Monday, November 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Day 193 + some
Sorry...I'm a little lazy today, because I'm supposed to be working on other things than updating this blog. I was just thinking about how all writing is argumentative or persuasive. However you want to call it. I've been working on my message/sermon for this upcoming Sunday (yeah, I know...no pressure, right?) and it sort of dawned on me how writing my message is so much like writing and essay which is so much like writing a business email. They are all so similar.
So how does writing a young adult/children's novel come into the picture? Creative writing uses the other end of your brain. I don't just mean other side, I mean other end. Its a remote part of the mind that is only really active (I believe) when you are a child unless you make an effort to use it. Its the imaginative part. You know, when you'd walk into a playground, see the jungle gym, and see a cave? Or a pirate ship? Or a bee hive? Or when you were given a piece of Playdoh, you'd see the horse, not the lump.
As adults, most of us don't use that part of our brains. Some adults (inventors, artists, writers, and adults who just haven't grown up) use that "end" of our mind but only on occasion. How often do we unknowingly tap into that creative energy? We have to make an effort, strain, suffer headaches in order to get the same out-of-the-box thinking that it would've taken us half a second when we were a child.
Still, creative writing is very persuasive. Any writing is persuasive. Either you are trying to persuade your readers that the argument you are saying is the logical stance, or you are trying to prove that this product is better than that product, or that God really wants you to do this rather than that. OR you are trying to prove that this world that you've created really is a viable, livable world and that the characters are worth the attention and the time of your readers. And maybe you are just trying to prove that the things these characters learn is something worth noticing. Maybe, just maybe.
I don't think writing, or anything spoken or written or communicated, is worth the effort unless there is a message to it. From something as simple as "I am cold right now" to as complex as a political argument or graduate thesis.
What does your communication prove? Is it idle or is it worth using that side of your brain?
So how does writing a young adult/children's novel come into the picture? Creative writing uses the other end of your brain. I don't just mean other side, I mean other end. Its a remote part of the mind that is only really active (I believe) when you are a child unless you make an effort to use it. Its the imaginative part. You know, when you'd walk into a playground, see the jungle gym, and see a cave? Or a pirate ship? Or a bee hive? Or when you were given a piece of Playdoh, you'd see the horse, not the lump.
As adults, most of us don't use that part of our brains. Some adults (inventors, artists, writers, and adults who just haven't grown up) use that "end" of our mind but only on occasion. How often do we unknowingly tap into that creative energy? We have to make an effort, strain, suffer headaches in order to get the same out-of-the-box thinking that it would've taken us half a second when we were a child.
Still, creative writing is very persuasive. Any writing is persuasive. Either you are trying to persuade your readers that the argument you are saying is the logical stance, or you are trying to prove that this product is better than that product, or that God really wants you to do this rather than that. OR you are trying to prove that this world that you've created really is a viable, livable world and that the characters are worth the attention and the time of your readers. And maybe you are just trying to prove that the things these characters learn is something worth noticing. Maybe, just maybe.
I don't think writing, or anything spoken or written or communicated, is worth the effort unless there is a message to it. From something as simple as "I am cold right now" to as complex as a political argument or graduate thesis.
What does your communication prove? Is it idle or is it worth using that side of your brain?
Monday, October 4, 2010
Day 193
I've been working on my book for over half a year! I just realized.
There has been talk of rings and proposals and change in my life recently. This past weekend I celebrated my 6th anniversary with my boyfriend, eagerly anticipating a marriage proposal but not getting one (he knew I was expecting it haha). Having been with my boyfriend for so long, almost a third of my life, it feels strange to be away from him. When we are not in the same vicinity, I am not as comfortable. I'm not squirming, but it feels like a part of me is missing. I feel whole when he's around.
Except when I'm writing. My boyfriend eeks into all of my male characters, and the way I am around him seems to find its way into all of my female characters. Somehow every male protagonist has attributes that I admire in him. Somehow. I know how, and I know why, but it boggles my mind a little that even when I don't intend to make any of my characters similar to my boyfriend or I, they wind up being that way anyway.
