(1) I updated the template on my blog, so there are a few minor changes lurking about. The Blogroll is cleaner and now includes Liann's spiffy new blog, Patriot to Heaven. Also, because I was jealous of her layout over there, I've included a "Books I'm in Now" section. I hereby order all those in our circle of bloggers to add such a list, just so's we can see what other people are reading and learn from/check out/mock their interests.
(2) The writing continues apace. I had a very good day last Friday, so that what were large, unconnected scenes now hang together as one fifty-eight page single-spaced narrative. A few folks are previewing this chunk o' draft for me as I continue on. I had a fair day on Sunday, and today has been a bust so far. But I'm still at it. Lord willing, the practice of just sitting down at the computer every day is a good habit into which to get. I take comfort in Joseph Heller's comment, "Every writer I know has trouble writing," and Katherine Mansfield's adjuration, "...better far to write twaddle or anything, anything than nothing at all." I think this blog counts as twaddle...
(3) Nothing. There is no third thing. (Have I made this joke before? Probably. Curse Monty Python and their mentally indelible sketches! Blame this one on the Spanish Inquisition...)
Monday, July 30, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where's My Elephant?
That title is apropos of nothing, save that I like The Simpsons and I'm feeling pretty low at the moment.
I went out to "write" this morning for a few hours and came back with very little. I'm feeling rather depressed about the novel. The writing just isn't getting any easier, and my nature as a "generator" could not be more apparent. I'm just no good at follow-through. I know I almost certainly am letting too many issues crowd my brain at the moment to be objective about the book, but it is just a slog. I'd take a break, only that's almost all I've done in the past two weeks. (And yes, I'm aware that's probably a large portion of the problem. Hush up and leave me to my whining.)
I'm reading The Privilege of the Sword by Ellen Kushner these days, and her easy style and ability to paint characters quickly and engagingly are frustrating. I haven't been drawn in as effortlessly as I was into the extraordinary Thomas the Rhymer, but it's impressive none-the-less. And I've been reading all the comments about the new Harry Potter book. I've never been a Rowling fan, but what she's created certainly appeals to a great many people and tells a story well. For someone simply mixing up elements of the fantasy worlds of others, she's certainly done a bang-up job.
The novel, by contrast, feels endlessly clunky and unoriginal. I feel like I'm falling into every fantasy cliche there is to be had, and the spots where I attempt to avoid them feel clunky and obvious. The tone is grim and unpleasant, and while I like the characters, it's hard to imagine anyone else doing so. The writing itself is endlessly repetitive and wordy and just bleh. I've never pretended to be an artist (much less an artiste), or even a particularly good storyteller—I'm just a guy who likes words and the way they sound and fit together. I'd love to tell stories that weave worlds, that unfurl with natural grace to reveal greater and greater depth, like some glorious rose opening its dew-bedaubed petals to the new sun. I'd like readers to be drawn along and lose themselves in the tale, finding both the comfort of good, engaging language and the joy of new wonders. I don't feel like that's happening here at all. Honestly, I'm ready to just chuck the whole thing and start over (well, maybe save the whole thing for later and move on), but (1) I already have a store of a thousand unfinished projects—I don't need 1,0001, and (2) I'm almost as intimidated about starting something new as I am of continuing with what I've got. I'm on that old downhill slide in which my inner self convinces me that the world is full of other fantasy stories much better than mine, so my efforts are pointless and feeble.
And yet, I'm dead certain God gave me a talent and a mission. The words, "There are some stories that, if you don't tell them, will never be told," were given to me, and I don't doubt them. Much of this may just be mood and/or the normal process writers go through during composition and/or my infinite self-absorption. (Just count the number of times the words "I" and "feel" show up in this post.) And, Lord willing, these feelings will pass. I'm just grasping at the moment.
It was good to get this all down, though. Hopefully it will be one of those things I go back and read and think, "How could I have doubted?"
It's no fun being in the doubt, though.
