Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 419 words, 25.6k total
Excerpt:
Another dream. There was screaming, and Daniel was running furiously down a hallway. He saw a door at the end of the hall, the light from the outside streaming through, and he put his head down and crashed through it. He was looking out over a large field. There were flag poles and buildings scattered throughout the field. Except for a few cars in the distance, the place had a distinctively aged feel—the buildings were made of old, slatted wood with red brick chimneys, and there were black buckets filled with sand on the wall next to him, presumably for a fire.
Well, I'm off on vacation for about two weeks, so I probably won't be posting much. As a matter of fact, I probably won't be writing much, either. Which will probably be a good thing, since my creative juices aren't exactly flowing right now. Time for a refuel, I think.
Until then! Onward!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 976 words, 25k total
The Good:
“Help you?” the man asked between coughs.
“Fill me in, please. I’ve only gotten chatter so far.”
The man took off his hat and put it over his face, and then gestured back to the truck stop. “You can see for yourself.”
“I can see the fire. What happened inside?”
“We count thirteen bodies so far. Why they didn’t just run out is beyond me. I’ve never seen nothing like this before.”
“What caused it?”
“It sure wasn’t a grease fire. The whole thing went up like it was soaked in gasoline. Just like that.” The man snapped his fingers for emphasis.
Daily Stumbling Block:
Monday Blues? Holiday Blues? That must be the case. I find myself writing future scenes with a lot more ease then the scenes in the present. Maybe this is the boring middle part?
Friday, December 15, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 967 words, 23.8k total
The Good:
Daniel and Jason stood without speaking in the middle of the clearing. After a while, Daniel straightened up and walked to the edge of the trees, his back turned to Jason. Jason waited. Daniel turned suddenly and hunted the gun out of the bushes and clumsily stuffed it into his pants.
“We need to find the other, then,” Daniel said, almost to himself, “and bring him to Ed. And then he will have no choice—he will have to do what he is meant to.”
Daily Stumbling Block:
Motive, motive, motive! My characters lack motive, and spring into things simply because it suits the plot. I need to go back and rebuild the characters, and give them the proper motivation for why the do the things they do.
Random Thought:
I've been on an Internet fast (except for posting to this blog, of course), and it's much harder to come up with random thoughts without it. Which leads me to wonder if we were better off without it before.
I guess that'll have to be random enough for now.
Today's Word Count: 967 words, 23.8k total
The Good:
Daniel and Jason stood without speaking in the middle of the clearing. After a while, Daniel straightened up and walked to the edge of the trees, his back turned to Jason. Jason waited. Daniel turned suddenly and hunted the gun out of the bushes and clumsily stuffed it into his pants.
“We need to find the other, then,” Daniel said, almost to himself, “and bring him to Ed. And then he will have no choice—he will have to do what he is meant to.”
Daily Stumbling Block:
Motive, motive, motive! My characters lack motive, and spring into things simply because it suits the plot. I need to go back and rebuild the characters, and give them the proper motivation for why the do the things they do.
Random Thought:
I've been on an Internet fast (except for posting to this blog, of course), and it's much harder to come up with random thoughts without it. Which leads me to wonder if we were better off without it before.
I guess that'll have to be random enough for now.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 1470 words
The Good:
The doors opened onto a hallway much different than the one she had left. There were paintings on the walls, fancy tapestries, and smooth oak baseboard running the length of the hardwood floor. She stepped off of the elevator, turned and gasped. A man stood to her left; though he was as still as night, he had frightened her all the same.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I didn't feel like finishing the scene I was in, so I skipped ahead and wrote a future one. I hope that's okay.
Prayer Request:
A friend of mine sent over a prayer request. He's from Oregon, but the man in need of prayer, Seth, lives near Sacramento. He was in an auto accident and it looks like they are struggling to keep him alive. He has a wife who is four months pregnant, and two daughters, 6 and 3. He's in his late 20's.
This struck me particularly hard, mainly because of the similarities between me and this man. I am in my late 20's; and I also have a wife and two daughters, though they are a little younger. It's just amazing that, as I sit here typing, there is a man fighting for his life, and a family close to suffering an unutterable loss. So pray for a miracle, that this man might be spared and dwell with his family for many years.
