Ok...I didn't know what to expect but the commercials looked wonderfully disfunctional and funny and I think Luke Wilson, Craig T. Nelson, and Diane Keaton are great so we went to see a movie this evening - The Family Stone.
Spoiler: If ya don't want to know, don't read on...
Yeah. Someone should have probably mentioned that Diane Keaton's character, Sybil the mother, had a recurring case of, and as it is alluded to in the movie, a terminal case of breast cancer and is dead at the end of the film. Sheesh.
The movie was brilliant in parts, complex, funny, breath catching and breath taking. It moved back and forth from drama to comedy (some might say too much or too unevenly because we wanted to know why Meredith was having a prissy hard time and she never says or because we wanted to know why the youngest sister was so mean and she never quite says - love maybe or the lack thereof? anway...). I highly recommend it - it was magnificent. Wonderfully written and engaging and well-acted by all involved.
And I really wouldn't have EVER watched it if I'd known ahead of time about the mother. I can honestly say that I have NEVER been to a movie where I have openly bawled, required napkins for use as kleenex, and had to focus diligently on throwing away my popcorn bucket and coke cup so I wouldn't collapse in tears on the way out. Yup, that's right. I was a basket case. Gee, I guess it has something to do with my family's history of breast cancer (fortunately my grandmother, aunt and mother are all suvivors of it - not with the grim prognosis that Sybil had) but still. I was blindsided - a bit.
And glad I was with a friend who didn't think my response was nuts. Because I was suprised by my own response to be honest.
So, while I have said that I would not have seen it, I can also say that I'm really glad I did. It was a magnificently emotional film, if you like that kind of thing....
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Me and The Goble of Fire film
Well, it was a good film. I love the Harry Potters - books and movies. But this last one, well, I'm not sure why they did some of the stuff that they did to the movie.
- the dragon fight scene - why would a dragon, having broken free, chase one boy when there is an entire arena just full of people. AND why bother with the chase scene anyway? The story is exciting enough without that dumb scene. Computer graphics aside, there's no added value.
- Sirius's head in the fire - again, why bother? It would have been cool to have his head pop in using the floo network like it describes in the book. The coals, while a neat trick, should have been saved for another film, an ENTIRELY different series maybe. Now, this will mess with future films in continuity if they go back to the floo network and I'm assuming that someone WILL fix this - I hope. But more to the point - why bother changing it? It doesn't make sense.
- Rita Skeeter's animagus (sp?) status being cut - ok. This one bugs me (punny :)) primarily because there's quite a bit of motive behind how she's getting her information and why, in the NEXT novel, she changes her story (ooo, I'm on a roll now :)) and writes decent stuff about Harry.
- and here's a BIG one - leaving out the transition from muggle world to magic world at the beginning and end - this is a thematic and structural problem for me. One of the reasons that Harry Potter works so well and catches so the imagination is the possibility, however slight, that it could, just maybe, be real. And the transitions at the beginning and end ground HP in the "real" world. It means that people can imagine that there is really a way that their own lives move back and forth on a daily basis from school and office to magic and dreams. Leaving out the transition to and from muggle world, takes away that fantasy.
- now this is a personal one - I LOVE the lead up to the camping and the world cup. I love seeing all that stuff. Drat - wanted to see more.
- the house elves - I can see why SPEW is cut out, and I can understand why some of the storyline needs to be left out, but leaving out the whole involvment in Barty Crouch's release? couldn't they have at least alluded to it? And doesn't that set up Kreacher's role as a more negative elf in subsequent books - where it actually becomes important?
- shorting Snape's role - it just seemed like he didn't get any character development here. And I do like Alan Rickman as Snape so I want to see more. Besides, he has a great voice. I'll give one "good" on adding stuff to the story - the scene in study hall was cute and fit their characters.
- why in the world didn't we get any of the three friends' character development and relationship in this one? It was really weak in that respect, focusing more on action than on the friends themselves IN action. Since I like them, I'd like to see more of it.
- changing the -
I'll stop there. There were too many changes, too many things that could have remained as they were written. There are always things that need to be changed, to be cut up or out in order to fit into a film. I know that. But come on. Please, in future, be diligent. I also know that it's only 2 1/2 hours long - I get that - but it's a longer book. Make it longer (we'll all sit there, I promise) or split it into two films (see Lord of the Rings - well done), or SOMETHING!
And, the guy sitting next to me says the same. He was livid, really worked up, a little too worked up actually, but at least he has passion. And, we agreed.
Happy watching!
Thursday, December 15, 2005
A bit o' SoM Philosopy in story form..sorta'
Ladies and gentlemen –
Sit back, kick your feet up,
snap open a can of cola,
or boil up a cup of hot tea,
or perhaps the smell of roast coffee beans is more your style…
enjoy the sensations of the body, the manifestations of your desire in the physical moment.
Breath, smell, taste, touch that libation of your choice, the drink of your will
(but carefully now if it’s hot, we will no ill this night)
So experience that drink of choice, that ambrosia you wanted – all because you can. Because you will it, you have it now.
Because you wanted it, you thought about it, you let the thought become action, which ultimately became the drink of your choice which teases your taste buds right now – the perfect example of the body and all that is amazing about the body.
Your drink teases your tongue, your drink is the manifestation of thought, as is your body – so your drink is thought – and here you thought it was just drink.
Spirit, soul, body – Mind, Law, Manifestation
Now, since you’re comfortable – how about a story to go with that drink of will? A story seems like a good addition to this bodily experience – because stories are used to explain, to teach.
There are Just So stories that tell how things came to be, and stories that are just so…well, so so. But our story tonight is over a couple thousand years old…more Just So, than just so so…
Tonight across the countryside it is cold and dark, it’s late and the Christmas lights sparkle, the cars whish past in their busy-ness. But our story begins in a far-off distant time and place where torches lit the nights and the gods and goddesses dined on ambrosia – the nectar of the gods.
Our story begins with a jealous god who was very good at manifesting what he wanted. Zeus was the god of gods, the ruler of Mount Olympus. He was all that one might want in a mythical god – the good and the bad. Zeus had already wrested power from his father and had lovers aplenty but his first love, his first wife, was Metis, goddess of prudence and wisdom.
Now, it was prophesied in this far distant land, by Uranus and Gaea (father sky and mother earth) that should the goddess of prudence and wisdom have a second child, that child would overthrow his father Zeus. To prevent this, Zeus thought and took action; he swallowed his wife Metis. Let us hope he had some effective anti-acids on hand that day, something perhaps a tad stronger than ambrosia.
