September 28, 2006

My Mother Calls.

She wants to give me moral support. I tell her I'm getting some questionable advice at my less-premium writer's group, but it's about an issue I don't really intend to fully address until I'm at the second-draft stage, anyway.

"Well, ask your good writer's group about it."

"It's okay. I'm not worried about it."

"You are too, or you wouldn't have brought it up. Go talk to your other group about it, and see if they think it's a problem. Maybe you should fix it now."

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Every Time I'm Tempted to Give Up

I write another chapter or scene that charms the hell out of me, and I think, "I don't give a shit if no one else likes it. I'm keeping myself amused. It's good stuff."

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September 25, 2006

Sunday Afternoon at the Reading Party

The instructor of my Thursday group had one of her semi-annual soirees yesterday, and I read something aloud that I hadn't edited as thoroughly as I might have.

So I felt and silly and oddly exposed; and it took me a while to get past that.


It shocks me when I get shy. Sometimes my moxie departs rather suddenly, and I'm left wondering whether my shy self is more authentic, or whether it's the extraverted version that's the "real me."

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September 09, 2006

I Especially Dig It

. . . when members of my writing groups criticize my punctuation. One woman hates my semicolons, and another doesn't like my colons.

I believe they would like me to write simple, declarative sentences. Subject does verb with predicate. All rather short. And simple. Containing, perhaps, the occasional comma. And a sentence fragment for dramatic effect.

Look for me in South Florida. I'll be writing. Fishing. And hanging out in bars.

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September 08, 2006

What I Was After in this Book

. . . was a hybrid between Michael Connelly and Jane Austen, with a little Dorothy L. Sayers thrown in.

What I've produced is more like a "Scooby Do: Where Are You" script, crossed with Sleepless in Seattle.

Not the level I wanted, but who cares? All that matters is finishing.

I should make the time to wash the dishes. And blame my problems on other people. But first, maybe I'll have another nap.

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September 07, 2006

I Sweat Buckets of Blood, for Hours

. . . and here I have 1000 words. Wowie-kazowie.

Of course, it's all dialogue, which means it goes on for pages and pages. And, naturally, I'm going to get busted in writer's group for writing too much dialogue.

Even after I add the action in around the spoken words, it'll still be "ring around the collar." I've tried soaking it out, and scrubbing it out.

Yet it's enough. Enough for today.

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Pop Quiz!

If my protagonist, while driving a bit crazily—as is her wont—maneuvers around "a slowpoke Latino," is she a racist?

Please advise. Myself, I had trouble keeping a straight face when I was told that the phrase "sounds racist."

I wonder if it would be sexist to introduce a smart blonde female character.

One isn't supposed to notice anyone's physical characteristics, ya know!

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September 01, 2006

I'm Almost Ready

. . . to wade back into the crime novel. But I don't know whether it sucks tonight. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes I write a chapter or scene that's so amazing, the universe nearly hums along to the breathlessly perfect melody of the prose. Then I read it aloud in one of my criticism groups. By then someone's gone into the Word file to add cliches, bad dialogue, and typographical errors.

So it all comes down to this question: Do I feel lucky?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:39 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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