04 Wednesday Apr 2012
Posted in Observation, Writing
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My curach is so small and the waves, so full of voices, are so big. The skin at my feet billows between the undulating ribs, in and out, like the breathing of some tired animal. Shadows of water pass over me as I fall in the troughs, and looking up the dark green slope, I am too paralyzed to paddle. Doubts. Fatigue. I am but a single voice lost in the midst of the tempest, all yammering for attention, all crying for land.
03 Tuesday Apr 2012
Posted in Observation, Scions of the Moon, Writing
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I continue to read Kress and I am happy to report it is making a difference as I consider my characters from various vantage points of motivation, emotion and inner conflict. The Scion girls are changing and beginning to take on more rounded shapes. They are trying on new clothes to see if they fit, are good enough for alterations or should be discarded. This is pleasing to me as the more “real” and curvy they become, the easier it is to write about them walking, talking and interacting with each other and the environment.
The more this process continues, the more convinced I am that a major, if not radical, rewrite of the entire storyline is a good idea. Though I will keep many of the major landmarks, I can tell the plot is drifting away from my intended Propp-esque outline. I still want it to be recognizable by those familiar with his work, but I am beginning to wonder if his ideas were not hemming in my own. Indeed, this may have been a problem all along and not just in relation to Propp and my plot. I had intended to write up these characters based on three online friends. I think I may have been overly concerned with whether or not the Scion girls were recognizable to my three friends. Thus, instead of letting them develop, ripen and mature into who or what my muse wanted them to be, I was subconsciously holding them back to keep them purposely familiar.
Presently I’m in chapter four and working on a “Emotional Mini-Bio” for each of them. It is one of those things more experienced writers do without prompting. I however, need to follow this more formal approach it seems and put these characters at least through their paces. As hinted above, it is helping. In the meantime, in another dark corner of my mind, additional plot ideas and adjustments have been simmering, changes and edits based on my discoveries.
It is my hope to digest Kress’ suggestions and use them more intuitively with my next set of characters of which there are not a few hammering at the gates, as it were, clamoring for admission and due process. Sorry folks, one set of zombies at a time.
Time…sigh.
My world is indeed crowded, both the world of my imagination and the physical world. School is on the downhill slope. Both my charges and I are looking forward to May 31st with great anticipation. Presently Prom preparations, senior-itis and Benchmarks/STAR/Exit exams are primary concerns. On the home front an approaching set of solo piping competitions at the end of the month are forefront in my mind and the limited time I have after school is devoted to practice and trying to get a “…good going pipe” ready for the contests (I’ll keep my piping comments to a minimum and expand on them in my piping blog). My Lady’s third stop smoking attempt in the last ten years continues apace and I’m happy to say, so far so good. I am bursting with pride and admiration for her whole hearted decision and determined follow through. She is, and always will be, my inspiration. It does, however make for some tense moments and cranky days, but I could careless as long as she is happy.
My own attempts at life changing also continues as my diet adjusts for the better and…other things…begin to find their place. Time however, and as ever, is at a premium: writing in the morning; school during the day; piping in the afternoon; family—when our schedules coincide—in the evening; catch up on the weekends. Spring break starts Friday. I look forward to more family time, as well as time to both write and pipe…it would be nice to do some woodworking too and go for a bike ride or two.
29 Thursday Mar 2012
Posted in Observation, Reading, Scions of the Moon, Writing
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Rocky terrain. Uphill going. Steeply inclined. Freezing. Snow drifts. A writer climbs the mountains.
Though I’d been writing in one form or another since I could; though I teach fiction and academic writing; though I have been an avid reader of contemporary and classic lit, I knew I had a lot to learn when it came to writing fiction. Just as many erroneously assume if one can speak a language, one can teach it, so too with writing fiction. Simply because one has the creative urge to write does not assume they can write interesting and create well composed fiction. It’s a craft—talent and natural ability notwithstanding—that must be learned, honed and challenged with “…careful practice during a severe course of training…” Isolated writers ploughing along, accumulating huge word counts in the wee hours of the morning or dark silences of the night easy forget how difficult it can be to do what they do well when overshadowed and wowed by such mountainous output.
