Thought-Drive

The sci-fi short story is done. I hope others feel as positive about it as I do. Fortunately, my writing group was helpful enough to let me put it into the mix and pick over it for sense and clarity. Aside from that, and looking over other people's stuff (which I've been told does not count towards the maximum number of projects a person ought to work on simultaneously) I've been enjoying getting back into the mindset of my fantasy series. I sat down with a pen and some scratch paper for a bit. Earlier, I mentioned that I was having issue with deciding what happens in what order. Emphasis on the order. And I think I have a problem. Years ago, someone handed me a popular fantasy series I will not name. I got maybe through the first fifty pages or so, when a character I had grown attached to was eaten by wolves. Then his friend, who I thought maybe would benefit from watching his friend die, and go on and do great things, died from some other mundane horror. At the time, I ...

This morning, or this afternoon rather (when I finally woke up) I reflected on the old Animaniacs short "Good Idea, Bad Idea." As a child, they were funny, and the soothing baritone of the narrator's voice did much to massage those lessons into my memory. I stayed up entirely too late last night engaged in geekery that I don't wish to describe (read: ashamed). My eyes hurt, and upon realizing that I had plans today, I blinked to stare at the ruin my weekend has become as a result of reckless action. Last week, about Wednesday, I finished the books I was working on (rather, the drafts thereof). I was on a bit of a high; I even thought enough of myself to mention the completion of the feats to the fellows in my writing group (admittedly, they didn't ask what I was up to, and I wanted some pats on the back). Consequently, I felt like maybe I had earned myself a brief vacation. What transpired during the rest of the week was, comparatively, like binge-drinking in so...

A friend shared with me some humility yesterday: a story I had (allegedly) written in an attempt to get him to collaborate with me (a dream of mine). He had apparently found said file, dusted it off, and (finally) did his due diligence. He shared it with me, but waited until I was halfway through the first paragraph and thoroughly confused before he told me which parts were mine and which were his. I thought to myself "I really thought his writing was better than this." But no. No, the thick, swampy sections of untrimmed prose were mine. After wretching, I thought "if those guys at the writer's group thought the prologue to my book was mired in a bog, they should read this." My friend, of course, enlightened me as to how happy I should be at how far I've come. One of the greatest compliments he's given me to date is "When you write a story, I can feel confident that no matter what it is, you won't butcher it." I finished the epilogues to ...

If only questions were currency. This past weekend I had a wild hair. I thought: "I have so relatively little left to write, I can do it in a week, right? Oh, but what if I can't? Maybe I should get started now, that way any extra time on the back end is free." So I did. I wrote one chapter, then another, then another. Three days later, I edited the draft the 25th chapter of one of three books, each with 25 chapters. Aside from the epilogues that lead off into elsewhere, I have finally finished the goal I set out to achieve earlier this year. Go me. Last night I dreamed about Iron Man 2. I can recall seeing an extended trailer for the movie, and that's all I've seen of it. Last night, a dream I had was a contrived scene from the movie (I don't actually know that, it was dream logic) and I woke up wondering why that happens. The cool answer is that I've gotten so much practice at taking stories and seeing where they go, I can literally do it in my sleep. ...

Blog is an appropriate word today (it reminds me of an awkward, spontaneous quip or a disgusting throat gesture). In the past, I've described this exercise as essay in a newer millenium, or one-sided discourse for the argumentatively inclined. But in untimely fashion, today at work, I was filled with a feeling, and have become fit for bursting. Earlier in the semester, I sent up a prayer, which is rare for someone like me; not because I don't believe, but I take calling on powers not my own very seriously. I wanted assistance helping my students: to not be too shallow, or too impatient, too weak, or too distracted, too selfish, or too uncaring. I wanted to be there for them. Throughout the semester, I succeeded some, and failed some in these regards. Just now though, I was reading over some of the students' graduation speeches. I could hear the editor voice at the back of my mind: "that's three cliches in one sentence" and "something's wrong with th...

I'd like to claim that I did blog and you just didn't know it. Technically, I wrote something, and handed it to a friend to put on his, small e-rant page . And I've been writing other things, too. As fate would have it, I'm working this week, also, which is not getting in the way of my earlier pace of a chapter a week on each book, but this close to the finish (my ever-changing outline I carry around in my pocket finally has the end of each book) is beginning to unnerve. I wonder if my computer will hold up, if some gremlin will sneak into my room and magnetize my flash drives, if I'll sleep walk into my Google docs and rewrite all the pages in pig Latin. Next week is my week off, and provided this week goes well, next week I'll have roughly 6-9 chapters to write before work starts back up again. I don't think it's going to happen, at least not as quickly as I'd want. But then, that is my theme song. This Thursday I meet back up with the writing gr...

This summer is shaping up to be like last summer, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. The duress of a lack of money is up, like the temperature, and with it comes gnawing uncertainty. My mentor once told me about "teachers who write" and "writers who teach." He cited himself as the former, and the latter being much closer to the ideal. The difference comes from what a body focuses on. People sometimes extend their hand in greeting with a confident smile, and after their names they're fond of saying "I'm a writer," when the more appropriate statement would be "I like to write sometimes." Recently, I told a friend I didn't want that to be me, I didn't want to work at Office Depot to make ends meet while I tried to be something circumstance weren't allowing me to be. Yesterday, an application to that very place found its way onto my desk. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I was being dared or mocke...