Category Archives: I’m a writer too

Time to read = tools to write?

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“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”
— Stephen King

Okay, Stephen, easy for you to say. If you still manage to kick out a 1,000 page best seller every other month while leisurely reading away your afternoons, you must have some type of time machine. Or work in two dimensions. Or have a ghost writer.

I am not so lucky. I have none of those things. But I do have an antsy 6-year-old telling me each morning, “I’m bored. I want to do something fun today…” My fun would be sitting at my desk all day, my fingers flying over the keyboard, cranking out another 2,500 words.

His idea of fun is Chuck E. Cheese, Aquatica, or inviting a half dozen kids over to terrorize my house. But it is summer break and he will only be little for a little while longer. It won’t be too many summers from now when he will be running away from me, not wanting me to run with him. So I shall quietly enjoy my Mommy duty and do my best to quit my kvetching.

I have still been getting quite a satisfactory amount of writing done (thanks partly to the Hubby taking over kid duty when he can). Yesterday I cranked out another 2,500 words. Last week, 6,500. Kiddo was partially in school three days though. I think my summer goal will be 5,000 words per week. Let’s see if the words keep coming…

But since I have started kicking out the pages, I have notice that I am having a very hard time reading for leisure. I am so focused on my own storyline I can’t be completely sucked into someone else’s. Two weeks into this month and I have read one easy novel. That is crazy for me.

I am spending too much time analyzing sentence structure or how exactly the scene was set up or the author’s use of point of view. I want to be rereading my old AP English and college journalism textbooks to brush up on all of the grammar I have completely forgotten. But I need to keep reading.

Stephen King says so.

March

Momzillas–Jill Kargman
Split Image–Robert B. Parker
Lamb–Christopher Moore
Bahamarama–Bob Morris
Every Day in Tuscany : Seasons of an Italian Life–Frances Mayes
House Rules–Jodi Picoult

April
Deception–Johnathan Kellerman
Flirting with Forty–Jane Porter
The Girl Who Chased the Moon–Sarah Addison Allen
Just Breathe–Susan Wiggs
The 19th Wife–David Ebershof
Deliver Us From Evil–David Baldacci
Odd Mom Out–Jane Porter
The Blonde Theory–Kristin Harmel

May
Island Beneath the Sea–Isabel Allende
Innocent–Scott Turow
Dead in the Family–Charlaine Harris
Heart of the Matter –Emily Giffin
All We Ever Wanted Was Everything–Janelle Brown
The School of Essential Ingredients–Erica Bauermeister
Fever Dream–Preston and Child

Some Progress…

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Amidst all the ridiculous laundry drama, I managed to get some writing done yesterday. I went through all of my notes, my many pages of scribbles, notated napkins and sticky pads. They are now organized in a leather binder and I have officially begun my journey.

While trying to get a true feel for my main character I decided that the page of notes and the character description sheet just weren’t enough. She felt incomplete, I just couldn’t get inside her skin, her mind enough. I sat down an wrote a three page character biography for her, ending just when the novel should begin. I understand her more now and her personality and motivations are a bit clearer to me.

Maybe next week I can actually make myself get started. I need to decide how to motivate myself, how many words per day my goal should be, and how to FOCUS. I keep reading that your first draft, especically of your first attempt, is usually utter and complete crap. I need to accept that I will not be writing Shakespeare, I am not a literary genius. I am just an out of practice wanna-be writer with an idea who was told that she had some talent once upon a time. I just need to get it all out on paper (or screen as it is now) and go from there. Edits and rewrites are not worries now, STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND JUST DO IT!

Maybe starting Tuesday…

It’s off to fold (and read) I go…

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Today is officially Laundry Day From Hell. Yes, I know, no one LIKES doing laundry (except perhaps my Mom, but she has some very peculiar hobbies), but attempting to catch up from a week away followed by a week of a broken washer is just unbearable. And the washer is less than a month old. And it was delivered 6 weeks late. I am beginning to believe it is inhabited by a wicked sprite and we are not going to have a very agreeable working relationship.

I know some moms only do laundry once a week. I know some single guys are lucky if they remember once a month when the closet is completely empty (you can only turn those boxers inside out so many times). I cannot imagine forcing myself to endure one entire day of sorting and folding all day long each and every week. I think I would have to call in sick that day. Or run away from home. My theory is that laundry is a bit like cough syrup. You don’t really like it, but it is sometimes necessary in small doses and if you take too much at once you will end up hallucinating or in the loony bin. A much better system for me is one simple load a day. No sorting, no stressing, just dump all the dirty in together sometime during the morning, remember to switch it into the dryer around lunchtime, then the dreaded folding and putting away late afternoon. And usually I treat myself to a few minutes of what I actually want to watch on the telly while I fold–Sponge Bob is silenced while I bliss out to a few minutes of HGTV or Food Network. Everyone has to leave me alone. Then it’s done–no big deal–and the Hubby thinks I am a Domestic Goddess.

