Point of view. It seems simple: either it’s first-person (the narrator is an “I”), second-person (the narrator is a “you”), or third-person (the narrator is either looking down on the scene like a god [omniscient], or is a “he” or a “she” [tight]). But…why? Which one do you choose? When you’re studying POV–or studying how […]
As you may have heard, we are moving up to Littleton…soon. As soon as Lee’s security clearance goes through, which could be a day or a year, or a year and a day. Nobody knows at this point. My books are packed, for the most part. And they are uncomfortable and ill-tempered in those boxes
Something I’ve been thinking about lately is the nature of story ideas and which ones will sell, be successful, all that. Which, I guess, considering how many ideas I’ve come up with lately (I’m journaling 5-10 of them almost every morning), is probably natural. I don’t have anything solid pulled together yet, this is just
You remember The Neverending Story? I forget who recommended it to me. I want to say it was this guy who had casually decided that I needed to be a pothead. I have this vivid memory of walking beside a shelterbelt of elm trees with him and another guy who kept chewing on a grass stem. They were
Over the last week or so, I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe the thing where certain people are just always up in arms over something. This is, admittedly, somewhat like a fish developing a word for water. I am trying to crawl up on land, as it were, but I’m still having
You probably don’t want to read this post: it’s one of those self-centered “taking stock” posts. Although if you’ve been hurting lately on the writing front, maybe. So I’ve had what has been (to me) a rough year. I won’t go into too much detail, but it seems like there’s been at least one major
When I first started really cooking, I threw things together. Lentils, salt, crock pot, thyme. Then I started following recipes. And eating, lots of eating of things that I wouldn’t have otherwise eaten. Nothing truly daring, but new foods. Indian buffets were my daring indulgence. I lived in a vegetarian co-op and cooked green pea
Another exercise thingy: Two stories tall, narrow, Victorian-style, hardwood floors now sprinkled with antique rugs, two and a half baths with good plumbing under them; a cellar whose shelves groaned out for jars of jam and carbuoys of beer; robin’s-egg blue walls in good condition and an air conditioning unit fit to freeze Hell
Part of a writing exercise thingy: You hate food balloons. Anything with a tough skin over a mushy middle. Peaches are okay. The skin isn’t thick enough to conceal rot. You know where you are with a peach. But grapes, most grapes are horrible. You can’t just pop a grape into your mouth. That’s
I’ve been talking to someone about writing, about learning to write, about integrating parts of your life so you have something to write about… …and she’s kind of soaking it up like a sponge. It’s eerie. (I’m perfectly fine running at the mouth, but having people take me seriously gives me the creeps. I’m not