Well, wouldn’t you know it? Metis happened to be pregnant with Zeus’s first child when she was swallowed whole. Obviously, there would be no second child from this union. However, as you may already be a lover of myth, you know that the gods and the goddesses are immortal – mostly. Metis met her demise it seems, or was, at the very least assimilated into this ruler of gods (and who can argue that a king gets a hefty dose of prudence and wisdom? Perhaps it would be good measure for more modern rulers too?)
Months passed. Mount Olympus aged not a whit. Mortals fought and died and loved and lived. Gods and goddesses schemed and manipulated and managed and medaled with the lives of mortals. More time passed.
Zeus got a bit of a headache. And the headache grew worse; his head pounded and he could hear a voice whisper as if from within. The headache throbbed louder and the pressure grew and the voice whispered all the while. Zeus screamed and paced and clenched his fists. And finally, Zeus commanded his son Hephaestus to take his axe and split Zeus’s skull open to relieve this headache and this pounding. (Please oh gentle reader – don’t spit out your tasty drink here – remember, Zeus is a god and he’ll be just fine, even with a split skull – most likely).
Hephaestus reared back with that giant axe and - CRACK - split his own father’s skull wide open. Lo and behold, what sprang from that fearsome cracked mind? None less that his daughter Athena, fully dressed and armed to the teeth, goddess of the arts, of crafts and of war.
Just look, gentle reader, how quickly thought really does become body!
Sit back, kick your feet up,
snap open a can of cola,
or boil up a cup of hot tea,
or perhaps the smell of roast coffee beans is more your style…
enjoy the sensations of the body, the manifestations of your desire in the physical moment.
Breath, smell, taste, touch that libation of your choice, the drink of your will
(but carefully now if it’s hot, we will no ill this night)
So experience that drink of choice, that ambrosia you wanted – all because you can. Because you will it, you have it now.
Because you wanted it, you thought about it, you let the thought become action, which ultimately became the drink of your choice which teases your taste buds right now – the perfect example of the body and all that is amazing about the body.
Your drink teases your tongue, your drink is the manifestation of thought, as is your body – so your drink is thought – and here you thought it was just drink.
Spirit, soul, body – Mind, Law, Manifestation
Now, since you’re comfortable – how about a story to go with that drink of will? A story seems like a good addition to this bodily experience – because stories are used to explain, to teach.
There are Just So stories that tell how things came to be, and stories that are just so…well, so so. But our story tonight is over a couple thousand years old…more Just So, than just so so…
Tonight across the countryside it is cold and dark, it’s late and the Christmas lights sparkle, the cars whish past in their busy-ness. But our story begins in a far-off distant time and place where torches lit the nights and the gods and goddesses dined on ambrosia – the nectar of the gods.
Our story begins with a jealous god who was very good at manifesting what he wanted. Zeus was the god of gods, the ruler of Mount Olympus. He was all that one might want in a mythical god – the good and the bad. Zeus had already wrested power from his father and had lovers aplenty but his first love, his first wife, was Metis, goddess of prudence and wisdom.
Now, it was prophesied in this far distant land, by Uranus and Gaea (father sky and mother earth) that should the goddess of prudence and wisdom have a second child, that child would overthrow his father Zeus. To prevent this, Zeus thought and took action; he swallowed his wife Metis. Let us hope he had some effective anti-acids on hand that day, something perhaps a tad stronger than ambrosia.
Well, wouldn’t you know it? Metis happened to be pregnant with Zeus’s first child when she was swallowed whole. Obviously, there would be no second child from this union. However, as you may already be a lover of myth, you know that the gods and the goddesses are immortal – mostly. Metis met her demise it seems, or was, at the very least assimilated into this ruler of gods (and who can argue that a king gets a hefty dose of prudence and wisdom? Perhaps it would be good measure for more modern rulers too?)
Months passed. Mount Olympus aged not a whit. Mortals fought and died and loved and lived. Gods and goddesses schemed and manipulated and managed and medaled with the lives of mortals. More time passed.
Zeus got a bit of a headache. And the headache grew worse; his head pounded and he could hear a voice whisper as if from within. The headache throbbed louder and the pressure grew and the voice whispered all the while. Zeus screamed and paced and clenched his fists. And finally, Zeus commanded his son Hephaestus to take his axe and split Zeus’s skull open to relieve this headache and this pounding. (Please oh gentle reader – don’t spit out your tasty drink here – remember, Zeus is a god and he’ll be just fine, even with a split skull – most likely).
Hephaestus reared back with that giant axe and - CRACK - split his own father’s skull wide open. Lo and behold, what sprang from that fearsome cracked mind? None less that his daughter Athena, fully dressed and armed to the teeth, goddess of the arts, of crafts and of war.
Just look, gentle reader, how quickly thought really does become body!
Birthday Qualities
| Your Birthdate: April 5 |
 You have many talents, and you are great at sharing those talents with others. Most people would be jealous of your clever intellect, but you're just too likeable to elicit jealousy. Progressive and original, you're usually thinking up cutting edge ideas. Quick witted and fast thinking, you have difficulty finding new challenges. Your strength: Your superhuman brainpower Your weakness: Your susceptibility to boredom Your power color: Tangerine Your power symbol: Ace Your power month: May |
Friday, December 09, 2005
An old Murder, She Wrote; a snowy day; and homemade soup...
Ain't life good? So, it snowed 3 or 4 inches early, early this morning. Lovely. And I got the day off. I'm wasting it right now - have been watching Murder, She Wrote in my pajamas and making homemade soup.
It's wonderful...all this snow and we're out of school and I just get to sit around. Perhaps I'll write some more. I've been doing fairly well with the writing lately...on a wierd, rather zoned kick. The story is not what I would have expected and I'm not entirely conscious when I'm writing it...I'm just telling the story, clipping along, seeing it in my head. It's very much like when I'm reading actually.
And now I'm going to brave the melty elements to go have Chinese food. Guess I'll take that shower and have the soup for dinner. Sounds good...
Here's to snow and the higher powers' common sense to call off school on a weathery day!
Enjoy your soup!
It's wonderful...all this snow and we're out of school and I just get to sit around. Perhaps I'll write some more. I've been doing fairly well with the writing lately...on a wierd, rather zoned kick. The story is not what I would have expected and I'm not entirely conscious when I'm writing it...I'm just telling the story, clipping along, seeing it in my head. It's very much like when I'm reading actually.
And now I'm going to brave the melty elements to go have Chinese food. Guess I'll take that shower and have the soup for dinner. Sounds good...
Here's to snow and the higher powers' common sense to call off school on a weathery day!
Enjoy your soup!
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Well, the month is done...
