I’m cooking up some stuff.
Life update: I’m working very hard on a couple of writing projects and experimenting with fiction.
And, hey, wow, how do writers do it? Write fiction, I mean.
I usually only write things I know; it takes real effort to write something I don’t feel or understand. Even more, I’m struggling to create a world, a language, and a situation from mere imagination. There, I said it. I’m not imaginative. In fact, I just had a conversation with a colleague about six articles a client asked me to write, all on the same topic.
“What it’s going to take is re-jargoning.”
(Adding this to my LinkedIn profile: re-jargoner.)
Anyway, fiction is taking a lot of effort, and I’m losing motivation to try and make it work. There are so, so many authors who do this, but it’s not my ability. I don’t even write about secondhand experiences, the experiences of others, because I can’t get into other peoples’ heads. It’s difficult for me. Now I might be able to write from a toddler’s perspective because I share many opinions with 2Ts, especially about snacks, adults, and pants.
Bottom line: If I’m writing it, it’s what I know.
Another challenge is writing a long story. Yes, I’m attempting a novel. Sixty, 70, 80, 90 thousand words. That’s a long story. My stories barely reach 800. And if I’m rounding 800, I guarantee I’m chasing a point. And the point is either an opinion I have, or I’ve simply lost track of what I was saying, and I (we) are hoping I’ll eventually find the point.
If you can’t tell, staying in my own lane requires all the energy I have, frankly.
Speaking of my writing projects and … (pause for unnatural silence) … my fIcTiOn nOvEl … I’m rebranding my blog. I’m saying, “any day,” but … (wait for tight smile that doesn’t reach the eyes) … it’s going to be a couple more weeks. I want it right, and it’s not right yet.
I’m hosting two blogs on one site to give you a clue. One blog so I can continue to entertain you with my musings, and another blog to do one of a few things – I can’t decide which.
Either to share snippets of my works in progress (wips), such as intro’ing my characters and new scenes and maybe ask for feedback or ideas on how to fill my plot holes. As soon as I fix one plot hole, I undoubtedly create seven smaller plot holes. I’ll take help because my anxiety is starting to rub off on my character. Now she’s got tension, too.
Or my other idea is to share my reviews of the books I’m reading. I think I can do some real good here. For instance, before you read The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas, I could warn you about how they made out just outside a dying man’s hospital room. Or, The Maidens by Alex Michaelides. If he had put one more obvious red herring in this book, I might’ve set it on fire.
Another idea for the second blog is to use it as my home for the November NaNoWriMo challenge. What is NaNoWriMo? National Novel Writing Month. I want to participate, but the thing is, there is no accountability which means there is really no reason to torture myself. But, if I use this second blog, then boom. NaNoWriMo is a go.
(Look at me, 570 words, and I’ve only covered my writing projects. I still have another update, and who bets I still tap out at around 800 words?!)
My other life update is I’m moving.
I realize I’ve said it before, and this time I mean it (more than the last time I told it). I spoke to a realtor yesterday and will talk to a mortgage lender later today. This is heavy; I’m mulling planting roots.
Someone once told me anything you can do slowly, you can do. My decision to leave Arizona was quick, but putting it in motion has taken me a few tries over a few years. Did you know I spent my first 26 years in Rhode Island, but I’ve spent the last 28 in Arizona? I’m more an Arizonan than I am a Rhode Islander. Wild! I didn’t see it coming, and I don’t know when it happened.
I take that back. It happened in 2020.
Coffee milk, Pu pu platters, and turtlenecks.
Trees that can’t fit in the frame of my camera, crown molding, and Benefit Street.
These are a few of my favorite things.
My last update is that my career makes no sense, and I know that. It doesn’t seem right to start a new one right now, and I can’t predict the future, so my update is that I’m not updating it yet.
(817 words. I’ve officially broken the plateau. This deserves a plate of fries.)
I feel like I should say more. I mean, you stuck with me for 817 words, and I’ve hardly made it worth your while.
Tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to share a wip.
Occasionally I am uninspired to write. I. KNOW. And when this happens, I think about how the earth is spinning at about 1,000 mph, which means I’m literally on a magical rock spaceship hurtling through infinity, so I press myself to just write. Or sometimes I just think about how I wanna be 14 again and ruin my life differently. But when I push myself to write, I sometimes open writing prompts. I set my timer for 10 minutes, and I go crazy. But only for 10 minutes. And it has to be an attempt at fiction. Occasionally one of these exercises makes it to my swipe file “for future consideration.” As I already explained, fiction is my kryptonite… excruciatingly painful and difficult. So here is one of those that made it to the Maybe One Day file. Let me know what you think and if it’s got the making of something good:
The prompt: 99-year-old woman wants to find her mother (WTH, right???) No editing, just writing for 10 minutes:
The problem is, when you’re 99 years old, everyone thinks you’re crazy. Or maybe not crazy but senile. You stuff a kleenex in the collar of your shirt and you tell someone you lost your keys, and they look at you with that look – that startled look – and start shooting you questions.
What’s the president’s name?
What year are we in, sweetie?
Don’t even get me started on why the minute you leave your 60s, everyone starts calling you sweetie again, like when you were five.
People regularly think I’m going crazy, senile, losing my marbles, showing the first sign of dementia, whatever you want to call it, so you can imagine what they said when I told them I was going to look for my missing mother.
My daughter was the worst.
“Sit down, mom,” she instructed when I told her. “Are you feeling dizzy? Can I get you a glass of water?”
I kind of did want a glass of water, so I let her fetch me one. When she handed me the glass she said, “Who’s the president?”
If they stopped for a single second with the questions about the president, they would hear what I would say next. Of course my momma is long gone, and I’m not really going in search of her. I haven’t lost those marbles. Not yet, at least. But she did go missing when I was eight. And you know what the really crazy thing is? Not once in my 91 years since did I ask her why or where. Why did my sweet little momma just up and leave?
That’s what I want to find out.
(Well? What do you think? Worthy of future consideration? I literally have no idea why a mother would leave a child – and then she comes back? I don’t know. I just wrote. See, fiction. GAH. Anyway, all this writing has me hungry and I’m craving those damn fries. Potatoes and their dirt vitamins. Hopefully the next time I write it’ll be on my new site! Can’t wait to show you!)