I went out to "write" this morning for a few hours and came back with very little. I'm feeling rather depressed about the novel. The writing just isn't getting any easier, and my nature as a "generator" could not be more apparent. I'm just no good at follow-through. I know I almost certainly am letting too many issues crowd my brain at the moment to be objective about the book, but it is just a slog. I'd take a break, only that's almost all I've done in the past two weeks. (And yes, I'm aware that's probably a large portion of the problem. Hush up and leave me to my whining.)
I'm reading The Privilege of the Sword by Ellen Kushner these days, and her easy style and ability to paint characters quickly and engagingly are frustrating. I haven't been drawn in as effortlessly as I was into the extraordinary Thomas the Rhymer, but it's impressive none-the-less. And I've been reading all the comments about the new Harry Potter book. I've never been a Rowling fan, but what she's created certainly appeals to a great many people and tells a story well. For someone simply mixing up elements of the fantasy worlds of others, she's certainly done a bang-up job.
The novel, by contrast, feels endlessly clunky and unoriginal. I feel like I'm falling into every fantasy cliche there is to be had, and the spots where I attempt to avoid them feel clunky and obvious. The tone is grim and unpleasant, and while I like the characters, it's hard to imagine anyone else doing so. The writing itself is endlessly repetitive and wordy and just bleh. I've never pretended to be an artist (much less an artiste), or even a particularly good storyteller—I'm just a guy who likes words and the way they sound and fit together. I'd love to tell stories that weave worlds, that unfurl with natural grace to reveal greater and greater depth, like some glorious rose opening its dew-bedaubed petals to the new sun. I'd like readers to be drawn along and lose themselves in the tale, finding both the comfort of good, engaging language and the joy of new wonders. I don't feel like that's happening here at all. Honestly, I'm ready to just chuck the whole thing and start over (well, maybe save the whole thing for later and move on), but (1) I already have a store of a thousand unfinished projects—I don't need 1,0001, and (2) I'm almost as intimidated about starting something new as I am of continuing with what I've got. I'm on that old downhill slide in which my inner self convinces me that the world is full of other fantasy stories much better than mine, so my efforts are pointless and feeble.
And yet, I'm dead certain God gave me a talent and a mission. The words, "There are some stories that, if you don't tell them, will never be told," were given to me, and I don't doubt them. Much of this may just be mood and/or the normal process writers go through during composition and/or my infinite self-absorption. (Just count the number of times the words "I" and "feel" show up in this post.) And, Lord willing, these feelings will pass. I'm just grasping at the moment.
It was good to get this all down, though. Hopefully it will be one of those things I go back and read and think, "How could I have doubted?"
It's no fun being in the doubt, though.
Friday, July 20, 2007
My Family and Other Animals
Well, after Beth's blog and Devin's blog started in with this, I could hardly refuse. I think I captured my look of combined thought and concern at the state of modern literature, my own writing and/or lack thereof, and general confusion in the face of the world. I nearly went with the "crazy eyes" and a tongue sticking out, especially after returning from our recent vacation in Mammoth Lakes, but I'm not quite at that level of insanity at this moment.
Just because she won't do it, I made one for Joanna, too. Curse you for leading me to this time-eating site, Beth Fox!
Note the slightly crazed expression—toy in one hand, food in another, taking care of a pack of absolutely insane children. Through it all, though, she still retains her angelic wings (awww...).
Speaking of insane children:
This is how Denver would like to picture himself, I'm sure. No, he doesn't have a Gameboy (and never will, by my hand), but he'd dearly love one, I'm sure. (And we'd never be able to tear him away from it, either.) If there had been an Optimus Prime mask available, I'd definitely have put him in that. He's also quite the artist, but you can't hold a crayon and a sucker...
Poncho, complete with soccer ball (he's the sportier of the two these days) and handy ice cream cone. He's singing a praise song of his own creation in a very loud voice here.
And, of course, Born Dancin'. She's talking more and more, and especially enjoys repeating the last word on each page of whatever book she's making you read to her 137 times. She also sings the Veggie Tales theme song delightfully. The teddy bear and wand and ball are real—the axe is metaphorical for the destruction she wreaks wherever she goes. (Indeed, I have often considered changing her name on the blog from Born Dancin' to her moniker around the house, Destructo-Baby.)
