I got the complete Dawson's Creek DVD boxed set for Christmas, early in December. So for the past month and a half, Hubs and I have been immersing ourselves in the world of Capeside, MA a couple hours a night, roughly 4-5 nights a week.
I remembered the shows from the first two seasons, watching them on their original air date and experiencing the pain in their lives as it matched with the things going on in mine. I remembered relating, I could almost feel the loneliness of being in high school and having so many people around, but that I had to look forward to a television show on Thursdays, that really understood what I was going through right then. Remembering how real and luscious those feelings were. Navagating through friendships, love intrigue, breakups, frenemies (of course, I don't think they'd invented that handy term yet back in the late nineties Dawson's Creek days). Fantastically great high points and the worst disappointments and sadnesses. And friends that alternately seem like they will always be there for you and the next day like they will never talk to you again.
Of course this is why so many adults are so fascinated by the young adult craze. I can't even image there are actually teenagers reading the young adult fiction out there; in my mind, I picture it all as middle-aged women who just want to feel those exciting feelings again.
I got caught up in the neo-young adult craze when every other warm-blooded adult did, when Twilight came out. I never imagined that it would be what I wanted to write.
Then I started watching Dawson's Creek. And then there were two seemingly unrelated scenes that wrote themselves out in my head, and I figured out how they intertwined, and have been planning out all the rest.
It all seems to fit. It seems fun. I have enjoyed writing what I've written so far, and I like the ideas I have about where it's going. It just happens to have turned into a YA.
Then it occurred to me. It reminds me of Dawson's Creek. There are similarities that are pretty clear, but the story line is so different. I'd hate to think that my brain subconsciously wrapped its little tendrils around Dawson's story to fill in parts of my Shiny New Idea. But all the elements also make sense with the world I'm creating. I will have to see as the story unfolds more out of my head, but I'm hoping that my fun little world wasn't built straight from Dawson's.
Or maybe everything really is just like Dawson's Creek.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Friday Inspiration -- Merrit Malloy
I found Merrit Malloy's first book of poetry, My Song for Him who Never Sang to Me, in a college reading room when I was attending a summer camp there at age 13. I picked up the book because the title intrigued me. The stamp in the book said "SUB Reading Room - Read, Enjoy, Return."
My moral compass wasn't so strong then, so needless to say, this book did not get returned; I was instantly obsessed.
Anyone who loves love could not help but be inspired by her words. She manages to capture the feelings of loneliness, hope, and anticipation in those delicious first-moments. I am a sucker for the love line in life as well as any story I read or have ever written, so these totally resonate with me. She also writes about her love of her children and friends, so there is something different I relate to each time I go back through her books.
It was hinted inside that first book I found that she had written another title. I checked at the Barnes and Noble and was told that there were several more titles, all out of print. This was before the proliferation of the internet and the ability to Google and find anything under the sun, so I spent the next couple of years checking every used book shop, thrift store, or antique store that may have books on the off chance I could find one of hers. Then there was Google, and Alibris, and Amazon, and it turns out she wrote 5 books of poetry in all, My Song for Him..., Things I Meant to Say to You when We Were Old, We Hardly See Each Other Anymore, Beware of Older Men, and The People Who Didn't Say Goodbye. I was able to complete my collection by the time I was 24.
It pains me to think of these inspirations kept locked up inside the books, so I wanted to share some of her poems from time to time. The first one I'd like to share is from Things I Meant to Say to You when We Were Old, it is untitled, on page 31 in my edition, copyright 1977.
I found your jeans today . . .
. . . In the box with the Christmas lights
And old feelings
Came like parachutes
To rest me on the basement floor. . .
You know . . . I really liked you
I think you were the best playmate
I've ever had . . .
Even now . . .
I have some plans . . . left over
Like your jeans
That would only fit on you . . .
My moral compass wasn't so strong then, so needless to say, this book did not get returned; I was instantly obsessed.
Anyone who loves love could not help but be inspired by her words. She manages to capture the feelings of loneliness, hope, and anticipation in those delicious first-moments. I am a sucker for the love line in life as well as any story I read or have ever written, so these totally resonate with me. She also writes about her love of her children and friends, so there is something different I relate to each time I go back through her books.
