advice from a writer

It's time to begin again. A new year is almost upon us. Three hundred and sixty-five blank days stretch out ahead of us...like 365 blank pages. To a writer this is a story waiting to be written, word by word. To an artist--an empty canvas waiting to be painted, stroke by stroke. To a composer--a melody waiting to be composed, note by note.

To each of us--this is time waiting to be lived, moment by moment.

 

Like a writer sitting down to begin a new story, you may already have a few ideas for the year ahead. Call them resolutions...or dreams...or intentions. Or prayers.

 

And, like a writer, you may be full of inspiration and enthusiasm as you begin...until, a few weeks or months later, when the story starts to unravel. Your resolutions fade into memory. Your best efforts fail to move you ahead. Your inner critic (rudely) invites himself in, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and breaks the news to you: you're a loser. Nothing you do is ever good enough. You're lazy or weak or stupid. And before long, you start to think you'll never succeed.

 

 

 

Don't believe it for a minute! It's never too late to begin again! 

 

Take some advice from a writer:

revise, revise, revise.

• Get some action verbs in there. Some superlatives. Walking and jogging may be better than sitting around, but this is the year you hit the pavement. Rather than rolling out of bed in the morning, seize the day! Instead of dieting, learn to eat whole, green and clean. Do you want to be happy...or elated? Satisfied...or fulfilled? Motivated...or compelled?

• Eliminate whatever it is that doesn't move your story ahead--whatever prevents you from achieving your goal.

• Downplay "back story." In other words, try not to dwell on the past.

• Figure out a way to give your story a happy ending. People like that.

 

This year make your story the best it can be.



 

www.earthweareone.com

 



How will you begin?

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 "Each new day is the beginning of a new year."

--me--

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Wishing each of you a New Year filled with inspiration, hope and grace!

jan

 

 





celebrating winter

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=nie5dGD6OQA

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.  

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

 

 

This is my favorite poem. This is my favorite season--a time to celebrate the quiet delights of winter.

Wishing Everyone a Blessed Christmas

and

A Healthy and Happy New Year

jan

good news

The news has been so bad...for so long...for so many that it has taken some of the joy out of Christmas for all of us.

 



www.dailycaller.com



 

The magnitude of suffering has been monumental. But our collective sighs do little to console the victims of tragedy...

 

 

www.vibe.com

 

...and the outpouring of sympathy does little to ease their sorrow.

 



www.stlouisreview.com

 

I sometimes wonder how life goes on for any of us. Why doesn't Mother Earth simply give up, spin off out of orbit, and end it all?

 

Thankfully, though, the sun rose in the East this morning, and we can count on it to set in the West tonight...

 

 

 

 

...and that's good news for all of us.

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"The best things are nearest:

breath in your nostrils,

light in your eyes,

flowers at your feet,

duties at your hand,

 the path of God just before you.

Then do not grasp at the stars

but do life's plain, common work as it comes,

certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life."

--Robert Louis Stevenson--

*

jan

false promises

Like everyone else this week, I'm trying to process the tragedy that unfolded at Sandy Hook Elementary School yesterday.  I didn't turn on the news this morning for the latest updates...not because I can't bear to revisit the pain these families are suffering, not because I'm untouched by it, nor because I'm hardened against it...but in deference to their need for privacy and respect. I'm trying to keep my thoughts reverent and prayerful. The problem is that, in light of this tragedy, I'm not exactly sure who I'm praying to:

God the Father?

www.en.wikipedia.org



God the Son?

www.facebook.com
I Need More of God in My Life

 

Or God the Holy Spirit?

It makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong when I pray, or why I bother at all, so little seems to come of it. And that's a problem for me having struggled for so long to come to some sort of workable relationship with a power or deity who chooses to reveal himself/herself in apparent false promises:

"For my yoke is easy and my burden light." Matthew 11, 30

Really?
 

www.lulacpoliticaletter.blogspot.com

 

 ...in irreconcilable contradictions:

"For the Lord loves justice and right and fills the earth with goodness." Ps. 33, 5

Really?

www.policymic.com

 

 

...and in elusive mysteries:

"Faith is the realization of things hoped for and evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11, 1

 

This kind of tragedy...not to mention its timing...is enough to raise some serious doubts even among dedicated believers. At Mass tonight, it was reassuring to me to learn that even our pastor struggled to make sense of today's gospel:

"...the Lord is in your midst, you have no further misfortune to fear." Zephaniah 3, 15

 

In my Roman Catholic heart of hearts, I don't believe that all the prayer in the world is going to bring one moment of peace, one dew drop of solace, or a trace of comfort to the parents and families of the children whose lives were lost at Sandy Hook yesterday...not to mention the first responders whom I, personally, worship.

 

Nevertheless, when someone else's suffering is paralyzing to witness and we are powerless to help...we may have nowhere else to turn but to prayer, in the hope that someone or something, somewhere, is listening and able to fulfill his/her promises, to reconcile the contradictions, and to answer the question--"How could you let this happen?"--once and for all.







 

It's gotta be worth a try.

jan

 





what is winter without snow?

 

 

What is winter without snow?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hm'm'm.

Okay, I give up...

 

*

The cold was our pride,

the snow was our beauty.

 It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze,

making everything quieter as it fell,

so that winter seemed to partake of religion

in a way no other season did,

hushed, solemn.

--Patricia Hampl--

*

Oh, my. Yes.

jan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

have no fear

Anyone who knows me knows that I love winter.

