Morning quiet

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It was so quiet when I got up this morning that I imagined I could hear the delicate mist of Seattle rain as it tiptoed a landing onto my roof.

In reality, I could hear no such thing. My house, like most modern houses, is never truly silent. Every mechanical or electrical gadget contributes to a background noise we have all become so accustomed to that we rarely notice it anymore.

So I decide to tune in. Just out of curiosity.

The first thing I notice is the clock on my wall, which is the kind that either ticks or tocks to mark each second. Day in and day out, that clock provides a steady beat, yet I rarely hear it.

Then the refrigerator kicks in with a series of  random clanks and bangs it is fond of contributing several times a day, I assume to let me know it is doing its job. As the last bang fades away, I realize what I had thought of as silence from the refrigerator is in reality an incessant whirl that fills in all the blank spaces and assures that the house is never truly quiet.

Outside a car motor revs into life just in time to distract me from that ever-present refrigerator, and I listen as the purr of the engine gets louder, then fades away, taking who-knows-who to some kind of adventure who-knows-where.

As the last vestiges of the purr fades away it is replaced by the steady drone of a plane engine. But before my brain has time to focus on the plane, the loud wail of a siren from a nearby fire station rents the air and overwhelms every other sound in a 10 block radius.

Ah, yes. There is nothing like morning quiet.

 

Quite a pumpkin find!

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We went to a pumpkin patch/corn maze yesterday.

Getting lost in the maze was fun, but finding these pumpkins really made my day.
Who needs to carve pumpkins when they grow this scary all on their own?
This one I named Warty, for obvious reasons.
But this beauty is a little trickier.
I know it’s a pumpkin, because I picked it myself in a pumpkin patch,
but look at those kernel-like bumps!
It is a lot more corn-like than it is pumpkin-like.
Maybe it decided to be corn for Halloween. If so, great costume!
So should I call it Cornkin?
Or Pumpkorn?
Decisions, decisions.

“Take a selfie here!”

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This summer we did a bit of traveling. One of the places we visited was Oxnard, California.

The hotel was fantastic, which meant it was clean, comfortable, and convenient. I was impressed by both it’s proximity to the beach and the fact that the one bedroom suite had two bathrooms.

But I was not impressed with the multitude of “Take a selfie here!” signs stuck all over the place, cluttering up the scenery.

Did the hotel management really think people needed to be encouraged to take selfies? Have they never walked down pretty much any street, anywhere?

Me, I’m not into selfies. Why should I waste time taking pictures of me? I can see me any time I want. All I have to do if find a mirror and BAM, there I am.

Instead, I’d rather capture the unique and/or illusive. Like these black flowers.
I’ve never seen flowers quite like these in Seattle.
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
Well worth a picture.

Switching gears

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Writing a novel requires very different mind muscles than those needed to write a screenplay. Which is why I switch back and forth. To grow better, stronger writing muscles.

At least, that’s what I hope I’m doing.

But it’s not easy, switching back and forth.

In order to write a novel I must examine every minute detail. Novels are written from the inside, so  I put on scuba gear and dive right in. I become part of the inner circle, privy to every thought, every action, every dream.

Then I find a way to share the secrets with the reader in a way that makes sense, and a good story. (At least I hope I do.)

It can be intense. I’ve been known to get lost inside my character’s heads.
Trust me, with some characters that can be a tad scary.

But screenwriting is different. Screenplays are written from the outside. So I strip off the scuba gear and pull out the old binoculars. Screenplays require a bit of distance. What you see is what you get.

Of course, that doesn’t make it any less intense, only different.

My poor brain usually balks at the shift. I’ve not yet been able to put aside one, and immediately pick up the other.

So after I finished the DTA2 draft I gave my brain a couple of days of rest. Kind of a way to oil the gears.

Yesterday I opened up a partially outlined screenplay. The SCREECH from my brain when I tried to read what I had written so far was horrendous. It was so loud it scared my eyes, and they refused to even take a peek.

But this morning was different. Overnight oil had dripped onto the cogs and everything slid into place. My brain had shifted gears.

Time to pump up those mind muscles!

A different kind of book talk

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I finished the first draft of my 6th novel (code name: DTA2) yesterday. It was quite a struggle. I’ve never had a book fight me like this one did.

It was giving me such a hard time that I finally had to sit the book down and have a long talk. It was enlightening, once we got the pleasantries out of the way.

