Since taking a job, my writing schedule has changed. I now get up earlier and give myself at least an hour to write before leaving for work each day. I tried writing in the evenings after I got home, but nothing happened. I mean, the first day I got a few hundred words. After that, writing just didn’t happen. I sat completely drained, failing to get anything coherent down. Then I fell asleep.
Morning writing is going much better and then there are the weekends with those big blocks of writing time that I love. Sounds easy. Less time to write, doesn’t mean no time. Simply take a minute here and a minute there. It seems, though, that I forgot one thing—alone time with my book. I mean, it does no good to sit down at my allotted writing time if I don’t know what’s supposed to happen next. I’ve been told by authors of various writing books that I’m supposed to have a detailed synopsis and outline and possibly a shoebox full of neatly filled in 3 by 5 note cards. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have scene cards, pages of biographical information for each character, and maybe even software and flowcharts to guide me from beginning to end. The problem is, I don’t write that way.
I start with characters and, since I’m writing a series, I already know most of my people from my last book and I know the setting. Next I have an idea of the main event—the murder. I know who gets killed and where and how the body is found. I have glimmerings of subplots and vague pictures of new characters. But I don’t know yet who the killer is or why he or she committed the crime. I would not like to be locked into a scenario when I’m only one third of the way into the book. Plotting as I go, letting the book happen and backtracking when I need to, is what works for me.
But what I never really gave all that much thought to is that I need time to create, to explore in my mind any number of twists and turns. I’ve budgeted writing time for myself, but gave no thought to my alone time with the book. I can’t “write” while I’m on my way to and from work. This would lead to such things as me arriving with no memory of getting there. I could think about the book while I worked if I could get my coworkers to hush up and stop telling funny stories. They don’t know yet that they are going to end up in one of my books.
The conclusion I reached this weekend was that some of my valuable time at the keyboard will have to be swapped for valuable time in the thinking and plotting room. That’s okay. Writing is done internally as well as externally. As long as I give attention to each step of the process, my word count will grow until I have a book.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Friday, November 14, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Bloopers
There’s nothing like a good proofreader to help improve an author’s writing. I mean a friendly human proofreader--preferably one with good eyes and mad grammar skills. Spellcheckers and grammar suggestions courtesy of word processing programs have their limitations. Seriously, how much trust can I place in a machine that once suggested I have my character tromp around the barn in “ranchhand boots” instead of cowboy boots?
A willing friend is an invaluable resource to catch those awkward sentences that slip by so easily in our writing, no matter how many times we’ve gone over our manuscripts. I was reminded of this last week when a member of my critique group wrote the following (used with permission): Almost too late I saw a man running out of the corner of my eye.
Please, somebody catch the tiny guy before he hits the floor.
Of course, I’m not innocent of the occasional sin. There was the time I asked my daughter Jenny to look over a short story I planned to submit to a magazine. I had the manuscript printed and ready to slip into an envelope. She caught this big, fat, glaring blunder: Two men wearing a suit walked into the room.
What, times were tough and they had to share?
And then there was the gem I wrote in another story. A man and his wife have been fighting and are on the verge of divorcing. In the first paragraph the husband leaves the house, slams the front door, and yells back to his wife: I’m going out for a little piece.
Worse yet, this was geared to a religious magazine. Even worse, Jenny was away at school, so I actually mailed this thing. It was rejected without comment, but I was able to laugh at myself when I looked the story over and finally noticed what I’d done.
But I returned Jenny’s favor when I proofread one of her college short stories about a girl who gave historic tours at an antebellum mansion and hoped to persuade her boss to give up the notion of having the guides wear period costumes. My daughter wrote this: It's hard to go to the bathroom in a hoop skirt.
I've sometimes thought of asking my writer friends to submit their bloopers to me so I can compile them into a book. They would remain anonymous, of course. I may do that some day. After all, I've already decided on a cover photo of me hiding my head in shame.
A willing friend is an invaluable resource to catch those awkward sentences that slip by so easily in our writing, no matter how many times we’ve gone over our manuscripts. I was reminded of this last week when a member of my critique group wrote the following (used with permission): Almost too late I saw a man running out of the corner of my eye.
Please, somebody catch the tiny guy before he hits the floor.
Of course, I’m not innocent of the occasional sin. There was the time I asked my daughter Jenny to look over a short story I planned to submit to a magazine. I had the manuscript printed and ready to slip into an envelope. She caught this big, fat, glaring blunder: Two men wearing a suit walked into the room.
What, times were tough and they had to share?
And then there was the gem I wrote in another story. A man and his wife have been fighting and are on the verge of divorcing. In the first paragraph the husband leaves the house, slams the front door, and yells back to his wife: I’m going out for a little piece.
Worse yet, this was geared to a religious magazine. Even worse, Jenny was away at school, so I actually mailed this thing. It was rejected without comment, but I was able to laugh at myself when I looked the story over and finally noticed what I’d done.
But I returned Jenny’s favor when I proofread one of her college short stories about a girl who gave historic tours at an antebellum mansion and hoped to persuade her boss to give up the notion of having the guides wear period costumes. My daughter wrote this: It's hard to go to the bathroom in a hoop skirt.
I've sometimes thought of asking my writer friends to submit their bloopers to me so I can compile them into a book. They would remain anonymous, of course. I may do that some day. After all, I've already decided on a cover photo of me hiding my head in shame.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Housepainting and Writing
My husband and I are painting our house. Our two story plus attic, 2000+ square foot house. We used to have a white house. Now it's mostly white, partly Monsoon Green, which is kind of a cross between sage and celery. But it's getting Monsoon Greener by the minute. I think the hardest part was going through all those sample cards trying to find the exact shade of green we were lookiing for.
Putting together the 15 foot scaffolding we rented from Home Depot has put the adventure back in our marriage.
I'm not much into home improvement projects. In my heart of hearts I'm an apartment dweller, still wistfully recalling the little one bedroom I rented in the Oakley section of Cincinnati. Anything needed doing, I just called the landlord. Painting was not something I did. But now it is.
So painting the house has been a learning experience. I've learned about prepping, scraping, priming and mixing. But mostly I learned that it's calming to cover up the dingy white with a thick sumptuous coat of Monsoon Green.
The best thing about painting is that the more you do, the less you have to do. There's an end in sight and what you did yesterday is still there today.
Writing a book can be like that. It's daunting when you start, but with each stroke, with each word you get closer to the end. If you don't think about how much you have to do, it's a breeze.
Putting together the 15 foot scaffolding we rented from Home Depot has put the adventure back in our marriage.
I'm not much into home improvement projects. In my heart of hearts I'm an apartment dweller, still wistfully recalling the little one bedroom I rented in the Oakley section of Cincinnati. Anything needed doing, I just called the landlord. Painting was not something I did. But now it is.
So painting the house has been a learning experience. I've learned about prepping, scraping, priming and mixing. But mostly I learned that it's calming to cover up the dingy white with a thick sumptuous coat of Monsoon Green.
The best thing about painting is that the more you do, the less you have to do. There's an end in sight and what you did yesterday is still there today.
