August 2009
19 posts
Hell has frozen over: I put an ending on the new piece, and it doesn’t evoke the desire to off oneself or break down sobbing about the shortcomings of humanity. I am officially a changed writer.
Out of Concrete Confines
I continue to amaze myself with how big one little change can be.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized that there’s a large portion at the beginning of the novel that is missing some crucial presence from the character around which the entire story is motivated. My plot is two-fold in the sense that it’s about one character’s central concern which, at first, is...
There are few things that remind me how much this city is a part of me than spending Friday night in the pouring rain with fifty-five thousand of my favorite New Yorkers, and feeling the stadium shake beneath me after a walk-off home run in the tenth inning.
Surprise! Now I remember why I hate hate hate conducting interviews via phone.
Or: Reasons I Carry a Moleskine
I’ve been in the mindset of seeing my work as only a piece to revise since what seems like the last Ice Age (read: March). Even penning new scenes to give the manuscript more forward motion and clarity feels like constructing a puzzle piece that contours exactly into my plot: it’s prose on a mission. So, when recently I sat down with a bit of unguided inspiration and a voice of a...
Push, Pull, Bind, Tether
In whatever twisted world my decision-making mechanism is currently inhabiting, I’ve decided it’s a good idea to take my first freelance assignment in a while. Things were in such massive transition between moving, figuring out my full-time situation, and going so hard with the manuscript that I hadn’t been paying much mind to the freelance world.
I’ll be jumping back in...
Close Your Eyes, Count to Seven
To say, “my life hasn’t been easy lately” would be among the grosser understatements of late, so focusing on the good that has come (and keeping my private life off of the Internet), seems to make the most sense.
I had readers six and seven (female and male respectively, and in very different age groups) finish the manuscript in the last week. They’ve been the first...
Park Slope, semicolons, and the self-important perils of MFA writing programs: The Rejectionist just crawled inside my head, beat up my brain and stole its lunch money. I suppose I’ll keep grad school a few years away.
The Opposite of Anonymity
It’s no secret that the workshop’s the thing. In all of my writing experience, I’ve had no better success with significant changes than ideas generated in workshop critique. When you don’t have a relationship with those who are reading your work, they can form a relationship to the writing that’s fairly independent of their view of you. It’s intensive, but...
The tell-tale sign that I’m turning into a yuppie? My usual lunch of cold pizza leftovers has transformed from a gigantic, plain Brooklyn slice to tiny, Fifth Avenue gourmet procuitto di parma slices.
On the fast-track to a condo and kids in private school, I’m telling you. At least the pizza’s still cold.
Smith and Ninth
There’s some sort of storyteller’s poetry to crying on a New York subway.
Trains are impersonal - everyone does their best to keep quiet, keep to themselves, and keep their lives away from those of strangers. However, sometimes, that desire to keep things impersonal gets breached, and one has to simply let it out. And there’s almost something beautiful occurring to watch...
When you press “send,” you have to stop obsessing.
I don’t share too many links, but in keeping with today’s theme of perspective, I wanted to draw attention to this New York Times article about female suicide bombers in Iraq. It’s a beautiful but extremely disturbing piece - and one that assures you that you have absolutely no perspective on anything outside of your front door.
Brooklyn, Kings County, PEI
When you’re constantly surrounded by New York - the sights, the sounds, the palette, and the diversity - you don’t really realize how narrow your scope actually is. You’re taught to believe that because you’re in the most eclectic city in the world, you understand everything. You feel as though you’ve been exposed to everything and that nothing is new, and anything...
Olympic Relays in Word Counts
The only phrases that are zipping in and out of my mind lately are “query letter” and “find an agent.” When this manuscript was simply a mess of words, the effort was pushing towards finishing, creating a story line, and weaving characters that were not only believable, but personal. Then, it became editing and rewrites, and involving others in the process - taking in the...
I am trying my hardest not to acknowledge any world in which something that does not include paper is considered a book.
Dum Da Dum Da Da Da Da Dum
Summer in New York is incredible. But I will not miss it. Why?
The Mister Softee Truck.
If I don’t go insane before August 31 from that jingle that stalks me no matter where I end up, it’ll be a miracle. In my dreams, Windsor Place is now a command center for top-secret speaker-disabling operations.
M
Zero Zero
Today, my manuscript is a completely different book than it was just days ago. I have a feeling I’m getting closer.
(And even if I’m not, that’s what I’m going to have to keep telling myself. But this time, I really, really have a feeling that things are different. I want the next few weeks to change everything.)
M