The month is done...but I'm not. I am however, hot on the trail of a tale.... Rather fun actually. So I'll just keep going.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
A little more detail on the turkey and the shopping...
Thanksgiving was quite nice. I stayed at my sister's - we saw Harry Potter on Wed (she hadn't seen it yet so I sucked it up and sat through it again...of course the fact that I really enjoyed it had a lot to do with my martyrdom of course :)) and cooked turkey on Thursday.
I've cut apart a turkey before but I can't say it was with any artistry actually...still, a turkey sandwich is a turkey sandwich.
Friday morning was a shopping adventure to parallel none. I can honestly say I've never been shopping on "Black Friday" before...and not much in this world could induce me to go shopping at 5:00 in the morning. The sun wasn't even up. But, my sister was. And she was leaning over my bed (well, her bed...her house...I was sleeping in it).
She planned the battle-attack Thanksgiving morning: lists of sales, times, products, the whole nine yards. She's an inveterate shopper, talented too.
So, away we went. Travelled light - only a tiny little wallet purse so nothing would weigh us down, keys, and sweaters so we wouldn't get too warm in the stores. And did you know that, at 5:45 in the morning, Wal-Mart's parking lot is PACKED and that people are even MORE serious at shopping than my sister's little lark? Let me just say that it's a side of humanity I'm not too sure I care for.
But we had a good time and that's what's important. AND we got a tremendous amount of shopping done. I do have to admit that most stores have some absolutely amazing deals before 11 am on the day after Thanksgiving. I'm glad we went. I enjoyed the time with my sister. I think I'm done with that side of retail now.
I've cut apart a turkey before but I can't say it was with any artistry actually...still, a turkey sandwich is a turkey sandwich.
Friday morning was a shopping adventure to parallel none. I can honestly say I've never been shopping on "Black Friday" before...and not much in this world could induce me to go shopping at 5:00 in the morning. The sun wasn't even up. But, my sister was. And she was leaning over my bed (well, her bed...her house...I was sleeping in it).
She planned the battle-attack Thanksgiving morning: lists of sales, times, products, the whole nine yards. She's an inveterate shopper, talented too.
So, away we went. Travelled light - only a tiny little wallet purse so nothing would weigh us down, keys, and sweaters so we wouldn't get too warm in the stores. And did you know that, at 5:45 in the morning, Wal-Mart's parking lot is PACKED and that people are even MORE serious at shopping than my sister's little lark? Let me just say that it's a side of humanity I'm not too sure I care for.
But we had a good time and that's what's important. AND we got a tremendous amount of shopping done. I do have to admit that most stores have some absolutely amazing deals before 11 am on the day after Thanksgiving. I'm glad we went. I enjoyed the time with my sister. I think I'm done with that side of retail now.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Snow, turkey, shopping and sleep...
What a wonderful way to spend one's days.... No writing to speak of, but I got quite a lot done on my knitting sampler. The snow was unexpected and quite beautiful. We were emerging from Harry Potter, nine in the evening, and I thought they were joking when they said it was snowing. But there it was. I got to clean off the windows of my car for the first time this year. I loved it. Here's to a long, snowy cold winter.
Wierd dreams lately...working on that.
Wierd dreams lately...working on that.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
A boat, some odd doings in the harbor, and a little sprinkle of magic...
And that's it...the makings of a story. And words, words always help a story along. One word after the next...
Friday, November 11, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
Well...today wasn't the ultimate
Ok...so today wasn't the ultimate in writing experiences. In fact, I spent most of the day procrastinating (when I wasn't making lists of things I need to do and contemplating how I should be doing them and when I wasn't at our school open house and when I wasn't eating dinner, or watching a movie, or talking on the phone and helping to revise an essay or.... well, you get the point).
Most of the writing I did do (all 600 words of it - give or take a bit) was done after midnight - AND while I was watching "Dark Skies." It was an interesting movie and I suppose it was made to become a tv series by the way it ended. Seems I recall that it was a series for a while. Point here is that I probably could have skipped the entire movie anyway and spent more time on writing. But, I didn't.
So now, for a bit of sleep. We're off school tomorrow so I can do that ever-present pile of laundry and grade some papers. THAT will be good.
The iron tounge of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers to be, tis fairy time....
Most of the writing I did do (all 600 words of it - give or take a bit) was done after midnight - AND while I was watching "Dark Skies." It was an interesting movie and I suppose it was made to become a tv series by the way it ended. Seems I recall that it was a series for a while. Point here is that I probably could have skipped the entire movie anyway and spent more time on writing. But, I didn't.
So now, for a bit of sleep. We're off school tomorrow so I can do that ever-present pile of laundry and grade some papers. THAT will be good.
The iron tounge of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers to be, tis fairy time....
Summer Reading Lists
I decided to go ahead and "archive" my summer lists. Basically, I wanted to clear up the side bar and figured this would be a good way to remember what I've read. I've never actually tracked the books I read quite like I did this summer. I've been trying to keep track since school starts but, frankly, I haven't been making the updates consistently so most of the books end up in the "already been read" part of the column. Such is life.
2005 Summer Books Read
- Warprize
- A Passage to India
- East of Eden
- Simply the Best Home Decorating Book
- Stitch n' B*tch
- Vogue Knitting, Fall 2005
- The Compass Rose
- Guardian of Honor
- The Trouble with Harry
- The Sweater Workshop
- Knitting in the Old Way
- Harry Potter and the Order of the Phonenix
- East of Eden
- Encyclopedia of Chrochet
- 180 More - Poetry picked by Billy Collins
- Golf for Women
- Interweave Knits
- The Rule of Four
- Shadows and Myths
- some book about a detective in Ohio hired to find a lost cat
- The Amazon Strain
- An Angel in Stone
- Night Bites (eh - premise is out there)
- A Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglass
- Unearthed
- Do You Believe?
- Tattoo Blues
- Sophie's Last Stand
- Monument by Ian Graham
- Wait Until Midnight
- Derik's Bane (eh)
- The Paid Companion
- Undead and Unwed (so funny)
- Undead and Unemployed
- The Modern Library Writer's Workshop (wonderful advice)
- Simple Abundance
- No Plot? No Problem
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Now we're getting there...
I spent a couple hours at the cafe with a group of NaNo-ers working on the novel. Laptops are a beautiful thing. And, I got quite a bit accomplished. I was suprised at how quickly I was able to produce 1,322 words actually.
Of course, I still have no plan. It's all just evolving as I make it up. But I'm having fun.
