I have more to post and more going on, but I just couldn't wait to drop that in there. I hate getting excited about movies, because they almost always disappoint, but I did love the stories, odd though they are...
Friday, November 30, 2007
What's Exciting about 2008?
This:
I have more to post and more going on, but I just couldn't wait to drop that in there. I hate getting excited about movies, because they almost always disappoint, but I did love the stories, odd though they are...
I have more to post and more going on, but I just couldn't wait to drop that in there. I hate getting excited about movies, because they almost always disappoint, but I did love the stories, odd though they are...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Day 25 (Word Count: 19, 979)
I've come to the point of admitting that I'm not going to make it to the 50,000 words demanded by NaNoWriMo. And I'm okay with that.
At this point in my writing career, I think it's more important to finish this novel sitting in front of me than to clack out an arbitrary number of words during November. The book is up to a little over 105,000 words, or about 138 pages of single-space 12 pt. type (leave my anal-retentiveness to its own little happiness, okay?), and a hair over 95,000 of those words are in a single narrative draft of some quality. It will need another go-through, but it's approaching done-ness, and that is a good thing. A couple of folks have that latest chunk in hand and seem not to have seared their own eyes out of their heads with burning pokers, and I take that as a good sign.
I do need to be more regular about the writing, though with the semester drawing to a close it's getting harder to carve out space in the schedule. (This is why I want to be a "writer" when I grow up—the ability to sit down and do this thing without having to figure out which of my other responsibilities I'm going to abandon to do it.) I can churn out a thousand words an hour of relatively acceptable prose, at least in 2-hour blocks; I can do yet more with longer stretches if given sufficient motivation. My issue is that I forget that motivation, for the world so easily steals it away, distracting me with a thousand entertainments I could better do without. A good combination of free time to write and friendly pressure to actually do so would be ideal.
My thanks to all my readers for putting up with me feeling my way along in this process. I sometimes feel like a gimp who'd rather blather on about writing than actually, you know, write, and part of me wants to be a distant, reclusive genius who simply disappears for months at a time and then reappears with brilliant literature in hand; I guess most reclusive geniuses don't start that way...
In other news, Thanksgiving was very nice, though it was celebrated with all children in various stages of illness. They're recovering for the most part, which is good, what with the looming holiday scheduling madness that always descends.
I should get back to that grading I alluded to earlier. I hope all had a blessed holiday, and will continue to do so in the days to come.
ps—For those interested in such things, an invitation will be going out soon for next year's murder party—an original composition. Danger! Intrigue! Pantaloons! Watch your inboxes...
At this point in my writing career, I think it's more important to finish this novel sitting in front of me than to clack out an arbitrary number of words during November. The book is up to a little over 105,000 words, or about 138 pages of single-space 12 pt. type (leave my anal-retentiveness to its own little happiness, okay?), and a hair over 95,000 of those words are in a single narrative draft of some quality. It will need another go-through, but it's approaching done-ness, and that is a good thing. A couple of folks have that latest chunk in hand and seem not to have seared their own eyes out of their heads with burning pokers, and I take that as a good sign.
I do need to be more regular about the writing, though with the semester drawing to a close it's getting harder to carve out space in the schedule. (This is why I want to be a "writer" when I grow up—the ability to sit down and do this thing without having to figure out which of my other responsibilities I'm going to abandon to do it.) I can churn out a thousand words an hour of relatively acceptable prose, at least in 2-hour blocks; I can do yet more with longer stretches if given sufficient motivation. My issue is that I forget that motivation, for the world so easily steals it away, distracting me with a thousand entertainments I could better do without. A good combination of free time to write and friendly pressure to actually do so would be ideal.
My thanks to all my readers for putting up with me feeling my way along in this process. I sometimes feel like a gimp who'd rather blather on about writing than actually, you know, write, and part of me wants to be a distant, reclusive genius who simply disappears for months at a time and then reappears with brilliant literature in hand; I guess most reclusive geniuses don't start that way...
In other news, Thanksgiving was very nice, though it was celebrated with all children in various stages of illness. They're recovering for the most part, which is good, what with the looming holiday scheduling madness that always descends.
I should get back to that grading I alluded to earlier. I hope all had a blessed holiday, and will continue to do so in the days to come.
ps—For those interested in such things, an invitation will be going out soon for next year's murder party—an original composition. Danger! Intrigue! Pantaloons! Watch your inboxes...
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Day 17 (Word Count: 14, 847)
I just wanted to pop in here to put up a new post, since I have been a bad non-poster person as of late. And yes, I have been tentatively doing the National Novel Writing Month, and yes, I am way behind on my word count. The reasons:
(A) Still Recovering from the Evacuation (actually, this is an excuse, not a reason—as I always point out to my students, there's a difference)
(2) That Whole "Tentatively" Thing (I don't think it's possible to only kind of do NaNoWriMo)
(iii) I'm Still Working on THE NOVEL (not only am I not starting a new work this time around, but I'm still working on a "fair" draft of the Leaf story. This is absolutely the wrong way to rack up a high word count)
(@*$&) Laziness, Fear, Self-Loathing, Doubt, and Madness (as always, but not as bad as they have been. They generally only show up on occasion now)
So there you go. I'll try to post again soonish, when I'm not running late. As I am now.