On a NaNo forum I asked about what books the writers there had found helpful in developing craft. It was really surprising to me how many relied exclusively on learning by “…reading other writer’s fiction…” I agree and acknowledge that this as a wonderful source, one I utilize myself. I can’t help but wonder however, if that isn’t enough. Books and classes on writing my seem extemporaneous, but I am coming to appreciate more and more how much I don’t know as I read where other writers have sojourned before me and the elevated view they discovered there that I was unaware of—things that would have been obtuse or downright illusive were I to rely exclusively on gleaning from another writer’s fiction alone. Maybe it is just me, my learning modality, how I work best and my self-image that’s at play here, but…wow…this shit is hard to do right.
As I read my work I see more clearly how it’s such a pile of words and has very little to do with craft, but is more of a semi-creative vomit. For many that’s as far as it goes. Behold my mountain!
As I continue to read Kress’s book on character, emotion and point of view, in the back of my mind I am climbing with the girls from Scions. As I subject them to the exercises suggested at the end of each chapter—not all the exercises just those that seem applicable—it is becoming more and more evident that they lack something and that this ‘something’ is what is keeping me from composing about them as freely as I did the characters from The Kevodran.
I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a growing suspicion it has to do with conflict. It’s not that there is no conflict, mind you, they’ve got plenty to deal with, but it may not be the right kind of conflict between the right characters, it may be too ‘outward,’ inter-conflict between themselves and others rather than intra-conflict within their relationship with each other. Even though I’ve given the girls divergent backgrounds, and skill sets, they still have too much in common having been raised together in a monastery for the past half dozen years. This commonality is for me, part of the “Screen of Reality” through which the girls perceive and react to the world around them and each other. I have a feeling the mesh is too fine, too uniform, too similar and, as a result, the girls are not reacting as individuals but as parrots of each other. I suspect these girls need private agendas. I suspect I may have to end up ‘breaking up’ their friendship in order to make them more interesting and appealing to a reader, as well as to my imagination. I may need to include the deeper underlying challenge of getting over themselves, setting aside petty behavior and learning to work together so that they might complete the overriding challenge in an interesting fashion.
This could mean a major rewrite, a climb back down the mountain, a resupply and a brand new attempt along a different route. While this may not necessarily negate the 60,000 words thus written, as it is arguable they were necessary to formulating a better plan, and though I would use material from them, a new beginning, a uniquely different beginning is in order.
Sigh.
Nothing is sure yet. I still have more than half the book to go. These are simply my thoughts at present. Now, back to my pitons and ropes.
20 Tuesday Mar 2012
Posted in Observation, Reading, Scions of the Moon, The Kevodran, Writing
Every now and then I have to remind myself that even though I greatly desire to be published, I really write because I must. I would write no matter what–in my journal, here or my other blogs or one of my manuscripts; I am, in that sense, a writer. Reminding myself of that takes the edge off the paralyzing anxiousness. The dynamic tension, on the other hand, that’s something I don’t want to put to sleep. The dividing line between the two states is razor’s thin and allowing myself to reach the edge is perilous indeed. Case in point, dynamic tension has been nodding off for some time now.
I have ‘chilled’ on my manuscripts, in despair trying to distance myself from the dilemma of which to throw myself at, like taking a nap before re-attacking a knotty problem. I need to give myself over to one of them however. I need dynamic tension to replace anxiousness. I sense I am at a crossroads and about to make a wholehearted choice. Regardless, I need to stop thinking about it and act.
Scions of the Moon as ever baulked at my entreaties and only released her secrets in reluctant flexing spasms like a choking car. There is something wrong, something in the way. I think it has to do with POV. I have three main characters and just can’t get my mind around how to handle their point-of-views. They are close (same gender and age); they come from similar experiences (abandoned in one form or another…without family); have been raised under nearly identical circumstances (monastery); encountered the same problem (the kidnap of their friend and no one to believe them); and have to face the same fear (leaving the monastery… to go ‘out-there’ for the sake of their friend).
While in the monastery, it didn’t see too much of a problem, but now they stand before the wall ready to climb over it and I’m holding them back because I don’t feel confident enough to portray their experience convincingly–or interestingly–enough.
I have my magic system developed enough that I’m comfortable with sending them over and writing about any arcane encounters they may have, but I think I will do one more thing before I definitively decide to pursue their adventure. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering if I should create a fourth character from which to tell the tale and have the presently three mains act as helpers and guides rather than stars of the show. Or maybe tell the tale from the perspective of the kidnapped friend or some other character who would be privy to the story but as a storyteller not directly part of the action. The former sounds more right than the latter. Sigh…maybe I need to grow and develop a little more as a writer before tackling multiple POVs.