I was talking to him about my novel, describing how I was trying to get my female protagonist to "break" (in that she needs to start changing from who she is to something better). I was explaining how she is stubborn and set in her ways and that I was struggling with making her "turn" because she was that way. At this point in the novel, I knew that my male hero was patterned after my dear, having done it on purpose this time, and I was telling him that I needed the prince to help get her to turn.
Then my boyfriend says, "Oh, so she's like you."
It was like a slap in the face. It was one of those "Duh!" moments where you feel like slapping yourself in the face. Duh, she's like me. Stubborn, set in her ways, slightly brainwashed. Or at least, how I used to be. I'm not proud of it, but I AM proud to say that I have grown up a lot. So, pretty much what I found was that my novel was very much a story of myself and my boyfriend while we were in high school. The characters were almost carbon copies (personality and maturity wise) of our high school selves.
WEIRD!
Sorry. This revelation was a light bulb epiphany moment for me, and as I continue to write (it having been weeks since my boyfriend and I had this conversation), it surprises me that I did not notice it before. Its so blatantly obvious now, of course.
There has been talk of rings and proposals and change in my life recently. This past weekend I celebrated my 6th anniversary with my boyfriend, eagerly anticipating a marriage proposal but not getting one (he knew I was expecting it haha). Having been with my boyfriend for so long, almost a third of my life, it feels strange to be away from him. When we are not in the same vicinity, I am not as comfortable. I'm not squirming, but it feels like a part of me is missing. I feel whole when he's around.
Except when I'm writing. My boyfriend eeks into all of my male characters, and the way I am around him seems to find its way into all of my female characters. Somehow every male protagonist has attributes that I admire in him. Somehow. I know how, and I know why, but it boggles my mind a little that even when I don't intend to make any of my characters similar to my boyfriend or I, they wind up being that way anyway.
I was talking to him about my novel, describing how I was trying to get my female protagonist to "break" (in that she needs to start changing from who she is to something better). I was explaining how she is stubborn and set in her ways and that I was struggling with making her "turn" because she was that way. At this point in the novel, I knew that my male hero was patterned after my dear, having done it on purpose this time, and I was telling him that I needed the prince to help get her to turn.
Then my boyfriend says, "Oh, so she's like you."
It was like a slap in the face. It was one of those "Duh!" moments where you feel like slapping yourself in the face. Duh, she's like me. Stubborn, set in her ways, slightly brainwashed. Or at least, how I used to be. I'm not proud of it, but I AM proud to say that I have grown up a lot. So, pretty much what I found was that my novel was very much a story of myself and my boyfriend while we were in high school. The characters were almost carbon copies (personality and maturity wise) of our high school selves.
WEIRD!
Sorry. This revelation was a light bulb epiphany moment for me, and as I continue to write (it having been weeks since my boyfriend and I had this conversation), it surprises me that I did not notice it before. Its so blatantly obvious now, of course.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Day 177
I have been writing my novel for almost 6 months. Wow. That feels both short and long at at the same time. An accomplishment in time, but a failure in work produced.
Today, I want to write to support public libraries. I'm not on a soap box, but never have I written so much in one week on this novel as I have a week ago.
After Labor Day, I was determined not to spend countless hours in my room goofing off. My younger sisters had all returned to school at that point and the house is dead quiet. A bad quiet. My house is so often full of noise that it has become a normal auditory backdrop, and when absent, I cannot concentrate.
So, I go to the library. Where it is quieter than my house.
I woke up around 10:00am every day (a stark contrast to noon) and drove to the library and wrote until I was hungry for lunch. I was usually there until 12:30pm. I was able to concentrate.
It was such a blessing! I sat in the quiet section at one of the tables, not even in one of the cubbies where you can block yourself out, but at a table, facing the thick tome-like reference books on American History and The History of Drama, and wrote. I wrote about 5 pages a day, on average, for four days. I normally write that much in three weeks.
Hooray!
The writing wasn't horrible either. Even better.
The trick to this was that I practiced my professor's dutiful advice. Ron Carlson would always say, "Stop writing at a place where you know you can start again." I have the habit of stopping at the end of a scene or the chapter. It makes me feel like I have accomplished something. That week, I stopped writing in the middle of conversations. I would reach the end of the scene, feel like it was a good place to stop, and tell myself to write one more page. Then, I would be stuck in the middle of the next scene. I would stop, come back the next morning, and feel like I was literally "picking up from where I left off." Amazing. Funny how simple the advice and how big the effects.