It was hinted inside that first book I found that she had written another title. I checked at the Barnes and Noble and was told that there were several more titles, all out of print. This was before the proliferation of the internet and the ability to Google and find anything under the sun, so I spent the next couple of years checking every used book shop, thrift store, or antique store that may have books on the off chance I could find one of hers. Then there was Google, and Alibris, and Amazon, and it turns out she wrote 5 books of poetry in all, My Song for Him..., Things I Meant to Say to You when We Were Old, We Hardly See Each Other Anymore, Beware of Older Men, and The People Who Didn't Say Goodbye. I was able to complete my collection by the time I was 24.
It pains me to think of these inspirations kept locked up inside the books, so I wanted to share some of her poems from time to time. The first one I'd like to share is from Things I Meant to Say to You when We Were Old, it is untitled, on page 31 in my edition, copyright 1977.
I found your jeans today . . .
. . . In the box with the Christmas lights
And old feelings
Came like parachutes
To rest me on the basement floor. . .
You know . . . I really liked you
I think you were the best playmate
I've ever had . . .
Even now . . .
I have some plans . . . left over
Like your jeans
That would only fit on you . . .
Monday, January 23, 2012
Yay for Shiny New Ideas!
Even the ultimate deadline didn't do it for me.
I must be hopeless... Even knowing I was broadcasting my progress out into cyberspace. I just quit broadcasting.
Because I wasn't writing. All the efforts I made to kick my bottom into gear, and it didn't matter.
Then, lo and behold, a scene that unfolded in my head because of something I saw in the Hy-Vee parking lot over Thanksgiving converged with another nugget of a scene that tugged at my brain later, and I wound around and around in my mind how these two would go in the same story, because they seemed like they could relate.
And then it came to me. And I'm pretty excited about it.
Twenty-two hundred words in 4 days excited. That's pretty good for a mama with a full-time job who's out of practice, I'd say.
Anything is better than nothing.
And when I said that I would have at least one whole novel done by 12/21/12, while I thought I had in mind which one, in the end it doesn't matter to me. And for some reason I am not obsessing over this one like the other one, nit-picking over every word and how it should open, etc. Instead, I'm just letting the words flow out and having fun seeing where it's going, just as it should be.
After all, it should be fun.
I must be hopeless... Even knowing I was broadcasting my progress out into cyberspace. I just quit broadcasting.
Because I wasn't writing. All the efforts I made to kick my bottom into gear, and it didn't matter.
Then, lo and behold, a scene that unfolded in my head because of something I saw in the Hy-Vee parking lot over Thanksgiving converged with another nugget of a scene that tugged at my brain later, and I wound around and around in my mind how these two would go in the same story, because they seemed like they could relate.
And then it came to me. And I'm pretty excited about it.
Twenty-two hundred words in 4 days excited. That's pretty good for a mama with a full-time job who's out of practice, I'd say.
Anything is better than nothing.
And when I said that I would have at least one whole novel done by 12/21/12, while I thought I had in mind which one, in the end it doesn't matter to me. And for some reason I am not obsessing over this one like the other one, nit-picking over every word and how it should open, etc. Instead, I'm just letting the words flow out and having fun seeing where it's going, just as it should be.
After all, it should be fun.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Overzealous Reading Goal
I declared this time last week that my reading goal for 2012 was 100 books.
It is quite clear that I was still caught in the starry-eyed bliss of being a woman of leisure for a 10-day holiday. Where I read something like 4-5 books in those 10 days, thanks to the help of a brand new Kindle Fire, some awesomely fun books, and of course, a great deal of free-time.
Then I went back to work. It sucked the motivation right out of me.
I am right at halfway through Monica Leonelle's Silver Smoke, which is quite long but goes quickly when I get an undistracted block of time.
I also got the itch to read some classics. I started Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, but I may not get back to this right away. I also purchased The Catcher in the Rye in hard copy (since it is not yet available for Kindle). Yes, yes, it feels like sophomore English. It only gets better... The Great Gatsby is on my wish list as well.
I will chop down my reading goal, at this time I'm not willing to go under 75. This is a solid goal. I think I can do it....
It is quite clear that I was still caught in the starry-eyed bliss of being a woman of leisure for a 10-day holiday. Where I read something like 4-5 books in those 10 days, thanks to the help of a brand new Kindle Fire, some awesomely fun books, and of course, a great deal of free-time.
