maybe it's because I'm not a morning person, only two words register in my consciousness first thing in the morning: "coffee"and "snooze." The whole thing felt suspiciously like journaling to me; another writing exercise beloved by many, but that never worked for me. Journaling makes me way too self-aware, a quality that only sharpens the claws of my inner critic. This is never conducive to free thought.
I collect writing exercises like some women collect shoes. I pick out some that look comfy, some that look sparkly, and some that look like they could kick ptootie and take names. I try them all on and keep what fits. This blog is one of my favorite pre-writing exercises. I find it very helpful to have a reading audience in mind as I write, and blogging helps me connect with my audience, even if most of you are imaginary--er, I mean lurking. Yeah, that's it.
Outlines and timelines are also helpful prewriting tools (and help me out of a jam when I hit a wall, too). I am a semi-outline person, which is a discussion for a future blog, but I find that the structure of outlines and timelines is visually stimulating and helps me to pick up on patterns and contradictions I wouldn't have seen otherwise. Once I have a new plot twist or a loose end that needs to be tied up, I'm off and writing.
I also find that physical activity gets my brain working in ways that facilitate creative expression and clarity of thought. Like many people, some of my best ideas come to me in the shower, especially after a run. I know, *groan* -- I hate to run, too, but the pain pays off when my fingers are flying through my next chapter.
Now that I'm nice and limber, I'm headed back into my story world to see what boulders I can find to hurl at my unsuspecting protagonist and the people she cares about. My cool-down, by the way, usually consists of crawling into bed and collapsing into a deep slumber. This is terribly bad form by workout standards, but it can be a very effective carrot at the end of my stick.
Without warming up, though, my brain begins to cramp (to stretch the analogy to its breaking point) and that's when the blinking contest between myself and my cursor begins. Blink. Blink. I have no idea what to write. Blink. Blink. No one is ever going to want to read this crap. Blink. Blink. I wonder if anyone's responded to my last Facebook status . . .
And so the entire night's treasure trove of sparkly writing minutes ends up flushed down the toilet like a dead goldfish. How tragic.
Even more painful are the times when I've set aside a proscribed amount of time to write, only to find that I didn't really hit my stride until three minutes before time's up and I have surgically remove my feverishly pounding fingers from the keys in order to go to work, pick up my kids, etc.
Another tragedy that could have been avoided by a warm-up. A pre-writing writing activity to get the brain juice flowing (and doesn't that sound yummy?), work the caffeine through to the tips of the fingers, and wake up the muse. Five to fifteen minutes invested wisely at the start of a writing session can pay off faster than compound interest--and who doesn't love compound interest?
Warm-up activities are as varied as writers themselves. Some of my writing friends have proclaimed the virtues of some elusive beast known as "Morning Pages." This was described to me as "opening up a blank page first thing in the morning and writing whatever comes to mind." Maybe it's because I'm not a morning person, only two words register in my consciousness first thing in the morning: "coffee"and "snooze." The whole thing felt suspiciously like journaling to me; another writing exercise beloved by many, but that never worked for me. Journaling makes me way too self-aware, a quality that only sharpens the claws of my inner critic. This is never conducive to free thought.
I collect writing exercises like some women collect shoes. I pick out some that look comfy, some that look sparkly, and some that look like they could kick ptootie and take names. I try them all on and keep what fits. This blog is one of my favorite pre-writing exercises. I find it very helpful to have a reading audience in mind as I write, and blogging helps me connect with my audience, even if most of you are imaginary--er, I mean lurking. Yeah, that's it.
Outlines and timelines are also helpful prewriting tools (and help me out of a jam when I hit a wall, too). I am a semi-outline person, which is a discussion for a future blog, but I find that the structure of outlines and timelines is visually stimulating and helps me to pick up on patterns and contradictions I wouldn't have seen otherwise. Once I have a new plot twist or a loose end that needs to be tied up, I'm off and writing.
I also find that physical activity gets my brain working in ways that facilitate creative expression and clarity of thought. Like many people, some of my best ideas come to me in the shower, especially after a run. I know, *groan* -- I hate to run, too, but the pain pays off when my fingers are flying through my next chapter.