This past week, I was offered a temporary "full-time" position with temporary days off, and I had no time to write. Such a stark contrast. I was itching to write all this past week, but stupid 2 hour commutes per day and 8 1/2 hours at work and three scheduled dinner dates and an iTouch with addicting word games led to no productivity.
My fault.
I almost wish I didn't have a job again. Then I could write.
Today, I want to write to support public libraries. I'm not on a soap box, but never have I written so much in one week on this novel as I have a week ago.
After Labor Day, I was determined not to spend countless hours in my room goofing off. My younger sisters had all returned to school at that point and the house is dead quiet. A bad quiet. My house is so often full of noise that it has become a normal auditory backdrop, and when absent, I cannot concentrate.
So, I go to the library. Where it is quieter than my house.
I woke up around 10:00am every day (a stark contrast to noon) and drove to the library and wrote until I was hungry for lunch. I was usually there until 12:30pm. I was able to concentrate.
It was such a blessing! I sat in the quiet section at one of the tables, not even in one of the cubbies where you can block yourself out, but at a table, facing the thick tome-like reference books on American History and The History of Drama, and wrote. I wrote about 5 pages a day, on average, for four days. I normally write that much in three weeks.
Hooray!
The writing wasn't horrible either. Even better.
The trick to this was that I practiced my professor's dutiful advice. Ron Carlson would always say, "Stop writing at a place where you know you can start again." I have the habit of stopping at the end of a scene or the chapter. It makes me feel like I have accomplished something. That week, I stopped writing in the middle of conversations. I would reach the end of the scene, feel like it was a good place to stop, and tell myself to write one more page. Then, I would be stuck in the middle of the next scene. I would stop, come back the next morning, and feel like I was literally "picking up from where I left off." Amazing. Funny how simple the advice and how big the effects.
This past week, I was offered a temporary "full-time" position with temporary days off, and I had no time to write. Such a stark contrast. I was itching to write all this past week, but stupid 2 hour commutes per day and 8 1/2 hours at work and three scheduled dinner dates and an iTouch with addicting word games led to no productivity.
My fault.
I almost wish I didn't have a job again. Then I could write.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Snippet
The
father watched his only daughter climb out of the car and walk down the cement
pathway lit by ankle high solar lamps stuck in the flowerbeds that lined
it. She walked down the path to the
unfamiliar doorway that the father did his best to avoid. Her backpack of school books and homework was
slung over one shoulder and her duffle bag of her gym clothes, soccer gear, and
other necessities swung from the opposite hand.
She
reached the bottom step of the porch and turned around to wave. The father felt a squeezing pain and caught a
breath. He was glad he was in the car so
she couldn’t see the tear that had managed out of the corner of his eye. He waved back at her and turned the key in
the ignition to drive away before the woman that was now a stranger opened the
door to let her daughter in.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Day 138
Many of you may know that writers are constantly doing character studies. We are intrigued by people. I think that is what makes us want to write.
I am constantly watching people, trying to figure them out from afar (sometimes, even from up close). At restaurants I'm sitting in the corner booth by myself sometimes, watching people interact. Coffee shops and bakeries are great for this. At the mall, at the movie theaters, around the lake. I am constantly taking small mental notes of how people interact and argue and talk and laugh and cry and smile and add it to this little repertoire of instances.
Facebook is a horrible tool for this. Horrible not in the sense that its not useful; horrible in the sense that its too useful. I feel like Facebook: taking advantage of the fact that people post personal information for all to see. I'm not "stalking" random people, mind you. Not strangers. Just old friends. The type of "friends" that are really just acquaintances but you got to meet once in a lecture or you're old acquaintances from high school. I look at their walls, their photos and try to get a sense of where they are, what they've been doing with their lives since we last talked (which often is years).
One friend in particular has intrigued me since high school. She is the epitome of perfection for most people. She's gorgeous, she's smart, she's super nice, (and as a result, she's super popular), she's community service oriented, she's well-dressed but not slutty, she's Christian, and she seems to have a very high future waiting for her. I look at her pictures and not only feel jealous at her easy beauty (there are just some people who are blessed with looks) but wonder if she is as perfect as she appears. What does she struggle with? What does she long for? What makes her angry? I've never seen her lose her composure or get frustrated with someone. She's not even stuck-up or vain like you would expect.
