Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Coffee, writing, beating your head against things, wondering where it all comes from…this quote is about it all.
I so agree with this quote. I expended several years finding my quiet place. Because of the classic stereotype, I thought that it was an office in my house with a desk and a typewriter. When that failed to satisfy my writing desires, I bought notebooks and pens and haunted coffee shops. The next step in my writing evolution was to walk to the writing location to clear my mind of non-writing and re-focus on my writing efforts. The last step was to take my laptop with me and forego the pens and notebooks (although I always have one of each with me). The coffee shop is noisy with business, music, and conversations, but it’s free from the interference and incursions of writing at home.
It took years, but the result is worth it. If you want to write, don’t just do what others are doing; find what works for you.
My normal coffee writing consumption is the Michael – four shots of espresso in a non-fat mocha, in a twelve ounce cup. One barista always charged me less than the others, putting me into an OCD tizzy. She explained that the sixteen ounce is actually less expensive because it already includes four shots. So she would charge me for a sixteen ounce and put it into a twelve ounce cup.
I was duly awed by her thinking. I was due a free mocha today as part of the customer loyalty program so I went for a sixteen ounce mocha.
“You want extra shots?” Shannon asked. “It comes with four but we can bump it up to six.”
Six? Dare I?
Hell, yeah, I’m sixty years old.
Just call me a six shooter, an old son of a gun, a word slinger.
“I’m a cowboy. On a laptop, I write. I’m wanted, dead or alive.”
Sorry, Bon Jovi, but my words make as much sense as your lyrics.
Time to write like caffeine infused crazy, at least one more time.
I finished editing Road Lessons with Savanna, a mystery, the second in the series. Nothing jumped out to trigger anxiety and panic. I enjoyed the read, finding some typos, some grammatical errors, some minor pacing issues.
Done, and I’m pleased. I enjoyed the final page, laughing to myself here in the coffee shop, thinking of others reading it and wondering, “What?” Makes me laugh just to type that sentence.
Once upon a time, I finished writing a novel and was ecstatic that I’d completed it. But now, it’s just another novel done, the end of an enjoyable project. Of course, as I read it, the next novel in the series continued its organic growth in me. But I want to publish this one and go on to Everything Not Known, the science fiction epic. It’s been written but requires editing. Then I’ll pick up the third novel so that initial trilogy will be complete. Other novels in the Lessons with Savanna series are circling my cerebral cortex, but there are other projects that are already engaged and in progress, and I want to go on with them.
And so it goes, a fun, satisfying moment in my life, good-bye and hello.
I don’t want to edit my novel.
Not because I don’t love my novel.
My novel is like a brightly shining star.
That can be taken many ways. If it’s a star, its light must travel great distances. That takes a long time. If the novel’s words are the light, its light will not reach people for a while. So what’s another day or two?
If the novel is a star, it’s unique and alike, like snowflakes, beers, cats and people — and novels. It’s remote and unattainable, but inspiring and bright, a thing of beauty and mystery, something to be parsed, studied, watched. Something for wonder.
I don’t want to edit my novel.
And my brain is very happy with that. Come, let us write other stories, my brain says. It’s a beautiful day to start a new story, or to continue one you set aside. Remember that novel about the bookmarker? You want to write it, don’t you, I know you do.
Yes, I want to tear into that novel like it’s a fresh, warm piece of blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream.
But I am strong, and I resist!
What about that other novel, the one about the woman and equations? You really want to write that novel, don’t you?
Yes, I want to write that novel like it’s a mug of cold ale on a molten lava day.
But I am strong, and I resist!
What about that other novel you’ve been thinking about, you know, the one about the weapon system that impairs people’s memories so people end up with other people’s incomplete memories, and try to live others’ lives? If you don’t want to do that one, you can work on the next novel in the Lessons with Savanna series, Personal Lessons with Savanna. You were writing a chapter in your head this morning while you were weed whacking. There is also the novel about when time fractured —
Enough, brain, enough. I am strong, and I resist! I will edit.
I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.
Oh, but to sample a new novel, to dip myself into those places and characters and let their chi flow through me.
I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.
I will edit.
Really, I will edit.
Michael Seidel, writer 