Do you Nanowrimo?

November 10, 2022November 30, 2022Leave a comment

Since 2013 I’ve participated in Nanowrimo off and on. For those of you not in the know, Nanowrimo is an an acronym for National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month. Because we are a society that likes alliteration, it would only make sense that this event happens in the month of November. I’ve finished some great short stories in this time, but to put that 50,000 words towards a novel already in the works has never happened.

So, my goal this year is to finish the first draft of my novel, Song of the Limberlost. I’m currently about halfway through, and while it’s absolutely a pet project, I’ve also been puttering along. The thing about writing a novel that requires heavy research, is that it unfortunately presents as an excuse for why you haven’t finished you. Admittedly, this has been the case for me as well. Given that I’m an editor during my day job, that also transfers over to my writing style as I heavily edit as I write. Both things that can stall first draft completion if you allow it.

To push myself past this not so lovely habit that I’ve found myself in, I’m setting aside my tendencies to get lost in research and editing before I need to. Getting the bare bones of this project on paper is the plan. So away with the perfectly crafted dialogue and the descriptive sentences, away with the proper Latin names of moths and other lepidopterology (look it up!), away with all the things that have kept me from finishing this first draft. Sometimes, all we need is the opportunity to present itself, to give us the right scenario or situation to spur us into action.

And for those of you struggle to finish a writing project, or even start one, take a look into Nanowrimo. It might be just the push you need!

Here be Monsters

October 4, 2022October 4, 2022Leave a comment

A few posts back I promised to post some short reviews. Although not something new, (but certainly treasured) I’ll start with this little gem.

Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors. I randomly picked up Smoke and Mirrors when I was a teen and instantly fell in love. The man’s way with words is just…*swoon*. I have loved every book written by Gaiman, and I readily admit I’m biased. So if you’re looking for impartiality on this particular book, you won’t find it here.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is childhood bound in words. You cannot read this book without seeing the world again through your own seven-year-old eyes. You’ll remember the wonder, the magic, the fear and hesitation. And you’ll be reminded that for all the whimsy found in your imagination, there were also monsters in the darkness that tried to lure you in. Was it all real or just pretend?

“Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren’t.”

This book is short, and packed full of loveliness that will leave you thinking for days. You’ll reminisce and consider. You’ll hurt and you’ll smile. Really, please, just give it a go.
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Reading From the Other Side of the Tracks

May 6, 2016October 4, 2022Leave a comment

I’ve never been one to suggest reading books that don’t appeal based on genre, subject, or synopsis. But, if you choose not to read certain books just because they fall under one of those genres—sci-fi, fantasy, or romance—then you are an elitist snob, and we don’t want you in our club. Yes, we name call here, and if you can’t handle it you likely wouldn’t enjoy these genres anyways.

To deny yourself the pleasure of these genres based solely on how it makes you ‘look’ is to deprive yourself of some fabulous reading material. Some of my favorite quotes have come from these genres, and some of them are downright brilliant. And of course, the context in which they’re found is sometimes both ironic and hilarious. Case in point: a friend recently asked for everyone’s favorite quotes on love, and I sent her this line,

“Love is rarely flawless…Humans delude themselves by thinking it has to be. It is the imperfection that makes love perfect.”

She adored the quote and asked me what it was from. I told her Succubus Blues by Richelle Mead. My ears might be bleeding from her screeching laughter.

“Are you actually giving me love quotes from a Succubus?”

“Well, yeah…”

Anyways.

But seriously, good portions of those quotes you share on social media are from authors in these genres. Next time you repost a quote from an author you’re unfamiliar with, I dare you to immediately look that person up and then march yourself down to the library for any one of his/her books. If you like the quote, you’ll probably like the rest of the book too. Just sayin’.

Don’t rob yourself of the joy that is American Gods, Solaris, or Practical Magic (This is totally the safe stuff, guys. Message me for the really juicy, campy goods.) If the title or cover art doesn’t do it for you, take another look. I will admit that I’m guilty of judging a book by its cover, I mean who doesn’t like to look at pretty things? And damn, some of those covers are just gorgeous (I’m looking at you, Euphoria.) But sometimes the packaging is deceiving, and it can go both ways. I’ve read some horrendous books that had a fab title and cover art, yet that book on the bottom of my pile, the one with a title that made no sense and a cover that had me sighing in disappointment, turned out to be my favorite of the haul. I often think that the artwork of these genres does a huge disservice to their content. I mean, can we get any more stereotypical with the busty broads, galaxy shots, and broadswords? Don’t answer that. Although the fantasy genre does seem to be making a greater effort lately—Have you seen the cover of The Golem and the Jinni? Total eyegasm.

The point is this, step outside your literary box. Jump the tracks to the not-so-literary side and you might surprise yourself with how many crossover novels you find. Exploration of character isn’t limited to 19th century Russia. Sometimes it’s found in a place outside of time and space, and sometimes it’s found on the moors of Scotland. And if you happen to get lost in another world, is that really so bad?

Sometimes, it’s OK to be a follower.

