"Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." --Gene Fowler
If you hadn't figured it out by now, I have severe writer's block. Lot's of people will tell you that it doesn't exist or that "the block" is really just laziness, boredom, lack of discipline...etc. And today I'm in the sort of foul mood that declares to them "Bite. Me." And how. (And yes, the punctuation is exactly as I planned it.)
What's really getting me is that I can write this post (don't EVEN start on the whole discipline thing.
Seriously.) but when it comes to my current novel-in-progress...I want to kill myself some characters just to get the blood running again.
The real kicker: I have the entire scene planned out. It's ready. It's waiting. It's FULLY PREPARED. Research: check! Timeline: Check! But I can't write the damned thing. Every first line is sucking rocks and the lines that follow that might as well be advertising for a new Hoover Vacuum.
My faithless muse is out "amusing" some other writer, my normal batch of inspirations are irritating the asterisk signs out of me, and my keyboard could moonlight as a set of drums. I hate to sound cliche but I wouldn't wish this on my enemy. Well, maybe I would. At least I could do the Mr. Burns thing with my spindly little fingers steepled together
.
Yeah, today...I'm totally a villain.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Be a Book Hugger! Save the life of an endangered book today!
Everyone knows the economy isn't very good right now but what people aren't well aware of is how hard it's been on the book publishing industry. For those of you who love a good book, want to write a good book, want someone to BUY your good book--For the love of everything holy, PLEASE GO BUY A BOOK THIS WEEKEND! Even if it's a kid's chapter reader book or a paperback romance novel, get out there and grab yourself an early Christmas gift.
Not only will you be helping a suffering industry, you'll also be helping yourself to get published. That's right! I said you'll help yourself get published! For every book that's bought, a publishing agency can afford to sponsor new authors.
Want to know more? Check out these two great posts about it. Here
And Here
I'm reading a lot of blogs about the hold on new acquisitions. If you don't want to be another author slipping through the publishing net, help your odds by supporting the industry you love! Save the life of an endangered book today. Be a book hugger!
Not only will you be helping a suffering industry, you'll also be helping yourself to get published. That's right! I said you'll help yourself get published! For every book that's bought, a publishing agency can afford to sponsor new authors.
Want to know more? Check out these two great posts about it. Here
And Here
I'm reading a lot of blogs about the hold on new acquisitions. If you don't want to be another author slipping through the publishing net, help your odds by supporting the industry you love! Save the life of an endangered book today. Be a book hugger!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Donkey on a wet tin roof
"The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not." --Mark Twain
Over the last few days I've had the chance to experience some new things. A CT scan and an MRI. Oh, I know plenty of people who've had them and seen many an episode on TV of the experience but it is vastly different from actually having it done to you.
The CT was amusing. My hair stood on its ends as the donut shaped thing-a-ma-bob whirled all around my head and whooshed with semi-loud frequency. It was a short-lived experience where I told myself, "That wasn't too bad."
The MRI was like being transported into the body of Hannibal Lecter. My body was pressed against a flat board and a heavy mask was locked around my head with gaps big enough for my eyes and oddly, my mouth. Then you're shoved inside a tube which wouldn't have been so claustrophobic if they didn't pack stuffed pads around your head and body to make sure you had an extra tight squeeze. Shortly thereafter, you're subjected to odd clanging, twisting, and clunky sounds. Half the time I was wondering if they were performing maintenance on the machine while I was inside it. And that was just the beginning.
As I lay there trying to discern the different sounds of the MRI machine, I found myself thinking about writing. How would a writer describe the experience I was going through? The staff at the hospital described the noises as jackhammers but I disagree. It certainly has the rhythm a jackhammer would make, the steady ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta beat of noise, but it didn't seem as intense to me. And there were more noises than that to appreciate. I'll tell you a few before I bore you to death. There were varied whirring noises, beeps, and elongated eee-aaa-ooooo sounds followed by something that sounded a bit like the noise you'll find in sci-fi movies during space travel; like you're at the end of a tunnel hearing it come towards you.
Altogether, it reminded me of a donkey braying outside of a shack while rain beat on the tin roof and a tornado was whirling around all of it. I'm pretty sure that was grammatical murder just there.