Anyway, there's no time left for much else today. Our vacation was a terrific and exhausting (Swimming every day! Forced death marches! Summer blockbusters! Natural wonders! 137 readings of Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?! Lack of sleep! Bears! Fishing! Grandpa's jokes!), the Sierras remain my idea of what Heaven must look like, and a child with a sensitive stomach + way too much sugar + 5 hour car ride = an extremely unpleasant cleaning session in the middle of the Mojave. Next week the writing cranks back up again in earnest, and so will my trips down to the college to get things in order for the Fall semester (eurgh...).
Now it's back to the house to continue The Unpacking from the Vacation. More later, perhaps.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Pressed for Time
As usual, when I don't get in here often I end up putting off posting even longer than necessary because I feel like I have to catch up. And frankly, these days there's just no time for that. So a quick recap:
The writing got a little better after my last post, and I've made some progress. Then, of course, a thousand things have been coming up, throwing me off yet again. I need to learn to make the writing time sacrosanct—so far, I'm bowing to other pressures or just not putting myself into it as I should. This week will offer today, and then the family is off to Mammoth for almost a week. The vacation will be great, but I've got to try to get some writing done up there, too.
The Great Hike this year took us up to the High Sierras via the Rush Creek Trail out of Silver Lake. It was 17 miles and about 2000 feet of elevation gain in the first five, so it was quite an undertaking. Sadly, Pippin was otherwise engaged, and Gimli had to drop out at the last minute. Legolas and I were going on our own, but then we were joined by Gandalf, the wizard of ultra-light hiking with more years of experience at this thing than all of us other Fellowship members put together. Let's put it this way: he's lead hikes in parts of the world where you have to watch out for lions and crocodiles—and terrorists. It was a humbling trip for me, as I found my recent hiking adventures up here in the San Bernardinos had not adequately prepared me for what we ran into up there. It was absolutely gorgeous, however, and in the end we had a fine time and saw some amazing sights. I'll post more about it after I get all the photos I took downloaded; I filled up the memory card over two days. I'll also have to fill you in on the harrowing back-road adventure that came after the hike...
That's about it for the moment. There were trips to Sea World in there, as well as many car-related adventures and expenses (our local car guy has identified our new minivan as "a mechanic's dream" due to the cost of fixing anything on it—praise the Lord that Toyotas rarely need maintenance, because we couldn't afford it very often). But those tales will have to come later, if at all.
Sunlight on your road.
The writing got a little better after my last post, and I've made some progress. Then, of course, a thousand things have been coming up, throwing me off yet again. I need to learn to make the writing time sacrosanct—so far, I'm bowing to other pressures or just not putting myself into it as I should. This week will offer today, and then the family is off to Mammoth for almost a week. The vacation will be great, but I've got to try to get some writing done up there, too.
The Great Hike this year took us up to the High Sierras via the Rush Creek Trail out of Silver Lake. It was 17 miles and about 2000 feet of elevation gain in the first five, so it was quite an undertaking. Sadly, Pippin was otherwise engaged, and Gimli had to drop out at the last minute. Legolas and I were going on our own, but then we were joined by Gandalf, the wizard of ultra-light hiking with more years of experience at this thing than all of us other Fellowship members put together. Let's put it this way: he's lead hikes in parts of the world where you have to watch out for lions and crocodiles—and terrorists. It was a humbling trip for me, as I found my recent hiking adventures up here in the San Bernardinos had not adequately prepared me for what we ran into up there. It was absolutely gorgeous, however, and in the end we had a fine time and saw some amazing sights. I'll post more about it after I get all the photos I took downloaded; I filled up the memory card over two days. I'll also have to fill you in on the harrowing back-road adventure that came after the hike...
That's about it for the moment. There were trips to Sea World in there, as well as many car-related adventures and expenses (our local car guy has identified our new minivan as "a mechanic's dream" due to the cost of fixing anything on it—praise the Lord that Toyotas rarely need maintenance, because we couldn't afford it very often). But those tales will have to come later, if at all.
Sunlight on your road.