Tag: writing like crazy

Philea’s Voice

Philea didn’t let me down again today. Her voice remains as clear as glacier fresh filtered water. My only involvement was as typist to catch the words as they shot out. It was lovely and astonishing witnessing her character evolve through these chapters. She re-adjusted what she knew of herself and the situation, made new assessments and decisions, and re-discovered her courage, strength, and commitment.

Of course, the story turned corners that were blind to me until I turned them. So the novel and series moves forward, word by word, at what feels like a mincing pace because there’s so much to see, hear, find, and share. But when I step back and take in the entire picture, its breadth and depth surprises me. It’s like walking on a beach, and stopping to see where you are, and confronting the enormity of the ocean’s sound and power.

Great day of writing like crazy. On to other endeavors.

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The Love/Hate Thing

It’s a love/hate thing for me when I find another’s blog (or, like today, several), start reading their entries, and enjoy them so much that they divert me from my writing mission, and I explore their blog to see what else they offer. It’s at once diverting in several ways but also satisfying and rewarding. Reading stimulates writing. I don’t know if more hours in a day would solve anything, because I think I would just read more and want to write more.

Time to take a deep breath, drag some discipline out from my depths, pin the blogs aside, and write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Catch Up

Don’t you hate it when you keep writing in your head, and then sit down to write and discover that you have entire chapters completed in your head that need to be typed out?

Yikes. I like it that the muses are so active and engaged with me. That’s not the kind of thing I want to complain about (even though, yes, I acknowledge that I am whinging about it, right?) because I don’t want to insult them. You know how temperamental the little sweethearts can be. Speaking of which, does anyone have suggestions about what sort of thank you gifts muses like? Is there a protocol? Does Hallmark have a line of cards for muses?

Got my coffee and ass in chair. Time to type like crazy and try to catch up with the muses.

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As the Cats Watched

Was it a worm, a thread, a nibble, a spark? I can’t codify what it was that happened as I rushed through a few quick chores (with three cats eyeing me from comfortable curls to ensure no noisy machines were engaged). The brain was freed from thinking, and the muses thundered in with one of those OMG shots that started me laughing and saying, “Yes,” (which caused the cats to raise their heads in questioning unison).

As Thomas Weaver reminds me once in a while, many writers begin in the middle, without full awareness of what’s happening. Following the spark of a concept that flames into a story, we let the characters arrive to illuminate events and motives. As I’ve gone through those steps to create a massive arc that covers four novels (each with their own arc of discovery and story-telling) and contemplate the end (which was already written), ideas sparked (or were there loose threads that I pulled, or a worm wiggling into my imagination), showing me that I’d not completely thought out and understood the concept. Even though I’ve been writing about it since July of 2016 and there are over a million words, there was more to know and write about.

This newest addition tickles me, and I think about it with amused excitement. It has a “holy cow” aura. Such fun. And in a few minutes this morning, as the cats watched, I was reminded again how much I enjoy fiction writing, and why.

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

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One Of Those Nights

It was one of those nights. My muse didn’t recognize my need for sleep and refused to issue permission to shut down my brain and close my eyes.

Such times are productive, even though I feel like shit in the morning. I’m exaggerating for effect, of course; I really don’t know how shit feels. I feel guilty, implying that shit feels terrible. For all I know, shit feels great.

Sorry for the shitty detour. I know, terrible humor. Hey, I just confided that I had a rough night. Grant me some latitude.

Back to the muses’ nocturnal gallop through my mind. I’d just been complimenting my muse (or muses – I think there’s a congress of muses within me) about the pleasant week of systematic writing established and reflecting on the progress made. When last I left off writing yesterday, I had a damn good idea of where I was next going.

I’m still going there, but the dark silence of night brought out the muses like they were in heat. Instead of allowing me to sleep, wake up today, and go walk and write to work out details, the muses began shotgunning details into me. The people look like these. These are their names. They’re all women, and —

It’s not polite to ignore your muse, and it’s rude to tell them to shut up. I obliged them by listening. When I thought they’d finished, I attempted to use one of my honored processes to engage sleep. I thought it worked, too, but then, the muses thundered out anew.

When sleep and I finally met, quicksilver dreams rushed in, flashing kaleidoscopes of scenes and words. Awakening, I had a lot to think about between dreams and night writing, and a desire for about four more hours of sleep.