I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Boy, you really needed that cat scan!" And you might be right. (However, I reserve the right as a writer to fully embrace my craziness.) But the experience made me think about my craft. Life's experiences are great fodder for storytelling. I've read stories about people experiencing MRI's and CT's but I've never heard how it felt and what it sounded like. Perhaps no one wants to hear about what it sounds like to be human sausage link being nuked in the microwave but it's something to remember.
The point of this post is that everything you do, every chance you get, try to log it into your brain. You never know when that experience will be the perfect description in a book, short-story, novelette, or screen play. Perhaps even a journal entry. When you're going through something new (or revisiting something old) try to visualize it and describe it to yourself. You might be surprised at your impressive lexicon.
Until next time,
L.T. Elliot
p.s. For those wondering, the CT and MRI came out clean. Sorry, no impressive illnesses today!
Over the last few days I've had the chance to experience some new things. A CT scan and an MRI. Oh, I know plenty of people who've had them and seen many an episode on TV of the experience but it is vastly different from actually having it done to you.
The CT was amusing. My hair stood on its ends as the donut shaped thing-a-ma-bob whirled all around my head and whooshed with semi-loud frequency. It was a short-lived experience where I told myself, "That wasn't too bad."
The MRI was like being transported into the body of Hannibal Lecter. My body was pressed against a flat board and a heavy mask was locked around my head with gaps big enough for my eyes and oddly, my mouth. Then you're shoved inside a tube which wouldn't have been so claustrophobic if they didn't pack stuffed pads around your head and body to make sure you had an extra tight squeeze. Shortly thereafter, you're subjected to odd clanging, twisting, and clunky sounds. Half the time I was wondering if they were performing maintenance on the machine while I was inside it. And that was just the beginning.
As I lay there trying to discern the different sounds of the MRI machine, I found myself thinking about writing. How would a writer describe the experience I was going through? The staff at the hospital described the noises as jackhammers but I disagree. It certainly has the rhythm a jackhammer would make, the steady ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta beat of noise, but it didn't seem as intense to me. And there were more noises than that to appreciate. I'll tell you a few before I bore you to death. There were varied whirring noises, beeps, and elongated eee-aaa-ooooo sounds followed by something that sounded a bit like the noise you'll find in sci-fi movies during space travel; like you're at the end of a tunnel hearing it come towards you.
Altogether, it reminded me of a donkey braying outside of a shack while rain beat on the tin roof and a tornado was whirling around all of it. I'm pretty sure that was grammatical murder just there.
I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Boy, you really needed that cat scan!" And you might be right. (However, I reserve the right as a writer to fully embrace my craziness.) But the experience made me think about my craft. Life's experiences are great fodder for storytelling. I've read stories about people experiencing MRI's and CT's but I've never heard how it felt and what it sounded like. Perhaps no one wants to hear about what it sounds like to be human sausage link being nuked in the microwave but it's something to remember.
The point of this post is that everything you do, every chance you get, try to log it into your brain. You never know when that experience will be the perfect description in a book, short-story, novelette, or screen play. Perhaps even a journal entry. When you're going through something new (or revisiting something old) try to visualize it and describe it to yourself. You might be surprised at your impressive lexicon.
Until next time,
L.T. Elliot
p.s. For those wondering, the CT and MRI came out clean. Sorry, no impressive illnesses today!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Badger or Kitten; which are you?
"If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea."
--Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I'd like to take a moment to clarify something I said earlier. In an earlier post I mentioned that I felt like I didn't deserve the title of "Writer" because I hadn't been writing daily. It just dawned on me how that might be construed by others. I'll never forget the moment I first read an author's blog and she said something to the effect of "If you don't write daily, you don't get to call yourself a writer." I remember being filled with anxiety, fury, and self-righteousness. I liked this author's books (and still do) but what right did she have to tell me what I was or wasn't?
After taking some time to roll her words around in my brain, I realized that she was right. Before I have a riot on my hands, let me explain. She was right to an extent. If I wanted to be an author, a truly published author, I was going to have to get real. I would have to suck up my indignation and face the fact that love writing as I may, I wasn't getting anywhere by not taking it seriously. Someone once told me, "The difference between a writer and an author is publication." Writers write. Authors get published. (Yes, authors write too but go with me on this.) I didn't reach this conclusion (authors vs writers) right away. It took several weeks of stewing, feeling furious about that author's post, and multiple pity parties until I owned up to her words. I wasn't taking it seriously and I didn't deserve to call myself anything other than a hobbyist. I hadn't written for months and in some occasions, years.
