That's right, folks. It's November and guess what? Everything I've ever said about Nanowrimo...well...as they say, never say never. In the past I've poo poo'd the whole nature of the beast. As in, why do I need to take a month out of my serious pursuit of being a novelist to crank out so many words of crap just because some stupid website arbitrarily declared this as a valid use of a writer's creative energy? I mean really. I don't need the good people at Nanowrimo to kick me in the butt to get me writing regularly. I'm pretty much always working on something new. As someone who stands firm in the belief that I have a "calling" to string together words in a coherent fashion so as to tell stories that are entertaining, meaningful, and relevant, I'm also convinced I must discipline myself to practice my craft each and every day, otherwise I'll fail. So why should November be any different than any other month?
Maybe it's just because Nanowrimo is cool sounding.
Now here's the thing. All other pursuits aside, my current workload looks like this: One novel out for submissions, meaning I've got one book (Matthew Newman) I feel is complete enough that I want to throw it against the wall and see if it sticks. Another book (Paramount) is completed in first draft, meaning I wrote a 100k-plus word "outline" that's waiting patiently for me to gather the courage to go back and face the reality of how terrible it might be. Such is the nature of first drafts. Finally, I've started another project (Piano Lessons) of which I'm at the mid-point in the construction process; as in, it's 45k words of drivel with no clue as to how I'm going to finish it up. Sounds promising. Hmmm...seems like I'm forgetting something. Oh yeah, there's this blogging thing I've gotten back into, and facebook, and the NBA season's just getting started (go Lakers), and the job I go to everyday that keeps me from living under a bridge. You'd think that would be about all my senile old brain could handle without putting me into catatonia.
So now, for whatever reason, I've decided to jump on this Nanowrimo band wagon. I've become one of "those people" I previously scoffed at as not being dedicated enough to do it on their own. For this I've decided to take on a re-imagining of my first attempt at novel writing. It's a middle grade book that started off basically as a memoir of my childhood and, of course, ended up with a paranormal bent to it. Why I've decided to revive this old chestnut is one of those questions of what do you do when you hear the Universe speaking. In my vast experience with life on this planet (ha), I may have finally learned that the answer to that question is: you listen. Besides, at this particular junction, I need all the distractions I can get my hands on as the rest of my life at the moment is...well...let's just not go there.
So I can do this. It's a challenge. It's going to push me to pick up the pace and write in a different style than I'm used to. And perhaps, at the end of the month I'll have another unfinished manuscript to keep my other projects company while I get my shite together. Like I've always said, you can't edit something that hasn't been written. At least I won't have that to worry about that anytime soon.
Hee Haw
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
So What If...
What if our entire universe is no more than a microbe on the ass of some being so big it's beyond our comprehension. Now right at this very second I would bet my last wooden nickel that when you read that sentence you tried to imagine the illusion I created, and that, perhaps, is my goal. To help people, through the use of words and thought, think about aspects of existence that perhaps they wouldn't have otherwise. If that's the case--if you tried to imagine the unimaginable--then good deal. Maybe I'm on the right track.
But here's the thing. The illusion I just created is unimaginable. Like I said: beyond our comprehension. So why even try? The only answer I have for that is it must be something in our nature to want to understand the bigger picture; the one that eludes even the most brilliant of minds on the planet. Will a time ever come when we, as human beings, ever understand the bigger picture? Does anyone really care? Will we ever know it if we do? And what's in those cup o' noodles things that look like vegetables?
No wonder I don't sleep at night.
Hee Haw
But here's the thing. The illusion I just created is unimaginable. Like I said: beyond our comprehension. So why even try? The only answer I have for that is it must be something in our nature to want to understand the bigger picture; the one that eludes even the most brilliant of minds on the planet. Will a time ever come when we, as human beings, ever understand the bigger picture? Does anyone really care? Will we ever know it if we do? And what's in those cup o' noodles things that look like vegetables?
No wonder I don't sleep at night.
Hee Haw
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Follow up.