Now that I'm nice and limber, I'm headed back into my story world to see what boulders I can find to hurl at my unsuspecting protagonist and the people she cares about. My cool-down, by the way, usually consists of crawling into bed and collapsing into a deep slumber. This is terribly bad form by workout standards, but it can be a very effective carrot at the end of my stick.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
You Think You Want Happy, But You Don't Want Happy
I announced the start of my new novel to my husband with high hopes and even presented him with the first chapter in rough draft form. You see, while he is amazingly supportive of my writing, when it comes to a premise involving human trafficking, he is . . . not a fan. I thought he might be enthusiastic about the changes I'd made in my plot, but as it turns out . . . not so much.
"Why can't you just write a happy book?" he said.
In a word? Snore. Who wants to read a happy book? The cornerstone of great fiction is conflict, not happiness. Conflict serves several functions in fiction, and they all work together to keep the reader turning the pages.
Conflict raises the stakes, and the higher the stakes, the better. High stakes ensure that your reader's bathroom break doesn't lead to a half hour of tv and then to your book being shelved indefinitely. You need conflict to hook your reader and keep them hanging on because they just have to know what happens next.
Conflict is a welcome diversion. When we can read about someone whose life is full of exploding cars, time travel, walking undead, and the ultimate battle between good and evil, we tend to forget that layoffs are imminent, the car's engine is knocking, and the faucet is leaking. Fictional characters' problems are so much more interesting than our own, and when the book is finished, our problems look smaller compared to finding your wife's real murderer before the lead detective in the case tracks you down and sends you upriver for life.
Conflict is cathartic. For real fiction lovers, the combination of climax and denouement are a drug of choice. We come to expect this build-up of fictional tension and a dramatic resolution that produces a nearly physical reaction of release and satisfaction. It's an addiction. One that won't add inches to your waist, break up your marriage, or make you lose your job. Does it get any better than that??
So, no, I don't have plans to write any "happy" books until I change my genre to cardboard books for toddlers. Happy endings are welcome, but happy books . . . extremely unlikely. And by that I mean, not going to happen.
"Why can't you just write a happy book?" he said.
In a word? Snore. Who wants to read a happy book? The cornerstone of great fiction is conflict, not happiness. Conflict serves several functions in fiction, and they all work together to keep the reader turning the pages.
Conflict raises the stakes, and the higher the stakes, the better. High stakes ensure that your reader's bathroom break doesn't lead to a half hour of tv and then to your book being shelved indefinitely. You need conflict to hook your reader and keep them hanging on because they just have to know what happens next.
Conflict is a welcome diversion. When we can read about someone whose life is full of exploding cars, time travel, walking undead, and the ultimate battle between good and evil, we tend to forget that layoffs are imminent, the car's engine is knocking, and the faucet is leaking. Fictional characters' problems are so much more interesting than our own, and when the book is finished, our problems look smaller compared to finding your wife's real murderer before the lead detective in the case tracks you down and sends you upriver for life.
Conflict is cathartic. For real fiction lovers, the combination of climax and denouement are a drug of choice. We come to expect this build-up of fictional tension and a dramatic resolution that produces a nearly physical reaction of release and satisfaction. It's an addiction. One that won't add inches to your waist, break up your marriage, or make you lose your job. Does it get any better than that??
So, no, I don't have plans to write any "happy" books until I change my genre to cardboard books for toddlers. Happy endings are welcome, but happy books . . . extremely unlikely. And by that I mean, not going to happen.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Where's the Creamy Goodness?
The honeymoon's over. The bloom is off the rose. The bubble has burst. And all kinds of other tired cliches for "crap went downhill real fast."
Is it a myth that Week Two in a novel-in-a-month plan is really, really bad? No. It's true. There seems to be something about Week Two in many ambitious, life-changing ventures. Week Two is also infamous on The Biggest Loser, and competitors dread the weigh-in at the end of the week. My theory is that in both cases, writing and losing weight, reality and fatigue have set in, and your body is saying, "Wait. What is this we're doing?"
In my case, Week Two is painful because my Lead is alive, s/he an Objective, and my spectacular Conflict has been unleashed on them full force. The stakes are high, and I have a Knockout ending waiting in the wings. (Credit to James Scott Bell for the LOCK approach in Plot & Structure.) The problem is what to put in the middle. Because my middles are never filled with creamy goodness. My middles are filled with misery. How many crushing defeats can my Lead take without thoroughly depressing my reader?
A good subplot would be welcome right about now. Preferably one with a compelling twist that no one ever saw coming. Hum-de-dum. Any minute now. Wait for it . . .