So I took some time to ask myself some tough questions, questions like Is this something I really want to do? Do I care if anyone says I am a writer or not? Am I willing to work harder than I am to get published? Do I even want to be published? Then I thought it through and the answer to all of those questions was YES. When I doubt myself or my choice I think of a song by Tim McGraw, How bad do you want it? The chorus says:
"How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming
With that one thing on your mind?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Cause if you want it all
You've got to lay it all out on the line."
(If you haven't heard this song, I recommend it whole-heartedly.) For me, that sums it up. I want it and I want it badly enough that I'm fighting for it. Sometimes it's a war against my heart, a war where I fight against doubt & fear & inadequacy. Other times, it's a struggle against lethargy. Writing is amazing, creative, cathartic. Unfortunately, it's also a lot of work. Sometimes (as a poet once told me) it's like squeezing an orange without peeling it first; you're lucky if you get any juice out of it. You feel like you've wrung yourself inside out and you have maybe 2 paragraphs that aren't pure drivel and that's on an okay day.
But I don't truly believe that you don't deserve the title of "writer" if you're not writing daily. This is why I've filled your mind with all this nonsense of "Author vs Writer: the ultimate showdown between the spiral notepad geeks and the puffed-up peacocks of publishing!"
Writing is in your heart. It's something that takes your whole self to do. Both sides of the brain (lefty and righty) are needed to finish a manuscript. Your body will sustain you while you earn carpel tunnel syndrome (or some serious calluses on your fingers) and remind you that sleep and food are necessary. And your heart, your heart is what tells the story.
Today's quote was chosen specifically for this post. It's a quote about hope, about kindness, about teaching and learning. It's the whole "lead a horse to water" thing but goes farther to show you how you get that little filly to take a sip. I've found that most people are like badgers; back them into a corner and you might as well fork out that hefty ER co-pay. But where force and embarrassment ruffle my fur, belief and genuine kindness make me purr.
Some people aren't ready for the leap from writer to authorship. There are those who don't even want it. To those of you who fit into either of those categories, allow me to say: "You ARE a writer. I believe in you. I support you. I wish you the best success." To those of you who feel like I do, who will never be content until your name is on the spine of a well-marketed, frequently-bought book; to those who can accept nothing less than your name on the New York Times bestseller list; to those of you who intend to rival the greats--I say this:
How bad do you want it?
L.T. Elliot
--Antoine de Saint-Exupery
I'd like to take a moment to clarify something I said earlier. In an earlier post I mentioned that I felt like I didn't deserve the title of "Writer" because I hadn't been writing daily. It just dawned on me how that might be construed by others. I'll never forget the moment I first read an author's blog and she said something to the effect of "If you don't write daily, you don't get to call yourself a writer." I remember being filled with anxiety, fury, and self-righteousness. I liked this author's books (and still do) but what right did she have to tell me what I was or wasn't?
After taking some time to roll her words around in my brain, I realized that she was right. Before I have a riot on my hands, let me explain. She was right to an extent. If I wanted to be an author, a truly published author, I was going to have to get real. I would have to suck up my indignation and face the fact that love writing as I may, I wasn't getting anywhere by not taking it seriously. Someone once told me, "The difference between a writer and an author is publication." Writers write. Authors get published. (Yes, authors write too but go with me on this.) I didn't reach this conclusion (authors vs writers) right away. It took several weeks of stewing, feeling furious about that author's post, and multiple pity parties until I owned up to her words. I wasn't taking it seriously and I didn't deserve to call myself anything other than a hobbyist. I hadn't written for months and in some occasions, years.
So I took some time to ask myself some tough questions, questions like Is this something I really want to do? Do I care if anyone says I am a writer or not? Am I willing to work harder than I am to get published? Do I even want to be published? Then I thought it through and the answer to all of those questions was YES. When I doubt myself or my choice I think of a song by Tim McGraw, How bad do you want it? The chorus says:
"How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming
With that one thing on your mind?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Cause if you want it all
You've got to lay it all out on the line."