So it's all about human nature and our purpose. Perhaps that's what I was implying in my last post. Nothing so much as a howdy doo from the great beyond. Yeah, this one we'll have to figure out on our own.
What's this got to do with the main function of this vessel of communication? Yeah, this blogging bullshit I started with the idea in mind that it would chronicle my journey as a writer. At this moment in time, I'm finding that journey is a lot longer and more treacherous than I had originally imagined. Cats scratching, dogs barking, bears grizzling, and several humans on the inside of the bubble laughing at the silly fools on the outside who are trying to penetrate their private club. Why, dear god, didn't I decide to become an electrician, or an HVAC specialist? Those guys are set. They don't have the angst us creative types live with every millisecond of every day wondering when the superiority of their intellect and their genius will finally pay off, and they get a pretty good paycheck to boot. It's enough to drive someone even more insane than they already are. Accurate to the point that insanity is certainly a prerequisite for an artist of any type - at least one that considers that what they do, they do because they have no choice. How many times have I told myself that my work is something valid and worthwhile whether or not its got any sort of mass appeal? I'll tell you: a whole bunch. Has it progressed my work any? Am I respected? Do I have a sense of purpose? You know what? Yeah, fuck it! Nobody likes me, nobody cares that I suffer for this shit, and probably will until I kick this flesh and bone shell to the curb and move on. Hopefully in the next life I'll come back as a plumber.
What's this got to do with the main function of this vessel of communication? Yeah, this blogging bullshit I started with the idea in mind that it would chronicle my journey as a writer. At this moment in time, I'm finding that journey is a lot longer and more treacherous than I had originally imagined. Cats scratching, dogs barking, bears grizzling, and several humans on the inside of the bubble laughing at the silly fools on the outside who are trying to penetrate their private club. Why, dear god, didn't I decide to become an electrician, or an HVAC specialist? Those guys are set. They don't have the angst us creative types live with every millisecond of every day wondering when the superiority of their intellect and their genius will finally pay off, and they get a pretty good paycheck to boot. It's enough to drive someone even more insane than they already are. Accurate to the point that insanity is certainly a prerequisite for an artist of any type - at least one that considers that what they do, they do because they have no choice. How many times have I told myself that my work is something valid and worthwhile whether or not its got any sort of mass appeal? I'll tell you: a whole bunch. Has it progressed my work any? Am I respected? Do I have a sense of purpose? You know what? Yeah, fuck it! Nobody likes me, nobody cares that I suffer for this shit, and probably will until I kick this flesh and bone shell to the curb and move on. Hopefully in the next life I'll come back as a plumber.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Hello it's Me...
I don't know why, then again there are a lot of things I don't know, but something brewing inside me spoke and told me to blog once again. Let's see here, it's been...well...it's been a long damn time since I posted a blog. It's a chore keeping this up, and I for one have enough chores on my table already. But when it comes down to it, if there's anything I feel essential to manage, among all the other trivial bullshit functioning humans are required to do on this god forsaken rock we're stuck on, it's my words. Words are king. I treat them like precious gems to be taken out and displayed with pride. Without words, we might as well be plants.
Okay. Enough said. Here's what's on my mind. Thanks to a co-worker of mine for bringing this up in discussion, the topic of people who feel entitled when it comes to wealth and authority. What separates those who are insanely successful from the larger segment of the population who are just as competent, but never seem to crack that bubble of prosperity? Is it a personality trait? Is it sheer drive and determination? Is it better organization (or organisation if you're from fucking England)? I've seen several examples that prove that people at the top of the game (notice I said 'the' game, not 'their game) are no more skilled, experienced, or intelligent than many others wallowing near the bottom of life's prosperity ladder. Managers running companies who don't have a freaking clue how to do their jobs, but who, for some reason, get the breaks when it comes to raises and promotions. Musicians, artists, and writers who have no more talent than the guy busking for spare change on the street with a beat up guitar. What creates this imbalance? Perhaps this is a question for the Universe, that this is some mystical plan that keeps the world spinning on its axis, a process that is simply too complex for the tiny pea-brained humanoid to comprehend.
