News at 11.
It's one of many short stories about her. It is meant to be poignant, memorable, sweet. Like her. But it's flat. Flat as that funky cowlick on the back of my head. I read this one and get to the heart-stopping punch line at the end completely dry-eyed. I am working on a short story about the many things I miss most about my mother. It's a story of preservation and death, a montage of our intertwined lives -- I'm her, she's me, we are one, but we are not -- but the story is about as emotionally engaging as my flat cowlick.
The good news is that I and I alone have the ability to turn a brilliant, touching, true story into a press release.
Yes, rather than breathe life into this story, I'm continually draining blood from it.
Oh, the horror.
What to do?
Well, if "writing through it" works for writer's block, surely it works for writer's suckingness (the term I'm giving my current state of ineptitude).
What do you do when you think you're writing sucks? Or, am I the only one who's ever experienced this?
I gotta go do something with that cowlick now.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Either They Missed Me, or They Are Hungry.
or
"oh, look, it's the feed lady."
The Tools I Use: 1
I plan to make this a regular tool review. Daily, weekly, monthly, or annually, I'm not sure what schedule this will be on, but it will be regular...
To start, here is tool number 1 and where I got the idea:
To start, here is tool number 1 and where I got the idea:
The book is "Your First Novel" by Ann Rittenberg and Laura Whitcomb (order here: http://tinyurl.com/36lw984). The tool I use are index cards. I jot down a story element on an index card, like "Blake finds a body." Then jot down another story element on another card, "Blake's vineyard is robbed." If you look at the top card, I even fill in a few details about the element -- in this case it's a list of who his debtors are.
Once I do a few cards (don't get too hung up on whether your story is complete or not), I shuffle them around:
By doing this, I decided to start the story with Blake finding a body, because that's way more exciting than just being in debt (yawn). Laying out these index cards is a great tool, it demonstrates holes in your story you didn't know you had, and it lets you move parts of the story around.
When I see a hole in my story, I write another index card. Usually the hole is pretty apparent, so what goes on the card is obvious. "Blake's vineyard is robbed" might be the missing link between Blake finding a body, and Blake's creditors being hot after him.
From there it's pretty easy to write your story and keep your momentum going. Just number and stack your cards, then write about each one, adding details and whatnot.
I like using index cards for outlining a story better than traditional outlining (even in a program like MS Word where you can cut/paste) because you have the entire story right there in front of you (no scrolling). It's a lot like doing a jigsaw puzzle, so that makes it fun too.
There you have it -- a great book about novel writing, and a Tool I Use for novel-writing: index cards.
What are your tools?
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Confession Time
As the wife of a Professional Ski Patroller, I get a free annual pass.
That is cool.
But today -- opening day -- feels more appropriate for sitting in the cabin, smelling the chilli that is bubbling in the crockpot, and I feel guilty about that.
That is one wacked out sense of obligation I'm feeling, for sure.
The car is packed, the chores are (mostly) done.
It's opening day.
I have bad-weather friendships to maintain (You know, those people you only see in the winter?)
And a husband to stalk. (that is, MY husband...not just any husband)
New boots to try.
Thanksgiving Dinner calories to burn.
.... ~yawn~ ....
That is cool.
But today -- opening day -- feels more appropriate for sitting in the cabin, smelling the chilli that is bubbling in the crockpot, and I feel guilty about that.
That is one wacked out sense of obligation I'm feeling, for sure.
The car is packed, the chores are (mostly) done.
It's opening day.
I have bad-weather friendships to maintain (You know, those people you only see in the winter?)
And a husband to stalk. (that is, MY husband...not just any husband)
New boots to try.
Thanksgiving Dinner calories to burn.
.... ~yawn~ ....
What I Do About Writer's Block
Yesterday was THE. PERFECT. WRITING DAY. Snow falling, fire in the fireplace, no where to be... So I sat down and began working on a project. It's a project I've been working on for months. You'd think it was an epic 7000 page novel. It's just a short story. Maybe 2000 words.
I rewrite a lot. It's just how I work.
I sat down to rewrite, with some additions in mind.
