Writing and Acting

The nice thing about writing for yourself, no agent or editor nagging you, is that you can go at your own speed, stop and write something else (like the flash fiction for Feb.) or take off the day without guilt.

I was too tired the day after the Golden Globes (all those parties) and the Inauguration took up a whole day and the next day I was too tired (all those balls).

With one thing and another I haven’t written more of the story I posted about below.  But tomorrow I’m going to give it a try again.  In fact I’m actually looking forward to it.  I think now I’ll do stories about the same characters I’m introducing in this first story.  Only a thought.

The back page of the NYTBR has an essay today about book promotion.  It’s about making movie trailers or something jazzy and different about books for the Internet.  The thrust of this essay seems to be that if you don’t do that you might as well flush your book down the toilet.

And I thought book tours were nightmares.  I mean, part of wanting to be a writer for me was that I could be alone.  But now I’d have to make a movie and be with gaffers and grips.

I guess this is the wave of the future (the future is now) and nothing will stop it.  For some this may be fun and exciting.  For me the excitement is the act of putting my fingers on the keys and … I almost forgot … shutting the door.

Writing One, Thinking Of Another

Strange what’s happening.  Or maybe not so strange.  I started a short story last week and I noticed this week that my mind keeps making dips like: maybe this can become a novel.  Why couldn’t this be the YA that my agent is always trying to get me to write?  Or, I can write connecting stories and……….

The reason I say it may not be strange is because at heart I’m a novelist.  I thought that writing ss would free me.  It did at first…by that I mean the first six pages or so.  But as the story kept growing, taking side trips, one thing reminding me of another, the long fingers of the novel snagged me. And what’s really odd (for me) is that my family keeps creeping into this thing.

Writing ss I know there’s not a chance in hell that I’d sell one and that’s where the freedom comes in. But with a novel there’s always that hope in me even though I know it’s one of the worst periods in publishing.

I don’t want to think about writing a novel.  But I also want to keep writing. I’ll have to press on and let my mind do its tricks and try not to pay attention.  I don’t hold out much hope for that.

Annoying Things

Good news and bad news.  I wrote again today and got a good chunk done.  I don’t mean that the writing is good…just that I did it.

BUT…I hate Word 2007.  I even bought myself a book called The Missing Manual.  It never has what I need.

When I finished my last word I hit the return, clicked on the icon for middle of page and to show a passage of time I did this *** .  First it made strange lines and borders and I’ll never know how I got out of that, and then it screwed up my entire format.  Two lines on a page.  Last lines of paragraphs in the middle of a line.  It took me 45 min. to get a format back.  Not the one I had, but something like it.  Something sane looking.  I’m thinking of going back to Word 2003. This is not what you want to do after writing.

Still, I got the work done and didn’t lose it.

 

Just One of Those Things

Everyday can’t be a winner when you’re writing.  Today was not so hot for me.  After yesterday I felt fired up.  But a feeling isn’t a fact.

I stayed at my desk for three hours, but I got very little done. I was disappointed.  Still, I wasn’t depressed by my lack of success. 

I have tomorrow and I can hope for a better day.

Yes!

Over a thousand words.

Time 2

It’s Saturday.  Less than two days left before I start to write.  Part of me feels like this is the last weekend of my life.  Another part is looking forward to Monday.

What if I just sit here?

What if I stare at this screen and nothing happens?

I do have a title so that’s something.  But what if I can’t even write a first line?

In the past two years I’ve written those 200 pages that I ended up stuffing in a drawer; a short story for the anthology A Hell of a Woman and a flash fiction piece.  Not my usual output.  Not me at all. Not who I once was. 

Time has passed, I’ve grown older and I’m rusty.  I have a new Word program.  I’m not even sure I know how to use it properly.

But here’s the thing I have to remember:  I’m not writing for anyone but myself.  This is both good and bad.  It’s good because I can be on my own schedule, take my time, screw up.  Bad because I’m not writing for anyone.  Agent, editor, publisher.  They aren’t thinking about me.  This is a whole new world.

Will I be able to do this without the carrot?

WTF, I’m simply going to try.