Research

My first three books were drawn from personal experience and needed little to no research to make sure they were plausible. The best way to avoid research? Make sh*t up in your own world :) That was fun!

But my latest WIP is in this world in a time and place that already happened so I have to do some research... It makes me nervous to get things right but the good news is I love research if it's interesting, and this stuff is. I've written about basketball, I've written about words and writing, my next story has a theme of art and I'm excited to dive into the paint.

N

Happy Summer

School is OVER!

So are my productive, quiet, pensive writing days.

Course today is all on me - a sleep in followed by useless internet surfing... I've gotten nothing done except the 32 words I've just written here. 37.

That being said, I need to accomplish some things today - I have a report to write for the grant I received last year and I am starting to get the flow of my latest WIP so I want to keep moving that forward.  I'll just have to do it with a little more chaos. :)

Happy Summer!

N

Monday again, Rolling forward ...

I apologize for the lacklustre quality of my posts the past couple of weeks... It's really too bad that 'creative inspiration' isn't one of the steps of grieving or a symptom of the wicked summer cold I have. Bummer. But the Jays are playing well.

Actually Friday, after my half-assed post here and a four hour period in which I was dead-to-the-world asleep instead of writing, I pushed through the stuck spot in my WIF and feel a bit of the momentum moving forward. Momentum is a good thing — in more ways than just writing — so long as it's forward.

N

Friday

Happy Friday. Fridays are my favourite. A day to write in my quiet house with the whole weekend ahead... Today I'm battling a cold and forcing my foot (and my pen) forward. I'm struggling with my new story which is feeling stalled and heavy footed right now. I feel stuck, pushing forward against the grain. In more ways than one.

N

Reluctant Post

It's Friday. I typically post here on Mondays and Fridays, so pattern suggests I should post something.

But posting something will bump other posts down, so the last post - Monday's - won't be at the top. Move on. Move past. It brings out my inner toddler - I want to kick my feet and scream 'don't wanna!'

I've had four nights of uninterrupted sleep. No trips outside, no requests for a snack, a water top up, no restless 'I-don't-know-what-I-want' wanderings. I'd rather be tired. I poured my cereal this morning without being stared at. Or barked at. Without having to explain that cereal is for people and you've already been fed. It's a lab thing.

And I'll be able to sit in my chair all morning and get stuff done without getting up a hundred times to  open doors, fill water bowls, move beds, scratch ears. I'm sure I'll get lots done, right? If I can turn off my heart.

In the weird world of timing and coincidence my task today is to work on my new story. Both Aptitude (September release with FIP) and Henry (Indie release in February) are back to editors to be spruced up so I'm free to move on. Move on.

Sure. I'll get right on that.

N

Limitation of Art - Goodnight my Boy

Writing and drawing are magic... they make 11yr old orphan boys into world saving wizards and simple portrait smiles into mysteries. But they are not limitless. They are better at creating new realities than authentically depicting truth.

I met the perfect pup and for 13 years he was mine and I was his. I can draw pictures of him. I can write stories. But I can't recreate how soft his ears were. Someone might say 'soft as silk' or 'soft as velvet' but the truth is, his ears were softer. And words, pictures, can't depict how the thick fur at the scruff of his neck curled around itself, and around my fingers when I stroked him there. Or the curls where his back legs met his sides. Or the warmth of his pink skin where his fur was sparse on his belly - the place he liked to be scratched the most. Or the wrinkles that raised up when he lifted his ears - which was almost anytime he looked at someone. He smiled with his whole body, from the wagging tail that wiggled his bum to his lab-faced grin. Even when he hurt. He was always happy. He was always love. How do you draw that?

I'm heartbroken. I know people have faced worse  losses - I called him my 'first born' but recognize the difference between a perfect dog and a human child. I called him my 'soul mate' but of course he wasn't my life partner of 50 years. But he was mine and I was his and he was my one shot at perfect love. Perfect love. How do you write that?

The surprise came when he was gone. I expected the heartbreak. I expected devastation.  I've been there before, lost cats and a dog - lovely furry souls - but never my first born soul mate. Never my once in a lifetime.

I didn't expect peace.

Peace. Like he was still, not gone. He is with me. But isn't that where soul mates belong? I'm heartbroken and devastated, but at peace. And so is he.

N

Historical Fiction

I love history but I find nonfiction books to be tedious and hard to read. It's difficult to relate to dates and numbers and descriptions that aren't anchored in anything relatable.

Historical fiction is a magical tool for me. I love how it transports me back into another time and/or place. I mean people are the same right? so the characters and their situations are mostly familiar and relatable, at least at the most fundamental thoughts and feelings. By the grace of God I don't have the sweetest idea what it felt like to be a slave in North Carolina, but I know what it feels like to be scared, to be lonely... I'm reading The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd. So far it's fantastic. I love the voices. I love the droplets of history in every scene - the mentions of clothes, chores, household goods, routines, songs, political expectations...  Someday I want to write a historical fiction story - take my emotions and experiences and transport them back to a time I can research and paint into the novel.

N