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How Pinterest and Process Saved My Novel (And Can Save Yours, Too)
Writing a book, as the old adage goes, isn’t the hard part. I mean, yeah, it’s hard. It’s a butt-ton of work. For me, writing books isn’t the hard part. It’s something I do, more or less, whether or not I want to. But while the writing part isn’t exactly a mystery to me, there have been some real challenges over the past few years that have challenged everything I thought about writing. First thing? In 2008/2009, I was learning to write novels. Like, write them and finish them. I wrote a lot between 08-10, until my hands gave out. Yup, literally my hands stopped allowing me to write, and…
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Watcher of the Skies: Drafted!
It’s been a while since I was able to make such an announcement–but lo! I have completed another novel. This time, it’s the follow-up (I won’t say sequel, because it’s part prequel/part standalone) to Pilgrim of the Sky. While it took much longer than anticipated, mostly due to the ungodly amount of research that was involved, I’m happy to report that I’m quite pleased with the product. It’s a more solid draft than I usually write (see: time to write) and plot-wise it’s a lot more dense. (Even Michael, who’s a surprisingly insightful and critical reader felt the same way.) How am I going to pitch this to you? It’s sort of……
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Running on the beach and making peace with the water gods
Making peace with the waves, and finding deeper meaning through personal achievements.
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Byron was a handsome scoundrel
By Richard Westall (died 1836) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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A great and torturous circle
“Oh, Joss, it’s a great and tortuous circle. We have found each other, time and again, across time and across worlds. Which of us began which poison? I am, and am not, a product of my own mind. I was shaped, as you were shaped. Sraosha trained up Verta, and Verta trained up me—and I found you. And we fight and hate and wound and take down entire worlds with us, century after century. And for what purpose? Do we truly make world better? Or are we simply forces of destruction? I have to believe there is some reason to all of this, some greater plan, some great melody that…
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Look into my brain, why don’t you?
Pinterest and a poem from Watcher of the Skies.
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Blake Illustrates Shakespeare
Yeah, that pretty much sums up where things are at the moment. And then things are going to get really, really bad. Ah, writing.
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Where is my mind…
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Wordsworth, to his wife & from “The Fountain”
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” — William Wordsworth, Letter to his Wife (April 29 1812). My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. — William Wordsworth, “The Fountain,” st. 8 & 9 (1799).
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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.…