Hmm. My muse seems to be on another line.
You might notice that I didn't blog during the entirety of Week Two. I divided my writing time mostly between blinking contests with my cursor, doing "research" in the crime library at trutv.com, feeling guilty for not writing, feeling exhausted, and sleeping.
The bad news is: I'm way behind on my word count. Chris Baty encourages me to get to 20,000 words by the end of Week Two, which would mean I'd need another 6,816 words in the next hour and ten minutes. Sure . . . why not?
The good news is: I'm still here. I'm not remotely considering giving up, and Baty suggests that this likely means I've beaten the odds and I'm here for the long haul.
So, here's my plan: make it to 23,500 by the end of the weekend.
I refuse to wear the cheesy stickers that read, "Ask me about my novel!" So, I'll just post an invitation here: Nag me about my word count at your discretion.
Yahoo. Pass the Mountain Dew. It's going to be a long weekend.
Is it a myth that Week Two in a novel-in-a-month plan is really, really bad? No. It's true. There seems to be something about Week Two in many ambitious, life-changing ventures. Week Two is also infamous on The Biggest Loser, and competitors dread the weigh-in at the end of the week. My theory is that in both cases, writing and losing weight, reality and fatigue have set in, and your body is saying, "Wait. What is this we're doing?"
In my case, Week Two is painful because my Lead is alive, s/he an Objective, and my spectacular Conflict has been unleashed on them full force. The stakes are high, and I have a Knockout ending waiting in the wings. (Credit to James Scott Bell for the LOCK approach in Plot & Structure.) The problem is what to put in the middle. Because my middles are never filled with creamy goodness. My middles are filled with misery. How many crushing defeats can my Lead take without thoroughly depressing my reader?
A good subplot would be welcome right about now. Preferably one with a compelling twist that no one ever saw coming. Hum-de-dum. Any minute now. Wait for it . . .
Hmm. My muse seems to be on another line.
You might notice that I didn't blog during the entirety of Week Two. I divided my writing time mostly between blinking contests with my cursor, doing "research" in the crime library at trutv.com, feeling guilty for not writing, feeling exhausted, and sleeping.
The bad news is: I'm way behind on my word count. Chris Baty encourages me to get to 20,000 words by the end of Week Two, which would mean I'd need another 6,816 words in the next hour and ten minutes. Sure . . . why not?
The good news is: I'm still here. I'm not remotely considering giving up, and Baty suggests that this likely means I've beaten the odds and I'm here for the long haul.
So, here's my plan: make it to 23,500 by the end of the weekend.
I refuse to wear the cheesy stickers that read, "Ask me about my novel!" So, I'll just post an invitation here: Nag me about my word count at your discretion.
Yahoo. Pass the Mountain Dew. It's going to be a long weekend.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Let Me Tell You What's Right About This Generation
Kids these days. Generation after generation is convinced that every new crop of human beings just doesn't measure up to the batch they were plucked from. I've been working with college students for three years now, and I'm convinced that kids these days are a heck of a lot better than my generation. Okay, okay, I work at a small Christian college, and my students may not be a demographically accurate sample of their generation at large, but these kids get a lot of bad press. I want to set the record straight. Here is a list--by no means exhaustive--of things I think are just fabulous about this generation:
1. They are kinder. On my recent trip, one student announced that he couldn't sing, but he liked to anyway. He then proceeded to regularly break out in song at random intervals throughout the entire week. As loudly as he pleased. I'll admit, he wasn't as bad as he seemed to think he was, but my generation would have crushed him. That he would dare to sing out loud and not be good enough to be "The Next Big Thing" would never have been tolerated. He would have been ridiculed until his spirit was crushed and he could never open his mouth to sing again without feeling ashamed. Not this generation. They joined right in and sang along. Every time. And never once made fun. These kids are kinder to each other and everyone else.
2. They are authentic. Probably because of Point #1, these kids are willing to make themselves vulnerable and share parts of their inner selves that are surprising. Some of this info I would never want to know . . . but, it's disarming to see how willing they are to show you they are flawed. Not surprisingly, this results in relationships that are stronger and more sincere.
