The roar of the keys

Some days my writing is on fire. I can barely hear my thoughts over the roar of the keys. My focus is completely internal as I listen to my inner voice and close my eyes to shut out all visual distractions, determined to capture every salient phrase bursting from my brain. These miraculous times only last five to thirty minutes, but the resulting paragraphs and disconnected concepts are so rich I can build on them for hours. Word count doesn't matter; subject doesn't matter; personal comfort doesn't matter (I'll cross my legs for an hour if necessary to avoid halting the flow of ideas).

And so, I write. I write until my fingers are numb and I can no longer focus on anything beyond the computer screen. Sometimes I find myself wondering what is that object on the shelf across the room? Oh, its a clock. But it's stopped, so it must not matter what time it is right now. I purposely keep the clock there, in my direct line of sight, perpetually reading 6:00 and assuring me there's time to write, time to create, time to compose. A dead clock is very calming for my type A mind--there's nothing to race and I'm free to write slowly or quickly until the page is full or the chapter is finished.

Write on.

No time to read? Horrors!

"I don't have time to read,"  mused my friend.  I'll call her Dora.  Dora Boring.

I considered her statement, glancing around her immaculate house and yard.  She doesn't work more than 25 hours per week (I work 50 outside the home, not counting my writing);  she has two kids and a husband and never seems to play catch-up with her laundry or run out of vital household supplies such as toilet paper or beer.  She drinks gin and tonics on her front porch (without a book).

"Did you  hear me?"  Dora says.  "I want to read, I just don't have time.  I'm too busy!"

I contemplate this.  I'm usually too busy to read on the four days I work my full-time job each week, and I'm usually exhausted at the end of each business day.  This means I read while brushing my teeth and getting dressed, a skill I've perfected over the years, holding the book out while balancing on one foot, strategically jutting out one hip or the other so my jeans don't fall off when they're halfway on.  If I ever lose an arm, I'll still be able to dress myself.  I also listen to audiobooks in the truck, rarely driving longer than ten minutes without enjoying a story or a book about writing.

Back to Dora.  She watches the news, like a good citizen.  I don't watch the news because it would cut into my reading time, and I'm constantly pretending to know what people are talking about while I scramble to catch up.  "I just caught the tail end of the story,"  I usually say, "can you fill me in?"

Dora also volunteers for every committee, fundraiser, and community event, and gives her time and resources selflessly.  She misuses words and installs an apostrophe at the end of every plural word, but the only things she writes are checks and Christmas cards.  She decorates her house, passes the local homeless man gourmet sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and attends every school-sponsored event.  If there is a gathering of more than six people in our town, Dora's there.  She's involved.  Connected.  Vital.

I, on the other hand, am reading.  Instead of decorating, I wipe the dust off the walls (one handed, of course; the other hand is clutching a book) every three years or so, to discover the true hue.  I greet the homeless man, but never feed him.  I don't even fix myself gourmet sandwiches, as it's nearly impossible to spread anything on bread with one hand.  I eat only for maintenance, not for enjoyment.  I carry at least one book with me everywhere; right now I have one in my purse, one in my nerd bag, and an audio book ready to play on my iPhone. I also have two books I'm working on writing:  one in the end stages of editing and one in the beginning stages of note-taking. 

Dora's watching my face as I'm mulling over her statement;  mere seconds have passed, but my head is full of weighty justifications for her not reading and (slight) doubts about the habit I allow to rule my life to the exclusion of nearly all else.

"I understand,"  I tell Dora, vowing to watch the news tomorrow.  "You really are too busy!"

I probably won't watch the news tomorrow.  I'll have to find out what happens next in my book.  What would happen if everyone were like me, hiding in their houses reading books?  Society would probably collapse.  I guess I'll let Dora continue to volunteer and watch the news;  I'll regret not being more involved, and she'll regret not reading.  Society will survive.

Ten Favorite Words

I've been listening to Anne Lamott's audiobook Word By Word.  Anne narrates it herself, presenting a portion of her inspiring Bird By Bird, about writing and living as a writer and incorporating writing into our daily lives.  At first I consumed the audiobook in great gulps, listening at double speed, before I realized I'd better slow down to properly absorb the wisdom. 