Anyway, as a final meditation, I’m going to read Nancy Kress’s Characters, Emotion and Viewpoint in an effort to gain some perspective on and insights into multiple view points. As with all such books, writing ideas float up from the back of my mind as I read. I’ll keep track of them with notes and upon finishing–it’s only a little more than 200 pages–I’ll commit to a road. Should I choose The Kevodran road rather than the Scion track, the time spent with the “Wise Guide” will not be wasted as I’m sure there will be nuggets of wisdom therein panned that I can apply to Efrahm, Selt and Orrja’s story as well.
Am I simply avoiding commitment and, by extension, responsibility? I don’t know. It’s possible, but any plan is better than sitting on my hands enviously reading about another 16-year old prodigy producing copious amounts of YA re-run dubiousness (not bitter at all there are we?). Good, bad or indifferent, I need to forge ahead with my own dubiousness, and if for no one else then at least for me.
19 Monday Mar 2012
Posted in Storytelling, Writing
The rain had ceased in the early afternoon and though the clouds had threatened more, occasionally releasing a few drops here and there, a wind had risen and the grey cover had broken up into a patchwork of crimson and gold lit by the setting sun. Cold, deeper than before had descended as the sun sank below the horizon and the wind died. The world was soaked and as I approached the door of the stone house, I glanced up at the thatching hanging over the eves wondering when it would be time to re-thatch. The “blackhouse” had been transformed long ago into a larger dwelling, with rooms and fireplaces. The animals had their own byre and had not been housed since my grandfather’s time. I ran a fond eye over the old stones, the ever present moss beginning to make its presence known from anchored strongholds in the wetter cracks. A few more days of sunlight like this evening and it’d be time for cleaning, I thought as I pushed open the door and let the dogs in.
Peat still smoldered in the grate. It’s pungent presence, shoring up heat like a blanket, had kept the worst of the chill at bay but only just. The dogs went straight for the hearth rugs nonetheless and I had to nudge them aside as I stirred the ashes and added another turf or two. I rubbed my eyes and looked ruefully at the smoldering chunks. I should have been in earlier to bank the fire. Now it would be pure luck that kept the stuff alight through the night. Ach, I’d be waking up plenty of times, thinking on how I rarely slept the night through. I was not so stoic about the pot hanging above the soft heat. The water would be lukewarm at best. I shrugged and glanced over my shoulder at the door to the short hall that lead to the bedrooms thinking on the cold back there. I had taken to sleeping in the main room next to the fire.
Well, though I was mildly hungry, I decided my middle could do with an evening without. I rose and hung my coat on a peg next to the door along with my bonnet. I returned to the hearth and settled into the rocking chair to remove my damp boots. It felt good to let my toes breath and stretch my arches. I tucked them under dogs and settled back into the chair intending to sit for short time and allow the illusion of heat to build as the turfs took to burning.
I must have dozed for sometime, for when I awoke the fire was burning steadily and the room was warmer. I groggily considered making myself a cuppa, but then discarded the thought. I was just too tired. The dogs looked settled for the night. If they needed to go out, they would wake me. I rose and turned to the bed I’d moved in from the nether rooms and undressed, pulling on a woolen night shirt and a stocking cap then slipped between the cold blankets. I shivered for a time, but the down soon warmed about me and with a tuck here and a fold there, I built a little nest about me from which naught but my eye peaked. I chuckled to myself as I remembered doing just the same when I was a lad. From my comfortable ‘cave,’ I watched the turfs glow beyond the silhouetted outlines of the curled dogs.
Though I was tired, sleep was not so easily found. My mind was at work, thinking of the day and what needed to be done tomorrow. My girls were gone, married to good men—one in the next glen, but the other had moved far to the south. I missed them both and for a time wandered again behind them as wee lassies, they explored the hillsides and played in the mossy burn. How swiftly time had passed. I felt my throat grow thick and my eyes burn. No, I thought, we’ll have none of that now and I turned my mind back to the issue of taming sleep, but it wasn’t until Malcolm up the glen began the piobaireachd, that sleep was finally brought to bay.
