Monthly Archives: February 2013
Q. Should I Keep Writing?
A. Yes. You should. I know the first draft is awful, and even as you’re writing it, you can see you’ll have to cut most of it, but go forward anyway. Get to the end.
Q. But why, why? It’s so bad! It doesn’t even make sense.
A. That’s just what first drafts are. They’re painful and ugly. They wander down dead ends and come out smelling like old fish.
Q. I thought I liked my main character, but now,… Continue reading
Still more on bad first drafts because, yeah, they take a while.
So, I was writing along today, minding my own business, when an atrocious scene came spilling out of my fingertips. I kept thinking, No, this is too gross! And Ouch! And I can’t put this in a book for kids! And then I kept writing it anyway.
Who knows if this painful, cruel scene will make it into the second draft, let alone the final? Not me. But it’s there now, where I can squirm at it, and it certainly led to some interesting choices for my… Continue reading
Writing Secret Duds
I need to park my main work-in-progress for a period so that I can return to it with fresh eyes, which puts me in one of my rare lulls where I’m forced to stop thinking about what normally obsesses me. I can’t not write, because I become prickly and discontented if I stop, so instead, I’m kicking around ideas for something else. I’m throwing noodle possibilities together to see how they stick, rereading old favorite books to see why I liked them, daydreaming, staying up late, and nibbling… Continue reading
Shoveling
I like shoveling. I do. I like the rhythmic motions, the steady progress, the beauty of the white-and-blue snow. I like the sounds of the shovel scraping the pavers, and the plop of the snow when a load of it lands elsewhere. I like the frosty particles that float back to coat me when I throw a shovelful high and far.
I like the feeling of working harmoniously together as a family, and letting my mind wander to old memories of snow forts from my childhood.… Continue reading
Little to Report
This writer has little to report. I type, stare out the window, type some more, ignore my to-do list, and type. At the end of the day, it looks like I’ve done nothing. The breakfast dishes still list in the sink, and no one has moved the pile of tax things on the table.
It sort of reminds me of raising toddlers, actually. We’d live in the moment all day, building towers, talking, running, and laughing, while the housework went ignored around us. At the… Continue reading