In Search of Writer's Group

I am in the midst of a LOVELY book right now. It's a collection of short stories by three women, called The Curiosities. And it is absolutely delightful. Below I have posted what the cover looks like.

Even more than the lovely vignettes provided by these three authors is their obvious time spent working together on their writing, reading each other's stories, offering advice, giving prompts, mentoring each other, encouraging each other's writing. The stories have little handwritten comments and drawings in the margins, capturing the sense of these works in process.

The book is well worth reading, but it makes me long for the writing groups I once had. The group I started in Independence, Kansas, which is still going strong thanks to the efforts of Cherilyn Fienen and other fantastic people. The playwrights' group north of Seattle, who were such an ideal group of intelligent writers, who were willing to ask hard questions, who managed to weed out the weaknesses in my writing in minutes, when all I could sense was that something was wrong.

Brilliant.

Only I don't have any of that now. The local writer's group is not really a critiquing group. I need some writers on a similar journey to mine. Writers who see the worth in my writing--who can grasp the kernels of truth in it--but who also see what isn't working, who can tell me where I falter, where the prose or dialogue doesn't work, who can help me be better.

Worse still, I need them in person. Online simply won't work for me. I need to see their faces, interact with them in real space, in real time. I haven't met anyone like that here yet. Painters, yes. But not writers.

So I'll keep looking. These people may be here, waiting for the opportunity to find someone just like me… and we will find each other. I know it. And we will help each other create our own collection of "curiosities."

Get Your Creative Costume on!

Some days I am especially grateful to have children.

Halloween is one of those days. I live in an area of the country where many people do not celebrate, mostly for religious reasons.

I am not one of those people.

It's not the candy, or the horror flicks on television. It's the chance to dress up. I LOVE dressing up. It is a way to fit my love of stories into my daily life, along with my fascination with costuming (engendered in my theatre participation), my love of sewing, and my need for imaginative play all together.

Thankfully, it's my year to take the kids trick-or-treating. I dress up either way (even when I hand out candy), but it's infinitely more fun when I get to walk around from door to door, ostensibly to "monitor" my kids as they do the same, only with pumpkin pails to collect their candy. (The candy doesn't interest me in the least… okay, maybe a little, but only the Almond Joys and Bit-o-Honeys).

So we're starting school as soon as possible this morning, and then prepping splendidly for a night of walking around in character. I'll update this post later today with a picture of all of us!

It's Six O'Clock--Do You Know Where Your Writing Is?

I think I'm going to just make a habit of waking up early.

The whole house is sleeping, and the only noise invading drifting through the early morning is the chime of the grandfather clock every fifteen minutes. It's the most luscious sound, full of calm and promise. The perfect time for writing.

I thought today was packed, but items have mysteriously slipped off my to-do list. And I have hopes that homeschooling will soon get easier. Perhaps not this week, but soon.

So it's time to write. Right now. Write now.

I wish you the same leisure... at least an hour to write/paint/sing/listen to music/dance/or whatever suits your soul.

Absence Makes the Fingers Fearful

Halloween is the perfect time to face my fears. But what could I possibly be afraid of? What have I been most afraid of lately?

It isn't wrinkles. I have plenty of those, and they don't bother me. It isn't really any physical feature. I'm pretty content with all that, and even if I weren't, what am I supposed to do about it? Go under the knife. Please.

Courtesy of Freepik.com

I'm not afraid of teaching. I've been doing that all over my house lately, teaching my kids Latin and other stuff, working them hard, lecturing, writing lesson plans, creating projects for my kids to tackle. It's time-consuming, but still worth it.

No, what I've feared lately is writing. That thing I once loved to do passionately, but which, for a variety of reasons, I haven't done in months. I've considered it millions of times. I've even briefly felt my heart pitter patter with excitement at the thought of starting a new project. But my fear has always overcome me. I would have gone absolutely mad except I threw myself into reading with the same level of passion.

But reading can only tide me over so long. And its effectiveness has passed. I've stopped reading at least a dozen books over the last few weeks, dissatisfied with the characters, the plot development, or even the narrative voice of them. I've suddenly become a listless reader. And that can mean only one thing: Fearful or not, I need to return to my writing, or I will go off the deep end, so to speak. (You see, it's been so long since I've written that I'm using all sorts of bad cliches. AAK!)

