April 18, 2009
So now I have to get into the mood to write on something that I haven't touched in, oh, six months. I think the first step will be to print a copy (on the back side of some scrap recycle), and read the thing through again. That way I won't write what I have already written.
April 15, 2009
Well, if you’ve read some of my past posts you probably would select the Romance. I want to take the next step and get published. I have nothing against POD and self-pub but a new experience is always at the top of my list. I want to see if I can actually interest somebody in the publishing world in my material. So on to farms, and handsome veterinarians and grumpy mares. But always with the other two in mind.
April 13, 2009
Today I got a note from one of my readers who bought the book from me at work. I'm sure most of them bought my book because it sat propped up on my desk for weeks at a time and they were just trying to be polite.
Disclaimer here: I don't report to this person and she doesn't report to me.
This work, this book is wonderful. I am so impressed. The characters are richly portrayed, the story is so poignant. You did a beautiful beautiful story. I'm now sharing it with family and friends.
She had the week from hell last week and took the book with her to bed at 7PM thinking to read herself to sleep. She finished it at 3AM. Sorry about that.
April 10, 2009
April 8, 2009
April 5, 2009
One of my friends asked me the other day about what gets me started sitting at the machine and writing. I tried to tell her that the sitting and typing was not the first thing that happened during the process. So I’m setting this down to try and clarify even in my own mind what triggers a burst of creativity.
First there is the trigger incident. For me this generally occurs when I am in what I consider my muse, New York City. I see someone or something and a story starts in my head. Why are they where they are? Why are they doing what they are doing? This story probably bears no resemblance to reality. If it actually did I think I would begin to need help.
One short story I wrote started when I saw a woman wearing what appeared to be only a black plastic bag curled up on the sidewalk next to a stone pillar of a building on 5th Avenue. First I noticed her, then I began to think of the circumstances that brought her there and then she began to talk to me. No, I don’t hear voices. Then again, maybe I do. The fantasy character in my head begins to tell me her story and it is at this point that I have to write it down or lose it.