Not to mention, how in the world do you get a person like this?
There has got to be something to her, but there is no reason that I would ever have to contact her. There is no way for me to find out. On top of that, most of her Facebook pictures are posted by other people; she doesn't spend much time on Facebook. I glean information from the wealth of her friends who dote on her.
She epitomizes the ideal for me, but in my mind, I'm thinking, "There has got to be something wrong with her." But no, even the large scar on her arm she got for a horseback riding incident can't even taint her beauty.
Is this weird? Probably. Somewhat stalkerish, I know. My intrigue for her befuddles me sometimes too. I think it is just because she is a character that I don't understand. There are so many other people that I can watch and make assumptions about that have a large possibility of being true. But for this one female acquaintance from high school, I have little assumptions I can make on good measure.
If you ever figure someone like this person out, let me know.
I am constantly watching people, trying to figure them out from afar (sometimes, even from up close). At restaurants I'm sitting in the corner booth by myself sometimes, watching people interact. Coffee shops and bakeries are great for this. At the mall, at the movie theaters, around the lake. I am constantly taking small mental notes of how people interact and argue and talk and laugh and cry and smile and add it to this little repertoire of instances.
Facebook is a horrible tool for this. Horrible not in the sense that its not useful; horrible in the sense that its too useful. I feel like Facebook: taking advantage of the fact that people post personal information for all to see. I'm not "stalking" random people, mind you. Not strangers. Just old friends. The type of "friends" that are really just acquaintances but you got to meet once in a lecture or you're old acquaintances from high school. I look at their walls, their photos and try to get a sense of where they are, what they've been doing with their lives since we last talked (which often is years).
One friend in particular has intrigued me since high school. She is the epitome of perfection for most people. She's gorgeous, she's smart, she's super nice, (and as a result, she's super popular), she's community service oriented, she's well-dressed but not slutty, she's Christian, and she seems to have a very high future waiting for her. I look at her pictures and not only feel jealous at her easy beauty (there are just some people who are blessed with looks) but wonder if she is as perfect as she appears. What does she struggle with? What does she long for? What makes her angry? I've never seen her lose her composure or get frustrated with someone. She's not even stuck-up or vain like you would expect.
Not to mention, how in the world do you get a person like this?
There has got to be something to her, but there is no reason that I would ever have to contact her. There is no way for me to find out. On top of that, most of her Facebook pictures are posted by other people; she doesn't spend much time on Facebook. I glean information from the wealth of her friends who dote on her.
She epitomizes the ideal for me, but in my mind, I'm thinking, "There has got to be something wrong with her." But no, even the large scar on her arm she got for a horseback riding incident can't even taint her beauty.
Is this weird? Probably. Somewhat stalkerish, I know. My intrigue for her befuddles me sometimes too. I think it is just because she is a character that I don't understand. There are so many other people that I can watch and make assumptions about that have a large possibility of being true. But for this one female acquaintance from high school, I have little assumptions I can make on good measure.
If you ever figure someone like this person out, let me know.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Day 127
Dear anonymous readers of the Internet,
I apologize for the two month absence. It is horrid, to be sure. Since I last posted, I've gotten laid off from my job and had a flurry of work-related drama. Nothing much to tell, though it may one day work its way into a story. However, I have been able to concentrate on my writing a bit since I've had more time to think.
I'm 25,000+ words into my story, and I'm worried about length. One of my favorite adult fiction novels is 53,000 words, give or take, and that novel, while not terribly long, was long enough. I've read longer children's literature, but I'm just wondering how closely should I watch my word count.
I guess, overall, it does not matter. I just need to finish the draft.
Getting into the story, I'm realizing how much I need to flesh out my main character. I find it interesting how of all the characters of my book, I have the smallest grasp on my main character. She feels hollow to me at this point. I understand that is probably because I need the most depth from her, but its just disappointing.
No one really understands the "work" of a writer. I am blessed with a boyfriend who is trying to be understanding, though I know that he does not really understands but just simply gives me my space. He makes a point to encourage me to write and to keep blocking out the times of my day to write, which is a blessing more magnificent than he knows. I guess that is the best thing he can do is keep me accountable, because by myself, I am an utter basket case.