(A) Still Recovering from the Evacuation (actually, this is an excuse, not a reason—as I always point out to my students, there's a difference)
(2) That Whole "Tentatively" Thing (I don't think it's possible to only kind of do NaNoWriMo)
(iii) I'm Still Working on THE NOVEL (not only am I not starting a new work this time around, but I'm still working on a "fair" draft of the Leaf story. This is absolutely the wrong way to rack up a high word count)
(@*$&) Laziness, Fear, Self-Loathing, Doubt, and Madness (as always, but not as bad as they have been. They generally only show up on occasion now)
So there you go. I'll try to post again soonish, when I'm not running late. As I am now.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig (Again)
I've used that title before, but it's what I always think of when I return home after a long absence. I blame Bladerunner for initiating it and the Parker boy for imprinting it indelibly in my brain.
We are indeed home again—Running Springs residents were allowed back up on Thursday. It was a strange trip. For the most part, there was little noticeable damage on the way up, and then large swaths of devastation from our street upward. We didn't lose any homes in our stretch, but the fire ran right up behind our access road. It came within about 50-60 yards of our house and perhaps a dozen from our storage shed; some of our neighbors' decks were singed. We were incredibly blessed and the firefighters did an amazing job. Despite the many losses, the number of homes saved—and obviously saved by a hair's breadth, and at great risk—was incredible.
Our house smelled like the inside of a furnace, and even after washing everything we own, the odor of smoke still lingers. It's been strange getting back to "normal" life, and the ideas I've been mulling over about transcending the mundane are sticking with me. Lately my prayer has been for God to lead me in an extraordinary life, to remind me daily of His larger view. Yes, the everyday tasks still have to be done (and even done with more dedication and energy than I normally devote to them), but they don't define my existence. I prayed some months ago (during the uncertainty over the Idyllwild land deal) that I only wanted God's biggest plan for me, the largest dreams He laid upon my heart, and that I should not settle for less. I think He's been faithful to remind me of that and is training me in that direction.
I did not expect to write about this, actually, but it seems to have forced itself onto my blog nonetheless. I guess I've been taken lately with this idea of the extraordinary life (pardon the repetition—it's the phrase I've had in my mind since this began and I can't seem to shake it) and the ways we allow ourselves to be distracted by the surface issues of the world. I know I certainly get all caught up in them until I can barely see anything else and God's words somehow seem distant and hollow. I think Kathie and Chris, living out on the pointy end in situations that force them beyond themselves, have been pushed out into that clarity of vision, and Slater's right: it's probably where we need to be.
Okay, enough of that blather. I'm off to go wash some dishes—extraordinarily!
We are indeed home again—Running Springs residents were allowed back up on Thursday. It was a strange trip. For the most part, there was little noticeable damage on the way up, and then large swaths of devastation from our street upward. We didn't lose any homes in our stretch, but the fire ran right up behind our access road. It came within about 50-60 yards of our house and perhaps a dozen from our storage shed; some of our neighbors' decks were singed. We were incredibly blessed and the firefighters did an amazing job. Despite the many losses, the number of homes saved—and obviously saved by a hair's breadth, and at great risk—was incredible.
Our house smelled like the inside of a furnace, and even after washing everything we own, the odor of smoke still lingers. It's been strange getting back to "normal" life, and the ideas I've been mulling over about transcending the mundane are sticking with me. Lately my prayer has been for God to lead me in an extraordinary life, to remind me daily of His larger view. Yes, the everyday tasks still have to be done (and even done with more dedication and energy than I normally devote to them), but they don't define my existence. I prayed some months ago (during the uncertainty over the Idyllwild land deal) that I only wanted God's biggest plan for me, the largest dreams He laid upon my heart, and that I should not settle for less. I think He's been faithful to remind me of that and is training me in that direction.
I did not expect to write about this, actually, but it seems to have forced itself onto my blog nonetheless. I guess I've been taken lately with this idea of the extraordinary life (pardon the repetition—it's the phrase I've had in my mind since this began and I can't seem to shake it) and the ways we allow ourselves to be distracted by the surface issues of the world. I know I certainly get all caught up in them until I can barely see anything else and God's words somehow seem distant and hollow. I think Kathie and Chris, living out on the pointy end in situations that force them beyond themselves, have been pushed out into that clarity of vision, and Slater's right: it's probably where we need to be.
Okay, enough of that blather. I'm off to go wash some dishes—extraordinarily!