I’m retired now. So, you know, I don’t really do anything any more.
Well, I still write the odd poem, and these posts here. And every now and then I try to spend some time on that novel.
Oh, also, now that I’m 65 I’ve become a full time, stay at home parent, as one does.
I no longer do any construction work. Oh, well, yes, I am putting gates on our back Read more
For someone who claims to love writing, I sure can find every excuse NOT to write. Here I am… on a dedicated writing retreat. A clean house, with big inviting windows, open wide to the creativity. The quiet that only a place away from home can provide; with no chores, no dishes, no laundry, no pets… only the sun streaming in and the trees waving their wishes to the wind. The house hums… hums with electricity, heating and… potential.
That’s it. Potential.
I make a coffee. For once, with no rush of the day, no next thing, no must be on time. I’m able to stir. Listen to the tin, tin as the metal spoon strikes and scrapes the sides to lift and mix my sugar, like I’m mixing my thoughts.
Starting, for me, is sometimes the hardest part.
Then… it’s about sticking to it and meeting my potential. That word again. Potential.
After a week away, dedicated to drafting, I need to find the fortitude to continue. This post is a pep talk for my writerly self. I hope you will find a nugget to polish into a gem. Read more
There is absolutely no excuse for me not finding time to write. I am newly retired, living with just hubby and our Springer Spaniel, with enough space to spread out and resources at the ready. You get the picture.
Yet, distractions pop up. Sometimes I actually invite interruptions that slow down the grind of getting words on paper, so to speak.
A retreat can be the perfect motivation to focus and make some progress on your writing projects. Imagine escaping to a beautiful location, for days at a time, with the sole purpose of writing to your heart’s content. This past week, The Modern Schoolhouse was the perfect venue for a local group of writers gathering to do just that.
Read more
Or Why I Cannot Complete My Novel.
My latest excuse.
I recently heard about the third quarter phenomenon in relation to running. It is said to the hardest part of a race. The beginning is when you are fresh, your muscles and body ready; the second quarter is when you are still feeling good: you have found your pace; a rhythm. The last quarter, you can see the end and can make that final push. But the third quarter: that is when it can feel like hard work. No end in the site and the freshness of the start is long gone. The interesting thing about the third quarter is that it doesn’t matter how long or short a race is, the third quarter can feel to be the hardest.
Read more
There is severe pressure on writers to have an excellent opening sentence, with an intriguing first page and a gripping first chapter. Most writers spend quite a bit of time rewriting this section of the book more than any other part of the novel. My current novel has had at least ten different first chapters, and I’m not even going to mention the hated prologue (I have written a few and deleted them all).
Then, there is the problematic middle that everyone talks about. I have a whole shelf in my library dedicated to writing your way through that. Truthfully, Write Your Novel From the Middle by James Scott Bell is one of the better how-to books for approaching this situation. It is easy to read, short (only 84 pages), and concise.
What we don’t hear much about is how to end the book. How do you deliver a satisfying ending that makes the reader walk away with a smile? How do you nail the ending and create a stir so magnificent that they are banging on your door for the next book?
Read more
“Fact and fiction are so intermingled in my work that now, looking back on it, I can hardly distinguish one from the other.” – Somerset Maugham
Last I left you, dear reader, I had submitted my first fifty pages, query and synopsis for critique, to a NYTimes bestselling author and I was awaiting her notes. In the meantime, my husband had knee replacement surgery and I lost what was to be my bountiful writing time. But hey, life happens…
Sound familiar? That was how my blog opened on November 27th and finished up like this:
Now I’m energized to go back to my old novel and fix the beginning, hone in on my climax, and then finish fixing the writing…And to top it off, my husband’s knee is on the mend and he’s back to driving which means I now have the writing time I was craving. But of course, Christmas is coming…
But then, life happened–again. On December 4th, playing hockey, I injured my knee. Now it was my turn on the couch. In some ways, the timing was good, we had all the equipment at home: ice packs, walker, cane. And my husband was now well enough to take care of me.
I like the number 13. I’ve never experienced any bad luck as a result of it. I’ve spent my life contemplating its maligned character and contriving ways to support it.
You see, way back in the year 1959, on a chilly January evening, my mother gave birth to me. On the 13th.
And of course members of my cohort began teasing me as soon as they were able to comprehend that I had been born on a day that was considered unlucky.