Today's Word Count: 1470 words
The Good:
The doors opened onto a hallway much different than the one she had left. There were paintings on the walls, fancy tapestries, and smooth oak baseboard running the length of the hardwood floor. She stepped off of the elevator, turned and gasped. A man stood to her left; though he was as still as night, he had frightened her all the same.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I didn't feel like finishing the scene I was in, so I skipped ahead and wrote a future one. I hope that's okay.
Prayer Request:
A friend of mine sent over a prayer request. He's from Oregon, but the man in need of prayer, Seth, lives near Sacramento. He was in an auto accident and it looks like they are struggling to keep him alive. He has a wife who is four months pregnant, and two daughters, 6 and 3. He's in his late 20's.
This struck me particularly hard, mainly because of the similarities between me and this man. I am in my late 20's; and I also have a wife and two daughters, though they are a little younger. It's just amazing that, as I sit here typing, there is a man fighting for his life, and a family close to suffering an unutterable loss. So pray for a miracle, that this man might be spared and dwell with his family for many years.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 1,520 words, 22.5k total
The Good:
The door in front of Daniel opened and the man got out, a frantic look in his eye. He swept past Daniel, knocking him back onto the car, and then he was gone. Daniel turned and ran after him. He swept into the trees and was quickly disoriented. There was no light among the trees, and the noise of the highway seemed to come from every direction. Then he saw the light, shining against the darkness surrounding it, calling him forward. He ran to it, stumbling awkwardly through the limbs and roots and branches. Finally he came to a small clearing, where the moonlight spilled down and illuminated two figures in front of him. One of the figures whipped around—he was carrying a gun, and he raised it threateningly as Daniel approached.
Daily Stumbling Block:
This stuff is going to need some serious editing. I mean, serious.
Random Thought:
Well, our strollers left from China today. Which means we can expect them in about four or five weeks. For those readers who don't know, we are currently starting an online business selling UK-designed strollers, manufactured in China. We hope to have a website soon. Your good friend and mine, Levi Nunnink, is working on it, and it looks spectacular so far.
Onward!
Today's Word Count: 1,520 words, 22.5k total
The Good:
The door in front of Daniel opened and the man got out, a frantic look in his eye. He swept past Daniel, knocking him back onto the car, and then he was gone. Daniel turned and ran after him. He swept into the trees and was quickly disoriented. There was no light among the trees, and the noise of the highway seemed to come from every direction. Then he saw the light, shining against the darkness surrounding it, calling him forward. He ran to it, stumbling awkwardly through the limbs and roots and branches. Finally he came to a small clearing, where the moonlight spilled down and illuminated two figures in front of him. One of the figures whipped around—he was carrying a gun, and he raised it threateningly as Daniel approached.
Daily Stumbling Block:
This stuff is going to need some serious editing. I mean, serious.
Random Thought:
Well, our strollers left from China today. Which means we can expect them in about four or five weeks. For those readers who don't know, we are currently starting an online business selling UK-designed strollers, manufactured in China. We hope to have a website soon. Your good friend and mine, Levi Nunnink, is working on it, and it looks spectacular so far.
Onward!
Monday, December 11, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 1,203 today, 21 k total
The Good:
“You left so suddenly.” Nicolas reached out with his mind, but, as ever, Starla was impassable. “And things were going so well.”
Starla remained silent. Nicolas sighed and lifted his hand and Starla began to writhe in pain, her insides burning. Nicolas turned his head away sharply and began to pace. Flames poured from his fingers and met above him in a circle, a fiery halo.
Daily Stumbling Block:
Still just writing what comes to mind. I'm at the point in my story when my characters begin to meet and interact, and I don't want to sell these scenes short. The story has picked up nicely as they begin to come together.
Random Thought:
Right at this moment I am eating yogurt with bits of granola that I personally crunched up. See, I'm a big "together" eater. There are two kinds of people in this world: "together" eaters and "apart" eaters. They're easy enough to spot, especially during a big meal like Thanksgiving. The "apart" eater takes a bite of mashed potatoes, then a sip of milk, and then some turkey, et cetera. A "together" eater grabs a forkful of turkey, already doused with gravy, steers it into the potatoes, picking up what he can, takes a bite, and then takes a quick bite of his bread, which never leaves the appropriate hand during the course of the meal.
Which one, might I ask, are you?
