BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

Okay. I've been gone for months; that's true. You see, I had another stroke, not the usual TIA, a CVA (bleeding into the brain). All in all, it set me back, but speaking of back: I'm back in the saddle again. I'm not writing new stuff, but at the urging of a friend, I am revising again. As a matter of fact, it's not so bad. At first, I couldn't quite get the hang of it, but writing is like riding a bicycle, I suppose. I just hopped right in there and finally, after long suffering efforts, I'm at the revision of the last novel.

As far as I can tell, I'm actually making sense, or rather, the novel is making sense. I put in a few extra words this week (like 1,000) and next week I might get a few more in. The absence from craft hasn't been bad for me. I'm seeing things I should have seen earlier and my excitement at the effort is growing stronger.

For those of you who might actually read this: Thanks. And for the others, the ones who don't take a look at my site...:P

Seriously Dry Spell

Okay, so I haven't written in weeks. I know. I'm the one who keeps saying, "Write. Write. Write." But nowdays, I can't. I want to, but nothing I write makes it past that lovely, little key called 'delete'.

I've written rougly 5000 words within the last two weeks, all of which are now floating somewhere in the digital cosmos of the forgotten and deleted. Nothing works for me. No short story. No poem, and certainly, no novel. :( Woe is me, to coin a phrase.

I am now seeking encouragement. I need a writer's-soul hug, a kind word, or maybe an agent. Anyone listening?

Working, Working, Thinking, Thinking

All right. So, I said I had two books. Everyone said I had two books in the one manuscript. As I write, I'm not so sure. I've made a fateful decision, one of those make or break kind of decisions.

I can't figure out how to break the book in two. I know where it should break...I think, but I can't figure out how to do it and make each book distinctly its own country. Know what I mean? Sooo...I decided to write one long book, a hellishly long book. When I get the flow right, make everything move quickly and effortlessly, finish the book with every section driving toward the next, then I'll think about the break. Good idea? You tell me.

Gone with the Wind, Silence of the Lambs, The Client, The Firm, Hawaii...they were all long books...really long books. Well, maybe Silence of the Lambs wasn't that long, but it wasn't short. There's Tolkien. He wrote long books. In fact, the Lord of the Rings Trilogy was written as one long book. Tolkien's publishers decided it was three books, not Tolkien, himself. Tolkien wrote it all in one continuous volumn. I'm certainly no Tolkien, but...I've got one long continuous volumn. See what I mean?

I really don't know what else to do, but I'm certainly up for suggestions. I've toiled these past weeks. I need help. Any (and I mean ANY) idea is welcome, barring wrapping the manuscript around a stick of dynamite. I can't help feeling that this one...this troublesome story...is THE one, the one that might prick the conscience of the agent! HELP!

Twins?

Okay. So, book number two has suffered through the beta read. Verdict? I've got twins! Not babies (God forbid. Having twins must be an absolute nightmare requiring far more organizational skills than I have!) No, not babies....books. It seems the mega project is really two books. It's either make it into a series of two or try to peddle a 200,000 word novel. Maybe...if I were John Grisham, but not as an unpublished novelist seeking representation for her first book.

Oh, well. (she sighs) This is good and bad. Good news first! (I always choose the good news first :D!) The good news is that most of both books is written. Book one? Starts when the heroine is around twelve and takes her through to adulthood and slightly beyond. With the division, I can flesh out characters that need fleshing and add chapters that need adding. The second half, or rather, the second book needs a little more work. I suppose the epic was getting a little long, and subconsciously, I rushed, barreled toward the end and left out a lot that needed to be said. I'm not thrilled that the betas didn't love it completely, but I am grateful for guidance. I tend to turn on the ignition before I check the road map. Know what I mean?

Bad news? Trying to exercise patience, not one of my primary character components. The new timeline for submission is longer, but I can prove my worth as a writer by having two books ready and a third in the wings should a might-be-my agent wonders if this old girl can write another novel. "Sure," I'll say. "I've got the sequel and another piece itching to get out of that trunk."

Well, back to the drawing board or "keyboard" in this case. I'm at it again fellow writers. With a vengeance!

See you when I've got two books in the can.

Back in the Saddle?

I'm having a rare night at home. Relatives are staying with Mother and I'm joyously sitting in my big green chair and (glory of glories) writing. Of course, I should be finishing up the grading of the 1200 writing assessments, but time at home is so unusual, well, you know.