But today I have two weeks worth of smelliness and funk to deal with. I haven’t even figured out how many loads–I think if I put a number on the madness I will cry. I will deserve vast quantities of wine and chocolate this evening.

On a completely different topic, I am still trying not to be frustrated by the whole concept of blogging. The Hubby still thinks that all I have to do is post consistently to my blog and tens of thousands of fans will find it and read it and we will be making a fortune within a few months time. Huh? Another friend thinks I should concentrate on making my blog marketable and not worry about writing my novel. Double huh? I see this solely as a way for me to force myself to write, to bring my writing skills out of hibernation, and frankly, to mouth off about whatever I want. No one has to like it. If they do, wonderful. But this is for me.

I posted a few weeks ago about how I can never remember what I have read. I had another unfortunate example of this Sunday morning, on such a scale that I wonder if I should be tested for early-onset Alzheimers or perhaps I am suffering from the long-term effects of having a bit too much fun in college. I thought I finished a book Saturday night and started reading a new one Sunday morning. I was about 20 pages into Elizabeth Kostova’s The Swan Thieves when the talk about psychiatry caused me to ponder if one of the characters in Marian Keyes’ Brightest Star in the Sky had managed to drive her bike into a car after all…wait…did she…? Oh, damn! I never finished the book! I know I was distracted by the Munchkin’s unrelenting commentary as we were watching a Star Wars film fest, but come on…. How embarrassing.

I was very diligent last month and managed to keep a running list of all I read. Here it is…

January 2010 Booklist
Kristen Harmel, The Art of French Kissing
Douglas Preston, Impact
Whitney Gaskell, Good Luck
Audrey Niffengger, Her Fearful Symmetry
Charlane Harris, A Touch of Dead
The Gourmet Cookbook (yes, I read it cover to cover)
Steve Berry, The Paris Vendetta
Lolly Winston, Good Grief
Stuart Woods, Kisser

Agh, the damn dryer is screaming for me…Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to fold I go…

Colds and Characters

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It has been an absolutely irregular week, and I am whupped. For some bizarre reason, the kiddo only had three days of school this week, and each of those days had a 1 p.m. early release. Nothing like a wired and whiney 6-year-old to put the breaks on any creative progress. But we did have some adventures, including traipsing through a state park to learn about endangered species , fighting the crowds and Mother Nature at a EPCOT, then heading out-of-town to enjoy a special friend’s birthday. Meanwhile, we all have been dealing with a wicked cough that has been causing severe sleep deprivation and monumental cases of the crankies….

On the creative front, I have been agonizing over character details and plot timelines. And realizing that half my premise won’t work. Since part of the story takes place in a foreign country, I have been researching some laws and discovered my main character wouldn’t be allowed to do what the entire book was to revolve around. Crap! Time to restructure and rethink…everything… Notes are getting out of control and I did not have any time last week to get them organized.

I have been wondering if we like characters more when they share our flaws and weaknesses or when they are modeled on who we wish we could be? I suppose part of the equation depends on if we want them to be empathetic or emulated. I have notice in some novels that the authors seem to be following a formula, and their flat, predictable heroines are the result. For example: pretty girl + fabulous job + rocking city life + supportive friends + enviable wardrobe – one or two flaws (spends too much money, has frizzy hair, size 10 instead of 4) = best selling protagonist. Do we want our protagonist to be our best friend? projections of our ideal selves? How damaged should she be in order for us to root for her, want stick with her until the end?

All right, that’s it. My head is clogged, my writing is crap, and I need to quit now and go bury my face in a book. It’s a Sunday afternoon and I can’t ignore the call of the hammock any longer…

Chick Lit and Chapter One

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Today I actually started Chapter One.

I am basically trying to write what may be classified as a “Chick Lit” novel. Now before you go start directing your puke at the first pink-covered book you see, let me explain. Chick lit is no longer just about shallow shopaholics who care about nothing but their next sample sale. It is simply another name for contemporary literature that appeals mainly to women. The category has branched out into every aspect of women’s lives today, from divorce and death to twin sets and twizzlers. There is now Mom Lit, Hen Lit, Tart Noir, Bride Lit, and who can forget the several popular categories of Paranormal Lit hitting the mainstream. Apparently, even zombies and vampires have relationship issues. In most cases, the protagonists have developed into an empathetic everywoman, with quite a sense of humor, flaws we can all appreciate, and challenges we face everyday. They just may dress better than we could ever dream to. The characters generally don’t take themselves too seriously, and usually the readers don’t either. Yes, it is often light reading, but it’s not all fluff.