Yeah, that's as good an explanation as any. Let's go with that. Thanks, I'll be sure to take that with me into the next life.
Hee Haw
Okay. Enough said. Here's what's on my mind. Thanks to a co-worker of mine for bringing this up in discussion, the topic of people who feel entitled when it comes to wealth and authority. What separates those who are insanely successful from the larger segment of the population who are just as competent, but never seem to crack that bubble of prosperity? Is it a personality trait? Is it sheer drive and determination? Is it better organization (or organisation if you're from fucking England)? I've seen several examples that prove that people at the top of the game (notice I said 'the' game, not 'their game) are no more skilled, experienced, or intelligent than many others wallowing near the bottom of life's prosperity ladder. Managers running companies who don't have a freaking clue how to do their jobs, but who, for some reason, get the breaks when it comes to raises and promotions. Musicians, artists, and writers who have no more talent than the guy busking for spare change on the street with a beat up guitar. What creates this imbalance? Perhaps this is a question for the Universe, that this is some mystical plan that keeps the world spinning on its axis, a process that is simply too complex for the tiny pea-brained humanoid to comprehend.
Yeah, that's as good an explanation as any. Let's go with that. Thanks, I'll be sure to take that with me into the next life.
Hee Haw
Monday, February 9, 2009
Something realized
Edit hardcopy. I repeat: Edit hardcopy. In doing this I cannot believe I never realized what a vital step this is in the writing process. Perhaps being that I'm in the homestretch of putting the wrapping paper on what is technically my second novel, this is the first time I've really taken the time to print out and read the whole thing all the way through. In doing this, I'm finding significant ways in which to tighten and otherwise improve the overall voice of my writing. Perhaps I'm just that much more aware this time around of what constitutes good writing, but I can't emphasize enough how much better I'm feeling about this book despite the amount of extra time it's taking to finish it off.
Three times I've gone through my manuscript on the screen. Consequently, I've made some fairly significant changes, trimming the overall text down by about 23 thousand words and making adjustments according to my own sensibilities aided by comments provided by the gracious folks who agreed to read my work. But with the printed pages before me, I'm catching so much more in relation to overall voice and style.
To anyone out there who writes that might be reading this, I strongly suggest taking the time to print your work out, grab a pencil and go at it. You'll be amazed at what you might find.
Three times I've gone through my manuscript on the screen. Consequently, I've made some fairly significant changes, trimming the overall text down by about 23 thousand words and making adjustments according to my own sensibilities aided by comments provided by the gracious folks who agreed to read my work. But with the printed pages before me, I'm catching so much more in relation to overall voice and style.
To anyone out there who writes that might be reading this, I strongly suggest taking the time to print your work out, grab a pencil and go at it. You'll be amazed at what you might find.
Monday, January 12, 2009
And I call myself a writer.
After two years, and consequently, two novels, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. HA, and double HA! Systematically, I thought I would spend a few months editing one, then another, going through the submissions process with double the odds of being noticed by an agent or a publisher. Hey, I've learned a lot. Shorter sentences makes for quicker reading. Write actively not passively. Limit your number of adverbs. Show don't tell (and if I hear that catchy phrase one more time I'm going to pulverize something). Most recently I've found that starting off sentences with words that end in 'ing' in most cases could be done differently with better results. Who knew? There's lots more rules like these (more like guidelines if you ask me) to follow and I'm diligently attempting to ingrain them into my consciousness so I'll be aware of them when I discard them as irrelevant. Yes, I've improved.
But I still have a long way to go.
God, I had no idea how long this becoming a writer thing would take. If I had, I might have reconsidered before I started off down this path. Now the problem is I can't stop.
That may be some consolation when I theorize that many would be writers start off much like me, not realizing what they're getting themselves into. And consequently, these wannabes, when the realization hits, turn and run like a pedophile at the sight of Chris Hansen. I feel I'm now in the pecking order, and the longer I stay in, the closer to the front of the line I'll get. Of course writing isn't an exact science, if it were I'm sure I wouldn't be interested. But it's a good hope to hang onto and one (only one, mind you) that keeps me going.