Then I went back to work. It sucked the motivation right out of me.
I am right at halfway through Monica Leonelle's Silver Smoke, which is quite long but goes quickly when I get an undistracted block of time.
I also got the itch to read some classics. I started Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, but I may not get back to this right away. I also purchased The Catcher in the Rye in hard copy (since it is not yet available for Kindle). Yes, yes, it feels like sophomore English. It only gets better... The Great Gatsby is on my wish list as well.
I will chop down my reading goal, at this time I'm not willing to go under 75. This is a solid goal. I think I can do it....
Monday, January 9, 2012
Starting from the Beginning
Recently, Natalie Whipple did a series of posts on her blog Between Fact and Fiction about writing beginnings (there is a part 2 and 3 as well). I read it with great interest. This is pretty much my biggest setback right now. If I look back to the days when I was young and wrote with great relish, it was even the bane of my process then.
I think there is just major pressure about writing the beginning to be just so. It is stressed that if your beginning sucks, no one important will ever be around to see the middle. This makes sense of course, but not for it to be so debilitating to someone who is not only writing her first novel, but who knows it is meant to be drivel. It is meant to be a learning experience. Yet, I let it hold me back.
The novel I have been agonizing about and nursing for the past 3 years actually has several beginnings. I've also written most of the body once (that I wrote before the beginning, and never quite got the correct beginning to match it up to). Now it doesn't even matter that I wrote all the rest, because there have been major concept changes in my head that demand everything to be done over.
Here are the first ~200 words to the very first incarnation ever of my WiP:
As I drove home, I was conflicted between feeling outrage for my boss, and outrage at myself. I had gotten fired? My stomach was on the floor of the car. Intense disappointment lingered like a large lump in its place. I would have to tell my parents. I would have to admit to everyone and eventually myself that I couldn’t be the successful journalist that I had dreamed of being.
My mind journeyed to different possibilities of where my life would go from here. I saw myself in a dirty pink bathrobe wearing camouflage pants and muddy, holy sneakers, warming my hands in front of a flaming barrel of garbage behind a slum house downtown. Of course, I could choose the more optimal route and exfoliate, thoroughly shave the nether regions of my body, and show up at amateur night at the strip club. Then I saw myself hanging upside down by my legs on a sticky pole, and getting pole burn as I slid down flailing my arms.
As my ridiculous thoughts wallowed out of control, I realized I was almost feeling a little bit better. Out of my despair, amazingly came a great relief.
I guess it's a little bit cheeky, and fits with the tone of what the original ideation was, but I know this would not win first place as The beginning for anyone.
Jump ahead 3 years, and this is the most current beginning I've conjured.
It was bad enough having to hear the alarm go off in my ear. The only thing worse was having to wrestle away the arm that confined the upper part of my body. The blaring was impossibly loud, and the arm was stiff around my body. I grumbled and shoved, propping myself up on my arm to reach over and hit snooze. I shook Mitch, since the alarm was set for him and all. He groaned and rolled over, taking half the blankets with him. So much for going back to sleep. I sighed and blinked my eyes at the dim glowing LED numbers, which still jumbled together. Five-fifteen. What the hell was I thinking?
I laid back against my pillow. The cold morning air was shocking after being nestled under warm blankets and trapped against another human all night. It was still the confused part of spring, and I chose to keep the thermostat off in the apartment. It was probably well into the 60’s inside, but I was adamant. I sat up again swung my legs over the bed. I found my slippers. My robe was hanging inside the bathroom door, which was all the way outside my bedroom.
This was written for NaNo this year, because I thought maybe that would be my inspiration to just write through it. It didn't work, as I ended November still on that same scene.
In between, there were a couple of other beginnings. I also know it is A Rule that a book is not to begin with the Main Character waking up. Yes, see above, already screwed. Another Rule is that a main character should not be driving anywhere to begin things. Yup, one of my more current starts is my MC driving somewhere. I am beating my head against the wall here. However, I've also had ones that started with more immediate action, as is sometimes suggested they should, and it feels too abrupt to me.
So what is my problem? I know that I can't improve a story until I get the story OUT! So why am I letting this hang me up?!
