Tag: fiction writing

The Writing Moment

I’ve been pursuing another novel’s completion. Been writing that puppy as I can while navigating the usual life interruptions. They don’t need counted down on two hands for you to understand all the life junk happening, right? Employ memory and imagination, and you’ll probably get it.

I’ve been sort of stymied. I’m not a plotter. I don’t outline a jot. I’m a solid pantser, leaping from slippery point to slippery point, following whims and impulses like they’re magic winds carrying me toward my destination. Except, suddenly the winds dropped me into a place I didn’t recognize. Not sure where to go, I did some editing, revising, and rewriting while muttering darkly to myself about being misled by mean muses and wondering what the hell had happened to the Writing Neurons. Besides those activities, I made some assumptions and conclusions about what I thought was wrong, how some things lacked enough substance and understanding to build upon, and conducted some writing exercises to stimulate me, myself, and I. I refer to these exercises as snapshots. They’re all just focus exercises to help me have greater understanding of whatever needs more understanding: setting, history, concept, characters, motivations, relationships, whatever you might find in a novel.

After four days of that, grappling with where I was, unsure where I was to go, I said to myself, “Come on, man. Pitter patter. Get ‘er at ‘er.” And miraculously, the muses and the Writing Neurons emerged today and ordered, “Start typing.” And then they guided me through story twists which I never saw. Well, I partly saw some of ’em. But some of the twists involved twists I’d come up with but didn’t know how to put into the story. Suddenly, click, yea! All came together.

Most satisfying writing day, it was. Sometimes it does pay just to sit down and write like crazy. Who do I need to bribe to get more of these?

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The Writing Moment

It was ticks past one AM. I’d just come in from outside, from admiring star- and moonlight, when a skunk’s powerful smell chased me back inside, back in to close all the doors and windows. Then I sat in an office recliner, television on, re-writing a sentence from the novel in progress, shaping it in my head. I’ve been working on that line in my head for the last three days.

That’s how it’s been with this novel writing journey. I say to myself, for example, “Okay, today I will write the earthquake chapter.” Then I sit and tango with words through the scenes, stepping forward and then retracing my steps, adjusting sentences, tenses, pacing, padding dialogue, subtracting dialogue. Nothing is completely satisfying at this stage, the first draft. I’m still getting introduced to the characters, still peering in to their psyches, still engaging in “Aha!” moments. I move on from a chapter after the essence is captured, but as my writing mind recalls some passages, I go back, fix that piece, and then write on.

I began writing this novel on May 9, 2025. It’s now 209 pages and 55,000 words. Given to writing epics, I’m trying to keep this one below 250 pages. So I tell myself today, “Arc toward the ending. Write this chapter, and then land this novel.”

I see the upcoming scenes in pieces. Hear it in snatches. It all needs to be woven together.

Then there’s the ending. I see it in the distance, too, a final scene lit up like a monument, beckoning me, “Come on. Let’s do this thing.”

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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The Writing Moment

I’ve been sparking with new novel ideas. Concepts. Characters. Settings. You know. Novel stuff.

Nothing worked up enough energy to be a dance partner. Disappointment dressed in depression put in an ugly appearance.

Wait a second, I reminded myself. I have three other starts which I can pull up and fertilize and build into something. All were good concepts, pleasing to write, fun.

Also, self, your writing process has never been to figure it all out and then sit and write. You usually/almost always just write. Let it flow. Get out of the way of your thinking and just do it. So why are you trying to figure it all now? Dumb ass.

I acknowledged all this from my inner writer as true. So, okay. I decided I’d open a start and let it rip.

But instead, washing the windshield before departing for the coffee shop, a new seed from all that thinking sprouted. A new chapter positioned itself in my head. Setting, character, plot began growing out of that new sprout.

Sitting with coffee at hand, I punched out five pages in half an hour. A new novel was underway. Damn, it’s good to be a writer.

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The Writing Moment

I completed revising and editing the novel in progress. Gravity’s Emotions.

I wrote the novel I wanted. The story I wanted to read. As ‘they’ always advise and suggest. ‘They’ are the establishment. The writers who made it. The teachers who teach it. The editors who edit it, the publishers who print it, the agents who represent it. Of course, once the writer writes the novel they want, ‘they’ all take their turns on it. That’s the art, and the business. Then it gets to the readers.

Woo, boy.

My doubts have been kicking me, heaping scorn on my effort. Those doubts are always ready to jump on me. Doesn’t matter what’s going on. They are what they are.

“Your idea of inconsistent consistent inconsistency is ridiculous,” they growl. “It’s too complicated. Too surreal and too far out there. And the book is too big. That’s also a stupid title.”

“Thanks, guys,” I answer. Because there is no arguing with doubt. Let it come, beat you up, expend its energy, and walk away. Don’t engage your doubt. That’s what ‘they’ say.

The doubts do present legitimate points. The manuscript is an epic monster. 700 pages. Umpteen billion words. Lot of fun to write, edit, revise. Amazing that I wrote that thing in a few hours a day. I started it in July of 2024. I often ponder, HTF is that possible? It neatly slots into my thoughts about duality: it was at once hard work and a long time and a lot of hours, and not much time, not too difficult, and a lot of fun.

Meanwhile, the draft is being distributed to my small core of private readers. See what they think. Decisions will be set regarding their feedback. Then, into the submission maws.

While that’s all happening, another novel is already underway.

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