Got a big ol’ cup of dark, unadulterated caffeine loaded coffee steaming in a mug to my right. Time to write like crazy and get all this stuff down, at least one more time.

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Writing Time, Again

Chug, chug. My muse is a dependable locomotive engine this week. I sit down, and the words and scenes chug out. It’s not wholly effortless. I hit some grades that slow the pace but the muse keeps chugging, and I keep going. Writing-like-crazy bursts are followed by introspective editing and revising to get to the point where scenes and chapters are completed, and then I go on to the next one.

Once upon a time, I would have thought, hey, it’s written, revised, edited, and finished. Submit and publish, thank you. Now I’ve learned, naw, that writing, editing, refining, and polishing is part of my writing process to achieve completing a first draft. When the draft is done, the work of editing, revising, and re-writing begins. I usually find kinks caused by story or character inconsistencies, flimsy story-telling, or awkward phrasing that requires thought and deeper processing. Sometimes I find a bridge missing that I’ve marked to write later.

But I’ve learned from editing and revising in the past, and I’m more mindful of my process. I can think through the process, story, and words on the fly more than I used to be able to do, a result that comes from application, application, application, via writing every day. It’s all part of a immersive, relaxing process. Writing is my therapy and sanctuary.

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

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Writing Like Crazy #96

Don’t you love it when you stop writing for the day, and then go off and read a book or take a walk (or *shudder* clean the house and do chores), and you keep writing in your head, and it’s like, “Oh! Oh! Here’s another idea. Here’s another thing to do with that chapter! Oh! Oh! And this is what happens next!”

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

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Nothing Spectacular

Aided by coffee, it was just one of those days.

I came in, drank coffee for about fifteen minutes, and then put my head down and typed. The scenes came without too much effort, along with the words to describe them. I wrote like crazy for about sixty minutes, finishing with over two thousand words. Another thirty minutes of editing what I’d written followed, and then hunger called time. Not much time spent on the actual mechanics of writing, but that’s typical for me.

Just one of those days, nothing spectacular, but progress was made. Time to go eat.

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Episodic, Hyperlink, Mash-up

I’m enjoying writing the Incomplete States series. I have worried about its structure and my style, until I came across the term hyperlink used to describe a form of novel.

Eureka! That lifted my bloody spirits. Until then, I was cringing over the shape and my methodology. People won’t like this, I told myself even as I answered, so fucking what, and acknowledged, you can’t please every reader, and reminded myself, I’m writing for myself as a reader first, and this is what I like.

I really like how the first volume’s beta version emerged, and I’m happy with the third volume. Number four is in progress and is coming along well.

A sharp reader will noticed that I skipped over number two. Volume two was the first one written. As Thomas Weaver noted in comments to me during some of my postings, most writers start out in the middle. That’s certainly what I usually do, and I did with this concept. I was definitely walking across a dark and unfamiliar room when I began writing it. It ends up as the most complex of the four volumes, with the greatest aspects of hyperlinks. Therefore, it worries me the most. But when I read and review it, I don’t come across anything that I want to change. An outside editor might have another view of that. Hell, come on, we know they will.

It’s not something to worry about now. Right now I’m giddy with satisfaction over my progress.

Guess what time it is? Yep, got my coffee. It’s time to write like fucking crazy, at least one more time.

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Tweaking My Amygdala

After reading about how doing exercises in imagining positive outcomes can affect the influence of right amygdala and reduce your fear, anxiety, and worry, I decided to do such an exercise while walking today in preparation for my writing session.

In the exercise that I read and remember most sharply, people were asked to imagine that they were Superman. Bullets bounced off them. They could fall off cliffs and not be harmed, which made sense, as they could also fly.

So often, it’s my own doubt and lack of confidence that undermines me and my writing efforts. Like many folks, the impostor syndrome shadows my life, with the attendant fears that I have no talent, intelligence, or ability (sound familiar, writers?), and that exposure as a fraud is imminent. I wanted to counter those effects with positive visualization. Of course, I don’t know how I’ll measure the impact of what I did. I awoke feeling pretty damn confident, optimistic, and hopeful (I know – I exist with a complex dichotomy of feelings and thoughts), and I write almost every day, regardless of my mood. What I really need is a team to test me, check on my amygdala, and give me updates. Barring that happening, I’ll assume it’s working and drink my coffee.

Coffee always helps.

Almost always.

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

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