Sometimes, I feel like I have the power to make a difference. Does this ever happen to you? Are you harboring tiny pockets of power that could be used for something good?
What if YOU could be the reason someone smiled today?
What if YOU could make a small difference in someone else’s life?
What if I finished a novel, published it and it was because of YOU that it hit the New York Times Bestseller List? Read more
I use lots of tools when I write, though some of them aren’t recognized readily as such.
Many of my contemporaries use Scrivener, and yes, I have a copy of it. But what it does seems to me to be what I already do in my head. And in order to do that it seems to make more work for me in advance.
I know they’re going to argue with me, so I’m just putting up a virtual hand now and telling them I’m happy that it helps them. I am always in favour of anything that helps people get the job done.
I use a word processor. That’s probably my number one tool. It isn’t Scrivener, it isn’t even Word.
Do you often laugh out loud when you’re reading? Not just a smile or chuckle when you come across something funny but a real out-loud laugh? I do. It’s always a nice surprise and can provide a bit of levity in a serious story and a welcome break in tension.
Leigh Anne Jasheway, in her article How to Write Better Using Humour, refers to studies showing that humour enhances how much we like what we’re reading and how well we remember it afterward.
Recently I came across a hilarious account of someone trying on a bark collar before putting it on her pet. The collar got stuck, the spray feature on the collar repeatedly doused her with citronella, her dog commenced barking at her predicament and the neighbour was laughing too hard to help.
Who doesn’t enjoy sharing a laugh? Read more
It seems some days, I will never learn from my mistakes.
You would think, from the number of examples I can remember, of my utterly dismal performance, that I would improve, get better, and learn how to re-read my work before submitting.
However, recent events would suggest otherwise. Read more
Ah, September and the smell of books is in the air. Even after many years, it’s hard not to think of this time as “back-to-school”. Of course, my daughters are getting ready to do just that, so it’s not that hard to forget. September always feels like a mini-new year to me, maybe even more so than the actual one. Any new year marks a time for reflection, reviewing past goals and accomplishments and setting new ones. I never get as much writing done as I imagine I will in the summer. The promise of loose schedules leads more toward chaos than it does free time. There’s such a hustle and bustle to the summer, a desire to enjoy every golden moment before it’s gone, do all the summer things and then ask ourselves at the end, Did we do everything we meant to? Read more
I confess.
I failed at my goal. In my last blog, I discussed how I had started a new habit of writing for 15 minutes every day. I did it faithfully for about four weeks and then I missed a day, then a second day. I felt miserable and reminded myself to restart but it didn’t happen. Another month went by and I did not write once. A failure. And it seemed like such a good idea!
I have long admired those people who tackle a huge project by taking small steps every day. It seems like such a sensible method to complete a big project – whether it is renovating a room, weeding a garden or writing a novel. But I fail at this method every time I try. Instead, I lurch from binge tackling of a project to long periods of stagnation until I pop into another binge round.
Mine are the best.
I’m not bragging, they just are.
Okay, I’m bragging a little … a lot? Maybe.
We do find reasons not to write “today” or “right now” and we tell ourselves those reasons are valid. And if they aren’t, well, they’re one offs, they won’t happen again. Or if they do we’ll know better than to use them next time, we’ll think up other excuses instead.
Two diaries belonging to my mother were unearthed from an old cedar chest that has held the last of her things since her passing eleven years ago. I was thrilled at the prospect of reading them. The earliest one was a Christmas gift from her mother in 1950. My mom would have been 18 years old.
The first entry in her new diary was New Year’s Day, 1951 and noted a family supper and a skating party in Dundalk. She and my father had become engaged a couple of weeks earlier so she’d added that news as well.
I pounced on these treasures like a scavenger, excited for any new morsels of information and insights to family history. Flipping through the pages, it quickly became apparent that the notes consisted solely of facts. The diaries were largely a record of births, deaths (including the death of King George VI in 1952), weddings and who’d been ill and prayed for at church. Read more