Writing a book can be like that. It's daunting when you start, but with each stroke, with each word you get closer to the end. If you don't think about how much you have to do, it's a breeze.
Friday, October 3, 2008
All Those Notebooks
My one hundred plus notebooks and journals, some of them more than thirty years old, bear witness to my inability to curb my writing habit. As witnesses, they serve me well. As antidotes to blank screen syndrome, they serve me best.
In the dark ages before I got my first personal computer, I did my typing on an old manual typewriter. In those days, Wite Out was my best friend. However, using the typewriter was reserved strictly for preparing stories for submission. The stories were written first in a notebook. Always.
Eventually my computer programmer husband bought me a computer, probably one of the first personal computers off the assembly line. This little gem had an amber display monitor if that tells you anything. After an initial period of whining about how a low tech woman could not possibly master this machine, I gave in and learned the joys of the backspace key.
But I still typed from my notebooks into the computer. I don’t care what anyone says—that’s double work. I then spent a painful few months learning to bypass pen and ink and write directly into the computer. And though this happened some years back, there’s something about that blank screen that tends to paralyze my thoughts at times. Doesn't matter that yesterday and the day before I plunked myself down in front of the whirring machine and filled page after page with sentences. Doesn't matter that my fingers tapped out letters almost faster than I could think of the words. What matters today is that sometimes the screen stays blank no matter how many times I poise my fingers over the keys and prod myself to write something.
Here is where I pick up a pen and my latest notebook—most recently a spiral bound beauty with a shiny, navy blue cover and the wide ruled pages I need to accommodate my generous scrawl. When the words won’t appear on screen, I allow myself to turn to my notebook. So what if my heroine doesn’t know yet she is going to be roped into solving a murder where the only witness is a palomino mare. Who cares if I can’t seem to figure out who sneaked into the stable and offed a friend of the mare’s family? Or maybe a character is trapped in the guesthouse while the villain busily sets fire to the roof, and I have no idea how she is going to free herself. Today my notebook is my freedom to write anything I wish. Sentence fragments, titles that tantalize, character sketches, outlines, catchy phrases, bits of conversation overheard in the grocery line, and whatever other words flow from my pen.
Most often before I've written a full page, my pen starts to move faster and my thoughts turn to the latest plot twist. When that happens, I know exactly what comes next and soon I am well on my way to completing my scene and thinking about the next. But when the pen and notebook don’t help, I keep writing anyway until I’ve written my word count. And that’s why I’m still accumulating notebooks.
In the dark ages before I got my first personal computer, I did my typing on an old manual typewriter. In those days, Wite Out was my best friend. However, using the typewriter was reserved strictly for preparing stories for submission. The stories were written first in a notebook. Always.
Eventually my computer programmer husband bought me a computer, probably one of the first personal computers off the assembly line. This little gem had an amber display monitor if that tells you anything. After an initial period of whining about how a low tech woman could not possibly master this machine, I gave in and learned the joys of the backspace key.
But I still typed from my notebooks into the computer. I don’t care what anyone says—that’s double work. I then spent a painful few months learning to bypass pen and ink and write directly into the computer. And though this happened some years back, there’s something about that blank screen that tends to paralyze my thoughts at times. Doesn't matter that yesterday and the day before I plunked myself down in front of the whirring machine and filled page after page with sentences. Doesn't matter that my fingers tapped out letters almost faster than I could think of the words. What matters today is that sometimes the screen stays blank no matter how many times I poise my fingers over the keys and prod myself to write something.
Here is where I pick up a pen and my latest notebook—most recently a spiral bound beauty with a shiny, navy blue cover and the wide ruled pages I need to accommodate my generous scrawl. When the words won’t appear on screen, I allow myself to turn to my notebook. So what if my heroine doesn’t know yet she is going to be roped into solving a murder where the only witness is a palomino mare. Who cares if I can’t seem to figure out who sneaked into the stable and offed a friend of the mare’s family? Or maybe a character is trapped in the guesthouse while the villain busily sets fire to the roof, and I have no idea how she is going to free herself. Today my notebook is my freedom to write anything I wish. Sentence fragments, titles that tantalize, character sketches, outlines, catchy phrases, bits of conversation overheard in the grocery line, and whatever other words flow from my pen.
Most often before I've written a full page, my pen starts to move faster and my thoughts turn to the latest plot twist. When that happens, I know exactly what comes next and soon I am well on my way to completing my scene and thinking about the next. But when the pen and notebook don’t help, I keep writing anyway until I’ve written my word count. And that’s why I’m still accumulating notebooks.
Monday, September 8, 2008
How To Be Inspired
We had our first booksigning for Wicked Weaves last weekend. Invariably, the question always comes up: what inspires you to write?
A recent poll I read said that a whopping 70 percent of unpublished writers feel the need to be inspired to write. That number dropped significantly among published writers to only 15 per cent.
What’s the difference?
Is it because published writers have succeeded in reaching the first goal on the ladder? Even if they aren’t making a substantial amount of money, they have been published and that’s enough to keep them going? It gives them something to look forward to and keeps the words flowing?
Rejections can be heartbreaking. A friend of mine recently had her first novel accepted—after 15 years of having her novels rejected. That’s a long time to argue with your spouse for more time or feel like you’re cheating your kids or that you’re spending too much money on your ‘hobby’. Especially when you already have a file full of rejections! Her story is one I’ll share here later.
There’s also a difference in professionalism among published authors. They’ve begun to see themselves as ‘working writers’. Even if they’re still working other jobs as nurses and teachers. They begin to think of themselves as writers who teach or writers who take care of sick children. One writer I know who has her first book published and is working on her second, sees herself as a writer who is doing research on her engineer’s job for a novel. That’s a unique approach!
Writing something every day is essential to becoming a stronger writer. Even if you can only devote ten minutes to your craft, it’s better than nothing. This can be a hard business to get into . . . and to stay in. The most important thing you can do for yourself as a writer is become a better writer. You can’t do that sitting around waiting for the muse to strike!
Try sharing the secret of published authors. Think yourself into being a writer. You have to write something each day because it’s what you do. It’s who you are. The world might think of you as a bus driver or a an office assistant but you know better. In your heart, you’re a writer. Go out there and write!
Joyce Lavene
We had our first booksigning for Wicked Weaves last weekend. Invariably, the question always comes up: what inspires you to write?
A recent poll I read said that a whopping 70 percent of unpublished writers feel the need to be inspired to write. That number dropped significantly among published writers to only 15 per cent.
What’s the difference?
Is it because published writers have succeeded in reaching the first goal on the ladder? Even if they aren’t making a substantial amount of money, they have been published and that’s enough to keep them going? It gives them something to look forward to and keeps the words flowing?
Rejections can be heartbreaking. A friend of mine recently had her first novel accepted—after 15 years of having her novels rejected. That’s a long time to argue with your spouse for more time or feel like you’re cheating your kids or that you’re spending too much money on your ‘hobby’. Especially when you already have a file full of rejections! Her story is one I’ll share here later.