Today's Word Count: 1,203 today, 21 k total
The Good:
“You left so suddenly.” Nicolas reached out with his mind, but, as ever, Starla was impassable. “And things were going so well.”
Starla remained silent. Nicolas sighed and lifted his hand and Starla began to writhe in pain, her insides burning. Nicolas turned his head away sharply and began to pace. Flames poured from his fingers and met above him in a circle, a fiery halo.
Daily Stumbling Block:
Still just writing what comes to mind. I'm at the point in my story when my characters begin to meet and interact, and I don't want to sell these scenes short. The story has picked up nicely as they begin to come together.
Random Thought:
Right at this moment I am eating yogurt with bits of granola that I personally crunched up. See, I'm a big "together" eater. There are two kinds of people in this world: "together" eaters and "apart" eaters. They're easy enough to spot, especially during a big meal like Thanksgiving. The "apart" eater takes a bite of mashed potatoes, then a sip of milk, and then some turkey, et cetera. A "together" eater grabs a forkful of turkey, already doused with gravy, steers it into the potatoes, picking up what he can, takes a bite, and then takes a quick bite of his bread, which never leaves the appropriate hand during the course of the meal.
Which one, might I ask, are you?
Friday, December 8, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 2,146 words, 19.8k total
The Good:
Starla flung off her seatbelt and scratched at the door handle. Michelle leaned over and grabbed a fistful of Starla’s hair, pulling her back.
“Ah…” Starla reared around and slapped Michelle with all of her strength. Michelle’s head snapped back, and Starla pulled away from her grip. Michelle reached under her seat, her hand dancing over the floor. Starla cried out and kicked open the door and then the gun was forced into her back. She stopped and stretched her hands out to either side. Michelle put her chin on Starla’s shoulder, her heavy breaths warm and moist against her ear.
“I’m not going to lose you.”
And Starla knew what she had to do. Just this once, Starla thought. Or I’m never going to make it out alive.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I'm forsaking all stumbling blocks for now and just writing as fast as I can. I'm tired of spending twenty minutes on one sentence. So, for now, I am writing what comes to mind, and, as far as I know, it's going okay.
Random Thought:
You can download a picture of a dog smoking a cigarette, and the total size of the file is about 3 megabytes. My story, the one I have been bleeding and sweating over for many months, is about 100 kilobytes. 1 megabyte is about 1000 kilobytes (actually 1024 kilobytes). So that means my story is 1/3,000 the size of a photo of a dog smoking a cigarette.
My conclusion is: size doesn't matter. But you are welcome to make your own.
Today's Word Count: 2,146 words, 19.8k total
The Good:
Starla flung off her seatbelt and scratched at the door handle. Michelle leaned over and grabbed a fistful of Starla’s hair, pulling her back.
“Ah…” Starla reared around and slapped Michelle with all of her strength. Michelle’s head snapped back, and Starla pulled away from her grip. Michelle reached under her seat, her hand dancing over the floor. Starla cried out and kicked open the door and then the gun was forced into her back. She stopped and stretched her hands out to either side. Michelle put her chin on Starla’s shoulder, her heavy breaths warm and moist against her ear.
“I’m not going to lose you.”
And Starla knew what she had to do. Just this once, Starla thought. Or I’m never going to make it out alive.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I'm forsaking all stumbling blocks for now and just writing as fast as I can. I'm tired of spending twenty minutes on one sentence. So, for now, I am writing what comes to mind, and, as far as I know, it's going okay.
Random Thought:
You can download a picture of a dog smoking a cigarette, and the total size of the file is about 3 megabytes. My story, the one I have been bleeding and sweating over for many months, is about 100 kilobytes. 1 megabyte is about 1000 kilobytes (actually 1024 kilobytes). So that means my story is 1/3,000 the size of a photo of a dog smoking a cigarette.
My conclusion is: size doesn't matter. But you are welcome to make your own.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 870 Words, 17.6k total
The Good:
Ed imagined himself getting on the train, leaving the station in Nevada, taking the bus to the hospital, and resuming his watch next to Martha’s bed. He would have nothing to give now, but everything to lose: the sharpness in Martha’s eyes, her pale face thinning into shadow, her frail body evaporating under the sheets. There were some men, Ed thought, who could stand by and watch that happen.
