Saturday, October 30, 2010

No pressure

"One should be able to return to the first sentence of a novel and find the resonances of the entire work." - Gloria Naylor

Monday, October 18, 2010

Forty is Fine

40 is an achievement
40 shuts the door on the insecurities of youth
I wouldn't be 21 again for a million trillion dollars
Or even 29
40 is fine

I've learned from my mistakes
Watch me prove it
I know what I want
Watch me do it

I have great friends, the right friends
to see me through it

My parents are my friends, not a mystery
I love them more now, knowing what they did for me.

And the future is growing so fast, it seems
Every week he needs new jeans

Pretty soon he'll want the car
I'll say, "Drive me to my book signing, son. It's not far."

40 is a release, a shout!
"Hey world, Look out!"

Christine Hardy, 2010

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Sunday Snapshot

Last week's Sunday Snapshot was so much fun, let's do it again! Post the last paragraph (or last ten lines) of whatever you've most recently written in the comment section.

If you want to link to your work, you can us the following to insert a url in the comment section: < a href=""> My Website Name < /a> BUT take out the spaces after the <'s at the front and end of the command. I had to put those in so a real link wouldn't show up.

Remember, it doesn't have to be perfect, it doesn't even have to be good, it just has to be yours! I haven't done much writing this week because I've been really busy at work and had a horrible cough that I'm still fighting to get rid of. But here's the last thing I wrote (well, revised.)
Marenya slumped down on the rocky floor. She was cold and bone-tired, and her leg ached. There was no way back through the waterfall, and she had no food nor fuel for a fire. She had no choice but to go with him. Still, she lacked the will to move, and gazed at the sun striking the top of the waterfall. Beyond that glittering curtain lay everything she had ever known, and everyone she had ever loved. Somewhere out there her mother was worrying and Pelwyn was waiting for her. Somewhere, Faldur was searching for her. She felt a strong certainty that if she left this spot now, she would never return to them.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

First 250 Word Blogfest

In my aimless Saturday morning surfing, I came across Elle Strausse's First 250 Word Blogfest and foolishly decided to sign up.

I have revised my first page so many times that I don't have a clue whether it's good, bad or indifferent. I don't recognize my own story any more. It's like a child that has run off to college and become someone completely different. Most writers don't feel that way until after their book is published. Or perhaps I'm the one who has changed.

But, anyway, for what it's worth... here it is. Please let me know if it's too boring.

Moonlight cast blue shadows on the snow, turning the great drifts that stretched across the parkland into waves in a silent sea. Crikhaven Castle rose like a battered island from the whiteness. A decade of impoverished neglect had left its mark on the ancient walls. The brightly painted stucco depicting the Chalmeth family history was faded and flaking off. The carved ravens and gryphons adorning the rooftops had been worn smooth by the elements and not replaced. Now they were buried beneath a white mantle so thick that only an occasional head or wing protruded.

However, the windows were bright with candlelight and smoke billowed from the chimneys. Friendly voices called out in greeting as carriages and lone riders arrived one after another. It was Midwinter’s Eve, the one night of the year when it was not only permitted but expected to eat much, drink more, and dance with every hawin in the room: pretty or ugly, young or old. Tonight was a night for celebration. A night to prove you were alive.

Captain Faldur Relaszen observed the occasion by sitting in a fir tree overlooking Crikhaven’s courtyard. His light gray Ranger’s cloak was drawn tightly against the cold. He felt like an oversized owl, sitting perfectly still behind the sheltering boughs. From his perch he watched each guest arrive, taking careful note of their faces, families, attendants, and liveries. He wished he could be among them. Not to join the feast, but to hear the furtive conversation of the...

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Sunday Snapshot!

(This wasn't supposed to show up until tomorrow, but for some reason it did anyway.)

I just had a really cool idea.  Let's take a snapshot of all of our work... right now... What's the last thing you wrote?  Even if you haven't written for a while just open the last file you worked on. 

Then put the last paragraph you wrote into the comment section.  If it's very short, or back-and-forth dialogue, you can include up to ten lines.  But only ten lines.  Just a quick little glimpse into your writing world.

I can't wait to see what everyone is working on!  I love reading other people's styles and voices. Don't be shy.. it doesn't have to be perfect.  Heck, it doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be yours!

Here's mine: (as of Saturday morning, when I made this post)
He fumbled with the flask and took a drag himself. “You will be sore for a while, but you can walk. We have to get out of here.”  He helped her to her feet and she swayed a little. Her newly-healed leg felt strange and raw.

“Take me home.”

“You can’t go home.”

Beer for my Horses

Yes, I have been listening to country music lately.  Out of sheer desperation and boredom, I am streaming live country music station feed into my computer.  I used to listen to country all the time when I was younger, but it isn't very popular here on the east coast so I hid my preference for it.

But, today I have a cold and am feeling goofy!  So I will now sing Toby Keith and Willie Nelson's song "Beer for my Horses" which I can't get out of my head.

No, not really.  But you can watch it on YouTube.

"Justice is the one thing you should always find
You gotta saddle up your boys
You gotta draw a hard line
When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune
And we'll all meet back at the local saloon

We'll raise our glasses against evil forces
Singin' 'Whiskey for my men and beer for my horses.'"

Kind of appropriate for the part of my book that I'm working on right now.  I'm at 63,400 words and hoping to break 70K today.

OMG - someone actually made a LOTR video for it!  I'm dying laughing!

Friday, October 8, 2010

"I want to do something splendid…
Something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead…
I think I shall write books."
Louisa May Alcott

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Writers are Like Toddlers

Writers are like toddlers.  We keep turning simple, everyday events into huge scenes.
- Christine Hardy

Saturday, October 2, 2010

To Be Understood

My brain is finally waking up.  My coffee and an hour of Internet surfing are kicking the neurons into activity.

Simon C. Larter (whom I love to tease) posted the following on Facebook:

I will consider it an honor if someday the words I write make someone feel less alone in the world. Everyone should have the chance to feel understood.  

Which made me think for a minute.  And my thought was that, honestly, I don't write to make other people feel less alone.  I write to make myself feel less alone. Telling you guys that my dogs woke me up at 5 a.m. as I sit in this dark and silent house makes me feel less alone.  Taking the crucial moment in my protagonists' relationship and posting it on the Internet and reading "Oh, how sweet. I loved it!" makes me feel less alone.

I write so I can be understood.  I want my readers to understand all those things that burn inside of me, which can only be explained through story because no one would ever actually sit down and listen to me explain them over coffee.  Heck, I wouldn't even listen to them over coffee because without story, they're boring!  Meaning themes and such. Who likes discussing themes?  Yuck. But when the hero's world is falling apart and he has to choose between what he wants to do and what he is supposed to do, suddenly theme is fascinating.

Perhaps I'm selfish.  I want to be understood.

And let's face facts: Nobody understands writers.  Except other writers.  Which is why we are all here on the Internet, pouring our hearts out and complaining about dogs and writer's block and such.

Simon, I admire your generosity of spirit and believe you will succeed.  How about a group hug?

Nah. Pass the vodka.


So it's Saturday, and the dogs woke me up at 5 a.m.  Who needs an alarm clock when you have two "whimper alarms?"  That high pitched sound just pierces through the fog of sleep.  This is followed by the impatient jangling of metal tags and the "whip-whap" of ears flapping as they shake their heads to be certain that I know they are hungry.

I guess I'll write then.