There’s also a difference in professionalism among published authors. They’ve begun to see themselves as ‘working writers’. Even if they’re still working other jobs as nurses and teachers. They begin to think of themselves as writers who teach or writers who take care of sick children. One writer I know who has her first book published and is working on her second, sees herself as a writer who is doing research on her engineer’s job for a novel. That’s a unique approach!
Writing something every day is essential to becoming a stronger writer. Even if you can only devote ten minutes to your craft, it’s better than nothing. This can be a hard business to get into . . . and to stay in. The most important thing you can do for yourself as a writer is become a better writer. You can’t do that sitting around waiting for the muse to strike!
Try sharing the secret of published authors. Think yourself into being a writer. You have to write something each day because it’s what you do. It’s who you are. The world might think of you as a bus driver or a an office assistant but you know better. In your heart, you’re a writer. Go out there and write!
Joyce Lavene
Friday, September 5, 2008
Laptops and Lap Dogs
For those who imagine Chihuahuas to be foul tempered little yappers, let me be the first to say the reputation is completely undeserved. Chihuahuas, when raised right, are sweet and loving dogs. And their size is perfect. Since Chihuahuas are smaller than your average cat, the dog food bill is practically non-existent, and crates, beds, and other doggie equipment are small and correspondingly cheaper than the large versions. A small herd of these little economy dogs is currently milling about in my family room, so I should know.
The Chihuahua population explosion started when my niece Trish moved to North Carolina from Florida. Trish, like nearly everyone else in my family, is owned by Chihuahuas. Everything would have been fine if we hadn’t had to make an emergency trip out of town, leaving Trish to wrangle six Chihuahuas on her own. Her little Pebbles fell in love with our little Leo and before we knew it, Pebbles had gained a couple of pounds and was waddling around looking like she’d swallowed a cantaloupe. Soon the family Chihuahua count was up by four.
Two of the babies have moved on to live in other homes. The remaining two are still here, doing their best to permanently endear themselves to us. They are doing an excellent job and it’s going to be tough to say good-bye when those new parents come along. Still. I don’t want to become one of those collectors like I keep hearing about on the news. You know the ones I mean, the sad cases who simply can’t let go. Eventually they end up with five hundred dogs and a wicked carpet cleaning problem. Besides, I have only so much lap space, especially when the pups have to share with my laptop and my three grown Chihuahuas.
Even though all of them put together don’t add up to one regular sized dog, it’s really hard to write when tiny canines trot across the keyboard at odd moments. Today I told them if they’d let me have mornings free to stay upstairs and write, I promised to spend the rest of the day downstairs providing lap space, occasional treats, and regular walks for all. I’m not sure they heard me.
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Do-Over
Ever have one of those moments where you think back to an encounter and wish you’d said something even remotely clever? Or done something differently, maybe behaved like a hero instead of standing like a puppy caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi while someone else saved a little old lady?
I long ago resigned myself to the fact that I am not superhero material. Words—especially clever comebacks—do not spring easily to my lips in stressful situations. I am one of the faces in the crowd when the photographer shows up to document the hero’s latest save.
But for the main characters in my books, life is a different story. For them, I can use the do-over.
Good thing, because my first drafts generally cause me to cringe in shame. An example might go something like this: The heroine—let’s call her Bethie—has an ex brother-in-law who is an attorney. This brother-in-law, Jack, is harassing Bethie’s sister. Bethie and Jack encounter each other in the hallway of the local courthouse where Bethie accidentally bumps into Jack and causes him to drop his briefcase.
“Get out of my way,” Jack says, eyeing her with disdain.
“I’m so sorry.” Bethie lowers her gaze. She picks up his briefcase and dusts it off before handing it back to him. Why is she always so clumsy?
“I hope you don’t think you can get away with following me.” Jack leans in so far she can smell his minty breath. “I’ll take out a restraining order before you can blink, you little twit.”
Bethie tries not to cry. She bites her lip and finally stammers, “I wasn’t following you. I just…I’m a citizen. I can come to the courthouse any time I want.” Darn. He wasn’t supposed to catch her.
Next day, I read this little gem and I have to apply an ice pack to my burning face. What was I thinking? Wait, no problem. I have the do-over.
The first revision:
“Get out of my way,” Bubba Ray growls.
He looks as if he’d like nothing better than to shove her down the nearest flight of stairs. Kate wishes he’d try. He bends, reaching for his briefcase, and she beats him to it, snatching it out of his grasp. She whips a tissue out of her purse, spits on it, and smears it across the expensive leather.
“There you go, good as new. Now you can get back to prancing around the courthouse like you think you’re somebody important.”
Bubba Ray’s beady eyes get smaller. “Bet you think you’re cute, don’t you? Well, I have two words for you if you don’t stop following me—restraining order.”
Kate snorts. She leans in so close she’s sure Bubba Ray can smell her breath. She hopes he likes the garlic and onions she had with her lunch as much as she does. “Following you? I suppose little green men landed in your yard last night, too. Guess what, dirtbag, I have two words for you. Good psychiatrist.”
Okay, it still needs work. But I can rewrite it as many times as I want. After all, I would not want Bethie—I mean, Kate—to wake up tomorrow morning saying, “Darn. I wish I'd handled that whole scene differently.”
L.C. Evans
I long ago resigned myself to the fact that I am not superhero material. Words—especially clever comebacks—do not spring easily to my lips in stressful situations. I am one of the faces in the crowd when the photographer shows up to document the hero’s latest save.
But for the main characters in my books, life is a different story. For them, I can use the do-over.
Good thing, because my first drafts generally cause me to cringe in shame. An example might go something like this: The heroine—let’s call her Bethie—has an ex brother-in-law who is an attorney. This brother-in-law, Jack, is harassing Bethie’s sister. Bethie and Jack encounter each other in the hallway of the local courthouse where Bethie accidentally bumps into Jack and causes him to drop his briefcase.
“Get out of my way,” Jack says, eyeing her with disdain.
“I’m so sorry.” Bethie lowers her gaze. She picks up his briefcase and dusts it off before handing it back to him. Why is she always so clumsy?
“I hope you don’t think you can get away with following me.” Jack leans in so far she can smell his minty breath. “I’ll take out a restraining order before you can blink, you little twit.”
Bethie tries not to cry. She bites her lip and finally stammers, “I wasn’t following you. I just…I’m a citizen. I can come to the courthouse any time I want.” Darn. He wasn’t supposed to catch her.
Next day, I read this little gem and I have to apply an ice pack to my burning face. What was I thinking? Wait, no problem. I have the do-over.
The first revision:
“Get out of my way,” Bubba Ray growls.
He looks as if he’d like nothing better than to shove her down the nearest flight of stairs. Kate wishes he’d try. He bends, reaching for his briefcase, and she beats him to it, snatching it out of his grasp. She whips a tissue out of her purse, spits on it, and smears it across the expensive leather.
“There you go, good as new. Now you can get back to prancing around the courthouse like you think you’re somebody important.”