But he could not.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I'm stumbling now with the simple things, prose and sentence structure. Seems all of my sentences want to begin with "He" or "the". I guess I'll roll with it for now...
Random Thought:
Every so often, I'm going to present a Richard Dawkins quote for us all to digest. Dawkins is probably the most vitriolic critic of religion and specifically Christianity, doggedly non-intellectual ideas to a man of such intellectual prowess, I presume. I think his quotes are very interesting, and tend to raise more questions, perhaps more appropriate than the ones he is attempting to answer. So, without further adue, your annual or monthly or bi-weekly Dawkins quote (I haven't decided the frequency at which they'll occur. I suppose it depends on what frequency he chooses to serve up these juicy quotes):
"It is almost as if the human brain were specifically designed to misunderstand Darwinism, and to find it hard to believe.."
From his own website. All I can say is, hmm...
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 1,073, 16.8k total
The Good:
“Hello?” Martha sounded tired or drugged. It could have easily been both.
“Martha, it’s Ed.”
“Oh, Ed…” Martha’s voice trailed off, as if she were struggling to remember if she knew someone by that name. Then her voice came back, a little stronger than before. “Oh, Ed, what are you getting yourself into?”
“Martha, I have to do this. You have to understand.”
“All I understand is that I’m lying in this hospital bed, and my husband is not here by my side.”
Ed could see her there, alone, surrounded by the cold sterility of the hospital room. The tears began to trickle from his eyes and down his cheeks. “There’s still hope, Martha.”
“Ed, did you think I was going to live forever? I’m forty-eight years old, and we’ve been married almost thirty of those years. Marvelous, glorious years. I wouldn’t trade in a one.”
Daily Stumbling Block:
I felt pretty good today, as evidenced by the word count. I'd say the main stumbling blocks today are the ones so often present in all of life: motivation and discipline.
Random Thought:
In world news, "World chess champion Vladimir Kramnik lost his final game in a match against computer program Deep Fritz on Tuesday, ceding a hard-fought Man vs. Machine series 4-2."
Me, I'm not going to be worried until a computer beats a man at Chutes and Ladders.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Today's Word Count: 304 words, 15.8k total
The Good:
Since Levi insists that I post something, here you go:
He had experienced dreams like this before, but none had left him with such a sense of urgency. His fingers and toes felt as if they had been dipped in flame. Their pain receded only when he stood up and began to walk and then run down the marina. His feet slapped loudly on the old slats of wood, and his breath streamed behind him in a long plume.
Daily Stumbling Block:
You know how some days, as a writer, you just don't feel very inspired? Today is one of those days. Maybe it's the Monday blues. The small word count speaks for itself.
Random Thought:
If "uncanny" means eerie or keen, shouldn't "canny" mean plain and dull? Why does it mean shrewd or knowing? Shouldn't they be the opposite? Ah, the wonders of the English language...
Today's Word Count: 304 words, 15.8k total
The Good:
Since Levi insists that I post something, here you go:
He had experienced dreams like this before, but none had left him with such a sense of urgency. His fingers and toes felt as if they had been dipped in flame. Their pain receded only when he stood up and began to walk and then run down the marina. His feet slapped loudly on the old slats of wood, and his breath streamed behind him in a long plume.
Daily Stumbling Block:
You know how some days, as a writer, you just don't feel very inspired? Today is one of those days. Maybe it's the Monday blues. The small word count speaks for itself.
Random Thought:
If "uncanny" means eerie or keen, shouldn't "canny" mean plain and dull? Why does it mean shrewd or knowing? Shouldn't they be the opposite? Ah, the wonders of the English language...
Friday, December 1, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Daily Word Count: 920 today, 15.4k total
The Good:
Umm, nothing worth putting down today, thanks. I know what you're thinking; 900 words and he's too embarrassed to post any of it? Yes.
Daily Stumbling Block:
Same problem as before, though now I am finally coming up with some character connections. May have to completely redo this middle section, but for now, it's getting done.
Random Thought:
My wife packs me a Care Bears fruit snack everyday for lunch. I know you're jealous.
Daily Word Count: 920 today, 15.4k total
The Good:
Umm, nothing worth putting down today, thanks. I know what you're thinking; 900 words and he's too embarrassed to post any of it? Yes.
Daily Stumbling Block:
Same problem as before, though now I am finally coming up with some character connections. May have to completely redo this middle section, but for now, it's getting done.