What's that? Dishes need to be washed? Okay.
I got up. I washed a couple of dishes and thought, "Oh, this is an evil ploy by my brain to avoid thinking!" So I gently nudged Velcro out of the red recliner, and assumed my writing position.
Laundry. I really should put a load in the wash.
No, I should write.
Just start a load and it can run while you write, you'll be multi-tasking.
Fine.
I put a load in the wash, poured another cup of coffee, and settled back into the recliner, noting that cats can truly produce the most evil and bone-chilling glare.
That fire is about to go out, better stoke it.
Look brain, we are going to settle down and write. That is that. You are expending way more energy avoiding the task than just settling down and doing it.
I stoked the fire. Velcro glared.
Yesterday wasn't a great example of managing writer's block. Here's what I do that helps:
I rewrite a lot. It's just how I work.
I sat down to rewrite, with some additions in mind.
What's that? Dishes need to be washed? Okay.
I got up. I washed a couple of dishes and thought, "Oh, this is an evil ploy by my brain to avoid thinking!" So I gently nudged Velcro out of the red recliner, and assumed my writing position.
Laundry. I really should put a load in the wash.
No, I should write.
Just start a load and it can run while you write, you'll be multi-tasking.
Fine.
I put a load in the wash, poured another cup of coffee, and settled back into the recliner, noting that cats can truly produce the most evil and bone-chilling glare.
That fire is about to go out, better stoke it.
Look brain, we are going to settle down and write. That is that. You are expending way more energy avoiding the task than just settling down and doing it.
I stoked the fire. Velcro glared.
Yesterday wasn't a great example of managing writer's block. Here's what I do that helps:
- Write every day. Every stinking day. Don't worry about grammar, spelling, content, omitting or adding swear words. Just do it. Eventually you find that this task becomes your boot-camp for all other writing. You are training yourself to let your mind go, and to press through and write. No. Matter. What. I write 3 pages per day, longhand. It is some of the most miserable and unreadable tripe to ever emit from a pen... If anyone ever read it, penmakers around the world would throw their hands in the air and scoff, "Really? That is what she used these for? Disgusting!"
- Write. Really. If you're sitting down to write and your mind is totally not there, just start writing words. Any words. Even if it's unrelated to your project. Write your name, a shopping list, it doesn't matter. Keep doing it. Next thing you know you'll be immersed in your project. Or you won't, but you'll have your shopping list done.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Ski Season Has Arrived!
I have an astonishing number of ski gloves. Not an astonishing number of PAIRS of ski gloves. While other people are searching the far recesses of their dryers for missing socks, I rummage through closets for left-hand, pink gloves, or the blue circa 1980 right-handed glove.
Believe me, I have no issues whatsoever in wearing mismatched anything, least of all gloves. Still, it would be nice to have an honest-to-goodness pair.
I found a pair.
boots, check. Skis, check, check, check, check, check. Poles, check. kneepads and goggles, check and check. face mask, check. Hat. Hat? HAT...! ~more closet rummaging~ okay, we'll call that wad of yarn a hat.
Long underwear, ski jacket, down jacket, ski pants, packed.
Self, say hello to your new winter wardrobe.
In other news, this also begins the long dark winter of solitude, of widowhood. The Mountain Man is a patroller and they're feeling a little short-handed this year. He'll be working. A lot. My only hope at seeing him is to re-enact a little fantasy of mine where I get injured on the slopes (nothing major), and he comes to my rescue. ~sound of dramatic music~
Except, I already know him, so the romantic gaze into each other's eyes is more likely to be followed by me screaming, "don't touch me!!! no no nonononononono, don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme !" ... and he sees a woman who looks like a Michelin Man who robbed a dumpster for his attire, and well... that's the end of romance as we know it.
Instead I will go up to the hill and ski around and hope to catch glimpses of my man in black, in his patrol gear, and try to suppress the butterflies and the oncoming swoon I feel every time... unless it'd get me a little mouth-to-mouth?
Believe me, I have no issues whatsoever in wearing mismatched anything, least of all gloves. Still, it would be nice to have an honest-to-goodness pair.