February 25, 2016October 4, 2022Leave a comment

Tonight I find myself sipping a Long Island iced tea instead of my usual hot beverage, in hopes that a loose mind might meet loose fingers. And let’s face it, despite the love and devotion one might hold for caffeine, every now and then we need a different type of buzz.

The past few evenings I’ve found myself engaging in something that my favorite Prof. calls, “Playing the keys.” Now I’ve heard of this technique before—usually termed something like ‘Free Writing’, but there’s just something about his verbiage that makes it so much more appealing. For those not in the know, this procedure involves writing for a set period of time with zero regards to spelling, grammar, and subject matter. In essence, you’re writing absolute nonsense. The general goal is to clear the mind, get past perfectionist tendencies, and hopefully find some thread of thought that can develop into more. It’s something people like me need use to get out of their own heads. My first reaction to the concept was very open-minded and full of writer-ly enthusiasm. OR, it might have ended in a sniff as I reached for my Thesaurus.

But sometimes, even synonyms get tossed in disgust. So I surrendered and gave it a try after reading yet another lovely experience had by people who know more than I do. And I have to tell you, it’s fun. Of course, it’s also weird and nonsensical, and full of grating errors, but it’s a reflection of your brain, and the way thoughts develop; no longer floating around in the think-tank but in visual, tactile form.

Added bonus: You discover new things about yourself. For example, apparently I prefer an oblivious death, such as the sun engulfing the earth. A bit macabre perhaps, but true.

I was also surprised at some of the lyricism found in my thoughts; some of which were quite pretty (I swear I’m not a pompous person). Here are just a few—and do remember it’s not meant to make sense:

“The ice cold lakes below beckon with temptation and call for a life that is not my own. I dream of you, of pain and sorrow, reactions and moves that are not reality, but a message to myself that I must let you go.”

“A strange taste of copper has overtaken my tongue and my eyes long for the rosy blush that slides over bright metals in fake visions.”

“There is music in the whispers of your lips and songs hovering in the strands of your hair as you giggle and paint your love gold. “

I can’t honestly say that anything has inspired me in one direction or another, but I do feel more creative. And yes, we get touchy-feely here. So as someone who has jumped on the bandwagon, allow me to add my voice to the masses. Let go, play the keys, and dance with your words. You’ll feel better. I promise.

Ode to the Limberlost

December 11, 2015October 4, 2022Leave a comment

When I first began writing Song of the Limberlost, it was only meant to be a short story; the expansion of a flash piece I’d written in a workshop. But the more I wrote, the more I realized that this could blossom into something much greater than 3,000 words. So I scratched the short story and started over. As my storyline and characters continue to develop, I’m seeing that this really is a reflection of my love for the work of Gene Stratton-Porter. One of the things I admire most about this woman is that while writing wasn’t her true passion, her words and voice made it near impossible to miss the devotion and love she held for the Limberlost. So in a manner, my novel is an ode to her work; one obsession reflecting another. If you are familiar with her writings, particularly Freckles and Girl of the Limberlost, you’ll see many nods of recognition to various elements found in those books. While I’m also working on a YA novel, this one has become a bit of a pet project.

For those who are curious about the flash piece that birthed this baby, you’ll find it below.

***

She shadowed the edge of the swamp, her thin blouse clinging to the damp skin of her chest. Despite the signs of autumn found in the dangling crimson leaves and bright berry clusters, it felt like mid-summer. The intense heat and low branches had played havoc with her hair; leaving a disheveled nest that she half expected would attract birds. The heavy wading boots threatened to pull her down into the clinging sea of inky blackness dappled with duckweed.

Determined to follow the 7-mile trail around the wetland that had claimed her father’s life, she’d found herself skirting closer to the edge of the quagmire the further she walked. Aware that she was toying with fate in an intoxicating game of risk, her breath quickened and a sudden rush of mad laughter escaped her throat. She’d never understood the pull her father felt for this bog, but as she’d immersed herself in his world, a slow understanding had taken root.

At first, every minute had been agony. The plethora of unknown sounds and the heart-stopping boom of a well-camouflaged Bittern had her sprinting for the comfort of her jeep, not five minutes in. She’d stared at the swamp with long-held hatred before mustering enough courage to match her determination.

On her second attempt, the beauty of the swamp began to reveal itself. The velvety heads of Cattails bobbed towards her in a show of welcome, and shimmering dragonflies hovered ahead like winged guides for her journey. And though the marsh grasses began an eerie sway against the ripples of the wind, the silvery threads of gossamer webs shimmered in the late afternoon sun.

Near the end of the trail, when she reached the site that marked his resting place, she found a patch of solid ground beyond the footpath and looked out at the mire. As she reflected on that night and all its possibilities of chance, she imagined that under the luster of moonlight the swamp had taken on a luminescent quality. This ephemeral form had lured her father in and swallowed him whole in a slow dance of life and death. Standing to complete her journey, a small crinkle formed at the corner of her mouth as she smiled. Despite the shadow that would forever overcast its grandeur, the marsh held the one she loved most, and he had died in the tranquil arms of his lover.