I think there is just major pressure about writing the beginning to be just so. It is stressed that if your beginning sucks, no one important will ever be around to see the middle. This makes sense of course, but not for it to be so debilitating to someone who is not only writing her first novel, but who knows it is meant to be drivel. It is meant to be a learning experience. Yet, I let it hold me back.
The novel I have been agonizing about and nursing for the past 3 years actually has several beginnings. I've also written most of the body once (that I wrote before the beginning, and never quite got the correct beginning to match it up to). Now it doesn't even matter that I wrote all the rest, because there have been major concept changes in my head that demand everything to be done over.
Here are the first ~200 words to the very first incarnation ever of my WiP:
As I drove home, I was conflicted between feeling outrage for my boss, and outrage at myself. I had gotten fired? My stomach was on the floor of the car. Intense disappointment lingered like a large lump in its place. I would have to tell my parents. I would have to admit to everyone and eventually myself that I couldn’t be the successful journalist that I had dreamed of being.
My mind journeyed to different possibilities of where my life would go from here. I saw myself in a dirty pink bathrobe wearing camouflage pants and muddy, holy sneakers, warming my hands in front of a flaming barrel of garbage behind a slum house downtown. Of course, I could choose the more optimal route and exfoliate, thoroughly shave the nether regions of my body, and show up at amateur night at the strip club. Then I saw myself hanging upside down by my legs on a sticky pole, and getting pole burn as I slid down flailing my arms.
As my ridiculous thoughts wallowed out of control, I realized I was almost feeling a little bit better. Out of my despair, amazingly came a great relief.
I guess it's a little bit cheeky, and fits with the tone of what the original ideation was, but I know this would not win first place as The beginning for anyone.
Jump ahead 3 years, and this is the most current beginning I've conjured.
It was bad enough having to hear the alarm go off in my ear. The only thing worse was having to wrestle away the arm that confined the upper part of my body. The blaring was impossibly loud, and the arm was stiff around my body. I grumbled and shoved, propping myself up on my arm to reach over and hit snooze. I shook Mitch, since the alarm was set for him and all. He groaned and rolled over, taking half the blankets with him. So much for going back to sleep. I sighed and blinked my eyes at the dim glowing LED numbers, which still jumbled together. Five-fifteen. What the hell was I thinking?
I laid back against my pillow. The cold morning air was shocking after being nestled under warm blankets and trapped against another human all night. It was still the confused part of spring, and I chose to keep the thermostat off in the apartment. It was probably well into the 60’s inside, but I was adamant. I sat up again swung my legs over the bed. I found my slippers. My robe was hanging inside the bathroom door, which was all the way outside my bedroom.
This was written for NaNo this year, because I thought maybe that would be my inspiration to just write through it. It didn't work, as I ended November still on that same scene.
In between, there were a couple of other beginnings. I also know it is A Rule that a book is not to begin with the Main Character waking up. Yes, see above, already screwed. Another Rule is that a main character should not be driving anywhere to begin things. Yup, one of my more current starts is my MC driving somewhere. I am beating my head against the wall here. However, I've also had ones that started with more immediate action, as is sometimes suggested they should, and it feels too abrupt to me.
So what is my problem? I know that I can't improve a story until I get the story OUT! So why am I letting this hang me up?!
Friday, January 6, 2012
What Inspires Me? Friday
My first What Inspires Me? Friday installment is almost a given. As mentioned previously, I've been poring over sooooo many other blogs for 4 years, my first inspiration of note is
WRITERS' BLOGS
Yes, this is silly, but reading about the journeys of other writers stokes the fire in me to get my words out on the page. I want to be there with them talking about my characters, exchanging pages to crit, discussing plot, etc.
I've had the same story kicking around in my head this whole time. I have written down different portions of different incarnations, including most of one whole run-through. My first practice novel will be this same concept almost entirely rewritten, and I through this whole thing, I think one thing that is slowing me down is a lack of feedback on whether I'm on the right track.