Bubba Ray’s beady eyes get smaller. “Bet you think you’re cute, don’t you? Well, I have two words for you if you don’t stop following me—restraining order.”
Kate snorts. She leans in so close she’s sure Bubba Ray can smell her breath. She hopes he likes the garlic and onions she had with her lunch as much as she does. “Following you? I suppose little green men landed in your yard last night, too. Guess what, dirtbag, I have two words for you. Good psychiatrist.”
Okay, it still needs work. But I can rewrite it as many times as I want. After all, I would not want Bethie—I mean, Kate—to wake up tomorrow morning saying, “Darn. I wish I'd handled that whole scene differently.”
L.C. Evans
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Writers Are Weird
My daughter and son-in-law are very precious to me – almost as precious as the two wonderful grandchildren they’ve given me – but sometimes they give me a hard time. It’s not that they don’t care about me or my work. They do. It’s just that sometimes I think we live on different planets. If not planets, at least different planes of this planet.
For instance, the other day my daughter dropped by. (Oh she’s thoughtful, she called first.) I was in the middle of finishing up a lovely wedding scene in my latest book. This couple, who everyone thought would never make it, were finally having the wedding of their dreams. I cried through the whole ceremony
About the time I had them heading out on an extensive honeymoon, the door bell rang. I answered it, blew my nose and told daughter to come in.
"Are you crying?” She demanded.
I knew I might as well confess so I said, “Yes. June finally got married and…”
“Who’s June?”
“You know. The woman in my book who was shot and nobody thought she would make it….”
“But she’s not real, Mom. What’s wrong with you?”
Now you know if you’re a writer, you’d never tell another writer their characters were not real. Indeed! These people are real to me. I live with them for months. I give them life and they talk to me and I talk to them. I feel what they feel.
For example, in JILTED BY DEATH, when Willa met Trent and the shivers went down her spine, they went down mine too. When the hot plastic spewed on Ernie Wilkes in STETSON MOLD, I felt the pain. I felt alone and lost when Amy decided the best thing to do in DUO OF OPPISITES was to get lost in San Francisco. I was excited and thrilled when Gaylord Swanson and Nevis Poole presented Willa with a new car in ECHOES OF MERCY. When Nola Dean stumbled on a dead body in the darkness of her Myrtle Beach condo in MURDER IN SOUTH CAROLINA, I was as horrified as she was.
So how could anyone tell me my characters aren’t real?
Believe me, I’m not alone. Many writers out there do the same thing I do. We get into the heart and soul of these people we create and this is what makes them come alive on the page. If they don’t make the writer cry or laugh or feel, then they won’t make the reader cry or laugh or feel either.
And that’s what I strive for. I want my readers to feel for and with my characters. The sweetest words I’ve ever heard from a fan is, “I didn’t want the book to end. I want to know what happens to the people after you stopped the story.”
So call me weird. My family does and I don’t mind. Maybe I am a little weird. Maybe that is what it takes to be a writer. I don’t know. I only know that I love to make up stories and put them on paper. There is no other job where a grandmother like me could live part-time in a dream world, write those dreams down and if lucky get paid an amount which puts me below the poverty level.
Just so you won’t think I’m completely nuts, while I was thinking about writing this, I changed my cat litter, tossed a load of clothes in the washer and put a roast with pepperoncini in the crock pot. See, a writer can live in both worlds even if they are weird.
For instance, the other day my daughter dropped by. (Oh she’s thoughtful, she called first.) I was in the middle of finishing up a lovely wedding scene in my latest book. This couple, who everyone thought would never make it, were finally having the wedding of their dreams. I cried through the whole ceremony
About the time I had them heading out on an extensive honeymoon, the door bell rang. I answered it, blew my nose and told daughter to come in.
"Are you crying?” She demanded.
I knew I might as well confess so I said, “Yes. June finally got married and…”
“Who’s June?”
“You know. The woman in my book who was shot and nobody thought she would make it….”
“But she’s not real, Mom. What’s wrong with you?”
Now you know if you’re a writer, you’d never tell another writer their characters were not real. Indeed! These people are real to me. I live with them for months. I give them life and they talk to me and I talk to them. I feel what they feel.
For example, in JILTED BY DEATH, when Willa met Trent and the shivers went down her spine, they went down mine too. When the hot plastic spewed on Ernie Wilkes in STETSON MOLD, I felt the pain. I felt alone and lost when Amy decided the best thing to do in DUO OF OPPISITES was to get lost in San Francisco. I was excited and thrilled when Gaylord Swanson and Nevis Poole presented Willa with a new car in ECHOES OF MERCY. When Nola Dean stumbled on a dead body in the darkness of her Myrtle Beach condo in MURDER IN SOUTH CAROLINA, I was as horrified as she was.
So how could anyone tell me my characters aren’t real?
Believe me, I’m not alone. Many writers out there do the same thing I do. We get into the heart and soul of these people we create and this is what makes them come alive on the page. If they don’t make the writer cry or laugh or feel, then they won’t make the reader cry or laugh or feel either.
And that’s what I strive for. I want my readers to feel for and with my characters. The sweetest words I’ve ever heard from a fan is, “I didn’t want the book to end. I want to know what happens to the people after you stopped the story.”
So call me weird. My family does and I don’t mind. Maybe I am a little weird. Maybe that is what it takes to be a writer. I don’t know. I only know that I love to make up stories and put them on paper. There is no other job where a grandmother like me could live part-time in a dream world, write those dreams down and if lucky get paid an amount which puts me below the poverty level.
Just so you won’t think I’m completely nuts, while I was thinking about writing this, I changed my cat litter, tossed a load of clothes in the washer and put a roast with pepperoncini in the crock pot. See, a writer can live in both worlds even if they are weird.
Friday, August 15, 2008
And along came the dog
I just finished reading Susan's comments on stepping back from the cliff. She's right. Often we get trapped, backed into a corner, have a character who refuses to obey instructions and then what do we do? I don't know about the rest of you, but I stare at the dog. I write in a bedroom I've converted into a library/study/office kind of thing. It is crammed with computer stuff, most of which I don't know how to work, bookshelves overflowing with books, which somehow I always find time to read, and dog beds. As this is where I spend a lot of my time, the dogs do also. So, when I get stuck, I pour a cup of coffee, or a glass of iced tea, and stare at one of them. It doesn't matter which one, although it does tend to make the small one nervous if I do it too long.
I don't think there is a writer in the world who doesn't get stuck. For me, there are predictable stuck points. First is plot. When the idea for a story is in its infancy, I spend a lot of time staring at the dog. But I've found that you have to write. You do it knowing full well that tomorrow you may delete everything you've put on paper, or the computer screen, the day before, but at least you have something tangible to work with, even if its terrible. That way you can keep on saying "what happens next, or nobody in their right mind would do that." It's pretty much the same way with characters. You can hold them up against the action and say "is this what you would do in this situation? If they say,"no", rethink.