I cringed at the first pink cover I saw and thought I would have to have a few beach drinks in me as I lounged poolside before I could dumb myself down enough to deal with that kind of frivolity. I never read romances. I never touched teen lit, unless you include a few Sweet Valley High books when I was 8, (but then again I was 8, I have a valid excuse). In my teens I was running through the lists of classics interspersed with some Steven King gore, historical dramas, and espionage thrillers. Romance, I thought, was for old housewives to read during their soap opera commercial breaks.

But then I became a SAHM. And I had a crazed little imp running around my house, and it seemed that every two seconds I was needed to wipe hands, and clean up accidents, and blow noses, and kiss boo-boos, and force-feed food, and…there was no time left for me. And not much time left for me to read, which was the sure enough way to quickly erode my last straggling bits of sanity. This just happened to coincide with the explosion of Chick Lit onto the bookstore shelves. After having to put down too many “works of serious literature” to count, I finally picked up a pink book and gave it a try out of sheer desperation. And I just happened to love it.

Sometimes you just need a book that you can read for five minutes at time. Actually, if you have kids, sometimes a paragraph is a major accomplishment. The books made me laugh. Occasionally they gave me a much needed excuse to cry (it’s the book Honey, not that I am covered in baby puke, haven’t left the house in two days, and haven’t showered in a week, really…). They made me feel like I was having a temporary escape from my child-focused existence with a good friend who was available whenever I had a second or two. And sometimes a girl just needs that little moment of escapism to make it through the day until the kiddos are in bed and the glass of wine beckons.

And yes, I read MUCH more than just Chick Lit. The genre probably only embodies ten percent of my usual reading repertoire. But it is something I know. It is how I live, I think, I love, and at the moment, what I write. Wish me luck.

Begin the Beguine

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I always have lofty aspirations for myself this time of year. The ghosts of resolutions past are still whispering their warnings in my ear, yet I routinely ignore them and set ridiculous new goals. Do I ever keep my New Year’s Resolutions? Does anyone? Or am I just trying too hard, searching for the golden apple that will make me feel proud, complete, and validated?

This year I once again vow to write. As I did last year. And the year before. Last year I actually worked on an outline and characters for my novel, yet I chickened out when I couldn’t find my main characters motivation. Perhaps she is suffering from the same lack of confidence and skill as her would-be creator.

I used to be an excellent writer. Now I find myself looking up every last punctuation placement and I can’t remember what imperfect clauses or dangling participles are to save my life. I suppose I am ahead of the masses a little bit since I at least know they are not cartoon characters or reality show stunts.

But today I actually did it–did something at least. I sent in my first essay to be considered for publication in 20 plus years. Granted, it was only a 250 word travel essay, but it is a quantifiable start. And if our local paper selects my work (and I don’t see how they can’t–the crap they sometimes print is embarrassing) I will be a published writer.

I have been writing down ideas for a new novel for a few days now. There are scraps of paper littering my desks, countertops, and nightstands. Hopefully, I will be able to decipher my writing–thank God for keyboards. It is a start. Now to see if I can finish.

To blog, or not to blog…

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I have always made fun of blogs. I never could understand why certain people thought anyone else would want to read the insignificant thoughts and dreary running commentaries of their boring lives. I don’t have a myspace page. I’ve never been on facebook. Can’t even find anyone’s page when I have tried to look one up. I suppose it’s time for me to realize that it’s not just for teens anymore…

I have been journaling off and on since I received my first pink diary about age 8. You know, the cute little one with the key you can hide under your pillow so your mom can’t read all of your insightful and very private 8 year old hopes, hates, dreams, and discoveries. I should go back and read some of those old journals. I would love to be reminded of such a simple time, when you had a hopeless crush on the boy two desks down (but would never dream of talking to him), of your world shattering when your BFF went roller skating with Jenny and didn’t invite you, of how you hated your mom because she wouldn’t let you wear jeans to school, instead making you wear a dress so you would “at least look like a lady”.

Maybe life really isn’t so different now. You may have a wonderful husband, yet still wonder if you are really supposed to spend your ENTIRE life with only one man. Your world can still easily be shattered when you feel ignored or forgotten by your friends. And you are probably still self-conscious about how those jeans look on you… (Is it better to look a little slutty or too matronly? I think I will error on the side of slutty, just for a little fun…just no muffin-top, please…)

My biggest reason for starting a blog is that I feel as if I am the only person out there who thinks the way I do. That’s NOT the way I want it. I desperately want to find someone out there who can validate my thoughts, my goals (or lack of them), my sanity. I haven’t been able to find anyone in “real life.” I always am the odd duck out. With today’s society, maybe that’s not such a bad thing….

And I need to get my butt in gear and start writing again…and so it begins…Q38RYNY3R3T6