In my opinion, whoever invented snow deserves praise and glory forever and ever. Amen. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a "snow day" once in a while?

This is a great time of the year, especially for those among us who thrive on chaos. No sooner is Thanksgiving a pleasant memory, than we begin our gift-wrapping, card-sending, cookie-baking preparations for Christmas.

www.getsafeonline.org

The trouble is that takes time...time away from the daydreaming, word-searching, plot-twisting devotion we need inorder to write. Which is why I've taken to jotting things down on the back of cashier receipts, cancelled envelopes, and on the back of my to-do lists...

...wherever and whenever they come to me. Because I'm slow at writing and at this time of the year I don't have time to fritter away in front of my laptop waiting for inspiration to strike.

So...when I carved out a couple of days last week to go to Pittsburgh, it was just One. More. Thing. But I was optimistic about it. The drive takes about four hours depending on weather and traffic...

four uninterupted hours I expected to spend in my head, revising a short story I'm writing, plotting out the next couple of scenes in the novel I seem to be stuck on, and reflecting on the memoir I'm starting to write. Instead, my monkey mind scampered from party planning, to holiday decorating, to cookie baking...anything but story telling. Not one thing came to me. Not one line of dialogue. Not one scenic image. Not one original metaphor. I couldn't have flushed one out if my life depended on it...

...until the drive home. I spent four hours in silence when, for reasons I still cannot fathom, it all came to me. In my mind, I finished the short story and I lined up all the scenes I need to get to the end of my novel.

How does that happen? One day--nothing. The next day--BAM!

www.knowyourmeme.com

The point is that writing requires patience. It can't be forced. But have no fear--when the story is ready, it will come to you. Just when you are about to give up on it, it will drag you, kicking and screaming, back to the keyboard, or to your notebook, or, to a piece of scrap paper, and it will pour itself out. You simply have to be ready for it, open to it, and grateful for it when it happens.

Mary Keeley, an agent at Books & Such Literary Agency, has posted a great piece about this conundrum that you can find here: http://www.booksandsuch.biz/blog/writers-extend-flexibility-to-yourself/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+booksandsuch%2FzNoF+%28Books+and+Such+Blog-+Between+the+Lines%29 .

Are you patient with yourself when you write? How do you handle frustration?

*

"So you see,

imagination needs moodling--

long, inefficient, happy

idling, dawdling and puttering."

--Brenda Ueland--

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Next week: What is Christmas without SNOW??

jan



sensory overload

I just took a cup of coffee out of the microwave where I have re-heated it for the third time this morning...and have yet to sit down long enough to take a sip. The Thanksgiving guests have departed. The leftovers are dwindling. The tablecloths and towels are in the washer, and the kitchen floor has been swept and mopped. Today is recovery...and revision...day.

I'm in the process of revising a short short story for a submission. I don't know how other writers approach revision, but I do it in layers. Formatting, typos, and punctuation first. Grammar and usage, second. Next I circle all the "to be" verbs and eliminate as many as I can, and then I look for other repetitive constructs--paragraphs with too many he's, she's, and it's, and sentences, one after the other, beginning subject/verb, subject/verb.... Finally, I strike out as many adjectives and adverbs as my sinking heart can bear.

Then, the fun begins! Imagining new metaphors...and engaging the five senses--vision, hearing, smell, taste, and touch.



www.educationworld.com



Thanksgiving definitely reawakened my five senses! First, the sun rose such a deep red on Thanksgiving Day that my camera froze up at the beauty of it, so this isn't exactly it, but you get the idea:

www.fireflyforest.net

Then, the mingling aromas of a slow-roasted turkey and spicy-sweet pie tweaked our appetites all afternoon...



 

...although, frankly, I could have done without the reptilian feel of the slippery, slimey liver and kidneys that I boiled up for the dogs!

 

The real taste treat came compliments of Chef Guy Fieri with his recipre for whiskey-glazed sweet potatoes that you can find at http://thefoodnetwork.com:

 

 

And when we sat down to eat, silence prevailed, interrupted only by the sound of forks clicking against china, and an occasional sigh of contentedness.

 

Sensory overload.

 

So, today I'm working on incorporating the senses into my story, "Lost and Found."

• Imagine an elderly widower's apartment that reeks of moldering coffee grounds and old bananas.
• Picture a snow plow barreling down the street spewing out a wall of snow like a monster wave rolling into the shore.
• See him coming in out of the cold with a moustache that has turned to frost and his cheeks, to cherry popsicles.
• Imagine his relief when he opens the door to his friend's store and a tinkling chime and surge of warmth welcome him in.
• Imagine his rue when he realizes he forgot to pick up the hard candy he likes to hand out to the children in the neighborhood. And picture him setting his bag down and slumping against a lamp post when he can't find his way home again.

If you don't see, hear, feel, smell and taste the things your character does, you are left with a mere shadow of the person you are trying to create or describe.

 

www.abc.net.au

 

Are your senses fully engaged in your writing? Are you alert to your surroundings and to the people around you? Or are you rushing ahead with your eyes fixed on the ground and your thoughts elsewhere?

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"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch

you must first

invent the universe."

--Carl Sagan--

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Next week I'll be in Pittsburgh where I'll get to meet Beth Caldwell, author and project manager for the up coming anthology, "Empower! Stories of Breakthrough, Discovery and Triumph" where you will be able to read my chapter, "Begin Again". The anticipated date of release is March, 2013.

 jan