I found a pair.
boots, check. Skis, check, check, check, check, check. Poles, check. kneepads and goggles, check and check. face mask, check. Hat. Hat? HAT...! ~more closet rummaging~ okay, we'll call that wad of yarn a hat.
Long underwear, ski jacket, down jacket, ski pants, packed.
Self, say hello to your new winter wardrobe.
In other news, this also begins the long dark winter of solitude, of widowhood. The Mountain Man is a patroller and they're feeling a little short-handed this year. He'll be working. A lot. My only hope at seeing him is to re-enact a little fantasy of mine where I get injured on the slopes (nothing major), and he comes to my rescue. ~sound of dramatic music~
Except, I already know him, so the romantic gaze into each other's eyes is more likely to be followed by me screaming, "don't touch me!!! no no nonononononono, don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme don'ttouchme !" ... and he sees a woman who looks like a Michelin Man who robbed a dumpster for his attire, and well... that's the end of romance as we know it.
Instead I will go up to the hill and ski around and hope to catch glimpses of my man in black, in his patrol gear, and try to suppress the butterflies and the oncoming swoon I feel every time... unless it'd get me a little mouth-to-mouth?
Our Dysfunctional Relationship
It's an awkward romance. You give me what I want, what I need. But I always want more. Sometimes, I have such a strong craving for you, it's unbearable. I get physically sick, dizzy, spaced out. Then, when I get too much of you, I have the same symptoms.
Sometimes I spend so much time with you that afterward I am hungover, sick, and heartbroken.
Sometimes you're hot, sometimes you're cold. You are always indifferent. You could be with me, you could be with anybody else. But I don't care.
Sometimes I work so hard for you, I dress you up, shower you with trinkets and decorations. Sometimes you return the favor, you warm me, comfort me.
Some romantic relationships follow a natural progression, leading to marriage and a growing family. Oh, you've given me growth, and plenty of it.
I spend half my time loving you and half of it hating your existence. I throw you out, you come back.
Damn you food, can't we just be friends?
Sometimes I spend so much time with you that afterward I am hungover, sick, and heartbroken.
Sometimes you're hot, sometimes you're cold. You are always indifferent. You could be with me, you could be with anybody else. But I don't care.
Sometimes I work so hard for you, I dress you up, shower you with trinkets and decorations. Sometimes you return the favor, you warm me, comfort me.
Some romantic relationships follow a natural progression, leading to marriage and a growing family. Oh, you've given me growth, and plenty of it.
I spend half my time loving you and half of it hating your existence. I throw you out, you come back.
Damn you food, can't we just be friends?
10,000 Hours Rule
"A journey of a hundred miles begins with just one step."
"Practice makes perfect."
"Practice, practice, practice."
In the book "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell, he repeatedly refers to the "10,000 Hour Rule". Highly successful people achieved success from performing a task for 10,000 hours.
Finally, at the ripe age of forty, I have accepted that a random publisher with deep pockets will not approach me on the street and say, "Hey, you look like you have a story, here's a million dollar advance, now go write it!" That isn't quite how my fantasy of instant success went, but it may as well be.
Now, I'm too busy writing to day dream about instant success as a writer.
But I think I'm a little too invested for it to ever be considered "instant."
How do you spend your 10,000 Hours?
"Practice makes perfect."
"Practice, practice, practice."
In the book "Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell, he repeatedly refers to the "10,000 Hour Rule". Highly successful people achieved success from performing a task for 10,000 hours.
Finally, at the ripe age of forty, I have accepted that a random publisher with deep pockets will not approach me on the street and say, "Hey, you look like you have a story, here's a million dollar advance, now go write it!" That isn't quite how my fantasy of instant success went, but it may as well be.
Now, I'm too busy writing to day dream about instant success as a writer.
- I write for at least an hour every morning. My goal is to write 3 pages, longhand. It's just a brain-dump.
- I then dedicate some time to working on whatever project I want -- short stories, a book, or just a list of ideas for more stories.
- Weekends I write, usually more time on those projects in item #2.