(If you haven't heard this song, I recommend it whole-heartedly.) For me, that sums it up. I want it and I want it badly enough that I'm fighting for it. Sometimes it's a war against my heart, a war where I fight against doubt & fear & inadequacy. Other times, it's a struggle against lethargy. Writing is amazing, creative, cathartic. Unfortunately, it's also a lot of work. Sometimes (as a poet once told me) it's like squeezing an orange without peeling it first; you're lucky if you get any juice out of it. You feel like you've wrung yourself inside out and you have maybe 2 paragraphs that aren't pure drivel and that's on an okay day.
But I don't truly believe that you don't deserve the title of "writer" if you're not writing daily. This is why I've filled your mind with all this nonsense of "Author vs Writer: the ultimate showdown between the spiral notepad geeks and the puffed-up peacocks of publishing!"
Writing is in your heart. It's something that takes your whole self to do. Both sides of the brain (lefty and righty) are needed to finish a manuscript. Your body will sustain you while you earn carpel tunnel syndrome (or some serious calluses on your fingers) and remind you that sleep and food are necessary. And your heart, your heart is what tells the story.
Today's quote was chosen specifically for this post. It's a quote about hope, about kindness, about teaching and learning. It's the whole "lead a horse to water" thing but goes farther to show you how you get that little filly to take a sip. I've found that most people are like badgers; back them into a corner and you might as well fork out that hefty ER co-pay. But where force and embarrassment ruffle my fur, belief and genuine kindness make me purr.
Some people aren't ready for the leap from writer to authorship. There are those who don't even want it. To those of you who fit into either of those categories, allow me to say: "You ARE a writer. I believe in you. I support you. I wish you the best success." To those of you who feel like I do, who will never be content until your name is on the spine of a well-marketed, frequently-bought book; to those who can accept nothing less than your name on the New York Times bestseller list; to those of you who intend to rival the greats--I say this:
How bad do you want it?
L.T. Elliot
Flight towards the Sun
"Success is not a place at which one arrives but rather the spirit with which one undertakes and continues the journey." --Alex Noble
Today is the first time I will have blogged online and I would like to say "Hello World!" I am filled with trepidation and excitement in equal degrees but I am determined to give it a try.
Let's start with a little history, shall we?
My parents told me that I started reading at three years old but the first story I remember creating on my own (written and illustrated) was in the 3rd grade. It was a silly little story about unicorns, Pegasus, and war, oddly enough. I made it for a friend and didn't think to make myself a copy but an eight year old doesn't really plan on nostalgia. It was after I'd written that 3 page story that I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Over the years my passion for writing has only been exceeded by my passion for reading.
I was 14 years old when I attempted my first novel. I look back at that first draft now and shake my head while I wear a smile. But though the manuscript was pretty immature and directionless, it has remained with me and grown over the years into something that I consider a epic tale. The characters are long-loved friends, the scenery as familiar as my own backyard, and the dialogue tends to pop up and fill my brain like a multiple-personality disorder. Those characters have the unfortunate tendency speak up whenever they feel neglected and nudge me back to telling their story; never mind that I have a life of my own to lead and other novels/characters clamoring for their voices to be heard.
Though that particular story is currently shelved on my list of projects, someday it will be told. Meanwhile, I'll just have to put up with the cacophony in my skull.
I used to consider myself a pretty dedicated writer until I was shown true dedication by a wonderful friend. Her passion and dedication to telling a story, writing daily, and chasing your dreams gave the lie to my self-styled title of "Writer." I took a good hard look at myself and had to fess up. I felt passion for my literary endeavors but I did not have the actions to back it up. Sometimes, as many writers can tell you, passion is not enough. You must have motivation, dedication, and sheer mulishness. Passion can't always carry you through the grueling act of revision, plotting, or research.
So I took a page from my friend and set myself the task of deserving the title "Writer." Passion got me about as far as 3 days. After that, it was a matter of refusing to have my writing pursuits labeled as "hobbies." If I wanted to play with the big dogs, I was going to have to get scrappier. And I learned something. I had only been playing at writing before. This was HARD work. There was a lot more to it than I had been doing. So I joined a critique group and learned another thing. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. That first meeting was like being strapped to the bare metal frame of an electrified mattress. But I stuck with it and now I feel like a critique group is the best thing you can do for yourself if you really want to learn the craft of writing.
