Nanowrimo for 2010 has kicked off!* Woot! I'm the least prepared i have ever, ever been!! Woot! I have written my first 2500 words or so and still have no idea what's going on or if i will basically scrap that stuff and turn into another direction. I have been looking forward to this since December last year. There's something about the frivolous abandonment of setting off on this adventure that is charming and fun. I also discovered last year that committing to this made many other things take off as well, an unexpected turbo-charge that I am hoping for again this year but trying not to expect.
I know I won't be so perky in a week and half when I'm super-tired and blocked blocked blocked, but that's next week's problem!
(* Apologies for all the exclamation marks in this post)
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Friday, January 08, 2010
An Offshore Wind
There's whitecaps on the harbour and a dead seal on the shore,
all the yearning of the ages won't bring you back for more.
Its sweet to think of love, sometimes wrong to trust to faith,
for nothing comes from nothing when hearts have come up poor.
You trumped me on the western docks, you shamed me in the morn.
I saw all sins through your pure eyes and drifted, lost, forlorn.
When does your view turn inward? Do you see what's going on?
Grant absolution early and I'll sing you a true song.
Us troubadours are restless, always strumming for a feed.
I miss you in the mornings and have lost you in the night.
We tell the truth in verses if you give is what we need.
So hum a little for me and with luck I'll get it right.
all the yearning of the ages won't bring you back for more.
Its sweet to think of love, sometimes wrong to trust to faith,
for nothing comes from nothing when hearts have come up poor.
You trumped me on the western docks, you shamed me in the morn.
I saw all sins through your pure eyes and drifted, lost, forlorn.
When does your view turn inward? Do you see what's going on?
Grant absolution early and I'll sing you a true song.
Us troubadours are restless, always strumming for a feed.
I miss you in the mornings and have lost you in the night.
We tell the truth in verses if you give is what we need.
So hum a little for me and with luck I'll get it right.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
13 Awesome Nanowrimo Tips from Someone Who Has (finally) Won
There's a few things you can do in preparation for your own Nanowrimo attempt next year, should you wish to join in the literary Running of the Bulls. I plan to use this list as a reminder next year to get my head in the game. So here's 13 of my hard won, best and hottest tips from 3 runs at Nanowrimo:
Before November
* Attend to the ergonomics or otherwise of where you write. My best time was about 1200 words in an hour, mostly it was less than that, so I spent over 50 hours sitting at the dining room table I have my computer on. Dining room tables are great for eating off, crap for typing at. Don't let your wrists/elbows/back take the pain - fix it up however you can.
* Don't be shy, lay in stores of staples. Why waste precious writing time queuing to buy coffee, loo paper, MREs, gin or chocolate? Exactly, too frustrating, so ensure sufficient supplies of these and other important items are procured in bulk in October. (A lesson I learnt on Day 2 of my first -failed- Nano.)
* Start saying 'NO, Thank You' early to anything that is not on your mission-critical social list. Sure you don't want to be a freaky hermit, but you need to find 50 or 60 hours of alert time in November and that is not as easy as it might sound like. I really needed a full day on each weekend just to catch up from the work flatline.
* Get a writing buddy if you can. Someone roughly in your timezone, or at least who is up hitting the keyboard when you are. The moral support is invaluable, especially in the difficult 3rd week.
* Align your timezones. I lost a day at the beginning because my machine was set to the wrong timezone and I didn't notice until on the 28th it gave me a one day countdown. Total Freakout! Save yourself the worry, and save yourself the indignity of having the comp end a day early for you.
* Start cutting down on TV or whatever other recreational narcotics you use to dull the passage of time. You will be needing that as alert time. If there is a particular type of tv, movie or documentary that inspires your planned story or the direction you'd like to write in, by all means lay in some dvds of shows you have already seen. This will be your comfort viewing. I chose Entourage, and a science doco series on SBS.
During November
* Write every day. Your goal is to produce 1 670 words per day. What the heck - why not round it up to 2gs? You're looking for a challenge right?
* Keep a scratch sheet for noting incidental characters names. You'll be in a fervour of creativity in the first week and during that lush 14 000 words you produce will be throw away characters who will rudely turn up later in your story and it can be annoying to have to trawl through your MS looking for their names. Especially when you make up silly names for them. I invented a manga series that I could later on not remember how to spell. Embarrassment.
* Don't watch tv until after you've done your words for the day. Even then think twice unless you've promised yourself the reward of a comfort episode. Likewise, I took the modem (yes I still have an external modem) off the computer to reduce the constant temptation to browse wiki or check emails until there was word count to upload. You may not be as weak willed as I am. More power to you.
* Keep saying no. This is your month goddammit, surely it can wait a few weeks? (My sister thoughtfully arranged the birth of her first child for December. That's teamwork!)
* Remember the rules are just a 50 000 word count. The need for a beginning middle and end that I mentioned last year was my own rule. Any expectations about quality are your own (excess) baggage.
* Write a bit more. Sneak in another paragraph or another scene. Take notes during boring meetings at work, or on the commute, or while you're on a boring phone call. Keep a whiteboard marker in the shower. Whatever. Momentum is your friend in the Kung Fu of writing. Skip bits that are sucking or dragging with a summary line eg "and then they fought. when things were better..." is a perfectly acceptable place keeper. Later, in week 3 for example, when you hit the plot doldrums these one liners are a brilliant place to revisit and flesh out and will give you another thousand words or two plus they give your story brain enough of a break to come up with something to move on with.
* Have fun. Why the hell else would you sign up for something like this if it wasn't fun? Write what you love to read, write for the joy of splashing words around, write for the sadistic pleasure of making your Main Character a total fuckup, whatever turns you on. Just stay in touch with the fun of it all.
So if you have ever said "I'd like to write a novel one day..." why not make November 1st 2010 the day you start that novel?
Go on, put it in your diary now. Of course there's no need to wait until them, but during November you'll join with 200andsomething thousand people worldwide who don't think you're crazy and who are going to applaud whatever you achieve and support whatever vision you have, because they're all doing it too. That's not something that happens any old day of the week, and with these 13 tips, you'll have an insider's edge on keeping your bar chart of word count growing.
Before November
* Attend to the ergonomics or otherwise of where you write. My best time was about 1200 words in an hour, mostly it was less than that, so I spent over 50 hours sitting at the dining room table I have my computer on. Dining room tables are great for eating off, crap for typing at. Don't let your wrists/elbows/back take the pain - fix it up however you can.
* Don't be shy, lay in stores of staples. Why waste precious writing time queuing to buy coffee, loo paper, MREs, gin or chocolate? Exactly, too frustrating, so ensure sufficient supplies of these and other important items are procured in bulk in October. (A lesson I learnt on Day 2 of my first -failed- Nano.)
* Start saying 'NO, Thank You' early to anything that is not on your mission-critical social list. Sure you don't want to be a freaky hermit, but you need to find 50 or 60 hours of alert time in November and that is not as easy as it might sound like. I really needed a full day on each weekend just to catch up from the work flatline.
* Get a writing buddy if you can. Someone roughly in your timezone, or at least who is up hitting the keyboard when you are. The moral support is invaluable, especially in the difficult 3rd week.
* Align your timezones. I lost a day at the beginning because my machine was set to the wrong timezone and I didn't notice until on the 28th it gave me a one day countdown. Total Freakout! Save yourself the worry, and save yourself the indignity of having the comp end a day early for you.
* Start cutting down on TV or whatever other recreational narcotics you use to dull the passage of time. You will be needing that as alert time. If there is a particular type of tv, movie or documentary that inspires your planned story or the direction you'd like to write in, by all means lay in some dvds of shows you have already seen. This will be your comfort viewing. I chose Entourage, and a science doco series on SBS.
During November
* Write every day. Your goal is to produce 1 670 words per day. What the heck - why not round it up to 2gs? You're looking for a challenge right?
* Keep a scratch sheet for noting incidental characters names. You'll be in a fervour of creativity in the first week and during that lush 14 000 words you produce will be throw away characters who will rudely turn up later in your story and it can be annoying to have to trawl through your MS looking for their names. Especially when you make up silly names for them. I invented a manga series that I could later on not remember how to spell. Embarrassment.
* Don't watch tv until after you've done your words for the day. Even then think twice unless you've promised yourself the reward of a comfort episode. Likewise, I took the modem (yes I still have an external modem) off the computer to reduce the constant temptation to browse wiki or check emails until there was word count to upload. You may not be as weak willed as I am. More power to you.