3. They value their relationships. I've heard it said often that all this technology: Facebook, Twitter, text messaging, etc. are impairing this generation's ability to communicate. I have not personally observed anything to support this claim. It appears to me that this generation has the same small, core group of friends that every generation had while growing up--and, in reality, it tends to be that way for the rest of our lives. The difference is that these kids are able to keep in contact with old friends in ways we never dreamed possible. Once we experienced a life transitions (a move, off to college, etc.), we said we'd keep in touch, but we always really knew we probably wouldn't. Life moved on. These kids have the ability to touch base with old friends every day. And they do.
Sidenote: Some claim that the constant texting is impairing kids' ability to communicate. I do see an abhorrent trend in spelling, grammar, professionalism, and a generally poor ability to communicate verbally on a professional level and in written form on any level. It's my belief that this stems from philosophical and methodological problems in the education system, rather than as a direct result of their new technological lifestyle.
4. They have great taste in music. Every generation has been defined, in no small part, by their music. Until now. Thanks to downloads, this generation has access to the music from every generation from the beginning of recorded music until now. They listen to Top 40 radio less than I do. Their ipods are loaded with The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Disney movie soundtracks (I kid you not), and even some songs from my grandma's generation. Since music has long been a tool of rebellion, I think it will be interesting to see how this trend impacts the relationship between this generation and previous generations.
5. These kids give of themselves. At the college where I work, students are required to participate in community service. In fact, that is my job: to set the service requirements and make sure they are met. For every student I hear complain about the requirements, I see at least three that are coming in to say they have a great idea for how to help someone in need, and can I point them in the right direction to get this thing rolling. They don't just talk about the state of the world, they plunge in and do something about it. More than any generation I've seen in my lifetime.
No generation is perfect. But I have a lot of admiration and respect for this one, and I thought it was time to give credit where it's due. Nice knowing you, kids. You inspire me to be a better person.
As for the novel, I am entering Day Five and I'm pleased to say that I've surpassed my quota every day thus far. The honeymoon isn't over . . . yet.
1. They are kinder. On my recent trip, one student announced that he couldn't sing, but he liked to anyway. He then proceeded to regularly break out in song at random intervals throughout the entire week. As loudly as he pleased. I'll admit, he wasn't as bad as he seemed to think he was, but my generation would have crushed him. That he would dare to sing out loud and not be good enough to be "The Next Big Thing" would never have been tolerated. He would have been ridiculed until his spirit was crushed and he could never open his mouth to sing again without feeling ashamed. Not this generation. They joined right in and sang along. Every time. And never once made fun. These kids are kinder to each other and everyone else.
2. They are authentic. Probably because of Point #1, these kids are willing to make themselves vulnerable and share parts of their inner selves that are surprising. Some of this info I would never want to know . . . but, it's disarming to see how willing they are to show you they are flawed. Not surprisingly, this results in relationships that are stronger and more sincere.
3. They value their relationships. I've heard it said often that all this technology: Facebook, Twitter, text messaging, etc. are impairing this generation's ability to communicate. I have not personally observed anything to support this claim. It appears to me that this generation has the same small, core group of friends that every generation had while growing up--and, in reality, it tends to be that way for the rest of our lives. The difference is that these kids are able to keep in contact with old friends in ways we never dreamed possible. Once we experienced a life transitions (a move, off to college, etc.), we said we'd keep in touch, but we always really knew we probably wouldn't. Life moved on. These kids have the ability to touch base with old friends every day. And they do.
Sidenote: Some claim that the constant texting is impairing kids' ability to communicate. I do see an abhorrent trend in spelling, grammar, professionalism, and a generally poor ability to communicate verbally on a professional level and in written form on any level. It's my belief that this stems from philosophical and methodological problems in the education system, rather than as a direct result of their new technological lifestyle.
4. They have great taste in music. Every generation has been defined, in no small part, by their music. Until now. Thanks to downloads, this generation has access to the music from every generation from the beginning of recorded music until now. They listen to Top 40 radio less than I do. Their ipods are loaded with The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Disney movie soundtracks (I kid you not), and even some songs from my grandma's generation. Since music has long been a tool of rebellion, I think it will be interesting to see how this trend impacts the relationship between this generation and previous generations.
5. These kids give of themselves. At the college where I work, students are required to participate in community service. In fact, that is my job: to set the service requirements and make sure they are met. For every student I hear complain about the requirements, I see at least three that are coming in to say they have a great idea for how to help someone in need, and can I point them in the right direction to get this thing rolling. They don't just talk about the state of the world, they plunge in and do something about it. More than any generation I've seen in my lifetime.