The NaNo-ers seemed very personable. I was about an hour late but they still made room for me. We were squooshed in a corner and my laptop was literally a LAPtop. But, it worked out pretty well. Actually, it took me out of the center of the conversation (because, while I was there, I wasn't pulled up to the table, just sitting in the circle) so I think I got more done than I otherwise might have.
I'm glad I went too because I discovered that, about forty-five minutes into it, I was about to go round the bend with not being able to stop and distract myself. I wrote through it instead...and found a second wind and a lot more words...and a couple new characters...and an exploding...well, I'll leave that for now.
Happy writing! I'm catching up...
Of course, I still have no plan. It's all just evolving as I make it up. But I'm having fun.
The NaNo-ers seemed very personable. I was about an hour late but they still made room for me. We were squooshed in a corner and my laptop was literally a LAPtop. But, it worked out pretty well. Actually, it took me out of the center of the conversation (because, while I was there, I wasn't pulled up to the table, just sitting in the circle) so I think I got more done than I otherwise might have.
I'm glad I went too because I discovered that, about forty-five minutes into it, I was about to go round the bend with not being able to stop and distract myself. I wrote through it instead...and found a second wind and a lot more words...and a couple new characters...and an exploding...well, I'll leave that for now.
Happy writing! I'm catching up...
Sunday, October 30, 2005
No. No no no no no. No.
No, I haven't written an outline for my story. In fact, I'm finding myself amazingly resistent to writing an outline. I'm reaching for that sparkly fool's gold of written thought: "How could I write an outline for something when I don't know what I'm going to write? That's dumb. And it takes more time. I'll be fine if I just write."
And you know what I already know about that? I know that outlining makes for better prose. And I'm still not doing it. I'm still not writing an ouline.
Emerson pointed out once that man tends to discard his own thoughts in favor of those already out there, already popular. That, in fact, man has many original thoughts that he doesn't realize are original just because they are already familiar to him. One might even say that man undervalues himself when he does not express these thoughts.
What does this have to do with outlining? Just pick a thought, ouline it, and write. Period. Trust yourself.
And you know what I already know about that? I know that outlining makes for better prose. And I'm still not doing it. I'm still not writing an ouline.
Emerson pointed out once that man tends to discard his own thoughts in favor of those already out there, already popular. That, in fact, man has many original thoughts that he doesn't realize are original just because they are already familiar to him. One might even say that man undervalues himself when he does not express these thoughts.
What does this have to do with outlining? Just pick a thought, ouline it, and write. Period. Trust yourself.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Ah...yes, well...
it's almost Halloween...I love Halloween, Samhain, mystical and magical. Cool, snapping leaves and rustling, dried grass, big abandoned houses with ghosties and ghoulies...fireplaces and glowing lights and things that go bump in the night.
I've been asked to tell a scary story...but I was thinking about it long before I was asked. My favorite, best remembered ghost story is The Monkey's Paw. Monkey's paw, monkey's paw, bring me.... Or the Brown Mountain lights - it's a mystery that's never been solved.
And that set me to thinking about the pacing of a really good ghost story, mostly short, vivid, tension building, and oh, so possibly real...so very, scarily real. A real ghost story...a novella of sorts. That might be a good topic for a November - cold and snapping and deeply darkly nightly.
I've been asked to tell a scary story...but I was thinking about it long before I was asked. My favorite, best remembered ghost story is The Monkey's Paw. Monkey's paw, monkey's paw, bring me.... Or the Brown Mountain lights - it's a mystery that's never been solved.
And that set me to thinking about the pacing of a really good ghost story, mostly short, vivid, tension building, and oh, so possibly real...so very, scarily real. A real ghost story...a novella of sorts. That might be a good topic for a November - cold and snapping and deeply darkly nightly.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Here we go again...
It's October 11. Tuesday evening. And Nanowrimo takes place this November. I'm willing to give it another shot. So I begin preparing now, thinking about how to manage my time and my interests and setting up a writing environment and all that good stuff. Time to stop reading about writing and actually doing the writing.
Here we go again...
Here we go again...
Friday, September 02, 2005
Katrina
I cannot even begin to understand the magnitude...even with the pictures and the news and the blogs and the distruction.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Airplanes and the Baring of Soles/Souls
I was talking with a friend earlier this evening about the ease with which different people can carry on discussions with total strangers.
My sister can talk to anyone. My friend's friend can get people started about anything. But, my friend thinks he, personally, is shy and is more of a listener than a talker. I can be shy sometimes but I love to talk to total strangers - when I remember to do it.
At times, I get so absorbed in watching and recording details and making up my own stories that I forget that I could be carrying on a conversation instead. That sounds incredibly narcissistic I know, but I really just start thinking about things (or making up stories or essays) and I really do forget to talk - or maybe it's that I don't realize that, while my mind is busy, other people are just sitting there. And lots of people don't do silence well. So they start to tell stories themselves.
Airports, by their very nature, are magnificent people-watching places, bustling and noisy. But once the door’s closed on the plane, it’s all about the silences. So, people start to talk, about anything.
And airplane conversations are some of the best - I've had people tell me all kinds of things about themselves that they'd never tell while solidly and practically on the ground. Suddenly, while rocketing through the sky at umteen bijillion miles per hour, wind whipping through our collective hair – right, that was actually the canned, climate-controlled, recycled air nozzle just above and in front of my face, but you know what I mean – people find they want to bond with someone they’ve never met before.
Flying combines total strangers who are locked into an enclosed space in what is perceived to be an extremely, potentially, dangerous adventure. And usually for an acknowledged length of time that can be anywhere from 1/2 to ten dozen hours, especially if the seatmate snores or blows crumbs or eats with his or her mouth open.
Now elevators also lock strangers into an enclosed space. It could be dangerous if the cable snapped or a fault line opened up under the building or the power went off. There is a pre-determined amount of time that the doors will be closed to access. In short, an elevator, seemingly, could also serve as the same type of catalyst for conversation but the rule of thumb in an elevator is eyes overhead; hands by one's side; mouths closed; wait like you've got somewhere really important to get to when the door opens; and, above all, don't make conversation. It's startling and threatening when someone breaks this last rule. There are people who enjoy breaking that rule just to get a rise out of other elevator patrons - it's threatening, it's diabolical, it’s positively dangerous - and it's also very rare.
Why then, does the elevator not invite such personal confidences as the plane flight? Sure enough there’s silence to be had. Not enough time to bond over fear of a cable snapping or another brown-out across the entire eastern seaboard? No - that's not it. There is a sense of possibility in the elevator ride - the possibility that you might actually see this person again, that you might run into him at the PTA meeting, or her at the local SPCA as she helps her child pick his new cat.
