Friday, July 11
Idea
So it IS nearly mid-July. I'm not wrong about that. One reason there's been so few posts here lately is that this blog is supposedly about me writing, me writing novels, me writing stuff. And I haven't been doing any of that. So I guess there's no point to posting then, is there.
I'm "working" on a story, as we know, but, well, seems I've been stuck. Since about late February, I suspect, I've been hung up. I've been doing a lot of diligent reading, a lot, and been proof-reading and copy editing and making changes to the e-copy and so on, but I haven't written any new words on the story since then. I know it was the end of February because Jared and I met for lunch on Leap Year Day to share progress. And I was rolling along through the winter. But I hit this plot flaw wall. Left my hero literally standing in a field. Didn't know what to do with him. Four months he's been standing there where I dink around, pondering, working it out in my subconscious.
Anyhoo, long story short, I think it solved itself today. Which is good.
Very good, in fact. Happily good.
So: onward again!
I'm "working" on a story, as we know, but, well, seems I've been stuck. Since about late February, I suspect, I've been hung up. I've been doing a lot of diligent reading, a lot, and been proof-reading and copy editing and making changes to the e-copy and so on, but I haven't written any new words on the story since then. I know it was the end of February because Jared and I met for lunch on Leap Year Day to share progress. And I was rolling along through the winter. But I hit this plot flaw wall. Left my hero literally standing in a field. Didn't know what to do with him. Four months he's been standing there where I dink around, pondering, working it out in my subconscious.
Anyhoo, long story short, I think it solved itself today. Which is good.
Very good, in fact. Happily good.
So: onward again!
Thursday, July 10
Whiffleball
Is it nearly mid-July already? Sheeesh.
This story reminds me of my teen-aged years, when I spent a LOT of time playing Whiffleball in a variety of neighbor's front and yards. Each of us had our own stadium or field -- sometimes two different parks -- some with gray monsters ala Fenway, some with short porches. I mostly faced off against one of my best friends, Shaw, a crafty lefty who threw all kinds of slow junk. I didn't get many hits, but when I did, was I was known to hit it over a roof or two. On the mound, I was the fire-balling righty; he singled and tripled me into oblivion most days. Only in our field of dreams, the lawyers didn't show up.
This story reminds me of my teen-aged years, when I spent a LOT of time playing Whiffleball in a variety of neighbor's front and yards. Each of us had our own stadium or field -- sometimes two different parks -- some with gray monsters ala Fenway, some with short porches. I mostly faced off against one of my best friends, Shaw, a crafty lefty who threw all kinds of slow junk. I didn't get many hits, but when I did, was I was known to hit it over a roof or two. On the mound, I was the fire-balling righty; he singled and tripled me into oblivion most days. Only in our field of dreams, the lawyers didn't show up.