Near the end of the audio presentation,  Anne announces she's going to give us writing assignments to do later.  The first assignment is to make a list of my ten favorite words.  I immediately pause the audio presentation, eager to attack this assignment while my mind is sharp and elastic and itchy. 

Ten favorite words...sounds simple, but how shall I determine they're my favorites?  On what basis am I supposed to judge these words?  I could use words I often use (doesn't this indicate a favoritism of sorts?): fabulous, cinch, scandalous. 

I hate questions like this because I'm hardwired to provide the correct answer and when there is no correct answer, I try to read the mind of the person asking the question to discern which answer they're expecting me to give, which is probably an incorrect answer because it won't reflect my style, but theirs.  If someone asks me what my favorite color is, for example, this is what happens:

Okay, I think to myself Mike just asked me what my favorite color is.  I don't have a favorite color, but that sounds lame. Everyone has a favorite color!  Scanning his clothing and mine, I notice our shirts both have red accents.  I grasp at this one similarity and nearly shout with relief, "Red! Yes, red.  What's yours?"  I'm already thinking if I like red so much, how come I don't have a red car?  Red socks?  Red shoes?  He's going to think I'm lying and I am!  I'm a fraud!  "I don't really have a favorite color," Mike says.  Somehow it doesn't sound lame when he says it. 

Back to the list of ten favorite words.  I'm flummoxed.  Ooh!  Flummoxed should go on the list!  Let's see, it is fun to say, it sounds like what it means, I don't overuse it but I'm comfortable using it, and most people know what it means so it doesn't require translation.  Here's my full list:

1.  Flummoxed (see reasons above)
2.  Neologism (I heard it on TV recently, and I'm trying to work it into conversation without sounding pretentious)
3.  Bamboozle (is this too close in meaning to flummox?  Does my listing two words meaning 'mental chaos or confusion' point to a mental illness I'm unaware I have?)
4.  Solstice (I like the meaning; I like the balance and beauty of the word; it's fun to say, and it's scientific!)
5.  Malapropism (I like the meaning, and I like to collect malapropisms.  Maybe my next list will be the ten funniest malapropisms I've heard)
6.  Synergy/Synergistic (great meaning, fun to say, not too popular)
7.  Phooey (a nod to my grandma, and the only curse word worthy of a favorite word list)
8.  Integrity (an important word; a weighty word; the word by which I choose my friends and those I respect and admire)
9.  Caliginous (shades of the Wizard of Oz; who doesn't watch and wait for opportunities to inject this word into everyday conversation?)
10.  Sagacious  (more scholarly than 'wise', something I aspire to in my dotterage)

To Blog or Not To Blog

That's the real question.  How much time should I dedicate to writing and editing a blog, when I don't know who (if anyone) is reading it? I could easily write book reviews, snippets about my days and observations on everything from the weather to my Pinterest obsession. But shouldn't I be using the time and energy for writing my new book?

I'm working on an as-yet-untitled book about fraternal twins growing up in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  The book opens with a startling, violent scene and ends about thirty-five years later.  My first draft is finished, and it's been through the first round of editing.  It's now back in my lap awaiting my revisions, additions and further research about a career in architecture and adopting a baby in 1975.

The writing articles, books and blogs I read have one thing in common:  they all maintain the only way to write is to actually sit down and write.  Sounds simple, but the act of forced creativity is rather unsavory to contemplate, let alone sit down and do.  But Anne Lamott says I should, and Stephen King says I should, and Natalie Goldberg and Caroline See and the guy who wrote the Art of War for Writers.  They all say it.

And so I'll go and I'll sit and I'll write.  I'll revise and edit and curse and brainstorm a title for this greatest piece I've manufactured to date, so I can get it out there in the world.  Right after I have another cup of coffee and go for a walk.  It's a known fact walking can increase creative energy and provide answers to...oh, who am I kidding.  I'm procrastinating again.  (deep breath)  Okay, I'm plunging in.  Hang on tight--this story is going to keep you turning pages!