But the airplane is clearly going somewhere - usually somewhere far off. And you'll never see this person again so there’s no harm in baring your soul. There's no reason not to tell them about how you just got laid off and you're living with your best friend but must move on in a week or two to the next friend’s house so you don’t overstay your mooching and you're flying to Dallas for a job interview tomorrow and how you're glad because you're not getting along with the best friend you're living with because they’re too demanding and you probably shouldn’t have moved in anyway but you didn’t want to live with your mother. Because, really, you've been wanting to tell someone but not your other friends because you're embarrassed and you're nervous and because they might be the ones you move in with next. And heck, the person (me) sitting next to you isn't stopping in Dallas anyway; she's flying on to Cleveland. Might as well tell her.
And there's no reason for another you not to tell this same person (me again), now leaving Baltimore for Tulsa, how your husband had cancer, had lost over 60 pounds, wasn't really a big guy anyway but he's fighting back and you're putting all your faith in God on this one. Or, in the softest drawl, how much you love your husband.
Or another you telling this same person, now leaving Cleveland heading straight for Phoenix at a flat run, how you got stuck in the Detroit airport after 9/11 and went to stay with friends for a couple days before driving on over to Cleveland because it was to be one of the first flying out after the imposed airline groundings and - really - you need to get home to San Diego and didn’t want to pay for a hotel another night. You'd actually considered driving across country, but decided to risk the flight anyway, so here you were even though everyone was watching each other out of the corner of their eyes and not really talking to each other and looking for signs of terroristic behavior.
But, honestly, we all felt the need to tell stories that day because, well, we were on one of the first flights out after the crashes and we’d already had to take our shoes off just to get on the plane.
And maybe people tell me this stuff just because I look like I love a good story.
My sister can talk to anyone. My friend's friend can get people started about anything. But, my friend thinks he, personally, is shy and is more of a listener than a talker. I can be shy sometimes but I love to talk to total strangers - when I remember to do it.
At times, I get so absorbed in watching and recording details and making up my own stories that I forget that I could be carrying on a conversation instead. That sounds incredibly narcissistic I know, but I really just start thinking about things (or making up stories or essays) and I really do forget to talk - or maybe it's that I don't realize that, while my mind is busy, other people are just sitting there. And lots of people don't do silence well. So they start to tell stories themselves.
Airports, by their very nature, are magnificent people-watching places, bustling and noisy. But once the door’s closed on the plane, it’s all about the silences. So, people start to talk, about anything.
And airplane conversations are some of the best - I've had people tell me all kinds of things about themselves that they'd never tell while solidly and practically on the ground. Suddenly, while rocketing through the sky at umteen bijillion miles per hour, wind whipping through our collective hair – right, that was actually the canned, climate-controlled, recycled air nozzle just above and in front of my face, but you know what I mean – people find they want to bond with someone they’ve never met before.
Flying combines total strangers who are locked into an enclosed space in what is perceived to be an extremely, potentially, dangerous adventure. And usually for an acknowledged length of time that can be anywhere from 1/2 to ten dozen hours, especially if the seatmate snores or blows crumbs or eats with his or her mouth open.
Now elevators also lock strangers into an enclosed space. It could be dangerous if the cable snapped or a fault line opened up under the building or the power went off. There is a pre-determined amount of time that the doors will be closed to access. In short, an elevator, seemingly, could also serve as the same type of catalyst for conversation but the rule of thumb in an elevator is eyes overhead; hands by one's side; mouths closed; wait like you've got somewhere really important to get to when the door opens; and, above all, don't make conversation. It's startling and threatening when someone breaks this last rule. There are people who enjoy breaking that rule just to get a rise out of other elevator patrons - it's threatening, it's diabolical, it’s positively dangerous - and it's also very rare.
Why then, does the elevator not invite such personal confidences as the plane flight? Sure enough there’s silence to be had. Not enough time to bond over fear of a cable snapping or another brown-out across the entire eastern seaboard? No - that's not it. There is a sense of possibility in the elevator ride - the possibility that you might actually see this person again, that you might run into him at the PTA meeting, or her at the local SPCA as she helps her child pick his new cat.
But the airplane is clearly going somewhere - usually somewhere far off. And you'll never see this person again so there’s no harm in baring your soul. There's no reason not to tell them about how you just got laid off and you're living with your best friend but must move on in a week or two to the next friend’s house so you don’t overstay your mooching and you're flying to Dallas for a job interview tomorrow and how you're glad because you're not getting along with the best friend you're living with because they’re too demanding and you probably shouldn’t have moved in anyway but you didn’t want to live with your mother. Because, really, you've been wanting to tell someone but not your other friends because you're embarrassed and you're nervous and because they might be the ones you move in with next. And heck, the person (me) sitting next to you isn't stopping in Dallas anyway; she's flying on to Cleveland. Might as well tell her.
And there's no reason for another you not to tell this same person (me again), now leaving Baltimore for Tulsa, how your husband had cancer, had lost over 60 pounds, wasn't really a big guy anyway but he's fighting back and you're putting all your faith in God on this one. Or, in the softest drawl, how much you love your husband.
Or another you telling this same person, now leaving Cleveland heading straight for Phoenix at a flat run, how you got stuck in the Detroit airport after 9/11 and went to stay with friends for a couple days before driving on over to Cleveland because it was to be one of the first flying out after the imposed airline groundings and - really - you need to get home to San Diego and didn’t want to pay for a hotel another night. You'd actually considered driving across country, but decided to risk the flight anyway, so here you were even though everyone was watching each other out of the corner of their eyes and not really talking to each other and looking for signs of terroristic behavior.
But, honestly, we all felt the need to tell stories that day because, well, we were on one of the first flights out after the crashes and we’d already had to take our shoes off just to get on the plane.
And maybe people tell me this stuff just because I look like I love a good story.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Back again
Well, I have written - and stopped - and now I think I'm starting again. When the "month" limit was up, I just stopped. It felt like I'd reached my goal (words goal) but I hadn't reached the point - which was to write an entire story.
So - there's a story out there to finish.
Finished reading the 6th Harry Potter. Mixed feelings. I have this hope (don't read further if you don't want to know what happens!!!) that Snape will turn out to have been acting under Dumbledore's orders anyway...because I don't want Dumbledore to have been wrong and because I kinda' like Snape - he did repeatedly save Harry and didn't seem THAT bad. And because I like Alan Rickman too...and don't want him to be the miserable bad guy. But mostly - I don't want things to end with everyone all gone to hell - Voldemort would be enough if everyone else came over to the good side of the force. Draco didn't turn out all that badly there at the end. Can't we just all get along? But then, Diggory is dead, Black is dead, Dumbledore is dead (but with a picture up in the headmaster's office now), and they need a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher.