Having gotten "half-way" word-count-wise through my novel (although I am less than halfway through the plot), I am beginning to understand this daunting "work" set before me. I know I have to edit this baby, and I am slightly looking forward to it while simultaneously quite fearful of the task, and I have to finish it first. The whole idea of the thing is just frightening. Haha. My favorite adult fiction novel was rewritten 12 times before it was even sent to an editor. TWELVE?! Bah. I'm doomed.
However, I am Day 127 into writing and 25,000 words and I wrote 4 pages today in 1 hour, which is encouraging to me. The numbers encourage me. The words do not, ironically enough. Sometimes I feel like scrapping this entire thing and starting over.
Anyway, on to another day. I have to finish this chapter so I can turn it in to my workshop partner by Wednesday. I'm hoping to get it done before then so I can keep writing onward.
Cheers!
I apologize for the two month absence. It is horrid, to be sure. Since I last posted, I've gotten laid off from my job and had a flurry of work-related drama. Nothing much to tell, though it may one day work its way into a story. However, I have been able to concentrate on my writing a bit since I've had more time to think.
I'm 25,000+ words into my story, and I'm worried about length. One of my favorite adult fiction novels is 53,000 words, give or take, and that novel, while not terribly long, was long enough. I've read longer children's literature, but I'm just wondering how closely should I watch my word count.
I guess, overall, it does not matter. I just need to finish the draft.
Getting into the story, I'm realizing how much I need to flesh out my main character. I find it interesting how of all the characters of my book, I have the smallest grasp on my main character. She feels hollow to me at this point. I understand that is probably because I need the most depth from her, but its just disappointing.
No one really understands the "work" of a writer. I am blessed with a boyfriend who is trying to be understanding, though I know that he does not really understands but just simply gives me my space. He makes a point to encourage me to write and to keep blocking out the times of my day to write, which is a blessing more magnificent than he knows. I guess that is the best thing he can do is keep me accountable, because by myself, I am an utter basket case.
Having gotten "half-way" word-count-wise through my novel (although I am less than halfway through the plot), I am beginning to understand this daunting "work" set before me. I know I have to edit this baby, and I am slightly looking forward to it while simultaneously quite fearful of the task, and I have to finish it first. The whole idea of the thing is just frightening. Haha. My favorite adult fiction novel was rewritten 12 times before it was even sent to an editor. TWELVE?! Bah. I'm doomed.
However, I am Day 127 into writing and 25,000 words and I wrote 4 pages today in 1 hour, which is encouraging to me. The numbers encourage me. The words do not, ironically enough. Sometimes I feel like scrapping this entire thing and starting over.
Anyway, on to another day. I have to finish this chapter so I can turn it in to my workshop partner by Wednesday. I'm hoping to get it done before then so I can keep writing onward.
Cheers!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Day 72
I am not having a very good writing day, so I decided to update here, since I haven't in over 3 weeks.
I have been pondering to what extent I need to let writing consume my life. As an artist of words, I fall prey to the standard artist dilemma. How much do you let go? The more you let go and give to your work, the better your work becomes. The less you give, you have, potentially, a fuller life with friends and family, but no success in your art. What do you do?
As with most things, I believe in a balance. God has blessed me with this talent and wants me to use it for His glory, but I am also convinced He does not want me to neglect the people placed in my life. Its a difficult balance, especially since most people who aren't writers don't understand what I have to do.
My boyfriend and I have come to an agreement where I get Tuesday nights to myself to write. He won't bug me, call me, text me, etc. unless its an emergency. Its almost crazy how good he is at this. I will message him and he won't even answer. Haha.
Sadly, my family does not understand this. I will be writing, and my sister or my mom will come in and start talking to me. I get frustrated, trying to concentrate (especially when I'm having a tough writing day like today) and they get my mind even more off track. I get snappy, and then I've hurt both them and my writing because now I'm super distracted. Blah.
I want to be able to explain to my family, but its hard. How do you explain that there is one day that writing is king? How do you understand that if you aren't tapped into that sort of world?
Let me know if you have any answers.