Though it was cold, I must admit I reveled in it and always had. It was a point of pride with me that when the world went about in trews, I still sported the breacan-an-feile…the belted plaid. Thus, the window next to the door, though lost in the shadows of the room, I knew as cracked open a bit, its shutters unlatched. “To keep the vapors at bay,” my mother used to say. Through this came the delicate and far off strains of Malcolm’s stand. If I turned my head just so, I could just hear them. Sharp they were, but I knew it would be only moments before, warmed by his breath, they flattened and he, screwing up the drone tops, would soon be standing in a coat of sound that no cold could penetrate. He began the lovely strands of “I Got a Kiss of the King’s Hand,” the chanter digging deep and rising, like the rise and fall of the sea. I listened willing my fingers to cease their sympathetic twitching of the tune. It was as perfect as it could be under my circumstances: a fire burning, hounds within beck and call, an early bed with warm blankets, and now sweet music softly drifting on the air filling my mind with sleep.
I never did awaken that night. The last tune I heard begun was “Cumha Mairi Nic-Leoid.” I vaguely recall the dogs joining me, curling up in the down behind the crook in my knees and along my side as I dreamed of kings and cattle, warriors and lassies, shinty goals and fishing for salmon whilst whistling Sadhbh Ni Bhruinneallaigh under my breath.
08 Thursday Mar 2012
Posted in Observation, Writing
My God! What a fight to stay awake and write even a few lines. I am getting to bed at a descent hour and sleeping fairly well, though I’m sure what I call fairly well would not be called so by “normal” people. Every sentence or two I doze off. I don’t get it. Could the evenings struggling with my pipes be to blame? I did got to bed and hour later than usual as I wanted to hang out with the wife after she got home from work. Was it letting the dogs out at 02:45? Or is it something more sinister? What ever, it’s pissing me off and I’m tired of it…LOL…get it? Tired? and I’m not writing like I should.
If I’m crashed out at 21:00 and sleep to 04:00, how do I get more sleep and restful sleep at that? Sleep longer? Sleep longer = no writing. No bagpiping? Might as well say, “no eating.” Yesterday I wasn’t this tired. Shit…I had breakfast today before I wrote; yesterday afterward–though truth be told I didn’t get a whole lot done then either. That, however, was because of Ravven’s killer music machine (thanks a lot, Red!). Seriously though, it’s 05:45, I’m about to step on to the daily conveyer belt and won’t get a break until 16:00 and all I can think about it a nap. Dare I say it? My day needs to be longer than 24 hours…that and I need to lose weight.
Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.
20 Monday Feb 2012
Posted in Gaming, Observation, Reading, Writing
Though our group has dwindled from nearly 15 to only two players, representing no less that 35 player characters who have lived, loved, fought and died in Earinna’ar’s © moldering tombs and sparkling palaces over a space of almost 20 years (holy-moly!), the quality of our experience and the pleasure we take in our company has suffered not a whit! Brothers and sisters-in-arms…how precious you are to me.
While gaming—pen-and-paper, table-top, true-RPG only; if you please, LOL!—has ever been an inspiration for my writing, I have never been even remotely tempted to render a game session or campaign into prose-fiction. I was not impressed with Laura and Tracy Hickman’s Dragonlance Chronicles (the first trilogy anyway) and though I read them, they are one of the few fantasy books I read that I ever ended up giving away. In my opinion RPG mechanics do not lend themselves to good fantasy fiction. The game world, its plots and the system foundation upon which they are built are designed for purposes at odds with the ultimate goal of fiction. Though RPG and fiction hold many traits in common and can inform each other, a direct translation from one the to the other is problematic. That being said, my campaign world setting was created more for fictionalizing than for gaming, and its environs are indeed where my stories take place.
For the last couple of gaming sessions, the dynamic duo of Ashkenkar/John and Thillis/Skip have test-drove, discussed and debated a portion of the magic system I’ve been researching and putting together for the fictionalized version of Earinna’ar ©. I’m happy to report that though there were continuity rough spots that needed to be smoothed, exploitive holes that needed to be filled, overall the engine functioned well—that is, the explanation of how and why magic works is viable if not altogether sound and complete.
Much work is left to be done before I’m completely satisfied. “Sanderson’s First and Second Laws of Magic” offer the best advice for developing viable and exciting, as well as working, magic systems. I’ve consulted quite a few other sources for advice: Card’s now classic How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy; the wonderfully informative “The Writer’s Complete Fantasy Reference; volumes one and two of “The Complete Guide to Writing Fantasy and Steven Harper’s Writing the Paranormal Novel. An excellent RPG cross over reference was Expeditious Retreat Press’s A Magical Society: Ecology and Culture. All of these were great reading, and thought provoking, but they concentrated more on what a writer needs to be mindful of when creating a magic system than describing a method for creating one—not a complaint, just an observation.