* Keep saying no. This is your month goddammit, surely it can wait a few weeks? (My sister thoughtfully arranged the birth of her first child for December. That's teamwork!)
* Remember the rules are just a 50 000 word count. The need for a beginning middle and end that I mentioned last year was my own rule. Any expectations about quality are your own (excess) baggage.
* Write a bit more. Sneak in another paragraph or another scene. Take notes during boring meetings at work, or on the commute, or while you're on a boring phone call. Keep a whiteboard marker in the shower. Whatever. Momentum is your friend in the Kung Fu of writing. Skip bits that are sucking or dragging with a summary line eg "and then they fought. when things were better..." is a perfectly acceptable place keeper. Later, in week 3 for example, when you hit the plot doldrums these one liners are a brilliant place to revisit and flesh out and will give you another thousand words or two plus they give your story brain enough of a break to come up with something to move on with.
* Have fun. Why the hell else would you sign up for something like this if it wasn't fun? Write what you love to read, write for the joy of splashing words around, write for the sadistic pleasure of making your Main Character a total fuckup, whatever turns you on. Just stay in touch with the fun of it all.
So if you have ever said "I'd like to write a novel one day..." why not make November 1st 2010 the day you start that novel?
Go on, put it in your diary now. Of course there's no need to wait until them, but during November you'll join with 200andsomething thousand people worldwide who don't think you're crazy and who are going to applaud whatever you achieve and support whatever vision you have, because they're all doing it too. That's not something that happens any old day of the week, and with these 13 tips, you'll have an insider's edge on keeping your bar chart of word count growing.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Checking In and Saying Hi
Hi. I know I was a lot more entertaining last year during Nano. This year I promised you I would not subject you to my Nano output but you will note how cunning I was to not offer anything in place! Ah-Ha!! Tricksy! You can learn a lot from Hobbits.
It is just that I have been pouring it all into getting this story across the finish line. I'm only allowed here now because ofter a truly horrific week, I pulled a miracle out of the hat over the weekend (10 000 words anybody? Anybody? I'm still shocked my own self) and am now ahead of the linear chart-of-requirement again. For now. So I thought I'd pop over and give you a distracted wave. Plus, I'm kinda stuck again. I just don't know what happens next. I just got a thousand words out of describing one of my characters make a cup of coffee, maybe I can get another thousand out of him drinking it... hmmmm... possible - but what then? Only the muse knows.
The most beguiling and addictive thing for me about Nano and about writing fiction generally is how abstractly collaborative it is. Once I spend more than 5 or 10 minutes properly concentrating on whatever I'm making, plots and characters and developments can start to come from somewhere that is not conscious. Even when I sit down with an outline or an idea I want to develop, it nearly always goes somewhere else. I have a concrete physical sense that I am working with someone who sometimes walks up behind me once I'm settled and who whispers "oooh! I know, What if ...!" into my ear at odd moments and I go "Genius! Wish I'd thought of that!" only there is no one else here.
It just happened now. I sat down to write about how much I love coffee and how close and dear to my heart it is right now, and instead I told you that I hear voices. See? Weird.
What I have taken more than ten years to learn is that when I trust the voice and follow those suggestions, things become more interesting, more layered, more likely to work in a pleasing way, and more likely to feel good.
There it is.
That's all the wisdom I'm able to impart at this point in the biggest writing challenge I've ever faced - listen to the voices because it feels good.
Ok. Good luck with parsing that. See you in a week or 8909 words - which ever comes first.
It is just that I have been pouring it all into getting this story across the finish line. I'm only allowed here now because ofter a truly horrific week, I pulled a miracle out of the hat over the weekend (10 000 words anybody? Anybody? I'm still shocked my own self) and am now ahead of the linear chart-of-requirement again. For now. So I thought I'd pop over and give you a distracted wave. Plus, I'm kinda stuck again. I just don't know what happens next. I just got a thousand words out of describing one of my characters make a cup of coffee, maybe I can get another thousand out of him drinking it... hmmmm... possible - but what then? Only the muse knows.
The most beguiling and addictive thing for me about Nano and about writing fiction generally is how abstractly collaborative it is. Once I spend more than 5 or 10 minutes properly concentrating on whatever I'm making, plots and characters and developments can start to come from somewhere that is not conscious. Even when I sit down with an outline or an idea I want to develop, it nearly always goes somewhere else. I have a concrete physical sense that I am working with someone who sometimes walks up behind me once I'm settled and who whispers "oooh! I know, What if ...!" into my ear at odd moments and I go "Genius! Wish I'd thought of that!" only there is no one else here.
It just happened now. I sat down to write about how much I love coffee and how close and dear to my heart it is right now, and instead I told you that I hear voices. See? Weird.
What I have taken more than ten years to learn is that when I trust the voice and follow those suggestions, things become more interesting, more layered, more likely to work in a pleasing way, and more likely to feel good.
There it is.
That's all the wisdom I'm able to impart at this point in the biggest writing challenge I've ever faced - listen to the voices because it feels good.
Ok. Good luck with parsing that. See you in a week or 8909 words - which ever comes first.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Nano Halfway Status: Not Sucking! Woot!
What is it that is different about this year?
I busted a gut last year and basically washed out.
It is half way through the month and I'm on 25 673 words - essentially right where I should be to have a chance of getting across the line. That is to say - tracking just fine, and so far I've missed only about 4 days writing due to work/travel/homicidal tendencies. And without wanting to jinx anything or sound like a wanger, it has been not too bad, writing-effort-wise. Not too many anxious blockages, that kind of thing. Actually, it has been pretty darn good. Fun.
This is why people get superstitious - because when things suck it is easy to figure out how I choked or sabotaged myself, but when things go well, I look for external reasons. "Oh, I found a white feather - there must be an angel watching over me" (thanks Angel, pls leave cash next time!) or "I was wearing my lucky striped undies when I had the idea / wrote the first page/ decided to make that character into a guy so people wouldn't think it was me," or "I turned my computer on and then I made the coffee - it must work better in that order." Whatever. Something outside of me is responsible for the good stuff.
How freakin insidious is that?!
Who designed these brains anyway? What kind of genetic or evolutionary advantage can there possibly be to building in a tendency to neuroses?!?
I don't think I'm alone in having that kind of experience. I just wish I could swap the polarities for a while. Have a little rest from being infinitesimally small and insignificant and soak up some center-of-the-universe juice for a bit. Ah well. I'm not hung up on it, not while the writing is coming ok. Of course at some point I'll have to take off the lucky striped undies, and then if things start going badly, well there will be tears until they're out of the wash, I can tell you that for nothing.
Also, please send chocolate, I'm out.
I busted a gut last year and basically washed out.
It is half way through the month and I'm on 25 673 words - essentially right where I should be to have a chance of getting across the line. That is to say - tracking just fine, and so far I've missed only about 4 days writing due to work/travel/homicidal tendencies. And without wanting to jinx anything or sound like a wanger, it has been not too bad, writing-effort-wise. Not too many anxious blockages, that kind of thing. Actually, it has been pretty darn good. Fun.
This is why people get superstitious - because when things suck it is easy to figure out how I choked or sabotaged myself, but when things go well, I look for external reasons. "Oh, I found a white feather - there must be an angel watching over me" (thanks Angel, pls leave cash next time!) or "I was wearing my lucky striped undies when I had the idea / wrote the first page/ decided to make that character into a guy so people wouldn't think it was me," or "I turned my computer on and then I made the coffee - it must work better in that order." Whatever. Something outside of me is responsible for the good stuff.
How freakin insidious is that?!
Who designed these brains anyway? What kind of genetic or evolutionary advantage can there possibly be to building in a tendency to neuroses?!?
I don't think I'm alone in having that kind of experience. I just wish I could swap the polarities for a while. Have a little rest from being infinitesimally small and insignificant and soak up some center-of-the-universe juice for a bit. Ah well. I'm not hung up on it, not while the writing is coming ok. Of course at some point I'll have to take off the lucky striped undies, and then if things start going badly, well there will be tears until they're out of the wash, I can tell you that for nothing.
Also, please send chocolate, I'm out.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Nanowrimo 09
It is that time of year again - Nanowrimo - which has gone international, but in the way of things I don't think they'll change the name. If you've ever said "one day I'd like to write a novel" then this is the month for you to give it a go, and as long as you don't blog about it, no one need every know you tried if you don't meet your own exacting standards!