I have been pondering to what extent I need to let writing consume my life. As an artist of words, I fall prey to the standard artist dilemma. How much do you let go? The more you let go and give to your work, the better your work becomes. The less you give, you have, potentially, a fuller life with friends and family, but no success in your art. What do you do?
As with most things, I believe in a balance. God has blessed me with this talent and wants me to use it for His glory, but I am also convinced He does not want me to neglect the people placed in my life. Its a difficult balance, especially since most people who aren't writers don't understand what I have to do.
My boyfriend and I have come to an agreement where I get Tuesday nights to myself to write. He won't bug me, call me, text me, etc. unless its an emergency. Its almost crazy how good he is at this. I will message him and he won't even answer. Haha.
Sadly, my family does not understand this. I will be writing, and my sister or my mom will come in and start talking to me. I get frustrated, trying to concentrate (especially when I'm having a tough writing day like today) and they get my mind even more off track. I get snappy, and then I've hurt both them and my writing because now I'm super distracted. Blah.
I want to be able to explain to my family, but its hard. How do you explain that there is one day that writing is king? How do you understand that if you aren't tapped into that sort of world?
Let me know if you have any answers.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Day 59
It is very quiet in the house when everyone has gone to sleep. Normally, I'm not a friend of the quiet. I usually have to play background noise such as music (although the television and conversation is exempt from this) to concentrate on anything, but there is definitely something about the hum of the night that makes me peaceful and reflective. It happens often, and it often makes me want to write.
I somewhat despise that I don't function well on little sleep. If I could, I could write for hours into the night and not be horribly affected the next day. Sadly, my brain continually shuts off after midnight, even when I don't realize it, and the things I produce after midnight are either brilliant or mush. Most often, its the latter.
As I've been reading up on writers, I'm beginning to see why some wait until everyone else has gone to bed to write. Its the only time you don't have distractions. Andrew Clements, one of my favorite children's authors, goes into a shed in his back yard to concentrate, locking himself up in a temperature-controlled room with a laptop and no Internet connection. If only I were so brave.
The emphasis on work has been clearly drilled into my head. Every writer has told me that if you want to be a good writer, you have to work. That is the first step. Only 2% of people who start a novel ever complete it, and even less of that 2% get published. Troubling and quite a depressing figure, but it only makes it more of a success when one actually finishes a novel. To think, you are in the top 2% of a group of something, and a large group at that.
I'm over 6 chapters into my novel which equals over 11,000 words. Not that huge of a feat, but I am beginning to find myself more determined to finish this thing, even if never does get published. The huge support from my boyfriend has been a big help. Some people, many people, don't understand writers and their need for uninterrupted solitude. Its not solitude really. They are spending time with more "people" they love. Their characters are things that writers hold very near and dear to them. Its almost as if we write because we have to do our characters justice.
So, onward! Off I go...another week. I shall write blazingly.
I somewhat despise that I don't function well on little sleep. If I could, I could write for hours into the night and not be horribly affected the next day. Sadly, my brain continually shuts off after midnight, even when I don't realize it, and the things I produce after midnight are either brilliant or mush. Most often, its the latter.
As I've been reading up on writers, I'm beginning to see why some wait until everyone else has gone to bed to write. Its the only time you don't have distractions. Andrew Clements, one of my favorite children's authors, goes into a shed in his back yard to concentrate, locking himself up in a temperature-controlled room with a laptop and no Internet connection. If only I were so brave.
The emphasis on work has been clearly drilled into my head. Every writer has told me that if you want to be a good writer, you have to work. That is the first step. Only 2% of people who start a novel ever complete it, and even less of that 2% get published. Troubling and quite a depressing figure, but it only makes it more of a success when one actually finishes a novel. To think, you are in the top 2% of a group of something, and a large group at that.
I'm over 6 chapters into my novel which equals over 11,000 words. Not that huge of a feat, but I am beginning to find myself more determined to finish this thing, even if never does get published. The huge support from my boyfriend has been a big help. Some people, many people, don't understand writers and their need for uninterrupted solitude. Its not solitude really. They are spending time with more "people" they love. Their characters are things that writers hold very near and dear to them. Its almost as if we write because we have to do our characters justice.
So, onward! Off I go...another week. I shall write blazingly.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Day 47
There is a distinction I must make about myself as a writer that I have not been able to accept just yet.