- I've started blogging, trying to make 3 entries a week.
- And I read: blogs, books, short stories, magazines, newspapers, cereal boxes, emails...
But I think I'm a little too invested for it to ever be considered "instant."
How do you spend your 10,000 Hours?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I Love That Boy
Tonight at Thanksgiving dinner, Mountain Man's Aunt said about him, "I love that boy." Yep. She loves that 6-foot-tall, chainsaw-wielding, father-of-two "boy."
"I hit the jackpot" I told her.
Here he is sewing our wedding invitations. (Sewing? Invitations? Yes, it's a long story, worthy of an entire blog of its own.)
"I hit the jackpot" I told her.
He's handy to have around.
He's a good dad.
He baits my hook for me. (Is that a euphemism? If it means he rocks my world, then yes.)
~swoon~
Chaps, Chainsaw, Mountains, Man
Oh My
He will dress up in an Elvis wig, hike to the top of the mountain when the lifts are closed, and ski with me.
And smile the whole time.
We get each other.
Aunt Inga, I love that boy too.
Thanksgiving: Pie Birds and Can I Get a Butt Check?
That is a pie bird in a blueberry pie,
to stop bubbling over... My EYE!
to stop bubbling over... My EYE!
No, no, my eye didn't bubble over.
What I mean is, the pie bird didn't keep the pie from bubbling over.
You plant the little bird's behind on the bottom crust, pour your filling in, put the top crust on, and bake. My ineptitude at baking may have been too much for his ceramic derrier to tackle. Or maybe I cemented his booty too firmly to the crust. Sorry bird.
Even so, the pie tasted delish.
I also made Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish. It looks like chunky Pepto Bismol, which is not a bad idea for a Thanksgiving side-dish. (Oh, now there is an idea -- Pepto-Bismol ice cream with Chocolate Ex-Lax chips... omnomnom!) You freeze this relish. My in-laws eat it, sans turkey, in an icecream dish for dessert. So, the Pepto Bismol ice cream is not a far-out idea.
A shocking amount of the time, I can churn out quite a good dish. I swear to you that although it doesn't taste like it, I pull these good dishes out of my backside and think, "holy crap I didn't think that would work." Substitutions? Lack of ingredients? Lack of skill with a blow-torch or alder planks? No problem.
Today was not one of those days.
The pie bubbled over, the crust tore, I put too much water in the crust so it had a play-doh consistency, and the cranberry relish didn't freeze through. I couldn't decide whether to categorize this as an edible pursuit or an inedible one.
Can I get a butt check?
Pony Noses!
There is no blankie with satin bound edges that is as soft and comforting as the muzzle of a horse.
And, though my heroes (Buck Brannaman, Will James, Ray Hunt, and Robbin Wright) might all cringe to see it happen, I do love to kiss that muzzle. Wrigley doesn't object. Wrigley really doesn't object to much.
Or sometimes we just stand, nose to nose, and I gently blow into her paisley-shaped nostrils and she inhales. Then she gently blows out and I inhale. We'll do this for awhile. Her breath smells sweet, warm, grassy. My breath, on the other hand...It's wrong, dangerous, and disrespectful even, to behave that way -- sticking my nose in her business. Or is it the other way around?
Maybe she likes people noses too. I'll ask her.
Wrigley's Report Card
Wrigley arrived green. I wanted a project horse.
In one month her report card looked like this:
In one month her report card looked like this:
- She can lead by her front feet (I put a rope on each foot and lead her around).
- She picks up her feet and stands nice for the farrier.
- I've ridden her about a dozen times
- She ground ties for everything -- saddling, brushing, getting her feet cleaned, etc.
- She loads in the trailer pretty well.
- You can swing and throw a rope off of her
- She can back up in any direction
It took a lot of work from us both.
What is Your Day Job?
What do you do to support your writing? Are you one of the people living my dream and supporting your writing with (dramatic pause) your writing? If so, how did you get to that point?
For now I'm an Application Support Engineer. It's a mouthful, but I think "Girl Friday" sums up my job nicely.