I once asked the question, "Are you a writer if no one reads your work?" Tonight I had an epiphany. The answer is a resounding, "Yes." My great moment came when I felt the need to rush to my keyboard and pound out a few words. I am a writer, whether a good one or a bad one. I need to spend time weaving intricate plot lines just like I need to breathe. That must mean that I AM a writer, no matter how many doubts I've had in the past.

Time away from the thing you love does make the heart grow fonder, at least in my case. The absence of writing made me irritable. A psychological study of that long ago case of the railroad spike that somehow ended up in a man's head said that the spike made him irritable, so I guess he and I have something in common. Not being able to write gave me the same symptoms. Go figure.

Although this particular blog has been touted by some, it's sort of fallen by the wayside. That is, it has fallen by the wayside since I've been unable to update frequently. I choose to believe the sparing entries are the cause rather than think my muse has slipped away and I've become uninteresting and boring. The multiple visitors that I once enjoyed with each entry have found other blogs to visit and I seldom get many hits these days. This doesn't stop me, however. I write. I write on this blog and a couple more. I comment on the blogs of friends and ,sometimes, strangers. I am a writer, whether I have the means to write or not. Undaunted by disinterest, I keep on plugging...writing away, commenting on the joy of the written word.

Alas, poor Yorik.

I've been spending my downtime working. Not writing, unfortunately, but grading 1200 papers for the university writing assessment. Although tedious, I've found what the students have to say about writing very interesting. For example, almost all of the papers I've read so far say something to the effect that writing would be fun if there weren't so many "rules." I suppose that's true. If we never had to stop to insert a comma or indent a paragraph, if we could just keep going and ignore spelling and mechanics, everyone would enjoy writing. Alas, we cannot. We cannot ignore the basic rules of composition.



When I'm teaching, I try to explain that the rules of grammar are in place for a purpose. I use this analogy:

You've been invited to the party of the year and you've been given written directions: turn right at the second stop light, left onto Elm, go the the third stop sign, make a left onto Bird's Eye Ave, and the party's at the third house on the right. You put on your best duds, jump into the car and start out. Suddenly, you realize that there are no stop lights, no street signs. How do you find the party? You're hopelessly lost with no way to find the party of the year.

I tell them that grammar and mechanics are like those roadsigns. They help the reader interpret the writer's work. Without those rules of grammar, no one would understand anything that's ever been written.

There are rules, some can be broken by the wants/desires of the agenting and publishing community like that "single space between sentences" thing that's all the rage. Cormac McCarthy seldom if ever uses quotation marks during dialogue (but then he's Cormac McCarthy). The comma preceding a conjunction in a compound sentence is now dust on the publishing house floor. BUT (big but) most of us still cling to the rules, those grammatical roadsigns we so desperately need. To write, the would-be author must not only be good at spinning that fascinating yarn. He/she must be good at the craft of writing, the rules, the mechanics.

Well, there's my two-cents worth, but then again, I'm an English teacher by avocation. Those rules of grammar work and they've provided me with one more semester of work as a member of adjunct faculty.

Hello Again!

It's been quite a while since I had time to post. My mother's injury requires that she have care 24/7, and for the most part, that's me. As for writing, it's in my head mostly. I seldom have time to spend concocting a storyline or adding to the WIP.

As for the novel that's with my betas, still no word. I don't know whether they've just given up on me, it's so bad they can't find the words, or if they haven't even opened the file. That's the way it goes. Abscence, my friends, does not make the heart grow fonder. All I have to work with when it comes to edits is the new crit partner. She rocks, btw. She has given me a few suggestions as to how I might better develop some characters and she's pointed out a few grammar gaffs. If and when I get time, I'll work on those elements, all the while hoping that the Dawg Pack is chewing on my latest offering.

I may write something about my recent experience with my mother. I'm not sure whether it will be a short or a novel length story. I've been mulling over lots of things. For example, when my late husband and father were involved in hospice care, one of the nurses told me a story, a story that corroborated an experience I'd had with both. My conversation with that nurse has sparked many a sigh and many long periods of deep thought. Now and again, it still pops to the forefront of my brain, and for some reason, I think my hind brain is formulating something, a book or maybe just an essay on the event. Whatever is happening back there in the recesses has been bubbling up lately, maybe because I am once more a caretaker and maybe because it's almost completed percolating. Who knows?

At this point, I'm just so tired I can't think straight. Ever been there?