A couple of years ago, I went to the Maui Writers Conference and took a writing retreat under Elisabeth George. Who better to teach how to write strong characters? A lot of what she talked about we all think we already know. All action springs out of character, each piece of action in the story has to set up the next piece of action, you must have a back story for your characters even if it never makes it into your story, sound familiar? But I've found, that when staring at the dog no longer works, thinking about what she said, what I have learned from other wonderful writers, keeps me on the path to a complete story, beginning, end, and a strong middle.
So, I'm going to go back and read what I wrote this morning, holding it up to the standard I try to keep in mind, and will probably delete a lot of it. But tomorrow is another day, and after I sleep on it, I'll find the way around the mess I've written my people in, and we'll all be happy. Especially the dog. Kathleen Delaney
I don't think there is a writer in the world who doesn't get stuck. For me, there are predictable stuck points. First is plot. When the idea for a story is in its infancy, I spend a lot of time staring at the dog. But I've found that you have to write. You do it knowing full well that tomorrow you may delete everything you've put on paper, or the computer screen, the day before, but at least you have something tangible to work with, even if its terrible. That way you can keep on saying "what happens next, or nobody in their right mind would do that." It's pretty much the same way with characters. You can hold them up against the action and say "is this what you would do in this situation? If they say,"no", rethink.
A couple of years ago, I went to the Maui Writers Conference and took a writing retreat under Elisabeth George. Who better to teach how to write strong characters? A lot of what she talked about we all think we already know. All action springs out of character, each piece of action in the story has to set up the next piece of action, you must have a back story for your characters even if it never makes it into your story, sound familiar? But I've found, that when staring at the dog no longer works, thinking about what she said, what I have learned from other wonderful writers, keeps me on the path to a complete story, beginning, end, and a strong middle.
So, I'm going to go back and read what I wrote this morning, holding it up to the standard I try to keep in mind, and will probably delete a lot of it. But tomorrow is another day, and after I sleep on it, I'll find the way around the mess I've written my people in, and we'll all be happy. Especially the dog. Kathleen Delaney
Dropping the Ball -- and Stepping Back from the Cliff
Oh, boy ...
Count on me to stay on top of things, right?
We all promised faithfully ... "We'll blog on our day, every two weeks ... "
And who was the first to break the promise?
Moi.
To make matters worse, I thought about this last night and wondered, hey, is it my turn to blog?
Nice going, Susan.
And that, folks, is all the beating up I'm going to do on myself.
Yeah, I screwed up. I had made a commitment and broke it. But it was inadvertent, and unfortunately, there was no system in place to remind people of their blogging day. Hoping that just because I blew it, we can set up a system to remind us all. We're busy people. Something good could come out of this yet -- a better way to keep on top of things.
What pleases me about this situation is that I'm NOT beating myself up any more than what I wrote above. There's really no need. I'm doing my best, and carrying enough of a load.
Fortunately, for a writer, it's no trouble to sit down and compose a blog -- on almost any topic. It's what we do. Words are our best friends.
Another good friend of mine -- yeah, a writer -- blogged about how difficult writing can be. Well ... I suppose it can be. For me, for certain, I've had days -- weeks -- months -- of being terrified to even sit down at my desk, because I literally could not think my way around a writing problem and dreaded having to deal with it.
But the truth is also that there's practically no better feeling on earth than the feeling of mastery you experience as the pages begin to grow under your fingers. The feeling that you KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, and things are turning out just as you hoped ... that you're communicating what you want to say in the best possible way you can say it.
For me, I've found that STEPPING BACK FROM THE CLIFF often solves my writing problem, the one that kept me blocked or terrified. Going to the point where I was stuck and stepping back from it -- then changing it -- almost always fixes things and allows me to move on.
Remember Billy Crystal in THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN? He was a writing teacher who also wrote novels, but couldn't get past the first line of his latest: "The night was ... " And to make matters worse, he ended all his classes with, "Remember, a writer writes every day."
Well, what if he'd NOT tried to write every day? And what if he'd dropped the impossible phrase altogether? How about starting with "Blah, blah, blah ... I don't know. Seems this is where things start"?
Terrible, I know, but who cares? I'll bet it would have gotten him to the next sentence.
I've found a lot of my writing blocks come when I literally write myself into a corner, and even worse, admire the corner (the phrasing or the sentence) so much I don't want to change it.
Inevitably, when I drop the last sentence -- or paragraph -- or even page(s), something happens to free me up. Maybe it just gives me more options, and more freedom to mess it up. But whatever it does, I usually am able to plow through, and if I wasn't connected completely to the right road before, I can usually meander around and find it within a few paragraphs.
You unhappy writers out there, consider trying it, if you don't already have some version of this in your toolkit.
Sometimes you just take yourself to a place where it's nice to admire the view, but you'll never be able to figure out a way down. It's okay. STEP BACK FROM THE CLIFF. Throw out a few sentences (or, okay, if you ADORE them, save them to a new document and take them out of your current manuscript). See where the story goes from there, when you're back at a place you've been before.
And trust yourself. You really do know what's best for your story.
So having messed up on blogging, I'm stepping back from the cliff and forgiving myself. And you know what? In future, I guess I can count on myself to blog more often -- and on my assigned day. So the stepping back accomplished what it needed to, didn't it?
Hope your writing day is a shining success!
Susan Sloate
www.SusanSloate.com
Count on me to stay on top of things, right?
We all promised faithfully ... "We'll blog on our day, every two weeks ... "
And who was the first to break the promise?
Moi.
To make matters worse, I thought about this last night and wondered, hey, is it my turn to blog?
Nice going, Susan.
And that, folks, is all the beating up I'm going to do on myself.
Yeah, I screwed up. I had made a commitment and broke it. But it was inadvertent, and unfortunately, there was no system in place to remind people of their blogging day. Hoping that just because I blew it, we can set up a system to remind us all. We're busy people. Something good could come out of this yet -- a better way to keep on top of things.
What pleases me about this situation is that I'm NOT beating myself up any more than what I wrote above. There's really no need. I'm doing my best, and carrying enough of a load.
Fortunately, for a writer, it's no trouble to sit down and compose a blog -- on almost any topic. It's what we do. Words are our best friends.
Another good friend of mine -- yeah, a writer -- blogged about how difficult writing can be. Well ... I suppose it can be. For me, for certain, I've had days -- weeks -- months -- of being terrified to even sit down at my desk, because I literally could not think my way around a writing problem and dreaded having to deal with it.
But the truth is also that there's practically no better feeling on earth than the feeling of mastery you experience as the pages begin to grow under your fingers. The feeling that you KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, and things are turning out just as you hoped ... that you're communicating what you want to say in the best possible way you can say it.
For me, I've found that STEPPING BACK FROM THE CLIFF often solves my writing problem, the one that kept me blocked or terrified. Going to the point where I was stuck and stepping back from it -- then changing it -- almost always fixes things and allows me to move on.
Remember Billy Crystal in THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN? He was a writing teacher who also wrote novels, but couldn't get past the first line of his latest: "The night was ... " And to make matters worse, he ended all his classes with, "Remember, a writer writes every day."
