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Exploring the Edges: Writing Outside the Boundaries
Write what you know may be the most hackneyed advice out there. And, well, it really isn’t that well informed. Yes, writing the things you know about–especially when you’re starting out–are safe bets. Keeping to the zone of your knowledge means that you’ll likely not be called out as a fraud and that you’ll keep going because, well, you already know about it. And as writers we have a tendency to cluster around the things that inform our existence. It’s why I wrote about New England in the beginning of Pilgrim of the Sky, even though I haven’t lived there in over a decade. It was part of my own origin…
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No man chooses evil because it is evil…
No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks. — Mary Wollstonecraft From A Vindication of the Rights of Men. This is, indeed, the mother of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (Mary Godwin), the author of Frankenstein. Their body is of work is often misquoted between them, but they were both revolutionaries. Sadly, they never knew each other as Wollstonecraft died shortly after giving birth to her daughter. This quote is one of those that speaks to the heart of Watcher of the Skies. In it is Joss Raddick’s Bildungsroman, of sorts, as a godling coming into his power and self awareness. But it’s also about power and…
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Lightning Strikes: From Whence Inspiration?
Sure, sure. You make your own inspiration and all that. You sit, you write, you create. I get that. It’s 90% of the equation. But what about those moments that are unplanned? I know I’m not the only writer out there that’s found profundity in hot showers or strains of music (in fact, most of the WIP fell into my brain during a shower). There seem to be situations where my brain is prone to wander unseen pathways, where I make connections in stories that, on normal writing days, just don’t seem to happen. No, I don’t believe in Muses, but there is some curious power in the workings…
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Lingering in Londinium; or, Monasteries of the Imagination
My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk. — John Keats It occurs to me that it’s not just characters who choose us, but it’s places that choose us, too. When it comes to Watcher of the Skies, I had a great many plans. I thought that the first part of the book would take place in Britannia (England), an alternate history version where the Romans never left and the Angles, Frisians, Jutes, Saxons, etc., were assimilated as a servant class (those that didn’t ally with the Welsh and eventually end up part of the monarchy, that is). Then I was going to travel to the New World, to…
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“You speak of Lord Byron and me…”
“You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees, I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.” — John Keats to his brother George, 1819. For more on the issue, there’s a bit here.
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Writing Through It: Depression, Anxiety, and Coping Mechanisms
We just moved. The whole house. Granted, it was only a couple of miles away. But it still sucks, it still interrupts everything, and it still makes writing just about impossible. Not that writing is always at the top of my list of things to do these days. I mean, in a perfect world it would be. But I’ve got kids and pets and family and responsibilities… and a house full of boxes. So. Many. Boxes. At this point I’m beyond the whole “write every day” thing which, when starting out, is super important. Of course. But reality? Yeah. I still don’t have a desk situation set up, so writing’s…
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J. M. W. Turner: Fishermen at Sea
A particularly striking piece that certainly influenced bits of Watcher of the Skies. Turner’s gift of light and composition get me every time. Image in the public domain, via Wikipedia.
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“People’s dream…
“People’s dreams are made out of what they do all day. The same way a dog that runs after rabbits will dream of rabbits. It’s what you do that makes your soul, not the other way around.” — Barbara Kingsolver It’s what you do that makes your soul.
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Spring cleaning, and making sense of nonsense
I am buried in boxes. Literally. The view from the laptop is approximately 80% box. We’re moving. To a very cool house. And we’re throwing crap away. And, predictably, I’ve decided to tidy up the blog a bit. Why change, you ask? Sure, the last design wasn’t so bad. It had a nifty slidey feature thingie (technical term). But it was a bit too noisy. Functionality is fine so long as it does something, but I’m not a news blog. I’m some writer gal who talks about food and mythology and rock music. I wanted something that was more content-centric, and after trying about fifty different templates on for side,…
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Albatross
From the WIP: There was a time where I could change back and forth to a fish as easily as passing wind, but the years had left me rusty. And I was afraid. Still afraid, after so many years, that I would lose control. And it wasn’t just fear, really, it was temptation. That’s the problem more than anything—it wasn’t that I hated being uncontrollable. There was a dark, welcome power there that would lurk with me always, part of my true self, my ancient self, that craved blood and destruction and death. Knowing that my friend was in danger threw me into action. But I kept turning into a…
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I didn’t have much to tell him
I didn’t have much to tell him. “I fought in the war,” I said. “I had a child. Though I have not watched him grow, for I was not well acquainted with his mother. Not properly, anyway. I fear I have disappointed you in not living a truly upright existence.” He laughed. “As if I could tame you, Joss! You, creature of lightning and water and energy. Gods, if I could ever bottle but a fraction of your essence, or whatever it makes you what you are, I would be a king among men. You never have fit into my understanding of the world. Nor by Diana’s nor Mary’s law.…
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World keeps turning, words keep churning…
I have not been a good blogger. But then again, I haven’t written much fiction. There have been lots of articles in the week, true, over at GeekMom and Geeks Are Sexy and whatnot. But the last month–in fact, all of February, which is an historically cruddy month as it is–was horrible. Horrible really doesn’t begin to express, really. My family suffered the loss of an amazing friend, a young man who grew up with my sister and me (and was indeed, her best friend in the world). I met him when he was 10, and had to see him leave at 29. A freak infection that took his life…
