Youth and Asia

This is an excerpt from the short story I'm working on. Trying to keep those creative juices flowing...

I returned from the hospital to the painful quiet of the house. My shoes thudded dully as I crossed the threshold to toss my purse onto the hall table. Tears stained my face – leaving white streaks through my blush – and new ones clung wetly to my eyelashes.

The ghosts of her former life haunted me at every corner. Gray smoke from her cigarette continued to wisp skyward, filling the air with its familiar aroma. On her chair, ‘Great Expectations’ lay open at page forty-seven. The dark stain on the rug – where she spilled her wine – still felt damp.

I was certain that at any moment she would skip laughingly around the corner, with a new joke bursting from her lips. I could see her settling into her chair, collecting her cigarette, gathering her book, and taking a long draught from her glass. But no matter how close she felt, she wasn't coming back. I closed the book. Its covers slammed shut.  She was gone.

Novel update: 17 chapters complete, 190 days remaining

Summer Has Arrived...Sort Of...

Typical Northwest. It's the first day of summer, and it's raining. Forgive me, Northwest darling. But your blustery temper (or temperatures?) has officially come between us. And though I love you dearly (as one loves a crazy relative), I know I will be leaving you for warmer climates (say...Arizona, perhaps?) when I am a rich and famous published author.

Will this be soon? Or am I destined to endure another June-uary? The choice is mine. Dare I procrastinate on my great project any longer? Nay. Page by page, I can start to feel the Phoenix sun beat down, warming my frostbitten fingertips. But I cannot blame the weather for my lack of motivation...or maybe I can. It is a fact: I definitely get more done when it's sunny.

It's the first day of summer, and that means I have ten days until my halfway point. I must make some progress.


Novel update: Nothing yet. 192 days remaining.

My Club

I discovered my proverbial club yesterday. And, no, I did not find it on Ebay.

After some insightful conversations with two writing relatives of mine, I found inspiration. It was craftily hiding within short stories.

Whenever I think of a decent story idea, I hoard it greedily, tuck it away in a semi-full file labeled "ideas" and never worry over it again... unless it can serve as part of a grander scheme. In other words, an actual novel.

Needless to say, I've never been much of a short story writer. I always felt that a short story was a wasted perfectly good idea. To reduce some fabulous plot or setting to only twenty pages seemed a bit like taking a few bites and then tossing a fifty dollar steak to the trash. I preferred full-blown two hundred and fifty paged monsters. Or nothing at all.

However, I discovered that writing short stories when going through dry spells actually increases creativity rather than deplete it. I once thought that writing anything besides my current novel was more a form of procrastination than actual work. But that isn't true at all. Developing other ideas helps me develop even more ideas. It keeps the creativity pool from becoming stagnant. And, instead of hiding my ideas away like money in a mattress, I'm investing in the bank of inspiration.

My creative juices are flowing again... I began writing a short story about a young girl and her experience with death. Not exactly my typical medium... but it's a good workout for my imagination.


Novel update: 197 days remaining, 16 chapters complete

Dry Spells

In the words of Jack London, author of Call of the Wild, "You can't wait for inspiration. You must go after it with a club." Apparently, I've been waiting for something that, like my new puppy, won't come when called. Quite a bit of waiting, actually. In the last couple weeks, I haven't written more than one or two words. I'm down to exactly 200 days, and I'm stuck in what feels like a Texas drought. I understand that everyone has dry spells, now and again. But I fear I will never again see the rains of inspiration. I have 126 pages completed and 20 more pages of a rough ending, which means I have to start using my imagination again... I suppose I'd better go out and buy a club. Since I don't have one on hand. I wonder if they sell them on Ebay...


Novel update: If you didn't read the paragraph above... 200 days remaing, 16 chapters complete

So Close, And Yet...

With two hundred and eleven days to go, I'm nearly halfway through on my great project. At least, halfway til my deadline. Not necessarily halfway through the actual book. And yet I'm dreaming of other books waiting to be written. I imagined up some fantastic book titles (which is usually quite a hardship for me). I'm writing bits and pieces, creating names for the main characters, thinking of sequels and series.

I am greatly upset with myself over this.

Whenever my current story becomes boring or difficult, I'm apt to cast it aside with a shrug of my shoulders, and move on to something else. What was that cliche again?? Oh yes... "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Apparently, I'm weaker than I thought. And I'm not the only one. My cousin and writing friend declared once, "New plots spring to mind, new rhythms, new names - the sparks fly again, with the same stirring joy as infatuation, and the same seeping guilt as an affair. Can one actually cheat on their book?" Indeed, I feel the same.

But, for once in my life, I would like to finish something. No matter how difficult. No matter how annoying. No matter how much I don't feel like it at the time. A Tale of the Faeries - or whatever it ends up being called - will not be like Spanish or French or piano lessons or ice skating or karate or all those other books and other things I never finished.

This is where the rubber meets the road... Now is the time to finish a race. THE race. By December 31st, I WILL have a finished manuscript. I am determined.

Ahhhh... I do enjoy a good pep talk. Now, back to the salt mines, as it were...


Novel update: 15 chapters complete, 211 days remaining