Well, what if he'd NOT tried to write every day? And what if he'd dropped the impossible phrase altogether? How about starting with "Blah, blah, blah ... I don't know. Seems this is where things start"?
Terrible, I know, but who cares? I'll bet it would have gotten him to the next sentence.
I've found a lot of my writing blocks come when I literally write myself into a corner, and even worse, admire the corner (the phrasing or the sentence) so much I don't want to change it.
Inevitably, when I drop the last sentence -- or paragraph -- or even page(s), something happens to free me up. Maybe it just gives me more options, and more freedom to mess it up. But whatever it does, I usually am able to plow through, and if I wasn't connected completely to the right road before, I can usually meander around and find it within a few paragraphs.
You unhappy writers out there, consider trying it, if you don't already have some version of this in your toolkit.
Sometimes you just take yourself to a place where it's nice to admire the view, but you'll never be able to figure out a way down. It's okay. STEP BACK FROM THE CLIFF. Throw out a few sentences (or, okay, if you ADORE them, save them to a new document and take them out of your current manuscript). See where the story goes from there, when you're back at a place you've been before.
And trust yourself. You really do know what's best for your story.
So having messed up on blogging, I'm stepping back from the cliff and forgiving myself. And you know what? In future, I guess I can count on myself to blog more often -- and on my assigned day. So the stepping back accomplished what it needed to, didn't it?
Hope your writing day is a shining success!
Susan Sloate
www.SusanSloate.com
Monday, August 11, 2008
TIME
Time is fleeting.
Time for fun.
Never enough time.
Too much time on your hands.
There are plenty of time slogans. Some of them work with us. Some of them feel like the enemy breathing down on our necks. For many of us, time feels out of control. There has to be time to wash the clothes and feed the kids and work our jobs. There’s time for soccer and time for homework. The only time we have left over for ourselves is time sleeping in front of the television!
People always ask me; where do you find the time to do everything? I don't have an answer for anyone but myself for that question.
There is no magic formula that can make time your friend. The only slogan that really applies to us as writers is that you can make enough time for anything that’s really important to you.
How important is your writing to you?
Important enough to give up the new season of TV shows? Important enough to make changes in your life to work on your craft? An hour a night. One TV drama or two sitcoms. One hour of news that you already heard that day. If you’re a morning person, one hour of lost sleep to sit down and actually write those ideas that are fluttering around in your head.
Time is your commitment to your writing goals. Your writing can only mature and grow if it’s exercised. Thinking about it won’t work. Talking about it won’t put a book with your name on the spine in the stores. Only putting your butt in the chair and facing the computer or word processor, typewriter or pen and paper, can make the difference. No one succeeds at a dream until it takes up some of their most valuable resource. Time.
What are you doing with your time today?
Joyce Lavene
Wicked Weaves
Berkley Prime Crime
September 2008
www.joyceandjimlavene.com
Time for fun.
Never enough time.
Too much time on your hands.
There are plenty of time slogans. Some of them work with us. Some of them feel like the enemy breathing down on our necks. For many of us, time feels out of control. There has to be time to wash the clothes and feed the kids and work our jobs. There’s time for soccer and time for homework. The only time we have left over for ourselves is time sleeping in front of the television!
People always ask me; where do you find the time to do everything? I don't have an answer for anyone but myself for that question.
There is no magic formula that can make time your friend. The only slogan that really applies to us as writers is that you can make enough time for anything that’s really important to you.
How important is your writing to you?
Important enough to give up the new season of TV shows? Important enough to make changes in your life to work on your craft? An hour a night. One TV drama or two sitcoms. One hour of news that you already heard that day. If you’re a morning person, one hour of lost sleep to sit down and actually write those ideas that are fluttering around in your head.
Time is your commitment to your writing goals. Your writing can only mature and grow if it’s exercised. Thinking about it won’t work. Talking about it won’t put a book with your name on the spine in the stores. Only putting your butt in the chair and facing the computer or word processor, typewriter or pen and paper, can make the difference. No one succeeds at a dream until it takes up some of their most valuable resource. Time.
What are you doing with your time today?
Joyce Lavene
Wicked Weaves
Berkley Prime Crime
September 2008
www.joyceandjimlavene.com
Friday, August 8, 2008
Wonder Pets
A few summers ago I wrote the entire first draft of a novel. Now I’m not saying this novel is perfected. It’s not. In fact, this particular book is filed on my computer until I come up with exactly the right hook for the opening—which would happen sooner if I spent more time thinking about who I really want that main character to be. But I still call this novel my miracle book because I was able to write the entire draft while babysitting a five-year-old.
My grandson Erik watched Wonder Pets every morning while I sat beside him on the couch and pounded the keyboard of my laptop until I wore the lettering off two of the keys. For those who don’t know, the wonder pets are a guinea pig named Linny, a turtle named Tuck, and a duckling named Ming Ming. These pets escape from their cages at a preschool every day after the humans go home. The escapees then rescue baby animals stuck in trees, wells, mud, or wherever else baby animals can get trapped. For some reason Wonder Pets and their cute little song about teamwork kept Erik quiet and kept me writing. I couldn’t write through Ben 10, or Jimmy Neutron, or especially not Fairly Oddparents. Too many explosions, magic gone terribly wrong, and parents who couldn’t put on their own shoes without consulting their children. But Wonder Pets kept me glued to my novel, entranced by my characters and their own fictional adventures until the book was complete.
Sadly, Erik has outgrown Wonder Pets. I’ve tried to keep steadily working at my computer in hopes of producing another book this summer. But I can’t come up with a decent murder scene while babysitting a child and four Chihuahua puppies to the background noise of cartoon children busily outsmarting the adults in their little cartoon lives.
I tried to entice Erik back to Wonder Pets by pointing out that teamwork is a great trait for him or any other smart kid to learn. And Linny, Tuck, and Ming Ming are so brave, so caring, exactly the right animals for him to emulate. My grandson was quick to tell me that eight-year-olds do not watch baby shows. Then he asked why I would think he could possibly be interested in stupid TV animals that travel around in a flying boat while they sing silly songs. In fact, he now believes my brain is too old for me to “think like normal people” and he knows he will soon have to take care of me. He suggested I call the driver license office to ask if there are emergency licenses for kids in his situation, kids who need to drive their really feeble grandmas to the hospital if their brains shut down.
Monday I am not babysitting. Monday I will have the house—and the TV—to myself. I can stay upstairs in my office and I can write anything I want without one single interruption. I’ll probably work on the latest book for a couple of hours. If the writing flows, I’ll rejoice. If it doesn’t—well, Wonder Pets might be on.
L.C. Evans
http://www.lcevans.com/
My grandson Erik watched Wonder Pets every morning while I sat beside him on the couch and pounded the keyboard of my laptop until I wore the lettering off two of the keys. For those who don’t know, the wonder pets are a guinea pig named Linny, a turtle named Tuck, and a duckling named Ming Ming. These pets escape from their cages at a preschool every day after the humans go home. The escapees then rescue baby animals stuck in trees, wells, mud, or wherever else baby animals can get trapped. For some reason Wonder Pets and their cute little song about teamwork kept Erik quiet and kept me writing. I couldn’t write through Ben 10, or Jimmy Neutron, or especially not Fairly Oddparents. Too many explosions, magic gone terribly wrong, and parents who couldn’t put on their own shoes without consulting their children. But Wonder Pets kept me glued to my novel, entranced by my characters and their own fictional adventures until the book was complete.