No time to write

I've been writing since I learned to read, and yet, I have no time to write.  I could be writing right now (blogging doesn't really count, does it?) but I am basking in the afterglow of vigorous housecleaning, surveying my tidy domain and contemplating tackling the craft closet, which is in dire need of reorganizing.  I have a full-time job (roughly 45 hours/week) but an empty nest, which should be conducive to writing.

I'm supposed to be writing a short story for a contest I found, or working on my new novel manuscript, fresh from the editor's desk, quietly waiting for me to address her suggestions and continue research and round out the story to prepare it for submission.  But the sun in shining, the breeze whispering through the trees, and my craft supplies are in serious disarray.

No one is home right now to interrupt my thoughts;  I really ought to be writing or revising.

Did I mention the book I'm reading?  It's by Rae Meadows, a new author to me:  Mercy Train.  I was first reeled in by the cover, depicting two children running away from the camera toward a train crossing a railroad bridge spanning a river.  It looks like an old photograph, back when they started using color film.  The characters are great, the writing superb.  It's easy to lose myself in a book like this. Check out the author's website here: http://raemeadows.com/

Okay, that's enough procrastinating.  I'll just have one more cup of coffee while I set up my writing area.  The paper needs adjusting, the pens aren't lined up, and the chair is a bit wobbly.  Maybe if I grab a screwdriver I can fix that too...

My word! What a cool chair.

My first adventure with Mod Podge resulted in an eclectic, wordy conversation piece I plan to use at future Bookworms Anonymous meetings. My training consisted of viewing a YouTube video of a woman applying Mod Podge to a flat surface.  The one tip I gleaned was this:  after applying the Mod Podge to the bare surface, let it dry to a tacky finish before pressing a piece of paper or fabric (I only used glossy magazine paper), then painting over the paper with a thin coat of Mod Podge.

First I amassed an impressive stack of clipped magazine articles and words or phrases I thought chair-worthy;  I trimmed everything very close, leaving no white margins, and then cut them in different shapes--some were hacked diagonally, some lengthwise, and some columns shortened at random intervals.  I left some at their original length so I could trim as needed when I reached the difficult parts.




I started working on it outside on a hot, sunny day, then let it cure (unnecessary, but I had to work long hours the following three days) before finishing it inside on a dismal, rainy day.

The seat was the most difficult due to the many subtle contours, so I tackled that part first.  

After applying two coats to the base, or background text, I added a few interesting words and one graphic image.
 Someone studying the chair might notice two small articles:  one about drinking more coffee and one about reading something with a calming theme to induce sleep.  There are also a few fun words or phrases installed along the seat edge and back.

 So exciting! The finished product will reside in the corner of my dining room until a bibliophile drops in for a cup of coffee or the Bookworms Anonymous group gathers at my house.  We'll have to hold arm wrestling competitions to determine who wins this seat of honor!

Audio Books: the Reader's New Multitaskers!

I have discovered audio books.  I'm a member of Audible.com, and I've increased my book budget considerably, but it's worth it!  Now I can read while exercising, mopping the floor or driving to the grocery store (it's thirty miles away).  My floors have never been so clean! Exercising has become interesting, and I usually walk farther during a good book, faster if it's suspenseful.  I especially enjoy the books about cantankerous old codgers who are really quite personable.  When driving and listening, I tend to drive slower to ensure I will hear the end of a chapter or section.

The latest one I listened to with such a character was Major Pettigrew's Last Stand.  The Major is full of bluster and sarcastic wit, wondering at his son's modern romantic arrangement and striving to maintain appearances for the neighbors.

Another great story featuring a pedantic older gent is The Widower's Tale, a grand yarn about Percy Darling (doesn't the name alone make you want to meet him?).  Percy, too, wonders at his children, trying to reckon their lives and contemporary times with his experiences.

Adding audio books to my daily routines has greatly increased my book consumption and added to my enjoyment of the books. The books are brought to life by the verbal telling, the narrator's use of inflection and of course his or her accent (Both of the above-mentioned books are told by men with English accents; delicious!) and the background music during the introduction.  Some audio books feature an interview with the author at the end of the story too, which is always interesting and usually makes me want to read more of their books.

So, mix it up! Walk the dog and enjoy a book at the same time.