Yes, my prompt for today is “Dachshund.” It’s the most challenging prompt so far – it may just end up being THE most challenging prompt for me. Thanks, Bee. 😉
I’ve lived with a few different breeds of dog in my life – my first dog was a black lab. We had him for only half a year because my parents kept saying he was “too big for the house.” As a five year old I could never figure out what that meant. The dog was much smaller than the house.
So the next time we got a dog it was a black miniature poodle. We named her Cindy. Cindy had seven pups – I wanted to keep them all but my parents would only let me keep one. Perhaps seven (or eight with Cindy) was equal to the size of the lab and would be “too big for the house.” Who knows?
My mom still had Cindy and the pup (her name was Gigi, because what else do you call a poodle?) when I moved out. I got married to my first husband and the first thing we did when we moved in together was bought George from the pound. Guess what kind of dog George was? Yes, a Saint Bernard. He was a fantastic dog. So well trained, he even knew sign language – we could make him lay down past shouting distance. Strangely enough, I never thought he was “too big for the house.”
George was the last dog I owned until I got Winston, just two weeks ago. He’s a beagle mix – the vet thinks he may have some basset hound in him. He’ll be ten weeks old tomorrow; even though he’s just a puppy he has quite the character already. The cats think he’s “too big for the house,” but we humans think he’s just right.
So what does this all have to do with Dachshunds? Only that I’ve never owned one.
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There are certain things that will always be frozen in time. Moments we remember, though they may change for the better or worse in our minds, that remain static. Like the birth of a child; finding it impossible to forget the joy but the pain of childbirth becomes distant, as something we women dissociate from, transforming it into a story to be related many times as a comparison to every other kind of pain. Or like the size of a place we frequented as a child – our elementary school gymnasium, or a traveling fair’s ride that seemed massive until we revisit it as an adult.
In the interest of keeping things real, I’ve always found journals to be most helpful. As I go through this blog in the next few days and weeks for the purpose of writing a post on my 2015 year in review I’m sure I’ll find that my frozen shoulder was much worse than I remember, and that my summer was unbearably hot (it’s hard not to want such a thing when you’re freezing to death in January, no matter how miserably humid it was).
I’m trying to think of a moment in my past other than the two examples above that might not have been as big or wonderful, or as unhappy or painful as I remember it, but of course, in my mind it’s all exactly as I now imagine it was.
To find the rules for Just Jot It January, click here and join in today. It’s never too late! And don’t forget to ping back your January 3rd post here!
It’s a dilemma I deal with every time I write a blog post: do I write freely and not take hours poring over my grammar and choice of wording or do I edit my posts to death? To be persnickety or not to be persnickety? That is the question. I wonder how persnickety Shakespeare was? Then again, he probably had an editor.
Seriously, I’d love to be able to just write and release. But for the interests of my writing career, should I have a paid one one day, I demand perfection (or near perfection) from myself. After all, I never know who’s going to come looking. Perhaps someone famous or even better, someone who can get my proverbial foot in the door of the publishing industry will visit my blog. A line or two is all it takes to make an impression, and I want it to be a good one.
I know I’ve asked this question before, but it’s been at least a year so I think I’ll ask again. Who knows, maybe those who have already answered have changed their practices. Oh, the question? It’s this:
How many times, on average, do you edit a post before you hit the publish button? And how do you do your best editing – in the window you write in, or the preview? If I didn’t have the preview screen I’m sure my posts would all be a mess. What I really want to know is, how persnickety are you?
The “Persnickety” prompt is brought to you by Sirius Bizinus at his new home, An Empty Pen. Make sure you go say hi!
To find the rules for Just Jot It January, click here and join in today. It’s never too late! And don’t forget to ping back your January 1st post here!
The underlying truth? The molecules, the bits and pieces that make you up, were present at the moment of the universe’s creation; they’ve just been rearranged millions of times over to cast you as the imperfect robot that you are. And that means, in a sort of beautiful way, that all things are connected. And if all the things are connected, that means all the things we do are connected.