I am a storyteller.
This title of "storyteller" has many different connotations. One of which, in the literary world, is negative. For those of you who have partaken of this "world", the definition of the word "storyteller" pretty much is equated with a poor writer. Its those writers who lower their standards either because they don't know what the high standards are or because they are forced to due to their lack of skills. Either way, it is a demeaning title.
Every art has their snobbishness. Fine arts, music, movie making, etc. all have their own level of the "in crowd" and the "not in crowd" which is distinguished by the amount of knowledge and/or skill that person has. In the literary world, to be a true writer, one must write "literature". This esteemed form of fiction (generally) is what one must achieve to truly be considered a writer. Your work must have the potential to confuse and thus people can write literary essays on it. Your work may even live beyond yourself. THAT, my friends, its literature.
In those terms, I am not a writer. I am a storyteller. I write "genre fiction" or the stories that the general public can read and understand. And if the general public can understand it, then it is obviously not genuine literature.
Half of the art of storytelling is learning to accept this fact. I use the word "accept" here loosely because it can hold different meanings. What I really mean to say is that you accept your position as a storyteller with pride and courage. You understand that the belittling nature of the literary world is just merely so that there can be distinguishing factors. You don't really worry about your work becoming the next thing college freshmen write their essays about. You just want your work to be read and appreciated. You want your characters to shine rather than spill your latest warped world view. You embrace the intricacy of a story and how to tell it well.
I am a storyteller, but I'm still trying to fit in the shoes. Only time will tell.
I am a storyteller.
This title of "storyteller" has many different connotations. One of which, in the literary world, is negative. For those of you who have partaken of this "world", the definition of the word "storyteller" pretty much is equated with a poor writer. Its those writers who lower their standards either because they don't know what the high standards are or because they are forced to due to their lack of skills. Either way, it is a demeaning title.
Every art has their snobbishness. Fine arts, music, movie making, etc. all have their own level of the "in crowd" and the "not in crowd" which is distinguished by the amount of knowledge and/or skill that person has. In the literary world, to be a true writer, one must write "literature". This esteemed form of fiction (generally) is what one must achieve to truly be considered a writer. Your work must have the potential to confuse and thus people can write literary essays on it. Your work may even live beyond yourself. THAT, my friends, its literature.
In those terms, I am not a writer. I am a storyteller. I write "genre fiction" or the stories that the general public can read and understand. And if the general public can understand it, then it is obviously not genuine literature.
Half of the art of storytelling is learning to accept this fact. I use the word "accept" here loosely because it can hold different meanings. What I really mean to say is that you accept your position as a storyteller with pride and courage. You understand that the belittling nature of the literary world is just merely so that there can be distinguishing factors. You don't really worry about your work becoming the next thing college freshmen write their essays about. You just want your work to be read and appreciated. You want your characters to shine rather than spill your latest warped world view. You embrace the intricacy of a story and how to tell it well.
I am a storyteller, but I'm still trying to fit in the shoes. Only time will tell.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Day 25
I'm almost four weeks into writing my novel. Has it really been that long?
I got no writing done last week because we had to put my dog to sleep and the whole week just got shot. My efforts to write today were overrun with taking out trash, vacuuming, mopping, and trying to push some computer sense into my parents who were doing their taxes.
Its funny how a loss can turn your whole life upside down and shake it until all of the parts come lying at your feet.
Meanwhile, today's effort to sit and write was thwarted by my own lack of self discipline, but I hope that this week will be better.
I got no writing done last week because we had to put my dog to sleep and the whole week just got shot. My efforts to write today were overrun with taking out trash, vacuuming, mopping, and trying to push some computer sense into my parents who were doing their taxes.
Its funny how a loss can turn your whole life upside down and shake it until all of the parts come lying at your feet.
Meanwhile, today's effort to sit and write was thwarted by my own lack of self discipline, but I hope that this week will be better.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Day 18
Today is my last day before I start working full time. I am not sure if I am going to look forward to working full-time or going to dread it. We'll see.
My writing will have to fall into the night hours from now on. I hope that I will be successful.
A word about self-discipline. You need an accountability partner. Someone to keep you accountable. Someone who is going to put pressure on you and look over your shoulder to make sure you are doing what you said you were going to do.
