Who knew that writing a romance novel could be so titillating? I mean, really? Taking a break to cool down, y’all.
Peace, people.
Who Knew?
Tag: writing
A Muse Me
Writing with eyes shut
Invited into your realm
I see what you see
Seashell to my ear
Phantom waves break around us
I hear what you hear
Wings pinned in display
Suffocating under glass
I feel what you feel
A Time to Dance; A Time to Cry
I was so full of myself after finishing my first manuscript that I immediately began writing another. Actually, I have two going. One’s a sequel to book one and the other is a light romance. I’m still not sure how book one should be classified. Quirky, maybe. Is “quirky” a genre? If not, it should be.
The light romance is set in the panhandle of Texas, so to keep me in the mood I’ve been listening to country music. Alexa has begun to anticipate my needs, and for some reason Amazon is sending me ads for western wear. What a world, eh?
Occasionally, Alexa will play a song that forces me to get up and dance. Not to brag, but no one two-steps with an invisible partner as well as I do. And waltzing? Fuggetabout it! I’m surprised no one’s yet knocked on my door to award me first place in the imaginary partner category.
Some songs make me cry, though, and instead of dancing I sit in front of my computer and cry. Most recently that song was this one by Vince Gill. It breaks my heart every time.
This might not be the best version of the song because Vince breaks down and cries, but it’s become my favorite. “Go Rest High On That Mountain”
Peace, people.
Tight Writing
Words packed together
Like so many canned sardines
Every image counts
I ramble ‘round, though
A hop scotching, dream seeker
Angling for a point
Compare and contrast
The tight writer and the mess
Focused or fuddled
Trying to Think
I sat down at the computer today intent on adding a few words to my new work in progress. My morning tea was steaming in a favorite cup beside me on the table where I work. My yummy Metamucil cinnamon flavored fiber crackers (I’m 63, you know) were arranged tastefully on a colorful plate. Let the words flow!
Instead, they trickled. Oh, there were a few bon mots exchanged between my main characters, but nothing that really drives the story. After a couple of frustrating hours I called it a day and tackled the laundry instead.
Perhaps I’ll have a glass of wine this evening and write something. Anything! But so far today I feel like the Three Stooges’ Curly who famously said, “I’m trying to think, but nothing happens!”
Peace, people!
About My Book
You all likely thought you’d heard the last about my completed manuscript. Bwahaha! I couldn’t let you off the hook that easily.
One of my beta readers survived the task of reading, suggesting, and editing. (That Oxford comma drives the lovely Shirley crazy, so I find excuses to use it). She’s given my book a couple of thumbs up, and as one might expect I toasted myself with a glass of wine.
Now, I’m contemplating my next steps as I await another beta reader’s thoughts.
The characters from the novel are still in my head. Sometimes I hear them begging me for another adventure. To that I retort, “You’re not even published yet! Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” or some such phrase.
For now, I’m chilling. Like always.
Peace, people.
My Book; My Baby
I’ve sent my novel off to two literary minded friends in two different parts of the world to be read and critiqued. Sending my children off to kindergarten wasn’t this emotionally painful.
Even though I have no illusions of my little manuscript becoming the next great American novel, just as I never imagined either of my kids would one day become president, I hope it has some redeeming qualities; although, I’m totally prepared to do a complete overhaul if it doesn’t.
If my beta readers think my book stinks, I’ll live. Oh, I’ll be depressed for awhile, but then I’ll try to make it not stink. Might need a few glasses of wine to ease the pain, but I have a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon handy. And if Donald Trump could be President, there’s hope for my kids. They’d both do a far better job than he has.
Peace, people!
Power of Observation
Never will I claim to be the most observant of humans. In fact, my husband of nearly 44 years, Studly Doright, is fond of telling me that I have “awareness issues.” I’d disagree with him if he weren’t so right.
Yesterday I wrote about a woman who, while visiting in my home, thought that when I said that I’d just finished my first novel that I meant I’d just finished reading my first novel.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2020/06/08/my-first-novel/
Okay, I get it. I don’t look all that scholarly, but she was in my home, where literally the first thing one sees upon entering Doright Manor is this:
And this:
Look around a bit and you’d see this:
And this:
And even this:
Oh, and then there are my Star Wars books:
And
Most of my books are on kindle nowadays, but the evidence that I’m a reader is pretty clear. So perhaps I’m not the only one with awareness issues. Maybe we can start a club.
Peace, people.
My First Novel
One day last week I ordered new carpet for the room that suffered damage from our recent water leak here at Doright Manor. The saleswoman who helped me decide on a pattern came out to the house to measure the area to be carpeted and talked me into also buying carpet for the two adjacent rooms. She was quite good at her job.
We chatted as she measured and eventually she asked what I did with my free time. I told her I’d recently finished my first novel. She looked at me kind of funny, so I elaborated, saying I one day realized I’d written 100,000 words.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you meant you’d finished reading your first novel.”
We laughed, but then I wondered if I needed to upgrade my image. Surely I don’t look like a non-reader. Right?
Peace, people!
Things I’ve Noticed While Editing
I’ve spent the past three days combing through the novel I just finished writing, looking for the things I can fix before handing it off to people who’ll tell me what else needs fixing. It’s been an interesting process, and I must say I think I’m probably crazy as a bedbug. I have made some observations, though, that I thought I’d share. Here goes:
1. I can’t count. It’s going to take me a day to fix all of my chapter numbers. I skipped chapter three right off the bat, accidentally repeated a chapter number to get back on track around chapter 32, but then somehow jumped from 48 to 52 and then to 57. And, friends, I used to teach math.
2. Sometimes I crack myself up. Hopefully I’ll crack others up, as well, otherwise this story won’t work.
3. Some parts of my story make me cry. That’s good, right?
4. I use the word “just” too often. Way too often. I blame Nike.
That’s it, so far. I’m sure I should have noticed other stuff, but I’ll leave that to the experts.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 