I won't second guess...but I haven't been disappointed yet. I'll just have to hope that the end - well - that the end justifies the means, so to speak.
So - there's a story out there to finish.
Finished reading the 6th Harry Potter. Mixed feelings. I have this hope (don't read further if you don't want to know what happens!!!) that Snape will turn out to have been acting under Dumbledore's orders anyway...because I don't want Dumbledore to have been wrong and because I kinda' like Snape - he did repeatedly save Harry and didn't seem THAT bad. And because I like Alan Rickman too...and don't want him to be the miserable bad guy. But mostly - I don't want things to end with everyone all gone to hell - Voldemort would be enough if everyone else came over to the good side of the force. Draco didn't turn out all that badly there at the end. Can't we just all get along? But then, Diggory is dead, Black is dead, Dumbledore is dead (but with a picture up in the headmaster's office now), and they need a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher.
I won't second guess...but I haven't been disappointed yet. I'll just have to hope that the end - well - that the end justifies the means, so to speak.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Well...post-end of the month
and I haven't done a darn thing more on the story. Just stopped when the pressure was off. I suppose that I should pick back up where I left off. After all, what's the point of all that work if I'm not going to finish the thing?
In the meantime, I'm going to the gym.
In the meantime, I'm going to the gym.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
New ideas...
“The difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas as in escaping from the old ones.”
– John Maynard Kynes
Monday, August 01, 2005
Less than effective...
Examples of when the analogy is best left buried like a moldy bone in the back yard:
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E-Coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Stan. But unlike Stan, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
26. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any PH cleanser.
27. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E-Coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Stan. But unlike Stan, this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
26. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any PH cleanser.
27. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
The end...of the month
Well, that's it then. The end of the month. Not the end of my story, but the end of the month's challenge. I hit 50,234 words...and that's good. But now to finish the story!
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Writing
I'm writing writing writing. Fifteen minutes at a time. Once I start writing for only fifteen minutes...I find much longer has passed and that's a good thing. It seems to help break down the task...only fifteen minutes.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
The Last Week...
This is it...the last week...the final push. And it would be forcast to be a gorgeous week outside. Still, it's just a matter of finishing the rough draft really. I am having a difficult time not thinking forward to the editing process. Still. Sheesh! But writing away anyway.
Happy July!
Happy July!
Monday, July 18, 2005
Knitting and Noveling
Noveling is like knitting in a rather surprising and odd way. When you knit a sweater, you have to check your gauge first – make sure you’ve got the right size needles and yarn for the sweater to come out the right size. Even then, once you start the sweater, you may find your gauge off, the sweater flapping in the breeze even though it should have fit a six year old, or an extra-large that’s now going to look quite nice – as a dog sweater.
Patience – if you want to have the right sweater or the right novel. Thing is, you have to write the novel, knit the sweater, in order to even have something to correct. It’s part of the process – to correct. Thus go the knitting and the noveling this week. Imperfectly, but growing.
Patience – if you want to have the right sweater or the right novel. Thing is, you have to write the novel, knit the sweater, in order to even have something to correct. It’s part of the process – to correct. Thus go the knitting and the noveling this week. Imperfectly, but growing.
Monday, July 11, 2005
WEEK 2!? Already!?
“Don’t get it right, get it written.” That pretty much says it all, I’m thinking. Just write something. Eat well, step outside to see the sunshine every now and again; take my vitamins; write; and sleep.
My writing is admittedily sporadic as of late. I've got family visiting (which is good) and we're taking lots of adventurous excursions (which is also good) but it's taking my pre-planned writing time (ok - really it's my pre-planned procrastination time but this then, means that I'm procrastining during my actual planned writing time!? Who knew?!). Yes - I'm sure it will come as no suprise for those of you who know me - I've been procrastinating. It's a mind-boggling thing really, to procrastinate while writing a novel in a month. But I had a good talk with Quincee this past Thursday and she reiterated the importance of writing - actually doing the writing daily - and, since she's actually finished the first draft, I'm taking the advice (and for those of you out there not writing - consider the same). Write. Just get it written.
“A big fractious family over several generations. If you think you can keep all those feudes and romances within the structure of one uncomplicated beginning, middle and end, you are in for trouble.” - Koch
Ok - this quote is kinda' guiding my content right now. It's a crazy mess of times and dates. I'll figure it all out later. Right now, I'm just doing scene upon scene upon scene. I even thought about trying to write each scene as a different Word doc. But I don't want to make this any MORE complicated than it needs to be. Still, some of it has to make sense. Because my plot covers so much time, the characters' life experiences affect how they respond to the situations depending on the age they are. Ain't this exciting? :)
A powerful scene in itself:
And Death took her up like a baby,
and she lay in his icy arms
But she didn’t feel no chill.
And Death began to ride again –
- James Weldon Johnson, “Go Down, Death”
My writing is admittedily sporadic as of late. I've got family visiting (which is good) and we're taking lots of adventurous excursions (which is also good) but it's taking my pre-planned writing time (ok - really it's my pre-planned procrastination time but this then, means that I'm procrastining during my actual planned writing time!? Who knew?!). Yes - I'm sure it will come as no suprise for those of you who know me - I've been procrastinating. It's a mind-boggling thing really, to procrastinate while writing a novel in a month. But I had a good talk with Quincee this past Thursday and she reiterated the importance of writing - actually doing the writing daily - and, since she's actually finished the first draft, I'm taking the advice (and for those of you out there not writing - consider the same). Write. Just get it written.
“A big fractious family over several generations. If you think you can keep all those feudes and romances within the structure of one uncomplicated beginning, middle and end, you are in for trouble.” - Koch
Ok - this quote is kinda' guiding my content right now. It's a crazy mess of times and dates. I'll figure it all out later. Right now, I'm just doing scene upon scene upon scene. I even thought about trying to write each scene as a different Word doc. But I don't want to make this any MORE complicated than it needs to be. Still, some of it has to make sense. Because my plot covers so much time, the characters' life experiences affect how they respond to the situations depending on the age they are. Ain't this exciting? :)
A powerful scene in itself:
And Death took her up like a baby,
and she lay in his icy arms
But she didn’t feel no chill.
And Death began to ride again –
- James Weldon Johnson, “Go Down, Death”
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Day 7 of the Month of July
And I am waffling. Need to update the word count but it's nothing to brag about just yet. I'm trying very hard NOT to edit but it's difficult. Whew. But since I'm back, we can expect a more regular update of status... I hope... :)
Thursday, June 30, 2005
So it begins...