In the end I’ve come to the conclusion that what I’m looking for in terms of help doesn’t really exist. Each and every fantasy author’s system, hard or soft, has to come from within, whether it kants on the old or invents something new. The above references are helpful in warning me of the pitfalls associated with magic system creation, but ultimately there is no ‘method’ for creating such a system, only good advice.
Back to my tomes, tablets and testaments.
Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.
05 Sunday Feb 2012
Posted in Observation, Writing
My students recently finished The Crucible and I’ve had Henry Miller on my mind. Turns out, so do quite a few others as some of his writing advice was featured on a Huffington Post article just a few days ago. The quote concerning his “Commandments” of writing is from his book, “Henry Miller On Writing.” I understand he came up with these while living in Paris. Good advice is good advice regardless of who gives it, when it was given or where, thus I shouldn’t be surprised at how timely his tenets are, not only as they can be applied to writing but to any other creative focus oriented endeavor:
COMMANDMENTS
1. Work on one thing at a time until finished.
2. Start no more new books, add no more new material to “Black Spring.” (My oh my; how true did I find out these two, and number 10 below, to be!)
3. Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
4. Work according to Program and not according to mood. Stop at the appointed time!(-and “start at the appointed time” I would add as well.)
5. When you can’t create you can work.
6. Cement a little every day, rather than add new fertilizers.
7. Keep human! See people, go places, drink if you feel like it.
8. Don’t be a draught-horse! Work with pleasure only.
9. Discard the Program when you feel like it-but go back to it the next day. Concentrate. Narrow down. Exclude.
10. Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.
11. Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.
Mornings: If groggy, type notes and allocate, as stimulus. If in fine fettle, write. Afternoons: Work on section in hand, following plan of section scrupulously. No intrusions, no diversions. Write to finish one section at a time, for good and all.
Evenings: See friends. Read in cafes. Explore unfamiliar sections–on foot if wet, on bicycle if dry. Write, if in mood, but only on Minor program. Paint if empty or tired. Make Notes. Make Charts, Plans. Make corrections of MS.
Note: Allow sufficient time during daylight to make an occasional visit to museums or an occasional sketch or an occasional bike ride. Sketch in cafes and trains and streets. Cut the movies! Library references once a week.
_____
The term “Program” gave me pause. I assume it means whatever writing rhythm has been set up and works for the writer. I plan to order the book and find out for sure.
Some might blanch at number eleven, but in light of number seven, I think the message is clear—at least, that is, the message as I understand it me: edifying entertainments and worthy distractions must come second to writing. No doubt he’d have meant blogs too O_o.
I look forward to reading this book, particularly due to his “self-educated” writer’s perspective.
Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.
02 Thursday Feb 2012
Posted in Observation, Writing
The world of Man is an ugly thing. Beauty is illusive and fragile. We roam a desert or wild outback wherein finding beauty is akin to dowsing for water or hunting for food, a constant never ending chore. The rewards are mercurial lasting only as long as they might and never as long as we may wish. It could be argued that if we were able to access beauty on demand and keep it for as long as we wished, we would soon tire of it and it would quickly lose its savor. Put that way, it is more easy to see Man as the mercurial element in the equation rather than beauty and that we must learn once again to see properly and to seek beauty in all its forms, in places where we have gone blind. The morning cup of coffee, for example, if taken for granted, has become a given, and is stripped of a deep mysterious beauty all its own.
From the moment the grounds are scooped, measured and deftly poured into the filter, their promising aroma teasing the unstuffed nose, to the final pouring of the first mouthwatering cup even as the machine pops and gurgles its final drips, brewing coffee has a beauty that even the most jaded can appreciate if they would but pause to think on it.
During the brewing, I fill my cup with water to warm in the microwave so that little of the coffee’s heat will be stolen by cold porcelain or ceramic. I push the button for “beverage” as I want only to warm the mug not cook it until its too hot to hold.
When the brewing is over, I fill my cup carefully trying not to spill a single drop. I have yet to find a carafe that does not dribble, so I slowly pour, keeping the stream small so I can listen to its promise, to just the right spot for creamer, a spot I instinctively recognize not matter the cup: my larger weekend mug, my Gryffindor travel mug, a standard restaurant sized mug or even a painted cup and saucer from my tea-cup collection.
I am not a clouds-in-my-coffee person, so after adding creamer, I enjoy stirring and watching the creamer’s misty wisps disappear. The even tan mixture means the brew is ready to drink, a sign that in a few seconds time I will feel the first of the hot liquid on my tongue and its acidic goodness will dissolve my morning mouth and when it hits my stomach, I’ll feel that odd, giddy coating splash.