Random Thought:
My wife packs me a Care Bears fruit snack everyday for lunch. I know you're jealous.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Novel Stats
Uncanny
Daily Word Count: 599 today, 14.5k total
The good:
Starla followed behind with her head down, trying to protect her face from the stinging wind. The rumble of the highway carried like an echo through her body. The trucks in the parking lot idled roughly, their tall headlamps staring like eyes, marking her progress, spilling her shadow onto the ground beside her.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I have no idea how my characters meet up. None whatsoever. I do know that I don't want it to be a cheesy just-so-happen-to-be-in-the-same-place-at-the-same-time thing.
The problem is, this has to happen soon. So pray for me. And may whatever serendipitous meetings I concoct ring true.
Random Thought:
Isn't serendipity a cool word? And no, I didn't have to use a thesaurus to think it up; but I did have to use a spellchecker, heh-heh.
Onward!
Daily Word Count: 599 today, 14.5k total
The good:
Starla followed behind with her head down, trying to protect her face from the stinging wind. The rumble of the highway carried like an echo through her body. The trucks in the parking lot idled roughly, their tall headlamps staring like eyes, marking her progress, spilling her shadow onto the ground beside her.
Daily Stumbling Block:
I have no idea how my characters meet up. None whatsoever. I do know that I don't want it to be a cheesy just-so-happen-to-be-in-the-same-place-at-the-same-time thing.
The problem is, this has to happen soon. So pray for me. And may whatever serendipitous meetings I concoct ring true.
Random Thought:
Isn't serendipity a cool word? And no, I didn't have to use a thesaurus to think it up; but I did have to use a spellchecker, heh-heh.
Onward!
Novel Stats
Here are the current novel stats, given as a direct pantomime of Levi Nunnink's novel stat listing, found here .
Uncanny
Daily Word Count: 466 today, 13.9k total
To catch us up, I'm going to introduce the characters rather than list what I've found good in this particular section.
Starla: The eyes stared on, and she looked right back, her purple eyes shimmering in the soft ambience of the dash light. She had a thin and pale face, all peaks and valleys, below silvery-white hair bundled unceremoniously with a rubber band. A red and white scarf was wrapped around her neck. Her arms peeked out from a tattered, mud darkened t-shirt and lay folded across her body, her delicate hands resting on her bony elbows. The jeans she had found and put on were too large for her frame, and she had notched an extra hole in her belt to compensate.
Jason: The boy stood looking at himself, then reached a hand up to his face. Under his eye was a large gash. The front of his forehead looked like it had been scraped away by a rock, a bloody, triangular mess. He feathered over the wound with his hand, lightly touching it, wincing as his fingers contacted the torn flesh.
Timothy: He awoke in the dark and he could not move. His hands were behind him, and as he moved them he heard the jangle of metal. Handcuffs, most likely. He sat up, eyes focused before him, and waited. The darkness slowly receded. His head throbbed, and his hair felt pasted to his forehead. He opened his mouth to lick his lips and a sigh, heavy and unbidden, escaped. There was movement, scraping, the sound of a door opening, and a light flickered to life above him. He was in a warehouse, dank and unfamiliar.
Jonas: The man looked at his colleagues again, and one of them nodded curtly. He fished out another paper and slid it to Jonas. It was a simple letter with no letterhead, and long sections of the text had been blacked out, made unreadable.
Jonas picked it up incredulously and held it up towards the ceiling fixtures. “Ah, finally some clarity!”
Kathy glared at him.
“There is enough in there to get a decent picture,” the man said simply.
So Jonas read the pieces that were not blacked out. And then he reread them, much more intently. Finally he put the paper down on the table and stared ahead. “You’re serious?”
Ed: So now he sat by his wife’s bed, stationary, hollow and old like a dying tree. Every time she stirred his heart groaned within him. He was going to tell her; not some doctor, not anyone else. Just as he had shared everything with her, he would share this.
God, would he share this.
Daniel: And then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd. Daniel stood watching for a moment, but the voices and thoughts and emotions rose like a wave in front of him, threatening to crush him under their weight. So he retreated back to his chair, sat down, pulled the cap low to his face, and let the rhythmic machinations of the zipper lull his mind to rest.