Sadly, Erik has outgrown Wonder Pets. I’ve tried to keep steadily working at my computer in hopes of producing another book this summer. But I can’t come up with a decent murder scene while babysitting a child and four Chihuahua puppies to the background noise of cartoon children busily outsmarting the adults in their little cartoon lives.
I tried to entice Erik back to Wonder Pets by pointing out that teamwork is a great trait for him or any other smart kid to learn. And Linny, Tuck, and Ming Ming are so brave, so caring, exactly the right animals for him to emulate. My grandson was quick to tell me that eight-year-olds do not watch baby shows. Then he asked why I would think he could possibly be interested in stupid TV animals that travel around in a flying boat while they sing silly songs. In fact, he now believes my brain is too old for me to “think like normal people” and he knows he will soon have to take care of me. He suggested I call the driver license office to ask if there are emergency licenses for kids in his situation, kids who need to drive their really feeble grandmas to the hospital if their brains shut down.
Monday I am not babysitting. Monday I will have the house—and the TV—to myself. I can stay upstairs in my office and I can write anything I want without one single interruption. I’ll probably work on the latest book for a couple of hours. If the writing flows, I’ll rejoice. If it doesn’t—well, Wonder Pets might be on.
L.C. Evans
http://www.lcevans.com/
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Perils of What If
The Perils of What if
L.C. Evans
If I had to guess, I’d say the most frequent question asked of me as a writer is, “Where do you get your ideas?” This question always puzzled me until daughter number four, my youngest, pointed out that not everyone lives in a world of what ifs the way I do.
“Mom, you could look at a cat crossing the road and within minutes you’ll have invented a dysfunctional family for the cat and a conflict situation involving the neighbor’s dog. Then you’ll wonder out loud what would happen if the poor animal discovered its owner’s body belly up in the den.”
“I wouldn’t. In my opinion there are enough mystery series involving cats.”
“You know what I mean,” she says, assuming an expression that makes me think she is the mom and I am not. “Other people do not glimpse a puff of smoke rising into the sky and then conclude Charlotte is under attack by aliens who have already set fire to Tryon Street.”
“Sweetie, I do not conclude, I merely wonder. I mean, what if that was the reason for the fire?”
“Sure, you merely wonder, and then your imagination goes into a feeding frenzy slurping up all the what ifs. You end up convincing yourself that the only reason the aliens have selected the Queen City for the focus of their trip across the galaxy is that they are here to beam up one or all of your children.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue. Tiggy is right. I do tend to let my imagination take over, as if it’s hooked to a giant quantum computer that explores all the possibilities, especially the more outlandish ones. Two years ago when she traveled to India—alone I might add—I didn’t hear from her for twenty-four whole hours. By the time she finally phoned home, I was certain my Tiggy was in the clutches of slave traders who had packed her into a cargo container for shipment to some undisclosed location where they need small Americans with attitude. Of course, I was already packing for my flight to New Delhi and planning how I was going to rip the kidnapers to shreds. I even made a mental note to shop for an outfit I could wear on Good Morning America.
Other moms, the blissfully unaware kind, might say to their children, “Sure, honey, you can climb that tree.” But my brood would hear something like this: “I’d rather you didn’t, but I wouldn’t want to be a mother hen or spoil your fun. Go ahead and climb the tree. Be sure to wear your bike helmet, your kneepads, and a parachute. Oh, and don’t forget to bring a rope. And while you’re up there you’ll have a good view, so look around and make sure there are no sociopaths skulking around the neighborhood.”
My children are grown now, but I still have a tendency—a small one, you understand—to point out possible outcomes of their actions. I mean, what if one of them took a job in Wyoming or one of those other big square states? And then the boss was lambasted over the head with a fishbowl and found dead in the men’s room. And my child became a suspect because she’d had an argument with him over the office feng shui and she hated his fish. What then? Hmmm. This could work.
So it is not surprising that my offspring believe the line between real life and plotting fiction is all too easily blurred in my case. We’ve finally reached a compromise. The next time one of my children announces plans to do something I just know is dangerous, I will react with all the emotion of a snail on tranquilizers. From now on my imagination and ideas will be reserved for writing. Really.
L.C. Evans
http://lcevans.com/
L.C. Evans
If I had to guess, I’d say the most frequent question asked of me as a writer is, “Where do you get your ideas?” This question always puzzled me until daughter number four, my youngest, pointed out that not everyone lives in a world of what ifs the way I do.
“Mom, you could look at a cat crossing the road and within minutes you’ll have invented a dysfunctional family for the cat and a conflict situation involving the neighbor’s dog. Then you’ll wonder out loud what would happen if the poor animal discovered its owner’s body belly up in the den.”
“I wouldn’t. In my opinion there are enough mystery series involving cats.”
“You know what I mean,” she says, assuming an expression that makes me think she is the mom and I am not. “Other people do not glimpse a puff of smoke rising into the sky and then conclude Charlotte is under attack by aliens who have already set fire to Tryon Street.”
“Sweetie, I do not conclude, I merely wonder. I mean, what if that was the reason for the fire?”
“Sure, you merely wonder, and then your imagination goes into a feeding frenzy slurping up all the what ifs. You end up convincing yourself that the only reason the aliens have selected the Queen City for the focus of their trip across the galaxy is that they are here to beam up one or all of your children.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue. Tiggy is right. I do tend to let my imagination take over, as if it’s hooked to a giant quantum computer that explores all the possibilities, especially the more outlandish ones. Two years ago when she traveled to India—alone I might add—I didn’t hear from her for twenty-four whole hours. By the time she finally phoned home, I was certain my Tiggy was in the clutches of slave traders who had packed her into a cargo container for shipment to some undisclosed location where they need small Americans with attitude. Of course, I was already packing for my flight to New Delhi and planning how I was going to rip the kidnapers to shreds. I even made a mental note to shop for an outfit I could wear on Good Morning America.
Other moms, the blissfully unaware kind, might say to their children, “Sure, honey, you can climb that tree.” But my brood would hear something like this: “I’d rather you didn’t, but I wouldn’t want to be a mother hen or spoil your fun. Go ahead and climb the tree. Be sure to wear your bike helmet, your kneepads, and a parachute. Oh, and don’t forget to bring a rope. And while you’re up there you’ll have a good view, so look around and make sure there are no sociopaths skulking around the neighborhood.”
My children are grown now, but I still have a tendency—a small one, you understand—to point out possible outcomes of their actions. I mean, what if one of them took a job in Wyoming or one of those other big square states? And then the boss was lambasted over the head with a fishbowl and found dead in the men’s room. And my child became a suspect because she’d had an argument with him over the office feng shui and she hated his fish. What then? Hmmm. This could work.