At midnight tonight the game begins. I'm still sketching out my characters and plot but I can start...and away we go...
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
The time has come to speak of word counts, and walruses, and other shady characters...
Well, here it is. MCI and MCII are done. I just need to stick them on the wall. And, I'm starting to consider my characters...shady and otherwise. Where, when, why? It's all rolling together...
And please note my proud new word counter. Very impressive set at zero. Q posted the link - http://www.zokutou.co.uk/wordmeter/ so you too can have your very own.
And please note my proud new word counter. Very impressive set at zero. Q posted the link - http://www.zokutou.co.uk/wordmeter/ so you too can have your very own.
Thought for the Day
"If you won't enjoy reading it, you won't enjoy writing it. If you truly are fascinated by the plight of he nation's mentally ill, the ongoing politicization of religious sects in Saudi Arabia, or inner city high-rise housing projects as metaphors for racial injustice and miscarried modernzation, by all means put them in your book.
But if, in your heart of hearts, you really want to write a book about a pair of super-powered, kung-fu koalas who wear pink capes and race through the city streets on miniature go-karts, know that this is also a wonderful and completely valid subject for a novel."
Chris Baty
Monday, June 27, 2005
Preparations are underway...
- motivational help - check
- finish reading chapters 1-4 - check
- location...working on this one - home, coffee shop, cafe, b&n wireless, maybe even the library since I've never been to the Towson library - they could all work
- Journal/notebook - check
- pen - check (heavens, I've got so many...but THE pen, got that one too)
- word-processing device - check (working nicely, in fact)
- Elements of Style AND the Chicago Manual of Style - got'em already
- music - got lots...just need to pick the right listening stuff
- a writing totem - hats maybe or, hah, hair barette...that's it...a barette? I'll think about this one a bit more i think.
- right snacks and drinks - need to go to the grocery store
- read chapter 5 - ok...that's next...
Your Idea of a Good AND Bad Novel
So, you have to clarify what you're writing.
Answer this on a sheet of paper - What, to you, makes a good novel? (for more background/detail on this part, take a look at pg. 85-89 in No Plot, No Problem). On the next sheet of paper, answer this: What bores or depresses you about novels?
These two lists are important - you'll want to aim for the good, and avoid the bad. Keep them posted throughout the novel-writing practice and check back...are you adding the good and keeping the bad stuff at bay?
Answer this on a sheet of paper - What, to you, makes a good novel? (for more background/detail on this part, take a look at pg. 85-89 in No Plot, No Problem). On the next sheet of paper, answer this: What bores or depresses you about novels?
These two lists are important - you'll want to aim for the good, and avoid the bad. Keep them posted throughout the novel-writing practice and check back...are you adding the good and keeping the bad stuff at bay?
A direct quote, and good advice: "As you plan your book this week, remember, above all else, that your novel is not a self-improvement campaign. Your novel is a spastic, jubilant hoe-down set to your favorite music, a thirty-day visit to a candy store where everything is free and nothing is fattening. When thinking about possible inclusions for your novel, always grab the guilty pleasures over the bran flakes. Write your joy and good things will follow."
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Monument
Monument - wow - what a book. I have to say that I think this is definitely one of the better fantasy books I've read in quite a long time.
The main character isn't noble, he isn't exactly predictible, and he isn't exacly likeable, but by the end of the book, he seems to be all those not-exactlies in a very understandable and well-written way.
And, when I say well-written, I mean it was a captivating quest and a beautifully portrayed journey (definitely an outer journey, maybe some of an inner journey too in a wierd way). And still, who is redeemed at the end? I'm not sure - what is done out of true heroism and what is done out of a sense of self-preservation in one warped way or another? But that's what makes this SO darned good. There are easy answers to grasp if you're satisfied with them, but the characters are actually much more complex.
Ok. That last paragraph sounds really englishly of me I know, but that's what makes it so good. It isn't an easy book. Oh, it's an easy read...but that's not the same thing. Wow...that was good.
Another one that's powerful like that is The Alchemist by Donna Boyd.
The main character isn't noble, he isn't exactly predictible, and he isn't exacly likeable, but by the end of the book, he seems to be all those not-exactlies in a very understandable and well-written way.
And, when I say well-written, I mean it was a captivating quest and a beautifully portrayed journey (definitely an outer journey, maybe some of an inner journey too in a wierd way). And still, who is redeemed at the end? I'm not sure - what is done out of true heroism and what is done out of a sense of self-preservation in one warped way or another? But that's what makes this SO darned good. There are easy answers to grasp if you're satisfied with them, but the characters are actually much more complex.
Ok. That last paragraph sounds really englishly of me I know, but that's what makes it so good. It isn't an easy book. Oh, it's an easy read...but that's not the same thing. Wow...that was good.
Another one that's powerful like that is The Alchemist by Donna Boyd.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Time To Write
Ok...here's my intended schedule during the month of July.
Daily - writing for two hours minimum (either at home or out but there will be NONE of that silly thing called communication via phone or internet till I'm done).
Now - this takes into account the fact that I am a procrastinator to the nth degree and that means that - at SOME point during each day, I'll write 'till I reach that word quota. It may be 10 am (the goal), or it may be midnight (let's be honest...it's likely) but write I will.
So - the first week:
Day 1 1667 words
Day 2 3334 words
Day 3 5001 words
Day 4 6668 words
Day 5 8335 words
Day 6 10002 words
Day 7 11669 words
Daily - writing for two hours minimum (either at home or out but there will be NONE of that silly thing called communication via phone or internet till I'm done).
Now - this takes into account the fact that I am a procrastinator to the nth degree and that means that - at SOME point during each day, I'll write 'till I reach that word quota. It may be 10 am (the goal), or it may be midnight (let's be honest...it's likely) but write I will.
So - the first week:
Day 1 1667 words
Day 2 3334 words
Day 3 5001 words
Day 4 6668 words
Day 5 8335 words
Day 6 10002 words
Day 7 11669 words
Sunday, June 19, 2005
The Month-Long Novelist Agreement and Statementof Understanding (Form: #A30/31/50K)
I hereby pledge my intent to write a 50,000-word novel in one month's time. By invoking an absurd, month-long deadline on such an enormous undertaking, I understand that notions of "craft," "brilliance," and "competency" are to be chucked right out the window, where they will remain, ignored, until they are retrieved for the editing process. I understand that I am a talented person, capable of heroic acts of creativity, and I will give myself enough time over the course of the next month to allow my innate gifts to come to the surface, unmolested by self-doubt, self-criticism, and other acts of self-bullying.