“Ahhh” or “mmmm” I’ll say and lean against the counter just like in the commercials and have another sip. Glorious. I’ll marvel at how such a simple thing can be so satisfying. I’ll consider the Japanese Tea Ceremony and wonder if this isn’t a present substitute. I’ll toy with the idea of playing hooky, dreaming of writing and sipping coffee all day.
In the end the cup will sadly be empty, a reminder that the concerns of the day are impatiently lined up for their due. No coffee is strong enough to keep them waiting too long, but fortified with just a little overlooked beauty, they aren’t as onerous as they would be without it.
Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.
21 Saturday Jan 2012
Posted in NaNoWriMo, Observation, Retrospection, Scions of the Moon, The Kevodran, Writing
Realizing a truth is so much more potent than simply understanding it. ~Tshamis DurUlekin, Master of the Purple Tower
I was warned and thought I believed the warning. From my present perspective however, I have to admit that deep down in my muddy subconscious, I must have thought I was an exception. I must have…because I find I am in the very place I was warned I would end up if I did.
I cheated on my main manuscript and now, she and the manuscript I was seduced by have both left me.
Yes, I, who have suffered the pain of adultery in real life, subjected my manuscript to the same disrespect and hurt. The odd thing is, I wasn’t lured away by a, “Sexy next book.” My siren was the NaNoWriMo project. The rules of the project require starting a new manuscript, but starting a new manuscript while I was still involved with the old one was exactly what Heather Sellers warned not to do in chapter 20 “Sexy Next Book” of Chapter After Chapter.
Oh, I thought I had it all worked out. The Kevodron would be primary manuscript and Scions would be the work I had waiting in the wings. When The Kevodran was finished, I’d pickup where I’d left off with Scions. It would then be the primary manuscript. Then, at the next NaNo, while still working on Scions, I’d take a break, work up something new as a secondary project and then return to Scions when the NaNo was over and finish it off. It was such a pretty plan.
What is odd is I was not all that enamored with Scions of the Moon, my NaNo project, in the first place so I was constantly thinking about The Kevodran, my first love, even while dallying with Scions. A whole load o’guilt, oh yes.
When the month ended, I stopped writing on Scions nearly immediately, but when I turned back to The Kevodran, she had turned away from me. She was, and still is, pissed off and holding me at arms length. I can’t say I blame her, I mean damn, who wouldn’t?
Surfacing from the metaphor, I’m suffering from the “Creep”—just as Heather warned I would. Because I wasn’t fully committed to one idea, I had ceased to think about it, keep it in the forefront of my mind, meditating on the characters and plot, viewing all life through the lens of its reality. As a consequence, it has crept away. I opened up The Kevodran and it felt like I was suddenly looking up a very tall, very steep and rugged mountainside that I had to ascend to get back on top.
“So far,” I thought and I was instantly and totally drained of energy and I hadn’t even fingered a key.
I closed the document.
Thus, I haven’t written anything substantial or added anything to either of the manuscripts since the end of November, ’11. The end of semester, the holidays and HOL homework has demanded a significant portion of my attention, it is true, but the fact remains I have not returned to my 04:00 writing practice. I get up at that time, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not working on either manuscript. The truth is The Kevodran has crept away from me, hurt and disrespected and now, Scions, being left suddenly alone, has done the same and here I am once again writing about writing. Sigh.
I should have listened to Heather. I bloody well knew better! I should have taken Brandon Sanderson’s advice and done the NaNo as I know I should have—namely writing from Orja’s point-of-view—because that’s where I was, that’s where the fire was burning. Screw starting a new manuscript. One writer: one manuscript to the bitter end, baby.
Now that I realize my mistake, what do I do?
Obviously I need to make peace with one of the two manuscripts, reacquaint myself with its information, re-immerse myself into its mental reality—essentially, spend the time needed to get back into her good graces, long and arduous though it might be, and remain faithful to the end.
Post script:
This situation begs the question, once again, concerning the nature of the writer’s life and how I am living it. I’m not going to revisit all the demands on my time like some jilted lover re-hashing with his friends, over and over again what happened as he works it out. I put myself on notice, once again however, that unless I can find a rhythm, a writing practice that I can consistently maintain, then all my efforts are wasted. A dreadful thought with sobering consequences.
Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.
The Salamander's Quill 