Obviously, I should be over in my other window writing, but my characters are about to order coffee, so I thought I could take a little break and jump over here for a bit. Last year I wrote in longhand, in an actual, physical paper notebook. That was great, and I really enjoyed being able to write in such a portable and low-power requirement mode, but it made editing and sharing things a lot harder, so this year I'm trying it another way and just writing into the machine.
Don't worry that you'll be exposed to it here - it is rough like bogan vowels and as disjointed as a teenager's conversation and attention span. It is a lot of fun, apart from the bits that aren't. I shan't inflict it upon you.
But enough about me. What have you been up to? There are so many ways that people are filling their days. There's such an unpredictable and unknowable variety of things that can happen in the world. We spend so much time fighting against feeling as though we're in a rut that when something out of the ordinary really does happen, we can be at a loss about how to respond, how to grasp the implications, how to interrupt our pattern and reset with the new parameters.
Last night I stood outside in the yard and looked up at the sky. I tried to think about everyone I know and have known. I couldn't manage it. I just didn't have the space for it. Yet all of us and more than we'll ever know are all breathing in and out now, and living and bickering and worrying about pants or relishing dinner or avoiding bills or trying not to scratch an itchy spot or feeling pain or thinking of someone they love. It is immense. You're part of it. Can you hold everyone you know in your heart at once? I wonder tonight if this is something that would be a good idea - to make our hearts bigger and hold more variety, witness more and still feel compassion. It is the kind of idea that is easier to have in the dark silent night, far from the distractions presented by actual people, but that doesn't mean it is completely silly ... just that maybe I've got plenty of challenges in front of me.
Faced with that thought, I think I'll go back to my other window and get those guys some breakfast and maybe some light banter to fill their day. I wonder what will happen next?
Obviously, I should be over in my other window writing, but my characters are about to order coffee, so I thought I could take a little break and jump over here for a bit. Last year I wrote in longhand, in an actual, physical paper notebook. That was great, and I really enjoyed being able to write in such a portable and low-power requirement mode, but it made editing and sharing things a lot harder, so this year I'm trying it another way and just writing into the machine.
Don't worry that you'll be exposed to it here - it is rough like bogan vowels and as disjointed as a teenager's conversation and attention span. It is a lot of fun, apart from the bits that aren't. I shan't inflict it upon you.
But enough about me. What have you been up to? There are so many ways that people are filling their days. There's such an unpredictable and unknowable variety of things that can happen in the world. We spend so much time fighting against feeling as though we're in a rut that when something out of the ordinary really does happen, we can be at a loss about how to respond, how to grasp the implications, how to interrupt our pattern and reset with the new parameters.
Last night I stood outside in the yard and looked up at the sky. I tried to think about everyone I know and have known. I couldn't manage it. I just didn't have the space for it. Yet all of us and more than we'll ever know are all breathing in and out now, and living and bickering and worrying about pants or relishing dinner or avoiding bills or trying not to scratch an itchy spot or feeling pain or thinking of someone they love. It is immense. You're part of it. Can you hold everyone you know in your heart at once? I wonder tonight if this is something that would be a good idea - to make our hearts bigger and hold more variety, witness more and still feel compassion. It is the kind of idea that is easier to have in the dark silent night, far from the distractions presented by actual people, but that doesn't mean it is completely silly ... just that maybe I've got plenty of challenges in front of me.
Faced with that thought, I think I'll go back to my other window and get those guys some breakfast and maybe some light banter to fill their day. I wonder what will happen next?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Ramble from Singlets to Kashmir
Another "you know you're a Queenslander when" moment over the long weekend - I packed for 2 days/nights away and arrived to discover the following:
* Shirts = 3 x Bonds singlets (albeit different colours)
* Shorts = cut off trackies
* Shoes = thongs only
and although it was rainy when I packed ....
* Sunscreen, hat and sunglasses - but no umbrella.
Hi-Larious.
So here we are in April (bloody-near over actually) and there's nothing to explain the thundering lack of output/blogging/writing/inspired living from me.
I've been thinking a lot, but that doesn't really translate well to paper when I put it like that. The stuff I've been thinking about has lead to the odd catchy little brain-burp, but I'm quite keen at putting something a little more substantive than a burp together. Of course, that leads to the cycle of producing nothing at all. *sigh* But I will prevail! Even if I do so in a singlet top and cut-off tracky daks. You love me for my wit and vim (thankfully. If you love me at all of course) and not for my sartorial tastes which were never strong have waned and died a wilted death here in sub-tropical land.
Today I wrote a post card to Aunt in NZ and talked to a man who is passionate about building a bakery in an African village. I have been curious about this "let's help the Africans" approach to helping people and I feel a bit uncomfortable that we prefer to help those who are far away, and possibly a lot easier to patronise. So I asked Renee, who is both a church person and an African helper, and she said that her church goes to Africa to build orphanages and wells and so on because people to help are easier to find and accept the help. Huh. I hadn't thought of that part. Apparently the food baskets for poor folk were rejected by local persons of need simply because they came from a Church group (she's some kind of Uniting Church type denomination- not a weirdo/full-on-cult. Although I know that for some readers *any* Christian is cult-y enough). So folks, if you're wondering which charity to support here in Australia - go with the Smith Family - we're much more of a secular country than the media and pollies like to admit.
I don't know how I got onto a religious thing... oh yeah, Easter and crucifixion (My 13 year old Niece said "What's crucifixion?" wish I'd been able to get to that age without knowing that!) so Compass had the British theologian Robert Beckford on (in the last of the 2 part doco called "The Hidden Story of Jesus") following many things including the trail of the (heretical!) Gospels of Thomas and the just-so-crazy-it-might-work story (that pisses everybody off) that the big J didn't die on the cross but scarpered to Kashmir where he preached on, married and had a family and eventually was buried. Hi-Larious! I love that. Particularly the tiny little old guy with a bazillion pieces of paper and clues that point to it being true, but neither church wants it to be true, so very inconvenient!
Turns out I really like British theologian Robert Beckford. (Not to be confused with Michael Beckwith. Who, you-know, is also ok, but slightly too Hollywood for my tastes) He's not afraid to keep it all mixed up. More chaos, that's what we need, more chaos in good ways, and the thing with chaos is that it is very likely that you can't tell what's good and what's not for a long time after.
Except for Alan Moore, he's good right now.
* Shirts = 3 x Bonds singlets (albeit different colours)
* Shorts = cut off trackies
* Shoes = thongs only
and although it was rainy when I packed ....
* Sunscreen, hat and sunglasses - but no umbrella.
Hi-Larious.
So here we are in April (bloody-near over actually) and there's nothing to explain the thundering lack of output/blogging/writing/inspired living from me.
I've been thinking a lot, but that doesn't really translate well to paper when I put it like that. The stuff I've been thinking about has lead to the odd catchy little brain-burp, but I'm quite keen at putting something a little more substantive than a burp together. Of course, that leads to the cycle of producing nothing at all. *sigh* But I will prevail! Even if I do so in a singlet top and cut-off tracky daks. You love me for my wit and vim (thankfully. If you love me at all of course) and not for my sartorial tastes which were never strong have waned and died a wilted death here in sub-tropical land.
Today I wrote a post card to Aunt in NZ and talked to a man who is passionate about building a bakery in an African village. I have been curious about this "let's help the Africans" approach to helping people and I feel a bit uncomfortable that we prefer to help those who are far away, and possibly a lot easier to patronise. So I asked Renee, who is both a church person and an African helper, and she said that her church goes to Africa to build orphanages and wells and so on because people to help are easier to find and accept the help. Huh. I hadn't thought of that part. Apparently the food baskets for poor folk were rejected by local persons of need simply because they came from a Church group (she's some kind of Uniting Church type denomination- not a weirdo/full-on-cult. Although I know that for some readers *any* Christian is cult-y enough). So folks, if you're wondering which charity to support here in Australia - go with the Smith Family - we're much more of a secular country than the media and pollies like to admit.
I don't know how I got onto a religious thing... oh yeah, Easter and crucifixion (My 13 year old Niece said "What's crucifixion?" wish I'd been able to get to that age without knowing that!) so Compass had the British theologian Robert Beckford on (in the last of the 2 part doco called "The Hidden Story of Jesus") following many things including the trail of the (heretical!) Gospels of Thomas and the just-so-crazy-it-might-work story (that pisses everybody off) that the big J didn't die on the cross but scarpered to Kashmir where he preached on, married and had a family and eventually was buried. Hi-Larious! I love that. Particularly the tiny little old guy with a bazillion pieces of paper and clues that point to it being true, but neither church wants it to be true, so very inconvenient!