It's fear-facing time. Time to face the scary blank white Microsoft Word screen and type something into it. Time to make blogging, playwriting, noveling, and poetry writing one of my four big priorities (FINALLY it will take precedence over "cleaning"!) Time to venture into the web-covered old haunted house that was my writing life. Time to sweep out the cobwebs, the spiders, the red-eyed rats, and clean up the place so that I can fill its walls with some new artwork.

Time to write, write, write every day. Without fail.

And no more cliches! (Okay, maybe a couple. I'm sure you'll see them here and there when you come back.)

Lynn Viehl's 50th Book!

Just a quick note for all of you!

Here's a writer I've been following for quite a while, and based on her productivity, she's a real one. She's a MAKER. (See my previous post if you aren't sure what that is.)

Lynn Viehl's just published her 50th book! Wow! And this one is steampunk, so I can't wait to read it.

Here's a link to the 50th book, Her Ladyship's Curse. Enjoy!

Itchy

I woke with an edge inside me this morning, a call to do something more today. It's a lovely call, really, a voice in my brain bent on creating.

Will I listen? I haven't listened to the call much of late. I've filled my world with dishes, trips to the store, paper sorting, and other inane activities. It's as if I wish the voice to just go away, to leave me alone in mundane world and go off to call to somebody else. 

That is what separates an artist from one who is not. I write this, not to chastise you, but to goad myself into action. I'm not a writer if I don't write. I'm not a painter if I don't paint. I'm not a pianist if I don't play. Artists create. If they don't, they aren't artists.

I recently met an painter who, even at a young age, was compelled to paint. Any chance he got, with any medium at hand, on any surface, if given any free time. He listened to that urgent voice early on. And he painted, and painted, and painted. And he's still listening, still heeding, still painting. 

I've been going at this all wrong all my life. I've been locking this voice in a closet, letting it out only when I have a bunch of free time, when all my chores are done (which is not often). I've said I will write/paint/dance/sing/go to the ball only if I get all my work done. I've been my own evil stepmother.

That ends today. Permanently. I'm kicking my evil stepmother to the curb. I'm getting what I have to do done, but the rest of the time is mine. To paint. To create. To play. To turn my ideas into tangible, beautiful reality. I will not die regretting all things I never got around to creating. I am a Maker (as Orson Scott Card would term it), and it's about damned time I made something.

I have 14 hours until bedtime. Plenty of time to make something. 

It's about Damned Time, You Say

I won't apologize.

I have nothing to apologize for, after all.

I haven't been writing here on this blog. Yes, that's true.

But I've been doing so many other things!

I've been reading 3-5 books a week.
I've spent a month in Washington State with relatives.
I've organized and run two art camps.
I've helped plan a year of programming at the gallery.
I've planned out and begun a year of homeschooling for my two children. (That's the biggie).
I've edited a novel (for two writers).
I've half-revised one of my own novels (actually, 2/3 revised).
I've begun working on a collaborative series of novels (more about that later).
I've cooked countless meals and brushed my teeth countless times.
I've played piano (getting better all the time).
I've visited churches (haven't found one yet).
I've cleaned, swept, done a million dishes, vacuumed, scoured, dusted, washed, folded, put away, and pretty much everything else.
I've gotten back into Zumba, signed up for Zumbatomic training, walked well over a hundred miles, and swum nearly every day.
I've figured out why my metabolism is so low, and I'm on the road to fixing it.
I've helped a friend handle hard times and depression (and I've been helped by her, too).
I've drawn/painted/sewn/sung/cheered/laughed/hugged/kissed/praised/admonished/enjoyed the world in so many ways.
I've even slept. A lot. And it's been great.

You see, I've been busy living. And it's been a fantastic summer for it. Now my kids are slowly adapting to the homeschooling schedule, as am I, and the house is growing a little neater, day by day. But my priorities can't just be blogging. I'll do all I can to check in, but my blogs can't take precedence over my life. Living is what I'm here for.

I'd write more, but I need to head off to the store (yes, at 6:30 a.m.) to pick up some things for the gallery before I go to the track and walk for a couple of hours (yes, that means two hours). Then I'll come back, shower, and start homeschooling. Lots of living to be done.

What living will you be doing today?