Here, then, are 11 ways that writing is like parenting, and — more obviously — 11 ways in which they aren’t alike at all. Why 11? Why not just pick the top ten and go with those like a normal, order-conscious human?
Because this list goes to eleven.
Writing is like Parenting a Toddler
You birth your creation, for all intents and purposes, out of sheer will and a bit of sweat.
Either one is a good way to find out who you really are.
Your creation will occasionally wake you up in the middle of the night for a bit of attention.
You will find that your creation wanders into your thoughts without prompting at all hours of the day, regardless of whether you’re directly involved with it, or if it’s even around at the time.
You will spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning up messes that your creation has made: dangling or unresolved plot lines, refrigerator empties onto the floor, characters behaving badly, toilet paper unspooled all over the house and watered with cranberry juice…
Sometimes the best thing to do for your creation is to take it for a walk and get it some fresh air.
Pretty much anybody can write a story or become a parent just by deciding they want to do it. Or sometimes even by accident.
But writing a good story, much like raising a good kid, requires a heck of a lot more planning, thought, and hours than you can probably conceive of at the outset.
Your story, like your toddler, will seem to have unexplainable mood swings all its own; you have to learn how to weather the storm.
When it’s going well, you feel absolutely bulletproof.
When it’s going poorly, you feel eaten by sharks.
Writing is not at all like Parenting a Toddler
It’s pretty unlikely that any problem involving your child can be solved with any amount of ink or word processing power. In fact, adding ink to a situation involving your child is probably a recipe for disaster.
Your story will never literally barf in your shoes.
Or dunk your favorite tie in the toilet.
Or paint with salsa on the carpet.
Society is pretty forgiving to writers who drink. In a lot of cases, writers are almost expected to drink; it’s part of their craft. Parents, on the other hand…
New parents get a free pass to show off pictures and talk about their kids at every opportunity. Nobody wants to see or hear about a writer’s unfinished story.
If your story gets on your nerves, you can shut it down and forget about it entirely for a few days.
Your story will only grow and improve with your active participation. Your kid will grow and learn things entirely on her own. (Usually the wrong things, if you’re not careful.)
Your story probably won’t throw a tantrum in the toy aisle of the Target, earning you the sympathetic glances of fellow writers and the disapproving stares of non-writers.
You only get to pick your kid’s name once.
If you screw your story up, you can throw it out and rewrite it from scratch as many times as you want.
There you have it. A perfectly scientific comparison of two things that totally make sense together. Bear this information in mind when you’re deciding whether you would rather be a writer or a parent. Because you obviously can’t do both at the same time.
Yesterday I was lucky enough to be one of the fifty new authors who attended a Masterclass, presided over by Daniel Wells, owner and founder of Biblioasis, a publishing company which runs out of Windsor, Ontario, Canada. Advertised as a “Writer’s Studio Round Table,” the event was hosted at the Holiday Inn by the Kingston Writer’s Fest, in a room half filled with chairs lined up for the audience and a podium at the front. I learned a lot: here are the highlights.
Mr. Wells, Dan as he likes to be called, came off as personable and approachable. Indeed, he allowed for about half of the allotted time as a Q & A, the “Qs” coming from us, a subdued and awed crowd of 99% (traditionally) unpublished authors of various genres. Dan spoke about the role of a publisher in the relationship between writer and printer/flogger. He gave us tips on how to get noticed by people in his field of expertise. First, (and I had an idea of this) he told us that a whopping 90-odd percent of his writers were NOT people who sent in queries out of the blue. He explained that he found most of his authors via the literary magazines in which they’d been featured and via recommendations by the authors whose work he has already published. For me this put in perspective how important it is to get my work out there – really get my work out there, not just here on WordPress and other social media sites. Having said that, the second point he brought up that I want to mention here is the fact that a publisher does take into consideration how much networking an author does. A majority of a publisher’s work goes into promoting his books – no publisher in this age of networking and social media wants an author who will simply sit back and hope for the best. Dan strongly advised that we immerse ourselves in the communities for which we write. Get to know people, writers and readers alike, and gain contacts.