Turns out I really like British theologian Robert Beckford. (Not to be confused with Michael Beckwith. Who, you-know, is also ok, but slightly too Hollywood for my tastes) He's not afraid to keep it all mixed up. More chaos, that's what we need, more chaos in good ways, and the thing with chaos is that it is very likely that you can't tell what's good and what's not for a long time after.
Except for Alan Moore, he's good right now.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The Intentions of 2009
I will write every day.
I will use my work email Inbox as an inbox only and not as an undifferentiated filing cabinet (currently 4058 items dating back to May 2007).
I will be more cheerful (or at least less actively depressed) by doing fun things more often. Given the poor performance in this area in 08, this year's efforts have been buoyed by pre-purchasing comedy tickets for March and April - Ah HA!! I've recruited Tim Minchin and Bernard Black to fight on my behalf. Take that evil depression empire!!
I will keep a daily gratitude journal to remind me of all the wonderful glorious bountiful things in my life (rather than dwelling on things like, say, being attacked by two stray dogs this morning and screaming my throat out for help and not so much as a curtain twitching. Fuck you too Leichhardt). Big Breath ... calm thoughts ... happy thoughts....
I will read 50% non-fiction this year. Last year was the year of "I'll just read for fun", and so there were a lot of comics, a lot of vampire/werewolf romance, indiscriminate magazines and random weird trash. Fun in a way, but like any diet filled with junk food, I began to feel a bit bloated and unwell. Too much is too much. Plus, in relation to the cheerful/fun thing, turns out that pop science makes me feel happy. Something to do with stimulating the knowitall gland and excretions of smartarse enzymes.
I will do yoga twice a week all year. When I do it, I am calmer, have better posture, worry less and feel stronger facing daily crud. What's not to like?!
I will do some housework. Not a lot. Not all the time. Just some, ok?! Enough that the cat stops reporting me to the RSPCA (ungrateful little traitor).
There should be some more shouldn't there? There should be stuff about eating healthy foods, meeting all my work deadlines, shedding x kilos and being kind to old people who smell like mothballs. After all there's not even 10 things on my list...
Who am I trying to kid? That's plenty to be going on with. I can barely keep 5 things in my mind at once, seven is a stretch and 10 is just asking to lose at least 3 right away, feel bad and stumble on the other 5 until I collapse by mid feb and give it all up as a bad job and spend the rest of the year moaning about how "let's hope 2010 is a better year". No Thanks. Jeeze, it's already taken me a week to decide on them, and in this week, I've already mangled 5 of them. I'll do better next week - I promise.
I will use my work email Inbox as an inbox only and not as an undifferentiated filing cabinet (currently 4058 items dating back to May 2007).
I will be more cheerful (or at least less actively depressed) by doing fun things more often. Given the poor performance in this area in 08, this year's efforts have been buoyed by pre-purchasing comedy tickets for March and April - Ah HA!! I've recruited Tim Minchin and Bernard Black to fight on my behalf. Take that evil depression empire!!
I will keep a daily gratitude journal to remind me of all the wonderful glorious bountiful things in my life (rather than dwelling on things like, say, being attacked by two stray dogs this morning and screaming my throat out for help and not so much as a curtain twitching. Fuck you too Leichhardt). Big Breath ... calm thoughts ... happy thoughts....
I will read 50% non-fiction this year. Last year was the year of "I'll just read for fun", and so there were a lot of comics, a lot of vampire/werewolf romance, indiscriminate magazines and random weird trash. Fun in a way, but like any diet filled with junk food, I began to feel a bit bloated and unwell. Too much is too much. Plus, in relation to the cheerful/fun thing, turns out that pop science makes me feel happy. Something to do with stimulating the knowitall gland and excretions of smartarse enzymes.
I will do yoga twice a week all year. When I do it, I am calmer, have better posture, worry less and feel stronger facing daily crud. What's not to like?!
I will do some housework. Not a lot. Not all the time. Just some, ok?! Enough that the cat stops reporting me to the RSPCA (ungrateful little traitor).
There should be some more shouldn't there? There should be stuff about eating healthy foods, meeting all my work deadlines, shedding x kilos and being kind to old people who smell like mothballs. After all there's not even 10 things on my list...
Who am I trying to kid? That's plenty to be going on with. I can barely keep 5 things in my mind at once, seven is a stretch and 10 is just asking to lose at least 3 right away, feel bad and stumble on the other 5 until I collapse by mid feb and give it all up as a bad job and spend the rest of the year moaning about how "let's hope 2010 is a better year". No Thanks. Jeeze, it's already taken me a week to decide on them, and in this week, I've already mangled 5 of them. I'll do better next week - I promise.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
An Attitude of Gratitude
Three really brilliant things happened this week. Other people inadvertantly pulled me out of a black funk and pointed my face back toward the sun, reminding me of what I so often try and remind others (and so easily forget myself).
You're not alone - we're all in this together.
Generosity
I re-wrote a cover letter for a woman in the office this week, She is one of the few sane and good-value people in the Sheltered Workshop, and so odds are good that she's a Temp. She's a talented artist with an intelligent sense of humour. Same goes for her husband and their child. She is a Temp as it turns out, and had also worked for a while in my last office (The Fortress of Solitude) so I was happy to offer my services in helping her apply for a plum job that came up in the library (which we're hoping is a normal, sane, pleasant workplace). She had done that thing people often do which is write two pages of dense, detailed explanation of how this and that skill would work in this and that aspect of the job, but then felt a bit bogged in detail and hadn't framed it well.
As Mrs Hill told me in grade 8, "you have to leave flags for readers so they know where they're going". I disagreed with her then (what a shit of a kid I must have been), but I've learnt my error doing hard yards. Mrs Hill was talking about the kind of writing that cover letters need, leading the reader along a broad and comfortable path to the idea that they need to glance at this resume and shortlist this person for interview ASAP. Anyway, it was a fun quick job and I really like having this person around, so it was fundamentally motivated by selfish desires. Which was why I was blown away when the next day she bought in 3 folios of her husbands drawings and offered me to take my pick "Heck, take two or three if you want". What a wonderful gift! I chose just one - an utter mindfuck abstract figure - and experienced a massive jolt of the warm and fuzzies. She didn't need to do that, I was happy just to contribute to her success. I didn't want anything in return. Writing can earn you artworks! How good can life get?!
Inclusion
Well life can also include unexpected text messages inviting you to come along to a comedy gig with the patron saint of booksellers, Bernard Black. Of course one says yes to that kind of thing and life immediately gets even better. There's anticipation for the event itself, but also a strengthening in the sense of inclusion in the clan that the invite and the event brings. I miss my clutches of friends and these excursions they arrange out of spontaneous book exuberance. So it was with palpable gratitude that I accepted this invite and began the countdown. Oh, and decided to sign-up for a writing challenge in April 09 too. Just for the helluvit. Yes! What could be better?!
Thoughtfulness
I'm not really into Christmas (at least not the part of it that's about the virgin birth of a divine Jesus; the mystery & pagan stuff I really dig. The trees inside the house, especially), but the society I have infiltrated and live among is into it (in a fairly strange way that I may never understand). I try to join-in with their cultural activities in order to get along. I do as little as possible or as much as I can bear in order to remain under cover. Sometimes these two measures do not meet, and Christmas is generally one of those times. I maintain low expectations, so it was a relief to experience little pain during the TCSW Christmas Breakfast (7.30am!! AM!!) and Secret Santa. The Office Martyr did an extraordinary catering job on just $5 a head (including proper food for Veggos) it was all going along fine and really, quite ok. Then I opened my gift. I was ready to exclaim my thanks to my anonymous gifter no matter what lie inside the paper. When a silk and pashmina paisley shawl in black and forest green came out I was stunned.
This gift was an act of thoughtfulness and love. It was a beautiful object and felt like a waterfall of light in my hands. My cubicle is very cold and I am constantly wrapped in woolly shawls to keep any feeling in my lower arms and hands. In this one gift, someone had expressed a care for my tastes and a knowledge of my day to day experience. I was (and am) really touched by this beautiful gift.