The biggest obstacle to all this, however, is work ethic, of which I am now questioning. Those who are successful at anything, be it sports, business, academia, music, lumberjacking, whatever, are driven by an insane work ethic; something I have always from the time I was a bitty baby, struggled with.
Lately I've had this nagging feeling that I'm not doing enough. Nagging feelings (mental note: refrain from using the phrase 'nagging feelings' in any of my writing) are not something to be toyed with, and sometime in the past 24 hours or so, I figured out the origins of this feeling. Aside from a couple of weak ass short stories, I've been doing nothing but editing my drafts for a few months now. If I'm going to be a fucking novelist, then I fucking have to write novels. And to be honest, when it comes to editing, I really slack off.
A little over two years ago, I set a regimen up for myself that got me out of bed an hour earlier than necessary to use that time for writing. Every day, no ifs, ands, or buts. It's sort of worked. As I mentioned, I've got two novels, one in third draft, the other in first. Now it appears I've reached a new stage in the game; one in which I'm going to have to do more. Sure, I need to keep up with the rewrites in order to make the two books I've got publishable. But I have to start something new as well. Obviously that requires more time and effort. Time and effort that I'm not sure I have the energy for. So now it's time to raise the bar (shit, another cliche). Somehow I'll have to find the time to: A) start a new novel, B) do my rewrites, C) get my submissions in order, D)do all the other crap life demands of me.
I'll try to keep you posted.
But I still have a long way to go.
God, I had no idea how long this becoming a writer thing would take. If I had, I might have reconsidered before I started off down this path. Now the problem is I can't stop.
That may be some consolation when I theorize that many would be writers start off much like me, not realizing what they're getting themselves into. And consequently, these wannabes, when the realization hits, turn and run like a pedophile at the sight of Chris Hansen. I feel I'm now in the pecking order, and the longer I stay in, the closer to the front of the line I'll get. Of course writing isn't an exact science, if it were I'm sure I wouldn't be interested. But it's a good hope to hang onto and one (only one, mind you) that keeps me going.
The biggest obstacle to all this, however, is work ethic, of which I am now questioning. Those who are successful at anything, be it sports, business, academia, music, lumberjacking, whatever, are driven by an insane work ethic; something I have always from the time I was a bitty baby, struggled with.
Lately I've had this nagging feeling that I'm not doing enough. Nagging feelings (mental note: refrain from using the phrase 'nagging feelings' in any of my writing) are not something to be toyed with, and sometime in the past 24 hours or so, I figured out the origins of this feeling. Aside from a couple of weak ass short stories, I've been doing nothing but editing my drafts for a few months now. If I'm going to be a fucking novelist, then I fucking have to write novels. And to be honest, when it comes to editing, I really slack off.
A little over two years ago, I set a regimen up for myself that got me out of bed an hour earlier than necessary to use that time for writing. Every day, no ifs, ands, or buts. It's sort of worked. As I mentioned, I've got two novels, one in third draft, the other in first. Now it appears I've reached a new stage in the game; one in which I'm going to have to do more. Sure, I need to keep up with the rewrites in order to make the two books I've got publishable. But I have to start something new as well. Obviously that requires more time and effort. Time and effort that I'm not sure I have the energy for. So now it's time to raise the bar (shit, another cliche). Somehow I'll have to find the time to: A) start a new novel, B) do my rewrites, C) get my submissions in order, D)do all the other crap life demands of me.
I'll try to keep you posted.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Third draft revisions and other stuff...
The other stuff is, What the fuck? Governor of Illinois has just won the award hands down, no contesto, for douchbag of the year. Pretty impressive when you consider O.J. was on the list.
On to writing type stuff, which is what this blog is for now that Please Delete This Blog is up. That little collaborative effort will be where I blog about the stuff that chaps my hide, and the occasional flash fiction pieces I write to keep my sanity.
From now on Charlie Horse will be all about the progress I'm making on my novels. So here goes.