So it is not surprising that my offspring believe the line between real life and plotting fiction is all too easily blurred in my case. We’ve finally reached a compromise. The next time one of my children announces plans to do something I just know is dangerous, I will react with all the emotion of a snail on tranquilizers. From now on my imagination and ideas will be reserved for writing. Really.
L.C. Evans
http://lcevans.com/
Thursday, July 24, 2008
What to Blog About
I’ve been reading blogs by different writers (1) to see what they’re writing about (2) to get an idea of what I should write about (3) To see if I really want to write a blog (4) I like to be entertained and (5) I’m nosy.
After all this research I find that some of the things writers are writing about are:
(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.
(2) Their pets (this could probably go with personal life, but since pets are such a big thing I decided to give them a paragraph of their own.) Of course there are dogs and cats of all shapes, sizes and breeds; then there are the exotic pets – A monkey (I had a friend years ago who had a monkey. It bit her husband’s hand and he almost lost it.), A snake (Never mind what kind, I’m in that large group of people who shuts their eyes when a snake appears on television. I hate snakes.), A llama (Yes someone had a llama. The only llama I ever met spit at me.), An iguana (To me they look like a tiny dragon or a big lizard. I have no desire to meet either.), and then there are the big pets, horses, cows, and assorted farm animals. Again this list could go on and on so I suppose writing about animals is okay. I’ll keep an eye on my lazy cat, Jefferson and if he does anything exciting I’ll report on it. At this point his life seems to consist only of eating twice a day and sleeping on the foot of my bed.
(3) Their travels. Writers seem to be going everywhere. Hawaii is a choice spot. (I’ve never been there so that’s out.) Cancun is another favorite destination. (I went there one time, but if was a quick day trip from a cruise ship and I didn’t see much of the place.) The Greek Islands (One can only hope..someday.) Cruises both in the Atlantic and Pacific (I went on one – see Cancun – but that was over twenty years ago and my husband, now ex-husband was so busy taking care of two retired women in our group that I probably saw him a total of an hour a day. I didn’t have good time and I’m in no hurry to ever take another cruise.) New York, LA, Chicago and many cities in between. (I wonder if anyone would be interested in the fact that my little town has a Wal-Mart and I went there the other day. I bought a pile of cat food because it’s 7 cents a can cheaper there than the grocery store. Today I made it to the Post Office and tomorrow I’m going to a Mexican restaurant to meet with my critique group. Not a lot happens in my little town. One of these days I’ll take an exotic vacation...maybe.)
These are only a few examples of the 437 things I found that writers write about on their blogs. When it comes down to it, I have decided I can write about anything I want to and I’ve decided I’ll do just that.
After all this research I find that some of the things writers are writing about are:
(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.
(2) Their pets (this could probably go with personal life, but since pets are such a big thing I decided to give them a paragraph of their own.) Of course there are dogs and cats of all shapes, sizes and breeds; then there are the exotic pets – A monkey (I had a friend years ago who had a monkey. It bit her husband’s hand and he almost lost it.), A snake (Never mind what kind, I’m in that large group of people who shuts their eyes when a snake appears on television. I hate snakes.), A llama (Yes someone had a llama. The only llama I ever met spit at me.), An iguana (To me they look like a tiny dragon or a big lizard. I have no desire to meet either.), and then there are the big pets, horses, cows, and assorted farm animals. Again this list could go on and on so I suppose writing about animals is okay. I’ll keep an eye on my lazy cat, Jefferson and if he does anything exciting I’ll report on it. At this point his life seems to consist only of eating twice a day and sleeping on the foot of my bed.
(3) Their travels. Writers seem to be going everywhere. Hawaii is a choice spot. (I’ve never been there so that’s out.) Cancun is another favorite destination. (I went there one time, but if was a quick day trip from a cruise ship and I didn’t see much of the place.) The Greek Islands (One can only hope..someday.) Cruises both in the Atlantic and Pacific (I went on one – see Cancun – but that was over twenty years ago and my husband, now ex-husband was so busy taking care of two retired women in our group that I probably saw him a total of an hour a day. I didn’t have good time and I’m in no hurry to ever take another cruise.) New York, LA, Chicago and many cities in between. (I wonder if anyone would be interested in the fact that my little town has a Wal-Mart and I went there the other day. I bought a pile of cat food because it’s 7 cents a can cheaper there than the grocery store. Today I made it to the Post Office and tomorrow I’m going to a Mexican restaurant to meet with my critique group. Not a lot happens in my little town. One of these days I’ll take an exotic vacation...maybe.)
These are only a few examples of the 437 things I found that writers write about on their blogs. When it comes down to it, I have decided I can write about anything I want to and I’ve decided I’ll do just that.
What to Blog About
I’ve been reading blogs by different writers (1) to see what they’re writing about (2) to get an idea of what I should write about (3) to see if I really want to write a blog (4) I like to be entertained and (5) I’m nosy.
After all this research I find that some of the things writers are writing about are:
(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.
(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.
(2) Their pets (this could probably go with personal life, but since pets are such a big thing I decided to give them a paragraph of their own.) Of course there are dogs and cats of all shapes, sizes and breeds; then there are the exotic pets – A monkey (I had a friend years ago who had a monkey. It bit her husband’s hand and he almost lost it.), A snake (Never mind what kind, I’m in that large group of people who shuts their eyes when a snake appears on television. I hate snakes.), A llama (Yes someone had a llama. The only llama I ever met spit at me.), An iguana (To me they look like a tiny dragon or a big lizard. I have no desire to meet either.), and then there are the big pets, horses, cows, and assorted farm animals. Again this list could go on and on so I suppose writing about animals is okay. I’ll keep an eye on my lazy cat, Jefferson and if he does anything exciting I’ll report on it. At this point his life seems to consist only of eating twice a day and sleeping on the foot of my bed.
(3) Their travels. Writers seem to be going everywhere. Hawaii is a choice spot. (I’ve never been there so that’s out.) Cancun is another favorite destination. (I went there one time, but if was a quick day trip from a cruise ship and I didn’t see much of the place.) The Greek Islands (One can only hope..someday.) Cruises both in the Atlantic and Pacific (I went on one – see Cancun – but that was over twenty years ago and my husband, now ex-husband was so busy taking care of two retired women in our group that I probably saw him a total of an hour a day. I didn’t have good time and I’m in no hurry to ever take another cruise.) New York, LA, Chicago and many cities in between. (I wonder if anyone would be interested in the fact that my little town has a Wal-Mart and I went there the other day. I bought a pile of cat food because it’s 7 cents a can cheaper there than the grocery store. Today I made it to the Post Office and tomorrow I’m going to a Mexican restaurant to meet with my critique group. Not a lot happens in my little town. One of these days I’ll take an exotic vacation...maybe.)
These are only a few examples of the 437 things I found that writers write about on their blogs. When it comes down to it, I have decided I can write about anything I want to and I’ve decided that I’ll do just that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)