Attitude of Gratitude
Far too often, life seems to suck. Days seem bleak and nights are grim exercises in endurance. Then beauty, love and friendship nose their way back into your life like a dog under the covers in bed on a cold night. Snuggle up close whenever you can and take relief in an attitude of gratitude for whomever and whatever makes your heart's winter melt and mind's sun smile. If life is lived in fragments every sliver is precious.
Happy Solstice for tomorrow, and remember; you're not alone, we're all in this together.
You're not alone - we're all in this together.
Generosity
I re-wrote a cover letter for a woman in the office this week, She is one of the few sane and good-value people in the Sheltered Workshop, and so odds are good that she's a Temp. She's a talented artist with an intelligent sense of humour. Same goes for her husband and their child. She is a Temp as it turns out, and had also worked for a while in my last office (The Fortress of Solitude) so I was happy to offer my services in helping her apply for a plum job that came up in the library (which we're hoping is a normal, sane, pleasant workplace). She had done that thing people often do which is write two pages of dense, detailed explanation of how this and that skill would work in this and that aspect of the job, but then felt a bit bogged in detail and hadn't framed it well.
As Mrs Hill told me in grade 8, "you have to leave flags for readers so they know where they're going". I disagreed with her then (what a shit of a kid I must have been), but I've learnt my error doing hard yards. Mrs Hill was talking about the kind of writing that cover letters need, leading the reader along a broad and comfortable path to the idea that they need to glance at this resume and shortlist this person for interview ASAP. Anyway, it was a fun quick job and I really like having this person around, so it was fundamentally motivated by selfish desires. Which was why I was blown away when the next day she bought in 3 folios of her husbands drawings and offered me to take my pick "Heck, take two or three if you want". What a wonderful gift! I chose just one - an utter mindfuck abstract figure - and experienced a massive jolt of the warm and fuzzies. She didn't need to do that, I was happy just to contribute to her success. I didn't want anything in return. Writing can earn you artworks! How good can life get?!
Inclusion
Well life can also include unexpected text messages inviting you to come along to a comedy gig with the patron saint of booksellers, Bernard Black. Of course one says yes to that kind of thing and life immediately gets even better. There's anticipation for the event itself, but also a strengthening in the sense of inclusion in the clan that the invite and the event brings. I miss my clutches of friends and these excursions they arrange out of spontaneous book exuberance. So it was with palpable gratitude that I accepted this invite and began the countdown. Oh, and decided to sign-up for a writing challenge in April 09 too. Just for the helluvit. Yes! What could be better?!
Thoughtfulness
I'm not really into Christmas (at least not the part of it that's about the virgin birth of a divine Jesus; the mystery & pagan stuff I really dig. The trees inside the house, especially), but the society I have infiltrated and live among is into it (in a fairly strange way that I may never understand). I try to join-in with their cultural activities in order to get along. I do as little as possible or as much as I can bear in order to remain under cover. Sometimes these two measures do not meet, and Christmas is generally one of those times. I maintain low expectations, so it was a relief to experience little pain during the TCSW Christmas Breakfast (7.30am!! AM!!) and Secret Santa. The Office Martyr did an extraordinary catering job on just $5 a head (including proper food for Veggos) it was all going along fine and really, quite ok. Then I opened my gift. I was ready to exclaim my thanks to my anonymous gifter no matter what lie inside the paper. When a silk and pashmina paisley shawl in black and forest green came out I was stunned.
This gift was an act of thoughtfulness and love. It was a beautiful object and felt like a waterfall of light in my hands. My cubicle is very cold and I am constantly wrapped in woolly shawls to keep any feeling in my lower arms and hands. In this one gift, someone had expressed a care for my tastes and a knowledge of my day to day experience. I was (and am) really touched by this beautiful gift.
Attitude of Gratitude
Far too often, life seems to suck. Days seem bleak and nights are grim exercises in endurance. Then beauty, love and friendship nose their way back into your life like a dog under the covers in bed on a cold night. Snuggle up close whenever you can and take relief in an attitude of gratitude for whomever and whatever makes your heart's winter melt and mind's sun smile. If life is lived in fragments every sliver is precious.
Happy Solstice for tomorrow, and remember; you're not alone, we're all in this together.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Great Copy that works EVERYTIME!
As part of the research into my critic's comment yesterday (scroll down a little if you want to read that one first) I went looking for purposeful blogs and for possible topics of such a blog and gee-whizz there's a lot of overly sincere people writing mostly very dull things about nearly anything you can think of. So I constrained myself to about 2 hours looking only at copywriting. I must say that I did learn a lot in that time.
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Friday, December 12, 2008
Not Literature, no sireee, not by a long shot.
Apparently, this blog "lacks vision".
I don't often get feedback from readers, heck I'm constantly surprised there are any. So in a way I should have been delighted to get some frank and fearless critical appraisal, but I have to tell you, I was pretty cut about it.
Isn't the whole point of blogs to just noodle around and entertain oneself?! To write, or not write about things that happen (or don't happen) in a medium where one's words are as broadly available as it is possible to be and equally invisible or unknown as always - surely this is the blogging manifesto? My defensive thoughts circled sharply around this criticism, nipping out justifications, gobbling up rationalisations, but the burley ran dry and the sharks drifted off to richer waters and I was left with the unpalatable realisation that this criticism was entirely justified. After all, blogs are some of the most exciting contemporary writing and publishing around at the moment. I read some to be entertained, some to stay up to date with news of people and events and some just to feel connected to people of a like mind. Some blogs are the political poster kids for free speech - bringing real news out from under tough regimes. Some blogs are recording and tracking the work of researchers, of humanitarian workers, or pronoiacs. They all contribute to the betterment of our society. They are creative, diverse, international, exciting and relevant. Well, ones other than this one are.
So there are people making blogs where it really matters what they do. Theirs are not vague, personal noodlings or observations on minutiae. What options do I have? Could I become a better blogger? Should I just accept that I am crap and muddle forward? Should I delete the whole thing and chalk it up as an interesting experiment that entertained me for a while but should now really be cut loose to fade into the past?!
I thought these options over for a few hours yesterday, and I'm thinking them over again now. It seems like the blog is whatever it is, and changing over time because I let it be that way. Do I want to change? Do I have the control or discipline or interest to do that?
No. Not really.
I already lead a life of omission, control and deceit (and I live alone!). I just don't have the stomach for any more. This is also something that I enjoy doing in my own 'special needs' kinda way. So it's going to be option B, Crappy & Proud and muddling forward. Well, if not proud at least moderately self aware and kinda at peace with that. So to all my beloved, adored and precious readers, Thank You for coming by to read this humble blog now and then, and stay tuned for more of the same. But what the hey, I'm open to change. Call out if you want a request done, and I'll do my best to fufill it, and if I don't know the words, I'll hum something until we can get a jam going.
I don't often get feedback from readers, heck I'm constantly surprised there are any. So in a way I should have been delighted to get some frank and fearless critical appraisal, but I have to tell you, I was pretty cut about it.
Isn't the whole point of blogs to just noodle around and entertain oneself?! To write, or not write about things that happen (or don't happen) in a medium where one's words are as broadly available as it is possible to be and equally invisible or unknown as always - surely this is the blogging manifesto? My defensive thoughts circled sharply around this criticism, nipping out justifications, gobbling up rationalisations, but the burley ran dry and the sharks drifted off to richer waters and I was left with the unpalatable realisation that this criticism was entirely justified. After all, blogs are some of the most exciting contemporary writing and publishing around at the moment. I read some to be entertained, some to stay up to date with news of people and events and some just to feel connected to people of a like mind. Some blogs are the political poster kids for free speech - bringing real news out from under tough regimes. Some blogs are recording and tracking the work of researchers, of humanitarian workers, or pronoiacs. They all contribute to the betterment of our society. They are creative, diverse, international, exciting and relevant. Well, ones other than this one are.
So there are people making blogs where it really matters what they do. Theirs are not vague, personal noodlings or observations on minutiae. What options do I have? Could I become a better blogger? Should I just accept that I am crap and muddle forward? Should I delete the whole thing and chalk it up as an interesting experiment that entertained me for a while but should now really be cut loose to fade into the past?!
I thought these options over for a few hours yesterday, and I'm thinking them over again now. It seems like the blog is whatever it is, and changing over time because I let it be that way. Do I want to change? Do I have the control or discipline or interest to do that?
No. Not really.