Writing a novel is an act of self-discipline. It stretches and challenges you in many different ways, and you will need someone who will gently keep you accountable along the way.
My writing will have to fall into the night hours from now on. I hope that I will be successful.
A word about self-discipline. You need an accountability partner. Someone to keep you accountable. Someone who is going to put pressure on you and look over your shoulder to make sure you are doing what you said you were going to do.
Writing a novel is an act of self-discipline. It stretches and challenges you in many different ways, and you will need someone who will gently keep you accountable along the way.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Day 12
Stats:
16 pages, double-spaced
4562 words
Plot Summary completed
I am not a very good writer. I'm not very dedicated and I tend to write in spurts.
Also, I have been embarking on this novel mission like it were a short story, and I am beginning to quickly find that the battle is very different. You have to do your prep work before you start off, something I did not do. A short story you can just walk around in the dark for awhile, flip on a dimmer switch, and you've got a story. A novel is quite different because you have to decode all of the circuitry in the room.
I have not been super productive, which I guess is understandable. I feel like I'm still waiting to go back into school mode. Its an odd feeling, especially since the new quarter was today and I checked my last quarter's grades for the last time.
Tomorrow is my third to last day to write fully, and I am disappointed in my progress. Although, I guess that these empty days have more been days to catch up on things, which I have done as well. I'm just trying to figure out how to make writing something that holds the same or higher priority.
When it all comes down to it, writing is just a juggle of priorities, I think.
16 pages, double-spaced
4562 words
Plot Summary completed
I am not a very good writer. I'm not very dedicated and I tend to write in spurts.
Also, I have been embarking on this novel mission like it were a short story, and I am beginning to quickly find that the battle is very different. You have to do your prep work before you start off, something I did not do. A short story you can just walk around in the dark for awhile, flip on a dimmer switch, and you've got a story. A novel is quite different because you have to decode all of the circuitry in the room.
I have not been super productive, which I guess is understandable. I feel like I'm still waiting to go back into school mode. Its an odd feeling, especially since the new quarter was today and I checked my last quarter's grades for the last time.
Tomorrow is my third to last day to write fully, and I am disappointed in my progress. Although, I guess that these empty days have more been days to catch up on things, which I have done as well. I'm just trying to figure out how to make writing something that holds the same or higher priority.
When it all comes down to it, writing is just a juggle of priorities, I think.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day 5
I am day five into the writing of my first novel since middle school, and I am starting this blog as a way of motivating myself. I came into writing this novel with the understanding that it was going to be work, but I still did not know exactly what to expect.
Having written for my writing professors for so long, it feels sinful to write genre fiction. Not just genre fiction, young adult genre fiction. Its even worse. I read the words I type and know there is no character development, there is no depth, and the writing sounds so much like what I typed in middle school. Did I learn nothing and just take steps backward? Reverting to what I loved to do when I was little?
This is all going through my head when I write, and it makes it difficult to write without confidence. Confidence in what you are writing makes a big difference. Also, feeling like you are writing something worthwhile makes a big difference too. And approximately 9 pages into it, I feel neither. I'm pushing myself along because I promised I would, but its been tough going so far. Tomorrow is my second fully open day to write, so we'll see how that goes.
For now, I am putting myself here for the purpose of keeping to my guns. A sort of Julia & Julia moment, but without the second Julia. I'm just writing for the purpose of writing. Here's to perseverance.
Having written for my writing professors for so long, it feels sinful to write genre fiction. Not just genre fiction, young adult genre fiction. Its even worse. I read the words I type and know there is no character development, there is no depth, and the writing sounds so much like what I typed in middle school. Did I learn nothing and just take steps backward? Reverting to what I loved to do when I was little?
This is all going through my head when I write, and it makes it difficult to write without confidence. Confidence in what you are writing makes a big difference. Also, feeling like you are writing something worthwhile makes a big difference too. And approximately 9 pages into it, I feel neither. I'm pushing myself along because I promised I would, but its been tough going so far. Tomorrow is my second fully open day to write, so we'll see how that goes.
For now, I am putting myself here for the purpose of keeping to my guns. A sort of Julia & Julia moment, but without the second Julia. I'm just writing for the purpose of writing. Here's to perseverance.
Soli Deo Gloria.
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