Nicolas: The station was mostly deserted. There was a man with a suit and tie surveying the offerings of the vending machine. A mother and her daughter sat huddled closely together, protectively. And the station attendant stood looking at him, brows furrowed together, intimidated but doing her best to put on a neutral face.
Nicolas walked over to the counter with a smile. He could feel the spongy weakness of her mind, see the loose tendrils folding lazily over every idle thought. She would be no trouble at all.
Intrigued? Boy, I sure hope so.
It's been a lot of fun opening the act with all of these different characters, but it's the middle I am having trouble with. How do I bring them all together? What should they do between their introduction and conclusion?
When introducing them I had no trouble writing 1,000 to 2,000 words a day, writing as fast as my fingers could keep up. But now that I am trying to advance the story, I'm having trouble writing even 400 words.
No use complaining, I guess. Onward!
Uncanny
Daily Word Count: 466 today, 13.9k total
To catch us up, I'm going to introduce the characters rather than list what I've found good in this particular section.
Starla: The eyes stared on, and she looked right back, her purple eyes shimmering in the soft ambience of the dash light. She had a thin and pale face, all peaks and valleys, below silvery-white hair bundled unceremoniously with a rubber band. A red and white scarf was wrapped around her neck. Her arms peeked out from a tattered, mud darkened t-shirt and lay folded across her body, her delicate hands resting on her bony elbows. The jeans she had found and put on were too large for her frame, and she had notched an extra hole in her belt to compensate.
Jason: The boy stood looking at himself, then reached a hand up to his face. Under his eye was a large gash. The front of his forehead looked like it had been scraped away by a rock, a bloody, triangular mess. He feathered over the wound with his hand, lightly touching it, wincing as his fingers contacted the torn flesh.
Timothy: He awoke in the dark and he could not move. His hands were behind him, and as he moved them he heard the jangle of metal. Handcuffs, most likely. He sat up, eyes focused before him, and waited. The darkness slowly receded. His head throbbed, and his hair felt pasted to his forehead. He opened his mouth to lick his lips and a sigh, heavy and unbidden, escaped. There was movement, scraping, the sound of a door opening, and a light flickered to life above him. He was in a warehouse, dank and unfamiliar.
Jonas: The man looked at his colleagues again, and one of them nodded curtly. He fished out another paper and slid it to Jonas. It was a simple letter with no letterhead, and long sections of the text had been blacked out, made unreadable.
Jonas picked it up incredulously and held it up towards the ceiling fixtures. “Ah, finally some clarity!”
Kathy glared at him.
“There is enough in there to get a decent picture,” the man said simply.
So Jonas read the pieces that were not blacked out. And then he reread them, much more intently. Finally he put the paper down on the table and stared ahead. “You’re serious?”
Ed: So now he sat by his wife’s bed, stationary, hollow and old like a dying tree. Every time she stirred his heart groaned within him. He was going to tell her; not some doctor, not anyone else. Just as he had shared everything with her, he would share this.
God, would he share this.
Daniel: And then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd. Daniel stood watching for a moment, but the voices and thoughts and emotions rose like a wave in front of him, threatening to crush him under their weight. So he retreated back to his chair, sat down, pulled the cap low to his face, and let the rhythmic machinations of the zipper lull his mind to rest.
Nicolas: The station was mostly deserted. There was a man with a suit and tie surveying the offerings of the vending machine. A mother and her daughter sat huddled closely together, protectively. And the station attendant stood looking at him, brows furrowed together, intimidated but doing her best to put on a neutral face.
Nicolas walked over to the counter with a smile. He could feel the spongy weakness of her mind, see the loose tendrils folding lazily over every idle thought. She would be no trouble at all.
Intrigued? Boy, I sure hope so.
It's been a lot of fun opening the act with all of these different characters, but it's the middle I am having trouble with. How do I bring them all together? What should they do between their introduction and conclusion?
When introducing them I had no trouble writing 1,000 to 2,000 words a day, writing as fast as my fingers could keep up. But now that I am trying to advance the story, I'm having trouble writing even 400 words.
No use complaining, I guess. Onward!
Monday, November 27, 2006
What a novel idea!
For most, I imagine, writing is a hunger that is only sated by constant and continued feeding. I always picture artists as lonely, tortured souls, desperately searching for a vehicle through which to share their beliefs, trials, and wisdom. Like the tell-tale heart beating under the floorboards, their desire threatens to drive them to absolute madness if it is not revealed or exposed.
