Wednesday Check-in
Posted: April 28, 2010 Filed under: Wednesday Check-in, Writers Write | Tags: Donald Maass Workshop, walking, writers, writing, Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook Leave a comment »Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook: 52 tasks completed out of 591 possible, 3 since 4/21
Miles walked: 4 since 4/21.
I finished Chapter 6: Reversing Motives. The main thing I learned is that my scenes aren’t as motivated as they should be. In some cases, reversing the motive helped me discover one. I’ve spent two weeks on this chapter’s six follow-ups. Twice as long as I planned. It’s time to move on.
Heavy Cleaning
Posted: April 27, 2010 Filed under: cottage garden, Housekeeping, Noxious Evils, Writers Write | Tags: backyard pond, cottage garden, creativity, garden, loss, water garden, writers, writing Leave a comment »The people down the street owned one of those makeover-for-your-garage franchises. They ran the business out of their house. Other than the trucks, things were fine. At least, until they got ready to move.
That’s when the garage sales started. For three consecutive weeks, junk spilled out of the house and onto the lawn. It was obvious. They organized garages by taking the clutter home with them. At the end of the third week, a driver dodging a bookshelf, ran into a tree, cracking the largest limb into the street. Another neighbor called code compliance.
The garage experts are gone now, leaving a pile of unsellables by the curb. I made this out of some of their garbage.
A Writer’s Manifesto
Posted: April 25, 2010 Filed under: Writers Write | Tags: writers, writing Leave a comment »A Yoga Manifesto by Mary Billard in Sunday’s New York Times is about Yoga to the People, a no frills studio in New York City. I don’t practice yoga, but I latched on to two quotes Billiard attributes to Bikram Choudhury via studio owner, Greg Gumucio.
You are your own teacher. You are responsible for your own experience.
And . . . distractions are everywhere.
Candle, incense, music, easy to meditate! Try being calm and peaceful in your car when someone cuts you off.
Sometimes, I’d like to shove my manuscript in front of someone and say, “Here it is. Tell me what to do with it.” But I can’t because it’s my world. I invented it. I can ask for help, but this universe lives or dies by my pen. If I cut the most important scene because a reader is uncomfortable, the story is no longer mine.
Fiction is a place without external obligation. At this point, no one comes knocking to collect my next page. When it’s going well, the real world is far away. I set an alarm to remind me to pick the kids up at school. But when I’m in the doldrums, stuck in my head with a slack sail, everything is a distraction, a crisis that steers me away from the page.
Writing is more about muscle-building than artistry.
