Saturday, March 8, 2014
Friday, March 7, 2014
Writers possess an innate sense of longing that is mostly unsatisfied. However, a great deal of our frustrations come from not focusing on what we truly want.
I see this in myself clearly, and because I can never be sure of what others fully desire, I won't speak about it for others . (Maybe I just did) Denial is razor thin for most people. I suppose this is because we are always anchored to our past even when we are trying to forge new futures. We are, in truth, a hodgepodge emotional being of what we see, feel, think, taste, touch, and hear on one level, followed by something fundamentally more challenging, what we do each day. It all makes for a great and terrible longing that is often filled with busy work and not mindful work. Of course, life is filled with busy work, but that is not what I am talking about here. Personally, I have a deep weakness for my limitations and other restraints, but lately I've noticed that by embracing them, I've been able to work through a lot of emotional fodder that always seemed to get in my way for so long. Perhaps this is because my desires and needs are gaining a power of their own. Whatever, I feel pretty good in knowing that while I might stray from a chosen path, I am not stupid enough to stay gone too long.
excerpt from my Writing Notebook
Thursday, March 6, 2014
I've created so many habits in the last three years in hopes of staying focused. I developed a set of rules for work, boundaries, fences of all kinds, to keep myself locked into the kind of work I know I feel good about. But I must confess, I have jumped the fence a time or two, partly because of self-doubts and partly because I needed a distraction. Then there are life's little adventures that take us away from our work and scary little accidents of fate that remind us just how fragile our dreams are. I think the latter has reduced me to moments of fear where I even thought to abandon the work.
It will not be abandoned.
I believe this.
Novels, like the one I am writing, are never easy. I have no friend who is writing anything remotely like it. I have no friends who read anything remotely like it. I have no online acquaintances who are doing what I am doing. Are there people out there doing the kind of work I am? Yes. I read them, but I don't know them. I have no Beta Readers, no CP, no agent, no editor. I am alone in this. I am starting this kind of work late in my life, too. Finally, it's traditional publishing.
Sometimes we come to that fork in the road and we know we have to choose one way or another. There is no other way to find ourselves at the end of the journey.
I believe that it is going to help me to blog about this for the next few months. I have organized my life, my books, my blog to accommodate finishing my Sleeping Beauty Retelling. I will be discussing my work in conjunction with a list of writing books that I have placed on the right sidebar. Hopefully, sometime between May and July 25, I will finish this book and have only the usual editing to do before trying to find an agent to take on the project.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Monday, March 3, 2014
Dear Reader, I have the winter blues. A blast of cold air swept down yesterday and the temperatures went from the 70s to the 20s in a space of fifteen hours. We had rain and lightning, followed by a sudden cold wind that froze everything. Now the air is filled with snowflakes. It is an oddly gloomy sight to me.
By chance, I am writing a scene in my WIP in which the heroine is walking through a thick bramble much like the one in this beautiful photograph. She's worried about snakes and has good reason to do so because the ground is covered in low patches of berries. It is June, but not yet summer, but like most Mississippi Junes, hot like July.
I remember picking berries as a child.
I am so desperate for spring, for anything green, for sunshine, for warm air against my face. I am desperate to finish this book. It is as though the winter I began this story and this winter have all been one long extended month of cold days, doubts, and distractions. I feel like Sleeping Beauty, half awake, but not yet able to take hold of the the living things that nourish my both my soul and body.