True story: I've asked two people in my normal life if they'd be willing to read over my chapters or review my character's motivations and the plot line. They both agreed that they would be happy to do these things. Both were very thoughtful, well-meaning people, and I was very eager to get their feedback. I emailed off chapters in one case, or what I thought were questionable character motivations in the other. Then I waited with excitement for their responses. And never got any. Never even got emails saying, "I got this, give me a while to look over it." Granted, in one case the person in question was my boss at the time, so she verbally confirmed receipt and that she'd send a critique. Then nothing. It is clear that I reached out to the wrong people, who really were great people and indeed well-meaning. But who just didn't find this to be a priority in their life.
What inspires me about the writer's blogs I look at is that I can go back through the annals and start from the beginning with their dreams and goals, then see them post after post building a support group, and with that the confidence to go on. It makes me excited about the possibility of meeting someone else out there who I could brainstorm with about little nuggets of ideas or big plot points; character motivations and flaws and personalities. Someone who will not only write me back, but tell me whether it is garbage or if it is garbage that can be cleaned up a bit, or what. And for whom I can return the favor.
WRITERS' BLOGS
Yes, this is silly, but reading about the journeys of other writers stokes the fire in me to get my words out on the page. I want to be there with them talking about my characters, exchanging pages to crit, discussing plot, etc.
I've had the same story kicking around in my head this whole time. I have written down different portions of different incarnations, including most of one whole run-through. My first practice novel will be this same concept almost entirely rewritten, and I through this whole thing, I think one thing that is slowing me down is a lack of feedback on whether I'm on the right track.
True story: I've asked two people in my normal life if they'd be willing to read over my chapters or review my character's motivations and the plot line. They both agreed that they would be happy to do these things. Both were very thoughtful, well-meaning people, and I was very eager to get their feedback. I emailed off chapters in one case, or what I thought were questionable character motivations in the other. Then I waited with excitement for their responses. And never got any. Never even got emails saying, "I got this, give me a while to look over it." Granted, in one case the person in question was my boss at the time, so she verbally confirmed receipt and that she'd send a critique. Then nothing. It is clear that I reached out to the wrong people, who really were great people and indeed well-meaning. But who just didn't find this to be a priority in their life.
What inspires me about the writer's blogs I look at is that I can go back through the annals and start from the beginning with their dreams and goals, then see them post after post building a support group, and with that the confidence to go on. It makes me excited about the possibility of meeting someone else out there who I could brainstorm with about little nuggets of ideas or big plot points; character motivations and flaws and personalities. Someone who will not only write me back, but tell me whether it is garbage or if it is garbage that can be cleaned up a bit, or what. And for whom I can return the favor.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Light Reading Goal for 2012
My Christmas gift from Hubs was a Kindle Fire. I denied wanting one many times in the weeks preceding Christmas; then I lingered with it a bit longer than normal at the stores, or maybe asked one too many questions about it during the commercials, then insisted that I was quite okay with my Sony Reader PRS-505. Perhaps I protested too much.
I decided that with so many formats in which to digitally receive books, I ought to make good use and set a reading goal. It is standard for me to go through reading spurts, and go long months without reading anything. This year, I'd like to barrel through 100 books. My deft math skills tell me that that comes out to about one book every 3.5 days. Which means I'm almost already behind.
I had a blast with it during my Christmas vacation. I finally read each of Stephanie Perkins' books, fabulous, as if there'd be any other reaction; Liz Reinhardt's newest one Forgiving Trinity, which was different from her others, but still great.
I've loaded it with a ton of others, and now have started Monica Leonelle's Silver Smoke. I anticipate this being the first book I finish reading in 2012. I also anticipate sharing reviews of some of these.
What else is anyone excited to read in 2012? Any good recommendations I should add to my list?
I decided that with so many formats in which to digitally receive books, I ought to make good use and set a reading goal. It is standard for me to go through reading spurts, and go long months without reading anything. This year, I'd like to barrel through 100 books. My deft math skills tell me that that comes out to about one book every 3.5 days. Which means I'm almost already behind.
I had a blast with it during my Christmas vacation. I finally read each of Stephanie Perkins' books, fabulous, as if there'd be any other reaction; Liz Reinhardt's newest one Forgiving Trinity, which was different from her others, but still great.
I've loaded it with a ton of others, and now have started Monica Leonelle's Silver Smoke. I anticipate this being the first book I finish reading in 2012. I also anticipate sharing reviews of some of these.
What else is anyone excited to read in 2012? Any good recommendations I should add to my list?
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