I already lead a life of omission, control and deceit (and I live alone!). I just don't have the stomach for any more. This is also something that I enjoy doing in my own 'special needs' kinda way. So it's going to be option B, Crappy & Proud and muddling forward. Well, if not proud at least moderately self aware and kinda at peace with that. So to all my beloved, adored and precious readers, Thank You for coming by to read this humble blog now and then, and stay tuned for more of the same. But what the hey, I'm open to change. Call out if you want a request done, and I'll do my best to fufill it, and if I don't know the words, I'll hum something until we can get a jam going.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Back to work work.
Welcome to the first day of summer.
December already. Why is it that February always drags but November goes so quickly?!
Nanowrimo has finished for another year. I didn't win. Which is to say my story didn't make it to my goal of 25 000 words and has no ending. Jeeze, it didn't even get to the middle. I got pretty demoralised by my immanent failure mid last week and cracked open a bottle of vodka. and just gave up. I don't like that about me, but there it is. I really feel like I owe it to Edwina to keep going, but some of the magic has dissipated. Actually, I want to finish it. That's the real point of Nanowrimo, to complete something outrageous.
Things I've learnt from doing Nanowrimo in 08:
* Write more. Write everyday. Write and write and write until the right elbow gives out and then go for it with the left.
* Have fun and go nuts with anything and everything in the story. I saw from a new perspective how buttoned down I am about things and that's making my writing boring. Next year I vow to play dirty and have characters singing endless songs or reading aloud from Tolkien, anything to get to 50k. I said I was going to do this in 08, and something in me baulked. Why?! So 09 it is!Really, on my heart, hope to die.
* Remember the rules are just word count and a beginning middle and end. That is all.
* Do not agree to do anything for anyone if it's in November. There's eleven other freaking months of the year to fill up, this is my month, sod off. I talk big, but I failed to say no to a single request this year - and then paid for it - with a slow word count and constant guilty/resentful feelings. Completely my own fault.
* Taking a month off from tv, reading and newspapers is awesome. I dabbled here and there, and noticed the difference when I did. This is not something suggested by Nano, it was an urge, I recommend it to you.
* Go to the write-ins. No one in my immediate family or surroundings gives flying pig about this stuff, so contact with others will really help with the stages of madness (and the boards and pep talk emails do kinda help, but it's better to be with people. I went to some write-ins in 06 and it was great. Even tho they were way-nerdy guys running them ... even I found them nerdy. That's out of hand).
I think that's the lot for now. I feel a bit sad and grumpy today, and there's work needs doing, and it's bloody hot again, and there's no food in the fridge, well, no food that isn't off anyway and the real world is impinging on my dreams.
I hate it when it does that.
December already. Why is it that February always drags but November goes so quickly?!
Nanowrimo has finished for another year. I didn't win. Which is to say my story didn't make it to my goal of 25 000 words and has no ending. Jeeze, it didn't even get to the middle. I got pretty demoralised by my immanent failure mid last week and cracked open a bottle of vodka. and just gave up. I don't like that about me, but there it is. I really feel like I owe it to Edwina to keep going, but some of the magic has dissipated. Actually, I want to finish it. That's the real point of Nanowrimo, to complete something outrageous.
Things I've learnt from doing Nanowrimo in 08:
* Write more. Write everyday. Write and write and write until the right elbow gives out and then go for it with the left.
* Have fun and go nuts with anything and everything in the story. I saw from a new perspective how buttoned down I am about things and that's making my writing boring. Next year I vow to play dirty and have characters singing endless songs or reading aloud from Tolkien, anything to get to 50k. I said I was going to do this in 08, and something in me baulked. Why?! So 09 it is!Really, on my heart, hope to die.
* Remember the rules are just word count and a beginning middle and end. That is all.
* Do not agree to do anything for anyone if it's in November. There's eleven other freaking months of the year to fill up, this is my month, sod off. I talk big, but I failed to say no to a single request this year - and then paid for it - with a slow word count and constant guilty/resentful feelings. Completely my own fault.
* Taking a month off from tv, reading and newspapers is awesome. I dabbled here and there, and noticed the difference when I did. This is not something suggested by Nano, it was an urge, I recommend it to you.
* Go to the write-ins. No one in my immediate family or surroundings gives flying pig about this stuff, so contact with others will really help with the stages of madness (and the boards and pep talk emails do kinda help, but it's better to be with people. I went to some write-ins in 06 and it was great. Even tho they were way-nerdy guys running them ... even I found them nerdy. That's out of hand).
I think that's the lot for now. I feel a bit sad and grumpy today, and there's work needs doing, and it's bloody hot again, and there's no food in the fridge, well, no food that isn't off anyway and the real world is impinging on my dreams.
I hate it when it does that.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Not Quite Coming
Sex scenes.
Better just to blurt it out.
People who are comfortable writing sex scenes are full of great advice. I would normally quote a few here, but treat yourself and put some keywords into your preferred search engine and watch your screen turn purple. Lately, if I want to procrastinate (and who doesn't?) this is my diversion of choice.
It's the kind of thing that everyone has an opinion about, and that's been a paralysing prospect for me in relation to poor Edwina. Early on I knew that this year's Nanowrimo project had to have plenty of sex. After all, I wanted to write something fun, and what's more fun than sex? (Ok reading, sure, but really that's a given in the writing of something). Trouble being, I've never been able to write a convincing kiss scene let alone getting down to the business. It was the first scene of the story I imagined, but here we are at 15 300 words and *I'm just getting to it* - and sadly, very little of that is foreplay! Plainly, I've just been putting it off. I've worked Edwina up into a hot, horny state and just left her panting because suddenly, I felt shy.
That's right, in the privacy of my own mind, I've had performance anxiety. I couldn't make it happen. Between the page and I was an uncomfortable tension. I didn't want to make a wrong move, but couldn't figure out what the right move was. The page waited, the moment started to go stale, I paced, the page turned on the tv, I'd lost it again.
There's so many darn things going on! Hair?! How many hands?! Every move or broad strokes? Physics - how's who's on top staying there? And this is just the mechanics - the stuff that needs to make sense but needs to be utterly utterly invisible. I can understand now why actors laugh when asked about on-stage romance under the cameras for their sex scenes and say "it's tightly choreographed" (tightly!). At the same time that I have these two wire-frame bodies twisting and shifting in my mind trying to maneuver into a docking position, I need to be evenly describing and building the emotional state, the physical arousal, the pertinent mutterings and exclamations. That's a lot to juggle, but it's not everything.
Aside from this is the thought that other people are going to read it. Are they going to cringe? Laugh? Read passages out to their colleagues in the lunchroom, just skip ahead, nominate it for a bad sex in fiction award? Or, worst of all, ring my mum and complain to her? (people did after Trojan Moments - Grandad in particular apparently found some of the poems "... a bit blue. Off". Great. Just what I don't need to know and can never un-hear).
ACK.
So, here we are, stuck at a frigid impasse. My characters are up for it - they're practically gagging for it. It's me, I'm the prude in the corner with the clammy hands and the self conscious attitude, and that's no fun at all, for anybody. I didn't have this problem with the murder scenes. Maybe I need to watch some more late-night SBS films, or just refresh my own docking proceedures.
Hold on Edwina - I'm coming!
Better just to blurt it out.
People who are comfortable writing sex scenes are full of great advice. I would normally quote a few here, but treat yourself and put some keywords into your preferred search engine and watch your screen turn purple. Lately, if I want to procrastinate (and who doesn't?) this is my diversion of choice.
It's the kind of thing that everyone has an opinion about, and that's been a paralysing prospect for me in relation to poor Edwina. Early on I knew that this year's Nanowrimo project had to have plenty of sex. After all, I wanted to write something fun, and what's more fun than sex? (Ok reading, sure, but really that's a given in the writing of something). Trouble being, I've never been able to write a convincing kiss scene let alone getting down to the business. It was the first scene of the story I imagined, but here we are at 15 300 words and *I'm just getting to it* - and sadly, very little of that is foreplay! Plainly, I've just been putting it off. I've worked Edwina up into a hot, horny state and just left her panting because suddenly, I felt shy.
That's right, in the privacy of my own mind, I've had performance anxiety. I couldn't make it happen. Between the page and I was an uncomfortable tension. I didn't want to make a wrong move, but couldn't figure out what the right move was. The page waited, the moment started to go stale, I paced, the page turned on the tv, I'd lost it again.