No generation is perfect. But I have a lot of admiration and respect for this one, and I thought it was time to give credit where it's due. Nice knowing you, kids. You inspire me to be a better person.
As for the novel, I am entering Day Five and I'm pleased to say that I've surpassed my quota every day thus far. The honeymoon isn't over . . . yet.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Building Foundations Under Cloud Dreams (with a nod to Thoreau)
Recently my daughter asked me if I had any dreams for her life. The context of the conversation clued me in to her actual meaning. She wanted to know what I wanted her to be when she grows up, but since she is super awesome pre-teen she is obviously already grown up, so phrasing the question that way would have been silly.
My sincere response was that I just want her to be happy. This prompted a big roll of the eyes and a "Mother, every mother has a dream for their child." I knew everything there was to know about parenting when I was her age, too, so I played along and reassured her that this was my only and honest answer. She gave a long-suffering sigh and gave up. Clearly, I am hopeless.
But, really, once I gave up on trying to weave together a plan for my life with the threads of other people's expectations, and then took the further step of being willing to dream a ridiculous dream . . . everything just started making more sense. I'm content with my life for the first time ever. I don't necessarily want one of my kids to be a writer, just because that's my dream. And I don't particularly want one of them to be in law enforcement, just because that's my husband's calling. I wouldn't mind either of these things, either, as long as it's really their dream. I see it as my job to help them figure out what they were really created to do, not to foist my own ideas onto their life path.
But first, we've got to make it through Junior High. I'm accepting referrals to a good support group for mothers of middle schoolers . . .
Today is Day One of 75k in 46 Days. To reach my goal of a complete 75,000 word rough draft in 6 weeks, I've set my daily quota at 1700. This builds in a little cushion, since there will certainly be bad days.
At my elbow, I have my favorite novel-writing references. These are:
Plot & Structure by James Scott Bell
Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass
How to Write a Damn Good Novel by James N. Frey
When I get stuck, I will also be referring to Randy Ingermanson's Snowflake Method, as I've found his ideas to be extremely helpful in the past.
One lesson I learned from my last NaNoWriMo experience was, cruel though it may be, time spent in necessary but non-writing tasks (i.e. research, outlining, character work, etc.) must not excuse me from my daily quota. So, even if I spend two hours working on the novel but have not written a word, I am not done for the day. *Deep breath*
With that in mind, here is my task list for the day:
character sketch for Lead - Done
Three act outline - Done
1700 word Chapter One - Done
Fortified with my favorite java beverage, I am diving into the zone now.
My sincere response was that I just want her to be happy. This prompted a big roll of the eyes and a "Mother, every mother has a dream for their child." I knew everything there was to know about parenting when I was her age, too, so I played along and reassured her that this was my only and honest answer. She gave a long-suffering sigh and gave up. Clearly, I am hopeless.
But, really, once I gave up on trying to weave together a plan for my life with the threads of other people's expectations, and then took the further step of being willing to dream a ridiculous dream . . . everything just started making more sense. I'm content with my life for the first time ever. I don't necessarily want one of my kids to be a writer, just because that's my dream. And I don't particularly want one of them to be in law enforcement, just because that's my husband's calling. I wouldn't mind either of these things, either, as long as it's really their dream. I see it as my job to help them figure out what they were really created to do, not to foist my own ideas onto their life path.
But first, we've got to make it through Junior High. I'm accepting referrals to a good support group for mothers of middle schoolers . . .
Today is Day One of 75k in 46 Days. To reach my goal of a complete 75,000 word rough draft in 6 weeks, I've set my daily quota at 1700. This builds in a little cushion, since there will certainly be bad days.
At my elbow, I have my favorite novel-writing references. These are:
Plot & Structure by James Scott Bell
Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass
How to Write a Damn Good Novel by James N. Frey
When I get stuck, I will also be referring to Randy Ingermanson's Snowflake Method, as I've found his ideas to be extremely helpful in the past.
One lesson I learned from my last NaNoWriMo experience was, cruel though it may be, time spent in necessary but non-writing tasks (i.e. research, outlining, character work, etc.) must not excuse me from my daily quota. So, even if I spend two hours working on the novel but have not written a word, I am not done for the day. *Deep breath*
With that in mind, here is my task list for the day:
character sketch for Lead - Done
Three act outline - Done
1700 word Chapter One - Done
Fortified with my favorite java beverage, I am diving into the zone now.
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