Monday, March 28, 2011

My Sunday Morning

A typical Sunday morning. I wake early (like 7), lament it's not earlier, try to get to the coffeemaker and computer before anyone else wakes up. Oldest daughter hears. Sits by the screen. Opens Guinness Book of World Records. "Did you know an ostrich can run 45 miles per hour?" I ignore and listen. Nod. Try to come up with another word for sharpen. She keeps reading. Lights are too bright. I dig out a dictionary of the four on the counter. A really large, 1/2 foot thick, bad boy usually has it. I go for the pocket-size with the tabs. It doesn't. "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs made that much money?" She wants breakfast. I say French toast. I take a notebook paper on clipboard to the kitchen, plus the Sunday NYT, and a dictionary and pull out the bacon. Start cooking and reading and writing. Try not to burn anything. Get caught up in a story about a millionaire poker player (and I'm a writer? He's 21, no 22. It's hopeless.) Scribble a line I want to add to my story. Drain the bacon. Crack eggs, whisk with milk and dip white bread, first gets too soggy, splatter the pic of the poker player with cinnamon slosh. Run for thesaurus. Try (again) not to burn while I read, look up a word. Say hello to the second child. Finish my cup. Refill it. Find the right word.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Stop A While

Poor little blog reader. Aren't you feeling lonely? Wouldn't you like a friend or two? For some commiseration or a grin? I've been busy, but I didn't forget you, of course. It's hard work, writing a novel. To craft it for all to see, to make it sparkle with sensation. This is where the unwinding occurs, between ink smears and rewrites and log lines. The self-doubts and small triumphs ("You actually liked my MS?!"). So, come and sit a while. Put your feet up. Read and unwind with me. You're welcome.

Monday, March 14, 2011

The Un-Book

Seriously, revisions aren't the worst.
It's fill-in-the-blank time. Round 'em out time. Ditch the sh*t time.
Thank you, Find and Replace. I've swiftly deleted eyes and looks and now on to the un-'s.
I have about 632 words that begin with un- on 300 pages. It goes with the theme. Suicidal/celebate man.
Time for a pen knife. It'll be fun.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Open Book

It is March now. I continue to write. I harbor few notions of the outcome, and that's a good place to be. For now. I operate in a vacuum of delusion -- that I'll write something someone wants to read.

I've asked several people to read my draft. A few have finished. I've placed an obligation on them. I'm requesting their time. And in my life, time is very precious.

One reader wrote me a thank you note. I was incredibly humbled. I should be thanking her (which I did; a bottle of wine is forthcoming). A college buddy apologized for not having started sooner. She has two pre-schoolers, and she's a stay-at-home mom. Again, I had to thank her for even saying yes.

In the scheme, they are a sympathetic audience. Reading to be nice, and often, to satisfy their curiosity. It's a look inside me, bumps and soft spots. Artists, you are a special group of fragile hearts. May I live up to the inclusion.