There's so many darn things going on! Hair?! How many hands?! Every move or broad strokes? Physics - how's who's on top staying there? And this is just the mechanics - the stuff that needs to make sense but needs to be utterly utterly invisible. I can understand now why actors laugh when asked about on-stage romance under the cameras for their sex scenes and say "it's tightly choreographed" (tightly!). At the same time that I have these two wire-frame bodies twisting and shifting in my mind trying to maneuver into a docking position, I need to be evenly describing and building the emotional state, the physical arousal, the pertinent mutterings and exclamations. That's a lot to juggle, but it's not everything.
Aside from this is the thought that other people are going to read it. Are they going to cringe? Laugh? Read passages out to their colleagues in the lunchroom, just skip ahead, nominate it for a bad sex in fiction award? Or, worst of all, ring my mum and complain to her? (people did after Trojan Moments - Grandad in particular apparently found some of the poems "... a bit blue. Off". Great. Just what I don't need to know and can never un-hear).
ACK.
So, here we are, stuck at a frigid impasse. My characters are up for it - they're practically gagging for it. It's me, I'm the prude in the corner with the clammy hands and the self conscious attitude, and that's no fun at all, for anybody. I didn't have this problem with the murder scenes. Maybe I need to watch some more late-night SBS films, or just refresh my own docking proceedures.
Hold on Edwina - I'm coming!
Monday, November 24, 2008
A night aboard the "Private Dancer"
Today was meant to be solely dedicated to the formation of the perfectly constructed 3000 word essay on the managerial issues of problem-oriented-policing -programs. I could see this word-count perfect essay crystalline-pure and gem-like beautiful in my mind's eye. It turned gracefully there in the void of my imagination (yes, it's nearly all void in there. Handy for large models of things, but useless for ideas). It caught the light on its pithy, well-selected quotes. It rose above the choppy sea of interminable jargon and earnest justifications that I must trawl in order to form it. *Sigh* So beautiful, so ethereal. So fictitious. In reality, it was caught in the wake of the mighty plot engine I unleashed yesterday and the essay was swamped by the wash and has steadfastly refused to be written.
After the mad dash of 3 000 words in the previous 36 hours (oh Backstory - how I love thee) charting the formation of the (purely platonic!) relationship between Eddie and her Lawyer Henry Thornton (! charming story, really precious!), I have had to wrench myself away from the various saucy wenches of Eddie's world and come back to the plodding mundanities of justifying common sense and referencing it using the harvard system. It's ugly down here in the sea of Mandated Readings.
The trawler I'm on (the 'Private Dancer') is taking on water (in the form of many cups of tea - you want a nice steady, even stream of caffeine. At this point, a coffee would overload the delicate system and send us spinning out of control), and it's gone dark, the source material has merged into one amorphous morass (is that a tautology? Probably, yes, i think it is. too tired to fix it up) of meaningless italicised sections and bold headings with no content to hold them up. I've got some nasty drafts of the opening introduction and definitions section into the hold and on ice until I can gut and clean them, and so I am still needing about 2000 coherent words. I'm reduced to grinding out 20 or 50 stilted, dessicated words at a time, referencing them, and moving on. It's utterly numbing work. This friends, is the far from glamorous life of the essay ghost writer. No sushi here. No black velvet jackets and groovy knitted toys. Just sentences like this: "The management of community partnerships is of critical importance to the development, negotiation and daily operation of QPS's POPP initiatives." <> oh, I kid you not, and that's a tame one, and only 2980 more to go just like it.
I'm new to this game, and they're a tough and private breed the deep-sea ghost writers, they don't give up their secrets and tradecraft easily. In fact I wouldn't even know if there's any others out here - they run their ships dark to avoid detection. Only the wind, the waves and the steady drip of the word count to keep us company until we reach the cold dawn and shore - hopefully with a full hold and a properly formatted bibliography.
Maybe I should sacrifice some whisky and conjure the spirit of Hemingway to see me safely through to the dawn... Yes, that would take care of me, but it would be a shot in the arm for QPS's POPP initiatives. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this, no turning back now.
Wait, I can hear Hemingway!
"Lash yourself to the mast and hold tight to that fish."
WTF have I gotten myself into?
After the mad dash of 3 000 words in the previous 36 hours (oh Backstory - how I love thee) charting the formation of the (purely platonic!) relationship between Eddie and her Lawyer Henry Thornton (! charming story, really precious!), I have had to wrench myself away from the various saucy wenches of Eddie's world and come back to the plodding mundanities of justifying common sense and referencing it using the harvard system. It's ugly down here in the sea of Mandated Readings.
The trawler I'm on (the 'Private Dancer') is taking on water (in the form of many cups of tea - you want a nice steady, even stream of caffeine. At this point, a coffee would overload the delicate system and send us spinning out of control), and it's gone dark, the source material has merged into one amorphous morass (is that a tautology? Probably, yes, i think it is. too tired to fix it up) of meaningless italicised sections and bold headings with no content to hold them up. I've got some nasty drafts of the opening introduction and definitions section into the hold and on ice until I can gut and clean them, and so I am still needing about 2000 coherent words. I'm reduced to grinding out 20 or 50 stilted, dessicated words at a time, referencing them, and moving on. It's utterly numbing work. This friends, is the far from glamorous life of the essay ghost writer. No sushi here. No black velvet jackets and groovy knitted toys. Just sentences like this: "The management of community partnerships is of critical importance to the development, negotiation and daily operation of QPS's POPP initiatives." <
I'm new to this game, and they're a tough and private breed the deep-sea ghost writers, they don't give up their secrets and tradecraft easily. In fact I wouldn't even know if there's any others out here - they run their ships dark to avoid detection. Only the wind, the waves and the steady drip of the word count to keep us company until we reach the cold dawn and shore - hopefully with a full hold and a properly formatted bibliography.
Maybe I should sacrifice some whisky and conjure the spirit of Hemingway to see me safely through to the dawn... Yes, that would take care of me, but it would be a shot in the arm for QPS's POPP initiatives. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this, no turning back now.
Wait, I can hear Hemingway!
"Lash yourself to the mast and hold tight to that fish."
WTF have I gotten myself into?
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Weather update and Plot Engine Drama
The storms have eased back ofter the mid-week catastrophe which was very considerate and allowed folks to start clearing away the stinky muck that flooded their houses, pushed over fences, and basically terrorised the place. I didn't know what a big news story I was living inside of until friends rang to check I was alive (thank you!), and then I started to notice how many choppers were buzzing around the place. I decided not to participate in watching the news, the mild hysteria at work was (perhaps uncharacteristically) enough sensationalism for me. Today is blustery (yay for laundry!!) and hot. Expectations about the storm du Soir (? am I making that up?) are mixed, some say just thunder and lightening, some say a bit of rain and wind. I say, it's poker night, and unless someone can get a clue, we'll all be heading off shortly (well, not Rumi, he cares nothing for cards) to get a swim and a good spot at the table. Once we're there, we'll take any storm as it may (or may not) come.
My attention is really on Edwina, Lady Kenthurst and the agonisingly slow process of getting her into a lot of trouble with Soames. I've put them on a boat, I've removed the protective male figure from her life (mouldering in a Belfast cell awaiting his death by hanging) and I've got 10 600 words and still they haven't met!! ARGH!! Although it turns out the Captain of the ship might be up for some trouble too. Saucy types, those captains! I hope it turns out this is great tension, but of course from inside the plot engine it feels like we've lost power to the main thrusters and are dropping away from our target minor climatic peak. It's hot in the engine room where my oiled men in loincloths are shovelling coal into the furnace as hard and as fast as their lithe bodies possibly can, but there's something gumming up the cogs and we can't seem to translate this sexy raw power into plot traction. The editor is screaming down the tubes at me "DEADLINE AHEAD! More words!" the inner critic from the bowels of the engine is heard, "I *told* you the beginning of the story was shit, and now look where it's lead us. We're fucked, and I *told* you so from the start."
"Keel-haul that traitor!" I scream and two idea monkeys shoot out to drag the bastard off. Fuck I've been wanting to do that for years. The last thing I need in a crisis like this is sedition within the engine room. I also make a note in my day book to check the correct formation and usage of keel-haul for use in the third act.
It's hot in here, I can't think straight. Why can't we turn away from the deadline? I wonder, but that's not my decision. I have an idea.
"Let's try mixing it up - where'd we store the typewriter?" The men give a cheer, and in lifting their arms in encouragement, inadvertently flex and tense their abdominal muscles. I'm swooning from the heat and the sight of so many hot fictional bodies. I can barely spell, but taken on a wave of hope and pheremones, we bolt the typewriter into place, re-route the production crank and set the ribbon in place. This could just save us...