During the month ahead, I realize I will produce clunky dialogue, clichéd characters, and deeply flawed plots. I agree that all of these things will be left in my rough draft, to be corrected and/or excised at a later point. I understand my right to withhold my manuscript from all readers until I deem it completed. I also acknowledge my right as author to substantially inflate both the quality of the rough draft and the rigors of the writing process should such inflation prove useful in garnering me respect and attention, or freedom from participation in onerous household chores.
I acknowledge that the month-long, 50,000-word deadline I set for myself is absolute and unchangeable, and that any failure to meet the deadline, or any effort on my part to move the deadline once the adventure has begun, will invite well-deserved mockery from friends and family. I also acknowledge that, upon successful completion of the stated noveling objective, I am entitled to a period of gleeful celebration and revelry, the duration and intensity of which may preclude me from participating fully in workplace activities for days, if not weeks, afterward.
Ms. Glenna, 6/20/05
Novel Start Date 7/1/05 Novel Deadline 7/31/05
During the month ahead, I realize I will produce clunky dialogue, clichéd characters, and deeply flawed plots. I agree that all of these things will be left in my rough draft, to be corrected and/or excised at a later point. I understand my right to withhold my manuscript from all readers until I deem it completed. I also acknowledge my right as author to substantially inflate both the quality of the rough draft and the rigors of the writing process should such inflation prove useful in garnering me respect and attention, or freedom from participation in onerous household chores.
I acknowledge that the month-long, 50,000-word deadline I set for myself is absolute and unchangeable, and that any failure to meet the deadline, or any effort on my part to move the deadline once the adventure has begun, will invite well-deserved mockery from friends and family. I also acknowledge that, upon successful completion of the stated noveling objective, I am entitled to a period of gleeful celebration and revelry, the duration and intensity of which may preclude me from participating fully in workplace activities for days, if not weeks, afterward.
Ms. Glenna, 6/20/05
Novel Start Date 7/1/05 Novel Deadline 7/31/05
Thursday, June 16, 2005
PostSecret
PostSecret
I just found the PostSecret site this evening. It's funny and tragic and beautiful and thrilling all at once.
I just found the PostSecret site this evening. It's funny and tragic and beautiful and thrilling all at once.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
A night owl
You know, I've always been a night person. The last night of the school year, every year, my big treat was to be allowed to stay up all night without any nagging or concern.
During the school year it was a different matter. How many nights and how many flashlight batteries did I go through? Pitch black, bedroom door closed, towel curled up and stuffed under the door to try and stop as much of the light as possible from shining around the edges into the hall, while there I sat in the middle of my bed under a fuzzy, glowing, pink tent of a blanket, reading - or rereading - my favorite books.
I learned to play the gutair in the middle of the night; it was quiet then, and a good time to focus. The drums too.
Writing all night long - papers, journals, articles, stories. Clackety clack on the typewriter, then the computer.
Romance and bars are best experiences in the dead, middle quiet of the night. Staggering through a snowstorm with someone else's boyfriend. Him claiming he's madly in love. Me just wanting an adventure, a whirl, under the fuzzy, glowing white tent of the streetlight's blanket.
During the school year it was a different matter. How many nights and how many flashlight batteries did I go through? Pitch black, bedroom door closed, towel curled up and stuffed under the door to try and stop as much of the light as possible from shining around the edges into the hall, while there I sat in the middle of my bed under a fuzzy, glowing, pink tent of a blanket, reading - or rereading - my favorite books.
I learned to play the gutair in the middle of the night; it was quiet then, and a good time to focus. The drums too.
Writing all night long - papers, journals, articles, stories. Clackety clack on the typewriter, then the computer.
Romance and bars are best experiences in the dead, middle quiet of the night. Staggering through a snowstorm with someone else's boyfriend. Him claiming he's madly in love. Me just wanting an adventure, a whirl, under the fuzzy, glowing white tent of the streetlight's blanket.
Novelists
Novelists, we knew, had it made. They got fawned over in bookstores, and were forever being pestered for insights on their genius in newspapers and magazines. They had license to dress horribly, wear decades-out-of-date hairstyles, and have their shortcomings interpreted as charming quirks and idiosyncrasies rather than social dysfunctions.
- Chris Baty, NaNoWriMo
So it's ok if I write in my pajamas? That would also mean I don't need to worry about my shoes. I love good shoes though. Maybe that's an idiosyncrasy in itself? To love good shoes? Newest shoes - chacos (madly in love with), technica hiking boots (oh the possibilities), and black flipflops with glossy, iridescent beads (so flirty).
- Chris Baty, NaNoWriMo
So it's ok if I write in my pajamas? That would also mean I don't need to worry about my shoes. I love good shoes though. Maybe that's an idiosyncrasy in itself? To love good shoes? Newest shoes - chacos (madly in love with), technica hiking boots (oh the possibilities), and black flipflops with glossy, iridescent beads (so flirty).
Anticipation and nervous silliness
To buy the computer or not? Ok...I know it really doesn't make any difference whether I keep the desktop or buy a laptop to do this thing with. And I own a windows machine (and, yes, I know it could be linux if I took the time to investigate but that's a whole 'nother matter.) so I was thinking windows again.
But, today I was seduced by that which is mac. And it was a simple little thing too. Simple in it's perfection, really. Mac has created a touchpad that scrolls down when you drag, not one, but two fingers across the surface. Ah...the beauty...
In reality, I'll probably get that which I am most familiar with. But to dream, to flirt with the possibilities...
Heck, I'm not even sure I really need a laptop anyway. Pragmatism tiptoes up and taps the available shoulder.
But, today I was seduced by that which is mac. And it was a simple little thing too. Simple in it's perfection, really. Mac has created a touchpad that scrolls down when you drag, not one, but two fingers across the surface. Ah...the beauty...
In reality, I'll probably get that which I am most familiar with. But to dream, to flirt with the possibilities...
Heck, I'm not even sure I really need a laptop anyway. Pragmatism tiptoes up and taps the available shoulder.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Garrison Keillor and the Librarian
Garrison Keillor told a story today and I'm paraphrasing...a librarian snapped one day because she realized that everything was arranged, day in and day out, by Dewy Decimal number - every day the same thing. So, she started arranging books by color instead. Green books, purple books, red and yellow covers. It was beautiful and people came just to take pictures of the vasty array. They took away the unexpected. The housewife took a book on sailing, the preacher read about NASCAR, and the mechanic read Shakespearean poetry...a crazy, mixed up, wonderful world. How the world did change for each of them.
Monday, May 30, 2005
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