Oh wow! I fear I have been neglecting my blog this past winter and the three people who faithfully read my blog posts. (Well, hopefully, there are more than three of you, although sometimes I do wonder!)
Winter seemed to fly by, not that I spent the time hibernating. I was busy writing most every day and avoiding housework, I mean, the icy world outside. The only way a story gets written is by faithfully returning to your computer and writing. Alone. Keep your butt in the chair, as some writers will tell you. Well, I can attest to the fact that my chair was well-used these past months.
Writing is such a solitary venture for authors. Some days I wish it wasn’t so. Some days I want to sneak out into the world and see/talk to other people.
But I can’t always do that because the story won’t get written if I do. By the time I get well into a story it keeps me awake at night. It’s my first thought when I wake in the morning. I hear dialogue in my head and wonder: will I remember these bits of conversations between my characters when it comes time to write? I experienced all these things this winter. I call it falling in love with the story all over again.
But…
I’m not writing this post to lament being a writer. It’s who I am. I can’t change that. Take it or leave it, things aren’t going to change in that respect. I love writing.
Now, for some news:
I recently received word that Penelope Jackson will be working with me on the edits for my adult fiction novel, due out in spring 2020. I can’t tell you how that news makes my little heart sing. I worked with her on my last two novels and she’s absolutely wonderful. Although, I’m not sure what to expect with this being my first novel for grown-ups, I’m looking forward to the edits. It will be a busy summer. My publisher wants the ARCs (advance reading copies) ready for early 2020. I’m sure we’ll get there on time. I’ll share the cover when the time is right.
Let’s not forget there’s another book coming in the fall of 2020 as well.
Of course all that doesn’t mean I don’t have other stories I’m working on. In fact, I’ve several that are in various stages of completion. Right now, I need to decide which one is crying out for the most attention. Since story ideas can come at the drop of a hat, I have bits of stories sprinkled through my computer files. Hopefully, they will transform into full-fledged stories in time. There also comes the realization that a writer can only write so fast, produce so much. We’re all individuals in that respect. And there is life beyond writing…There I said it.
So, this post is really just to let you know that I’m around and kicking. I didn’t freeze up during the winter, but I am crawling out into civilization a bit more now that the weather is warming up. Hibernation for this author is officially over.
What have all of you been up to this past winter?
As I watched the snow from inside my house today, it seemed like a good day to write a short blog post–my last one for 2018. It also seemed like an even better day for decorating the Christmas tree and wrapping prezzies. Christmas is only a week away and yet I find myself, once again, scrambling to get everything done. Big surprise!
When we first start writing we think we’re so much better than we really are. This is understandable since we’re so eager to unleash the creativity that’s been pent up inside us, sometimes for years. In the beginning, we love all the words we put down, all those flowery sentences we deem so very important to all great works of fiction. And make no mistake, ours IS great, maybe THE greatest. We smother our run-on sentences with adverbs and adjectives while searching for meaningful ten syllable words that we think makes our writing infectious, and certainly makes us sound….educated and sophisticated. You know, the way an author is supposed to sound. People simply will not be able to resist reading our work. (Wait until this comes across some editor’s desk! Won’t they be surprised!)
about 10 cm of snow last night. Some of it melted during the afternoon, and the eaves are still dripping. That said, we’ve been told to expect another 15 cm overnight. I’m not sure what will happen to the tulips in our garden that suddenly burst through the ground late last week, but I’m hoping they’ re hardy enough to survive this next blast of winter weather this spring. But this is not unusual for spring, nor is our complaints that winter just doesn’t want to give up. Still, with each warm day we’re granted, hope stirs inside us. That’s the one thing about hope. It seems no matter how many times we’re disappointed with the outcome of something, we remain hopeful that next time the results we’re looking for will finally show up.
The other day someone asked when I’d last written a book. I quickly replied last year. But that’s not really accurate. Yes, I finished a book last year, but I worked on it for several years before declaring it completed. Even then, I only ever refer to it as a manuscript. (Not a book until it’s published.) I have several manuscripts in various stages of completion, ones that go back many, many, many years. It’s the nature of writing, I think; the ability to simply pick up and start or stop or even change directions. I don’t wear blinders when I write. Sometimes my eye wonders. I see a potential story some place else and I quickly jot things down—a paragraph, a sentence, a page—for a later date.