The words start to come, the ribbon spools, the cogs begin to inch forward, the little bell tings and the carriage return shoots back. Yes! We're still in with a chance.
My attention is really on Edwina, Lady Kenthurst and the agonisingly slow process of getting her into a lot of trouble with Soames. I've put them on a boat, I've removed the protective male figure from her life (mouldering in a Belfast cell awaiting his death by hanging) and I've got 10 600 words and still they haven't met!! ARGH!! Although it turns out the Captain of the ship might be up for some trouble too. Saucy types, those captains! I hope it turns out this is great tension, but of course from inside the plot engine it feels like we've lost power to the main thrusters and are dropping away from our target minor climatic peak. It's hot in the engine room where my oiled men in loincloths are shovelling coal into the furnace as hard and as fast as their lithe bodies possibly can, but there's something gumming up the cogs and we can't seem to translate this sexy raw power into plot traction. The editor is screaming down the tubes at me "DEADLINE AHEAD! More words!" the inner critic from the bowels of the engine is heard, "I *told* you the beginning of the story was shit, and now look where it's lead us. We're fucked, and I *told* you so from the start."
"Keel-haul that traitor!" I scream and two idea monkeys shoot out to drag the bastard off. Fuck I've been wanting to do that for years. The last thing I need in a crisis like this is sedition within the engine room. I also make a note in my day book to check the correct formation and usage of keel-haul for use in the third act.
It's hot in here, I can't think straight. Why can't we turn away from the deadline? I wonder, but that's not my decision. I have an idea.
"Let's try mixing it up - where'd we store the typewriter?" The men give a cheer, and in lifting their arms in encouragement, inadvertently flex and tense their abdominal muscles. I'm swooning from the heat and the sight of so many hot fictional bodies. I can barely spell, but taken on a wave of hope and pheremones, we bolt the typewriter into place, re-route the production crank and set the ribbon in place. This could just save us...
The words start to come, the ribbon spools, the cogs begin to inch forward, the little bell tings and the carriage return shoots back. Yes! We're still in with a chance.
Monday, November 17, 2008
New Personal Best
Oh Happy Day!
I've hit 9000 words in the story!
Yay! I thought I was going to choke on 8000 for ever, but I pushed through and made my first ever literary kills (sorry Sir Simon Windemere, and unnamed wife and child).
How puny that word count seems. The NanWriMo official target for this week is 30 000. IN MY DREAMS!! But I could be in with a chance to make a new personal best, my next goal is to give the story an ending, not just leave everyone hanging.
If only I didn't have to work, do two assignments and my own laundry.....
I've hit 9000 words in the story!
Yay! I thought I was going to choke on 8000 for ever, but I pushed through and made my first ever literary kills (sorry Sir Simon Windemere, and unnamed wife and child).
How puny that word count seems. The NanWriMo official target for this week is 30 000. IN MY DREAMS!! But I could be in with a chance to make a new personal best, my next goal is to give the story an ending, not just leave everyone hanging.
If only I didn't have to work, do two assignments and my own laundry.....
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Failure of Fun
I hit a wall this week. Ah, no - not in the car or anything. Emotionally. Is there a better way to say it? Plateau? No, it wasn't a levelling out. There's something that happens when tension builds up and frustration build up - and after a while you can't just keep working through it.
This week I had a nasty plot hump with the story, a bit of writer's block and "why am I doing this" and not reading, ok, well I'm sneaking some reading in, but no novels! Very little TV too and so it's just me and the blank page and the broken brain.
The word count has stalled at about 7300 (nearly my previous best of about 8/8500) it's hard not to wonder - am I choking? Do I really just not have this in me? Is this the best I can do?
Last night midnight saw me walking backwards and forwards throwing handfulls of papers into the recycling and asking Riley how nearly a whole nother year could have passed. He had no answers. How zen dogs can be. He's right of course, there are no answers, only choices and further questions.
Many other Nanowimo participants are already finished! Finished!! WTF?! Should I have chosen a different story? Should I too be transcribing song lyrics into my story or have a character count to a thousand? You think I'm joking, oh I assure you, these are but two of the fiendish tricks employed to plump one's word count.
Everything is taking so long to get out of my stupid head! But the time ranting and pacing last night was not completely lost. I had a little realisation. I'm missing the point. I've been clinging to my story and to my idea of what's ok. I'm at a writing version of Mardi gras with my metaphorical legs crossed and mouth closed. What a noob!
So rather than staying stuck on how to move Robin around Antrim, or what approach Soames will take to Eddie's abduction, I'm going to get back into it again and move through this invisible wall with my mouth open and my legs akimbo and get back to having a rip-sorting time.
And maybe just a few song lyrics.
This week I had a nasty plot hump with the story, a bit of writer's block and "why am I doing this" and not reading, ok, well I'm sneaking some reading in, but no novels! Very little TV too and so it's just me and the blank page and the broken brain.
The word count has stalled at about 7300 (nearly my previous best of about 8/8500) it's hard not to wonder - am I choking? Do I really just not have this in me? Is this the best I can do?
Last night midnight saw me walking backwards and forwards throwing handfulls of papers into the recycling and asking Riley how nearly a whole nother year could have passed. He had no answers. How zen dogs can be. He's right of course, there are no answers, only choices and further questions.
Many other Nanowimo participants are already finished! Finished!! WTF?! Should I have chosen a different story? Should I too be transcribing song lyrics into my story or have a character count to a thousand? You think I'm joking, oh I assure you, these are but two of the fiendish tricks employed to plump one's word count.
Everything is taking so long to get out of my stupid head! But the time ranting and pacing last night was not completely lost. I had a little realisation. I'm missing the point. I've been clinging to my story and to my idea of what's ok. I'm at a writing version of Mardi gras with my metaphorical legs crossed and mouth closed. What a noob!
So rather than staying stuck on how to move Robin around Antrim, or what approach Soames will take to Eddie's abduction, I'm going to get back into it again and move through this invisible wall with my mouth open and my legs akimbo and get back to having a rip-sorting time.
And maybe just a few song lyrics.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Week One in Review
It was a great idea to come out to Ma&Pa's farm overnight. I wasn't going to, I didn't want to loose all that time driving, and I am no good at saying 'I have to go sit in my room and do other things than talk to you oh beloved parents who raised me and sacrificed that I might succeed in life' but logistical considerations for the rest of the weekend made it the logical solution, so I did. There was a meal together and an evening playing frustration on the new veranda. But in the perfectly non-linear way that the world actually works, this turned out to be relaxing, distracting, fresh and wholesome (in other words an antidote to a week of spitty gossip and petty work concerns). It also had the flow-on benefit that I could not guilt myself into doing chores before I wrote this morning (which I would have done at home). No indeedy. Here there's just the wind and the birds in the trees as much tea and left-over pizza (avocado, mushroom and corn) as I like and lo - I've done over 700 words and am not yet out of my jammies!
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Outcomes (bar chart this!)
I'm kinda feeling like today was a washout because I didn't write anything. That's what getting into the Nanowirmo does - starts pushing the orientation of priorities into the GET THE NOVEL DONE type order. But go over it again and the day wasn't a complete waste - I did a full day at work, I woke up to the aftermath of a pornographic dream and Dad lost at cards tonight. Overall - apart from the not-writing - a really well rounded set of outcomes!
Shame I can't cue up part two of that dream ....
Shame I can't cue up part two of that dream ....
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
What plot?
So lost the plot.
What book? Who am I? Where did I put that cup of coffee? What do you mean I have to report on that project at a meeting? My characters are stuck on a ship in the North Atlantic and you want me to concentrate on costings for a mailout and web updates?!
I'm shaking and I'm nauseous.
Forgeddit.
In other news - Well Done Obama!! Good work America!! Yay generally!! WOOT for HOPE!!
(ps. WTF is with not letting exclamation marks be in tabs? Get a grip people!)
(pps. Word count at 4300 and stalled)
What book? Who am I? Where did I put that cup of coffee? What do you mean I have to report on that project at a meeting? My characters are stuck on a ship in the North Atlantic and you want me to concentrate on costings for a mailout and web updates?!
I'm shaking and I'm nauseous.
Forgeddit.
In other news - Well Done Obama!! Good work America!! Yay generally!! WOOT for HOPE!!
(ps. WTF is with not letting exclamation marks be in tabs? Get a grip people!)
(pps. Word count at 4300 and stalled)
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