Or something like that.
I was expressing to Alison the other day, as I am now for the first time attempting to write something substantial, that this hunger, this passion, is absent within me. To which she quickly responded, "well, maybe you're not an artist."
Maybe indeed.
So why do I write? It's a question I've asked myself many times, one that gains particular importance now because I am devoting a large part of my free time to writing a story that isn't particularly spiritual, edifying, novel, unique, or otherwise.
At this point, I write because God has gifted me in this area. Now, I don't expect to be published, or become the next Stephen King, but the practice of writing cannot help but do me good. And in fact it already has. I've written a press release for a software product, newsletters for a company, website copy, product manuals, and my own successful (to my mind) yet short-lived blog. The writing I do today, 400, 500 words, will hopefully someday benefit a group of people larger than myself. It might be an instruction manual. It might be a Lucadoistic book. (Lucadoistic comes from the self-penned word "Lucadoism", which is the section of inspirational Christian teaching most indebted to Max Lucado). It might be this blog (cue the cold shiver down the spine).
Anyway, I will be posting my progress semi-daily on this blog, and any other thoughts that might strike me down the line.
My story, Uncanny, now sits at 13,479 words, and is a very rough draft. But, credit to myself, it's the longest thing I've ever written. And how did I get through college as a Creative Writing major? That's another story for another time.
The story follows about five or six characters, which is much more difficult, in my mind, than having a main protagonist and sticking with him/her. For one, unless you work very hard, all of your characters think the same and say the same things. So you try to build very rich characters that will stand out from the others, but this swings you back into the dangerous yet fertile ground of creating stereotypical characters.
Am I making sense? It's getting late. I guess I'll go for now. Onward!
Or something like that.
I was expressing to Alison the other day, as I am now for the first time attempting to write something substantial, that this hunger, this passion, is absent within me. To which she quickly responded, "well, maybe you're not an artist."
Maybe indeed.
So why do I write? It's a question I've asked myself many times, one that gains particular importance now because I am devoting a large part of my free time to writing a story that isn't particularly spiritual, edifying, novel, unique, or otherwise.
At this point, I write because God has gifted me in this area. Now, I don't expect to be published, or become the next Stephen King, but the practice of writing cannot help but do me good. And in fact it already has. I've written a press release for a software product, newsletters for a company, website copy, product manuals, and my own successful (to my mind) yet short-lived blog. The writing I do today, 400, 500 words, will hopefully someday benefit a group of people larger than myself. It might be an instruction manual. It might be a Lucadoistic book. (Lucadoistic comes from the self-penned word "Lucadoism", which is the section of inspirational Christian teaching most indebted to Max Lucado). It might be this blog (cue the cold shiver down the spine).
Anyway, I will be posting my progress semi-daily on this blog, and any other thoughts that might strike me down the line.
My story, Uncanny, now sits at 13,479 words, and is a very rough draft. But, credit to myself, it's the longest thing I've ever written. And how did I get through college as a Creative Writing major? That's another story for another time.
The story follows about five or six characters, which is much more difficult, in my mind, than having a main protagonist and sticking with him/her. For one, unless you work very hard, all of your characters think the same and say the same things. So you try to build very rich characters that will stand out from the others, but this swings you back into the dangerous yet fertile ground of creating stereotypical characters.
Am I making sense? It's getting late. I guess I'll go for now. Onward!
Hello World!
I believe it was Aristotle that said, "An unexamined life is not worth living" (at least, that's who the bumper sticker attributed the saying to). We're here, therefore, to examine life together, from its sun-lit and inviting outer rooms, to its dust-soaked nooks and crannies. I've also set aside this place, by the gentle compunction of friends and family, to track the progress of my first novel (although I hesitate to call it that, it's really just a collection of writing exercises at this point). So I will keep you up to date on my progress, word count, editing, and maybe even post a few excerpts if I'm feeling particularly brave. Hopefully this space will keep me on track and help me to continue writing. Writing, like life, is a long race, much more an endurance run than a sprint. Discipline, which this world so often lacks, as I do myself, is key. Praise be to God, who has given us minds to conceive, words to write, and lips to utter all manner of marvelous things!
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