After that first group, I had the confidence to be able to join a local group for writers and attend my first conference. I've since joined another critique group (two critique groups and 1 state league for writers) and am on my way to getting published. I'm actually submitting my work instead of hoarding it like a scarlet dragon coiled around stolen shiny objects. Hopefully, I will soon be able to report on the fruits of my labors. Cross your fingers for me. As for myself, I'm about as twisted as a pretzel with how much I'm "crossing my fingers."
"So why the blog", you say? I decided that if I wanted to be a big fish, I was going to have to swim upstream. Though the thought of sending my rambling and perhaps useless words into the wilds of the Internet scares the bodily functions out of me, I am determined to earn the right to call myself a writer. So if you're thus inclined, feel free to join me on my journey to publication and from there, to as high as my waxen wings will allow.
With wishes of success in all your dreams and goals,
L.T. Elliot
Today is the first time I will have blogged online and I would like to say "Hello World!" I am filled with trepidation and excitement in equal degrees but I am determined to give it a try.
Let's start with a little history, shall we?
My parents told me that I started reading at three years old but the first story I remember creating on my own (written and illustrated) was in the 3rd grade. It was a silly little story about unicorns, Pegasus, and war, oddly enough. I made it for a friend and didn't think to make myself a copy but an eight year old doesn't really plan on nostalgia. It was after I'd written that 3 page story that I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Over the years my passion for writing has only been exceeded by my passion for reading.
I was 14 years old when I attempted my first novel. I look back at that first draft now and shake my head while I wear a smile. But though the manuscript was pretty immature and directionless, it has remained with me and grown over the years into something that I consider a epic tale. The characters are long-loved friends, the scenery as familiar as my own backyard, and the dialogue tends to pop up and fill my brain like a multiple-personality disorder. Those characters have the unfortunate tendency speak up whenever they feel neglected and nudge me back to telling their story; never mind that I have a life of my own to lead and other novels/characters clamoring for their voices to be heard.
Though that particular story is currently shelved on my list of projects, someday it will be told. Meanwhile, I'll just have to put up with the cacophony in my skull.
I used to consider myself a pretty dedicated writer until I was shown true dedication by a wonderful friend. Her passion and dedication to telling a story, writing daily, and chasing your dreams gave the lie to my self-styled title of "Writer." I took a good hard look at myself and had to fess up. I felt passion for my literary endeavors but I did not have the actions to back it up. Sometimes, as many writers can tell you, passion is not enough. You must have motivation, dedication, and sheer mulishness. Passion can't always carry you through the grueling act of revision, plotting, or research.
So I took a page from my friend and set myself the task of deserving the title "Writer." Passion got me about as far as 3 days. After that, it was a matter of refusing to have my writing pursuits labeled as "hobbies." If I wanted to play with the big dogs, I was going to have to get scrappier. And I learned something. I had only been playing at writing before. This was HARD work. There was a lot more to it than I had been doing. So I joined a critique group and learned another thing. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. That first meeting was like being strapped to the bare metal frame of an electrified mattress. But I stuck with it and now I feel like a critique group is the best thing you can do for yourself if you really want to learn the craft of writing.
After that first group, I had the confidence to be able to join a local group for writers and attend my first conference. I've since joined another critique group (two critique groups and 1 state league for writers) and am on my way to getting published. I'm actually submitting my work instead of hoarding it like a scarlet dragon coiled around stolen shiny objects. Hopefully, I will soon be able to report on the fruits of my labors. Cross your fingers for me. As for myself, I'm about as twisted as a pretzel with how much I'm "crossing my fingers."
"So why the blog", you say? I decided that if I wanted to be a big fish, I was going to have to swim upstream. Though the thought of sending my rambling and perhaps useless words into the wilds of the Internet scares the bodily functions out of me, I am determined to earn the right to call myself a writer. So if you're thus inclined, feel free to join me on my journey to publication and from there, to as high as my waxen wings will allow.
With wishes of success in all your dreams and goals,
L.T. Elliot
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