Closed doors

Closed doors invite knocks. There is something irresistible about someone behind a closed door. If we can’t see them we need to know what they are up to. This instinct is prevalent in adults and children alike. If there is a person behind the door it means that they are not accessible. And a person always wants what they can’t have. So although the person, lets say a writer, is not really needed they will be sought out and interrupted. Usually when things finally start to flow. This makes me wonder if I wouldn’t be more successful writing in the middle of the living room with plugs in my ears. LOL

Giving encouragement

I am a member of several writers groups. One of the main things we do in these groups is encourage each other. Provide a shoulder, the straight truth or constructive criticism when someone needs it. The trick is figuring when they need what.

As I understand it, this knowledge comes with experience. I try to be a friend and provide this to my fellow writers. And although most times I do get it right. Sometimes, I feel as though I fall short. Either I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, or I talk too much and end up saying something that is taken wrong.

For years my father encouraged me, and as a result I no longer enjoyed what I did, playing the violin, singing, painting or writing. The only thing I kept coming back to was writing. So I guess it helped to hone my interests…although I like to think it could have been done less painfully another way.

We had a problem because he tried to help. The halfhearted “Oh, that’s nice” got drowned out by the list of things I could do better. Intellectually, I knew he meant to help, but the barrage of criticism, left me with the feeling I was so terrible at what I tried that I shouldn’t bother.

Finally, I realized that the only failure was to stop trying, and I needed to keep working on what I wanted. While there are people that hate my work, there will also be people that enjoy it.

But I digress.

Because of my experience with encouragement I feel as though I fall short when I comment on something. Perhaps I hit the nail on the head and don’t realize that people were dancing around the issue for a reason. And a critique that is too on-the-nose will douse someone’s attempt to succeed. Speaking the worst things that a person thinks of themselves can make insecurities become harsh reality.

I like to think I don’t have that much power over people. But sometimes just one perceived failure can disrupt someone’s life.

With my children I try to see only the good. Sometimes I will ask what they think about this or that, thereby allowing them to tell me where they think they missed their target. But, they are children and everything they do is gold. They sing as beautifully as any angel. Their stories are brilliant. Their paintings are inspired. Would they be picked up by an agency and make a million dollars? I don’t know, but that’s not the point. They have amazing potential.

Do the other writers in my writing group have that potential? You bet. They might not get published today. They might need to work on it. But if they keep at it the sky’s the limit.

I just need to find a way to say that to adults so it doesn’t sound corny.

Making Progress

I've been working on Redemption every day for the past week. Sometimes putting in several hours a day. I'm really doing well. The key, that I've just learned in a workshop, is to have a goal of twenty pages a day. (basically sit down and write the junky first draft)

This gives you the novel in two weeks. Now sure, if I didn't have a full time job, two kids, two dogs a husband, and a house taking up my time, I would be able to make that goal consistently. As it is, I manage anywhere between five and fifteen pages a day.

In the past two months, I've written just over a hundred pages. I plan on being done with the rough draft before the end of October.

The characters are evolving, and they've taken me in directions I didn't plan. Most of the time the way they want to go works out better. There are several more scenes to write. Aside from the climax, I have to wrap up two subplots. I also have to go back and insert several of the subplot scenes into the earlier chapters of the novel. They are not add-ons so I can meet my word count, they actually belong. I'm pleased with how well this story is taking shape.

And here, for the record, I need to thank Laura for kicking me in the rear and insisting I write this story. It's been a very good time and I look forward to pitching it to the agent masses once it's finished.

Skunkventures

So ok, I'm sitting in the den (part of our walk out basement) with my spiral notebook on my lap and my pen in my hand. My husband is flipping channels, but I don't care because I just got finished listening to a lecture about putting romance into your novel and I'm thinking about how to write a scene I need to insert before this huge looming dark moment. I'm in the zone. Getting into the grove...then I smell it.

Burning rubber and scorched coffee. Overwhelming. In unison, my husband and I groan. We've smelled it before. Skunk, and one of our dogs just got it in the face.

I quickly change into junk clothes, then go outside to corral the dogs. Jordan, our black lab is fine. Yes, I grab her by the collar and sniffed her all over. Squeezing her into the house, I go after our other dog. Cameron is running over the yard rubbing her face in the grass.

We used a concoction of baking soda, dish soap and peroxide to wash her. It worked before, but tonight it doesn't. So we whip out the cans of tomato paste and rub it all over her like shampoo. Of course she shakes, so now the scene looks downright macabre.

Finally, after over an hour of pasting, rinsing, and soaping over and over. She's finally clean... mostly. There is one spot on the corner of her mouth where she kept licking the paste off.

I'm exhausted, and the scene that I was grooving on has faded into the cloud of skunk stench.

Sometimes there's nothing to do but laugh.