Yesterday I: updated a user guide, worked with two managers to develop a communications plan for an application, wrote test scripts to programmatically test software, answered a colleague's questions about MS Excel macros,wrote a quick little newsletter to some early adopters of our application, reported a few bugs, went for a run, and set up two new employees with development servers.
It supports my writing, my family, our dreams, our hobbies, and our future. I guess that's a fair trade. What do you do?
For now I'm an Application Support Engineer. It's a mouthful, but I think "Girl Friday" sums up my job nicely.
Yesterday I: updated a user guide, worked with two managers to develop a communications plan for an application, wrote test scripts to programmatically test software, answered a colleague's questions about MS Excel macros,wrote a quick little newsletter to some early adopters of our application, reported a few bugs, went for a run, and set up two new employees with development servers.
It supports my writing, my family, our dreams, our hobbies, and our future. I guess that's a fair trade. What do you do?
How Much Does a Fiction Writer Make?
Ever hear the joke, "What's the difference between X and a large pizza?" (where X is: a drummer, a ski instructor, or in this case could be a writer.)The answer to the joke, while germane, follows at the end of the blog.
For the non-J.K. Rowling writer, it doesn't appear to be the best-paying gig. As in, it really doesn't pay much at all. Damn the movies for convincing me that a writer's life is all tea and crumpets, fine dining, and a writing desk overlooking (fill in dreamscape here). I really was hoping for a job in which I could work in my pajamas. I guess that's still a possibility if I were to get a job writing reviews of mattresses for a mattress-maker.
For the fantasy job of writing fiction from the comfort of my writing desk overlooking the valley below and Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams in the distance, and doing this in my pajamas, I should probably expect to earn enough to pay for the coffee that I consume while writing. Maybe. A person could pad that income by writing magazine articles, speaking for hire, or in my case, maintaining a full-time job. Basically, hustling. This article gives a good run-down of what to expect as a fiction writer: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070310135839AAbSlno
And I think that this author's candid post on the topic does a lot to inform prospective writers: http://laurasalas.livejournal.com/109047.html
So, if A) you're thinking "I want to be a writer and eat tea and crumpets whilst writing at my writing desk overlooking (x)" or B) you're thinking "when she hits it big I hope she remembers me" then I have news for you -- expect both to be a long time coming. That's really not enough to dissuade me from writing, and hopefully won't discourage you either. My goal is to just keep on writing. Earning money from that would be great, maybe I'd use it to buy a nice writing desk.
Now that we have that answered, the answer to the joke "What is the difference between a writer and a large pizza?" is: "The pizza can feed a family of four."Next blog topic, "What's your day job?"
For the non-J.K. Rowling writer, it doesn't appear to be the best-paying gig. As in, it really doesn't pay much at all. Damn the movies for convincing me that a writer's life is all tea and crumpets, fine dining, and a writing desk overlooking (fill in dreamscape here). I really was hoping for a job in which I could work in my pajamas. I guess that's still a possibility if I were to get a job writing reviews of mattresses for a mattress-maker.
For the fantasy job of writing fiction from the comfort of my writing desk overlooking the valley below and Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams in the distance, and doing this in my pajamas, I should probably expect to earn enough to pay for the coffee that I consume while writing. Maybe. A person could pad that income by writing magazine articles, speaking for hire, or in my case, maintaining a full-time job. Basically, hustling. This article gives a good run-down of what to expect as a fiction writer: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070310135839AAbSlno
And I think that this author's candid post on the topic does a lot to inform prospective writers: http://laurasalas.livejournal.com/109047.html
So, if A) you're thinking "I want to be a writer and eat tea and crumpets whilst writing at my writing desk overlooking (x)" or B) you're thinking "when she hits it big I hope she remembers me" then I have news for you -- expect both to be a long time coming. That's really not enough to dissuade me from writing, and hopefully won't discourage you either. My goal is to just keep on writing. Earning money from that would be great, maybe I'd use it to buy a nice writing desk.
Now that we have that answered, the answer to the joke "What is the difference between a writer and a large pizza?" is: "The pizza can feed a family of four."Next blog topic, "What's your day job?"
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