Okay, so the mega outline/synopsis thingie that I decided to do based on the 2nd draft of Seed(s) is done. I'm now going through Cathy's stellar edits and addressing things like spelling dessert correctly. Then I'll look at the following list, pulled off of a thread over at Absolute Write, on things to search and destroy. I'll warn you now, it's quite lengthy and I'm not sure I agree with all or even most of it, but it's definitely worth noting and props to the person who put it all together. I know I sure couldn't have pulled anything like this out of my but.
Here's the list:
*-ing beginnings
*-ly
*-ness
a bit
a little
a little bit
a lot
actually
all
almost
always
always
am
and so
anxiously
anyhow
anyway
appears
are
aren't
as
as * was *-ing
as *-ed
at least
be
been
began *ing
began to
completely
considered
continued
continued to
could be heard, seen, felt, etc.
did
didn't
do
does
doesn't
don't
down
eagerly
every
exactly
exist, exists, existed
extremely
fairly
felt
finally
frequently
get
glared
got
grin, grinned
groaned
had
has
have
heard
highly
hoped
I (in a first person narrative)
intended
is
isn't
just
kind of
knew
know
known
looked
make, makes
many
merely
most
mostly
nearly
need
never
not
noticed
occur, occurred, occurs
of
often
only
planned
prepared
pretty
probably
proceed(ed) to
put
quite
rather
reached
realized
really
recalled
regarded
remembered
saw
seem
seemed
seems
sensed
set out to
show, shows
slightly
smelled
smile, smiled
so (as a sequential word)
so then
some
somewhat
sort of
started to
suddenly
that
then
there was
though
thought
totally
tried to
up
utterly
very
waited to
wanted
was *-ed
was *-ing
wasn't
went
were
wholly
will
wished
wondered
won't
would
Holy crap, that's a lot of searching, evaluating, and possibly destroying. I'll let you all know how this works out.
Hee Haw
On to writing type stuff, which is what this blog is for now that Please Delete This Blog is up. That little collaborative effort will be where I blog about the stuff that chaps my hide, and the occasional flash fiction pieces I write to keep my sanity.
From now on Charlie Horse will be all about the progress I'm making on my novels. So here goes.
Okay, so the mega outline/synopsis thingie that I decided to do based on the 2nd draft of Seed(s) is done. I'm now going through Cathy's stellar edits and addressing things like spelling dessert correctly. Then I'll look at the following list, pulled off of a thread over at Absolute Write, on things to search and destroy. I'll warn you now, it's quite lengthy and I'm not sure I agree with all or even most of it, but it's definitely worth noting and props to the person who put it all together. I know I sure couldn't have pulled anything like this out of my but.
Here's the list:
*-ing beginnings
*-ly
*-ness
a bit
a little
a little bit
a lot
actually
all
almost
always
always
am
and so
anxiously
anyhow
anyway
appears
are
aren't
as
as * was *-ing
as *-ed
at least
be
been
began *ing
began to
completely
considered
continued
continued to
could be heard, seen, felt, etc.
did
didn't
do
does
doesn't
don't
down
eagerly
every
exactly
exist, exists, existed
extremely
fairly
felt
finally
frequently
get
glared
got
grin, grinned
groaned
had
has
have
heard
highly
hoped
I (in a first person narrative)
intended
is
isn't
just
kind of
knew
know
known
looked
make, makes
many
merely
most
mostly
nearly
need
never
not
noticed
occur, occurred, occurs
of
often
only
planned
prepared
pretty
probably
proceed(ed) to
put
quite
rather
reached
realized
really
recalled
regarded
remembered
saw
seem
seemed
seems
sensed
set out to
show, shows
slightly
smelled
smile, smiled
so (as a sequential word)
so then
some
somewhat
sort of
started to
suddenly
that
then
there was
though
thought
totally
tried to
up
utterly
very
waited to
wanted
was *-ed
was *-ing
wasn't
went
were
wholly
will
wished
wondered
won't
would
Holy crap, that's a lot of searching, evaluating, and possibly destroying. I'll let you all know how this works out.
Hee Haw
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