Me: What do you mean, you’re not going to let me finish! I have to finish!
Book: No you don’t. You’ll never finish. You’ll just push me aside, like you always do.
Me: Push you aside? What are you talking about? I’ve never-
Book: Look at me. You started me in first person, then switched to third.
Me: Well, I thought you’d work better-
Book: You left me this way!
Me: Yes, but-
Book: Don’t ‘yes, but’ me! I’m a mess because of you. Look how lopsided I am!
Me: Just until I write the ending-
Book: Which you never will.
Me: Of course I will. I-
Book: Don’t kid yourself. Until I’m fixed, until I can hold my head tall and not tilt to the side, there will be no ending. And that’s final. I’m not going to be ‘one of those’ books who goes around half undone. Do it right, or don’t do it at all.
Me: But I promise! As soon as-
Book: You’ll get caught up in another project. I know you. Fix me now or leave me alone forever.
Me: But-

That’s when I found myself talking to a blank page.

So I caved. I had to, the book was right. I would want to set it aside as soon as I wrote the ending.

I spent three solid days converting the first 80 pages of the book from first person to third. As soon as that was done, the book moved out of my way and let me write that ending.

I hate it when my book is right and I’m wrong.

Clouds

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Yesterday was one of those days.

No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get into writing, and when I took the dog for a walk it was cold and wet and the clouds were cluttering the sky so much it was impossible for even a single ray of sun to break through.

After the walk all I wanted to do was take a nap.

Today has been so different! I woke with an overwhelming compulsion to write, so write I did. When I came up for air to I take the dog for a walk I was rewarded by a glorious sun warming a perfectly blue sky.

Which makes me wonder.

Was yesterday as gloomy and cloudy as I remember? Was that why I couldn’t write?

Or do I remember it gloomy and cloudy because I couldn’t write?

Does it really matter what the weather is outside?

Or do I see clouds when my head is cloudy, and sun only when it’s clear?

Through a virtual wormhole

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Today I had a shocking surprise.


I fell through a virtual wormhole and found myself in the World That Time (and Commonsense) Forgot.


Yep. It was crazy. There I was on the Internet, searching for an event in the past that could, if changed, result in a drastic alteration to the present.


It was research for a book, so don’t get all worried. I don’t have a time machine that will let me swoop through history, making changes to the timeline that will either make the world wonderful, or destroy it.
Not yet, anyway.

Anyway, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I’d been sucked into that wormhole I mentioned earlier, and discovered that the residents of the WTT(C)F  had absolutely no respect for women. Worse than that, they seemed to think women should be treated more as property than people.


According to them all women are weak, inferior creatures with fluff instead of brains.
Which I find odd, since I know just as many strong, intelligent women as men. 


Now, don’t get me wrong. This is not the first time I’ve run into someone with a bad case of sexism. But the misogyny I witnessed in the WTT(C)F was horrifying and rampant!


I scrambled out of that wormhole as quick as I could. Of course now I’ll have to clear my cache and my history to make sure no remnant of the WTT(C)F survives anywhere on my computer. 


It makes me shiver in disgust, just to think about it.


Luckily, I’ll get over it pretty quickly. I’m tough.


I have a long history of doing well academically, so I’ve never believed that bull that men are intellectually superior to women. 


I wonder when the human race will stop stereotyping, and just judge each individual …well, individually?


A hundred years?
Two?

Getting back to writing

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A forced break from writing can be good, but not if it occurs at the point when there are only two chapters left to write.

Just two. And the book will be finished.
(Except for revisions, of course, but who counts those?)

As the time for the trip approached I tried my best to reach the end of the book. I knew how awkward it would be to have to dive in and begin again at the end.

But no matter what I did, the end of the story remained just out of reach.

Worst of all, that naughty storyline kept tangling itself around my feet and tripping me up.

It was frustrating. More than once I saw the finish, there at the end of what looked to be a straight flat road. So off I’d race, full tilt, happy that the way was clear.

Only to find myself flat on my face, my feet all tangled up in plot.

I guess the story wants me to take my time and untangle all those knotty places in the plot. No racing through to the finish!

It might take me a little while. I know me pretty well, and once my writing routine is interrupted, it can take a bit to get back into the rhythm of writing.

Hope those two chapters have more patience that I do!