As I watch a bush turkey wobble its fat bottom on the fence in my backyard, I am reminded how much I have to be thankful for.
This year, I've had the opportunity to go diving with sharks, hike over volcanoes, and have adventures with family and friends on both sides of the equator.
I'm with someone who makes me laugh, who isn't terrified by my bursts of weirdness, AND who celebrates me, and my writing, every day.
I have the time, and the courage, to write. And finally, I'm doing it. And loving every minute.
However, I am not thankful for the bush turkeys that crash through our saplings and peck over my leftovers at our favorite cafe. Too bad we aren't supposed to eat them: it's too hot for turkey, anyway.
November 26, 2009
November 25, 2009
Nano, I Think It's Over Between Us
There are four more days in November: that means I should be at about 46,000 words. I'm currently squatting on 32,740.
For those of you who don't know, November is National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). The challenge that Nanowrimo poses is to write 50,000 words in one month. That's a heap ton of words.
Not that I was worried, mind you. At the beginning of the month, I was flying. Since I was jobless and waiting-for-visa, I had all the time in the world. My fingers were singing along to the tune of thousands of words an afternoon. I was feeling badass and author-like.
Of course, I cheated. You're supposed to start the month with a fresh project, something you haven't yet started to write. I was already 65,000 words into my first novel-length project. The juices were flowing. I was at the 'By George!' stage of the process, where plot details finally click into place and you slide manically and excitingly towards the story's resolution. I had fallen in love with my characters, who were about to go through some big deal experiences- I couldn't very well STOP. So I used the first half of the month to finish. Fist-pumping ensued. Midnight brownies were made and consumed along with copious amounts of cheap champagne. Pupils became dilated to dish-plate status.
That got me to 20,000 words. I was feeling so excited by my writerly fervor that I soldiered right into a new project, thinking the first 30,000 words of that would go as smoothly as the last 20,000 of the other had.
My mistake.
The first section was great, as it always is: the idea was fresh, the characters were mysterious, and the plot-line was still misty. Then I hit the section where I realized that the words coming out of my fingertips weren't doing justice to the story in my head. Not even close. My characters were silly. My plot was undefined. I seriously considered printing out a copy just so I could set it on fire.
I have to tell you, Nanowrimo, I applaud your enthusiasm and your general goal. I just don't like to write to word count. It gives me no time to brainstorm about my characters, or pace around my office flapping intermittently and talking to myself. It forces me to pump out 'filler' words that I'm going to have to throw out later. It turns writing into a race, and getting to a certain word count into 'winning'. The thing is, a really bad draft makes for a terrible trophy prize.
Thanks, Nano, for teaching me that this is NOT the way I like to write.
For those of you who don't know, November is National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). The challenge that Nanowrimo poses is to write 50,000 words in one month. That's a heap ton of words.
Not that I was worried, mind you. At the beginning of the month, I was flying. Since I was jobless and waiting-for-visa, I had all the time in the world. My fingers were singing along to the tune of thousands of words an afternoon. I was feeling badass and author-like.
Of course, I cheated. You're supposed to start the month with a fresh project, something you haven't yet started to write. I was already 65,000 words into my first novel-length project. The juices were flowing. I was at the 'By George!' stage of the process, where plot details finally click into place and you slide manically and excitingly towards the story's resolution. I had fallen in love with my characters, who were about to go through some big deal experiences- I couldn't very well STOP. So I used the first half of the month to finish. Fist-pumping ensued. Midnight brownies were made and consumed along with copious amounts of cheap champagne. Pupils became dilated to dish-plate status.
That got me to 20,000 words. I was feeling so excited by my writerly fervor that I soldiered right into a new project, thinking the first 30,000 words of that would go as smoothly as the last 20,000 of the other had.
My mistake.
The first section was great, as it always is: the idea was fresh, the characters were mysterious, and the plot-line was still misty. Then I hit the section where I realized that the words coming out of my fingertips weren't doing justice to the story in my head. Not even close. My characters were silly. My plot was undefined. I seriously considered printing out a copy just so I could set it on fire.
I have to tell you, Nanowrimo, I applaud your enthusiasm and your general goal. I just don't like to write to word count. It gives me no time to brainstorm about my characters, or pace around my office flapping intermittently and talking to myself. It forces me to pump out 'filler' words that I'm going to have to throw out later. It turns writing into a race, and getting to a certain word count into 'winning'. The thing is, a really bad draft makes for a terrible trophy prize.
Thanks, Nano, for teaching me that this is NOT the way I like to write.
July 14, 2009
Read of the Week
Now that I actually have time to read for pleasure, I find myself wandering into bookstores all over Brisbane and being too overwhelmed to choose a book out, which got me thinking about that standard get-to-know-you question, "What is your favorite book?". I've always thought that was a boring, not to mention unanswerable, question. So I've come up with some more interesting ones in an attempt to shake off my book buyer's block.
What was your favorite book as a child?
The Fledgling by Jane Langton. Even as an adult, I still dream myself into that story.
What book did you have the strongest positive emotional reaction to? Negative reaction?
Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg. This book made my heart overflow with happy feelings, and the conviction that love can heal anything.
Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. I hated the whiny, selfish main character so much that I threw this book against the wall and wished evil things on it. I actually felt like he'd insulted me personally with his fictitious decisions.
What book have you most identified with?
I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. When I first read it, I felt like someone had ripped off my shadow and made it into the book's main character. It was a surprisingly fulfilling experience, discovering a piece of myself in someone else's book.
What book do you read over and over to escape?
Harry Potter, of course. Like all "trendy" reads, I didn't want to love this series, but I inevitably fell for it, utterly and eternally. No one creates a world that readers long to run into like J.K. Rowling. I'm very grateful to her for that.
What is the most rewarding book you've ever read?
Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky. Reading this book felt like wading through molasses; it was arduous and difficult. That said, every page gave me something unique and rich. Every chapter taught me a lesson about literature, about reading, and about living.
What is your favorite guilty pleasure book?
The Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris. Vampires, Southern culture, and detailed sex scenes? Sign me up. When I'm feeling stressed, this series is my go-to, and I enjoy every page. Don't tell anyone, though.
When forced, what do you tell people is your favorite book, and why that one?
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. It is intense, haunting, beautiful, and dark- it is a timeless work that transfixes even dubious readers with rich characters and a 'love story' that is tortured and real. If I was being honest, though, I'd say that's changed to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, the much-forgotten youngest sister. Her tale may not be as immediately transfixing as Emily's, but it is, in many ways, more grown up, more haunting, and more beautiful.
I'm looking for something that will sweep me up with good language and a captivating story. Any suggestions?
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