A Little Something...

Over at Agent Suzie Townsend's blog, there is a contest. I enjoy these kinds of contests as they test story and revision. 

I submitted my entry, which started out around 200 words before being whittled down to a scant 100. 

Check out the contest:  http://confessionsofawanderingheart.blogspot.com/2014/04/you-asked-for-it.html

When you only have 100 words, every single word has a job. It really makes you consider what you want versus what you need.

The last few words to cut are the hardest. 

Here's my entry:

The new leaf unfurled as it steeped. She poured the tea into a bone china cup engirdled with magnolia.

“The best brew is with loose leaves. Maintains all the flavor. Tea bags contain dust, the death of a good cup.”

She scanned the face of the gagged man.

“I could make this swift,” she said, running a finger along the cup handle.

“But, suffering enhances the flavor.”

She sipped.

“Once I am done with you, I will grind you to dust, stuff you into tea bags, and sell you to herbalists in Chinatown. Quality ingredients are hard to come by.”

First Story

I'm pretty excited to see my story "My Blues-Eyed Girl" up at Shotgun Honey, especially since I'm a fan of the site. I really enjoy writing flash fiction pieces because a lot of story has to fit into a really small box. In this case, a 700 word box. 

The process of paring down text from a draft twice that length is challenging, but forces me to consider each word. There's always what you want to tell the reader, but it really comes down to what they need to know (and what they can figure out for themselves). 

Flash fiction becomes an exercise in editing, which is where I feel I do my best work. 

Drafting is certainly a challenge because the editor wants to kick in...sadly, the editor is usually a pessimistic downer, so he tends to inhibit the first draft process. 

Word Breeder

There are days when it's nearly impossible to wring any words from my hands. Most of it is the inner editor who smirks and laughs and taunts. 

The best I can do is realize that words breed words. Once they're on the page, they make more of themselves as thought leads to thought.

Sometimes, you just have to lose yourself in the words. Let them wash over you and take you somewhere else, like some big, muddy river. 

I can't see where I'm going, but I figure it out when I get there.

The Writer's High

It was this, or a runner with legs like Chewbacca.

I'm not a runner. Just thinking about running gives me heart palpitations. But, my wife runs. When she first started, it was difficult, but she started to break through to the fabled "runner's high," so I'm familiar with the idea. 

For me, writing is the same way. I have deep, deep dread when opening a document, especially one I've been working on. I try not to go back into the previous material unless I'm looking for information for connections. If I start reading, I'll become depressed that it's not good enough. 

My best writing is done when rewriting. It's where my strength is, from my own point of view. But I can't edit something that's not there.

Sometimes, this dread keeps me from writing at all. All the joy is sapped from the story. I'm concerned that maybe I'll screw up what good I've done or that what I've written is such trash that thinking of myself as any kind of writer is laughable at best.

Then, I try to remember the writer's high. That euphoric feeling one gets when one has written. I try to use that to push me forward. I stick in my headphones, drown out the world, and go to work carving out large chunks, saving the fine carving and sanding for later. 

I have to start somewhere or not start at all. 

It reminds me of the quote, attributed to Dorothy Parker (but, who knows, it's the internet): “I hate writing, I love having written.” 

A Plague on Both Your Houses

A Plague developed at the day job, which then traveled home. I have never been this sick before and was out for four of five workdays (the one day I was there was only part of the day). I have never used that much sick time ever in my life, and I've had colds and flus.

This flu, though, was devastating, and I was vaccinated.  Luckily, the kids seemed to get through it rather quickly (good that they didn't suffer much). 

My wife and I, on the other hand, have been wrecked. We're still recovering after a week in. There is a possibility, from our research and info from the CDC, that this was H1N1. It was a fairly virulent strain that swept through my colleagues and took out most of our department. 

The one day I was in, the place was like a ghost ship. Those who weren't down with illness warned off the rest of us with Lysol, or were holed up somewhere hoping that isolation would save them.

Needless to say, very little writing done this week. For the entire week, I logged 639, down from nearly 4,000 the week before. 

This illness was one bad motherfucker. 

Daily Words

I completed my penance for not writing much this week by banging out 2722 words on a story that I was expecting to finish, but, as with all stories, other things came up in the way of plot.

So, almost to the end, but not quite there. 

Low Motivation Week

Oh, man, has this been a low motivation week. The last few weeks at the day job have been really busy. I've been pushing myself to do some words, but have hit a big, fat zero for three days straight after a streak of 17 days. 

Have to get back on the [insert animal to be ridden here]. 

Will push for a word count to day in absolution. 

In the meantime, I suggest the following motivational posts:

From Chuck Wendig's blog: 
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/01/22/on-persistence-and-the-long-con-of-being-a-successful-writer/


and another from John Scalzi:

http://whatever.scalzi.com/2014/01/20/a-season-in-the-show/