Dan spoke about self-publishing as well. He mentioned the “gatekeeper” theory that if a book is traditionally published it stands to be of better quality than if self-published. He said this isn’t necessarily true, but that what it comes down to is a matter of trust in the community at large. For instance, if he goes to a national paper and requests a review of one of his books, he’s much more likely to get it than, say, the guy down the street who paid to have his book published. (My example.) He also used this point to suggest that when we read reviews in our local newspapers, look to see who the publisher is. It’s a good gauge to see who is on the ball… not all publishers are created equal, nor will all of them go the extra mile to get an author the exposure he/she deserves.
The final point of note which surprised me to no end was the tally of books which had to be sold in order for a book to make the bestseller’s list in Canada. For some of us this is good – a fantastic label to have on the front cover – but for those of us wishing to quit our day jobs to become bestselling authors, it’s a bit of a disappointment. The number? 3,000-5,000 copies. That’s all it takes.
In all I walked away from Daniel Wells’ Masterclass with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. It was extremely informative and it gave me a few new ideas on how I want to proceed with my querying. In the meantime, I’m researching literary magazines. And hoping for the best.
365 days in a row! Strangely enough, I can’t decide if it feels like an big accomplishment or not. For the past year I’ve written a scene for each day and posted it on my fiction blog. Some I wrote ahead of time but most were written five minutes before they went live. Consequently I’ll admit they weren’t all fantastic. But during the past year I’ve met some new people, had a couple of people enjoy my scenes on a daily basis – I was once even dubbed a comic genius. Not sure about that, but I did get a lot of laughs.
And now it’s all done and I feel a little lost. I’m not sure what to do next. I’ve considered writing another series but have it scheduled to come out in a year from when it’s written, so I have time to properly edit it. I found writing a series as I just did on the fly created a few gaping plot holes and dangling story lines. At the very least I’ll probably take some time off from the grueling schedule of having to come up with an idea every day while I think about what my next project will be.
It’s been fun though. I do my best work under pressure it seems – Scenes from the Second Seat on the Right has taught me at least that. And I find it interesting that there’s a never-ending fount of scenarios out there, only a small amount of which were inspired by an actual occurrence.
I’d like to thank everyone who read at least one of my scenes, and especially my regular readers. I wouldn’t have been able to keep going without you.
Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
It may not sound like a big deal, but it’s a first for me. For this reason I want to record it here – I may even celebrate it as an anniversary some day.
Yesterday evening, for the first time ever, I marked a chapter in one of my novels “Final Draft.”
Only 79 chapters left to go before The Great Dagmaru heads out into the world on its own.
I’m probably more excited about this little achievement than I should be, but after seven edits, it’s about fucking time!
Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
I’m such an idiot. I mean, you’d think I’d think about what I might want to write before I come up with the prompts for SoCS, or at least when I do, but what really inspires me is the words themselves. I don’t think ahead past that until I actually sit down to write the post. This one, for instance.
Someone (sorry, I can’t remember who at the moment, but I’ll look it up when I’m finished writing this – J.L. Campbell (@JL_Campbell) – that’s who it was) said to me the other day on my A-Z reveal that they couldn’t write posts not knowing what they were going to write about ahead of time. I said I thrive on it. And I do. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this year’s A-Z, finding a word minutes before I sit down to write a post. I think I may end up writing many of the posts largely in Stream of Consciousness style, though I will probably edit them before I publish. For me, once I get on a roll with my writing I can’t stop. It’s like those conversations you have in your head when you finally figure out, sometimes hours later, what you should have said. That witticism that escaped you that makes you, later, slap yourself for not thinking of it sooner. Or the eloquent explanation of how you feel about something that sounds so good in your head, but once the confrontation is upon you, you trip over. THAT’s exactly how being on a roll feels like to me. It’s that speech that’s impossible to reproduce. And that’s the real beauty of not knowing.
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