It's Amazing What a Little Bum Glue Can Do!

It's official!  Bum glue works!

In my most recent post, I lamented the lack of colour in my writing. Characters weren't talking to me, the scenery was drab, nothing sparkled.

I thought perhaps I needed to return to my writing gurus for inspiration - and that certainly is a good thing.

But - I held off, thinking that perhaps, my desire to poke my nose back into 'How To' books might just be another stalling tactic.

As an experiment, I decided to just stick it out, continue on with the bad writing, just let the crappy stuff flow and see what happened.

The results are in, and they are very interesting indeed.

It seems there is a direct relationship between the number of words one manages to choke onto the page (crappy, or not) and how good those words eventually begin to feel.

Over the course of the past few weeks of applying massive amounts of bum glue to my...well...bum...my writing has once again come to life.

Signy's voice has returned, as sharp and prickly as ever, as has those of the other main characters. The settings are bright and clear, the plot is taking on some unexpected twists and turns.

Conclusion?

When you begin to have self-doubts...

When you fear that even if you used a dagger as a quill, you couldn't write your way out of a paper bag...

When you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are scribbling drek that no one will ever read...

When you begin to contemplate a 9 to 5 office job?

Then it the time to apply a liberal slather of bum glue.

STICK TO IT...

Your next sentence just might be a masterpiece.

Where's the Colour?

Remember that old commercial? The one where the old lady opens her chain restaurant hamburger and asks in a gravelly voice, "Where's the beef?"

That's how I've been feeling lately, but instead of the beef I've been missing the colour.

I've been working on some new scenes for the second book. I had put the manuscript aside for awhile as I pondered some plot problems but I'm back on track now, comfortable enough with my new direction to have resumed churning out words to fill the empty spaces.

No. My problem now is a lack of COLOUR.

You know what I mean?

Characters that lie limp on the page like black and white stick people. Even my main cast seem lackluster. Signy is humdrum, Grace can't think of a thing to say and the complexTracker is about as dry as dry can be. He might as well be reading from the phone book.

And the extras? Those important little characters that fly in and out of scenes, not only as plot devices but also to add that hint of spice a scene sometimes requires? Even those guys and gals are leaving me cold.

My beats are repetitive and predictable - As a matter of fact, if you catch me writing, 'He scrubbed a hand over his balding pate'  or 'Barely suppressing a giggle' one more time, please shoot me.

And the settings? Humpf. That's where I'm really falling flat. Oh sure, I stick in the sights and the sounds and the smells and tastes but what churns out is like a reproduction of a bad reproduction. When I go back and try to fix what I've done, I only seem to make things worse. Kind of like that sad little painting of Jesus that elderly Italian woman tried to fix then and turned into a dreadful cartoon.

Okay. Enough complaining. Obviously, something is missing. It might have something to do with the phrase I used earlier in this post  - the bit where I said I was 'churning out words to fill the empty spaces'.

Sure, I'm in the process of pumping out words and sometimes, that is not a bad thing. Sometimes, it is just as important to keep the wheels greased, the story moving forward, the word count satisfied. I understand that.

But, I think there comes a time, when churning out words, while satisfying one's bum glue requirements, no longer feels good - especially when the product is so bland.

So, back to the basics I go. Yup - Time to revisit those two classic "How To" books that work for me.

Stephen King's "On Writing" and Elizabeth George's "Write Away."

Here's hoping that these tried and true writers will once again show me the way to that world of colour I have been so missing.

Help me remember how to turn this....












Into this....

A Dumpy Deadline

The last few months have been distracting to say the least. In response, I set aside my goal of writing 5 pages per day and instead indulged in an orgy of procrastination. Stuff like:

• Resuming my love affair with; cake, cookies, chai tea latte, bread, cheese, chocolate, fish and chips...etc.
• Shopping for stupid stuff
• Moving stuff around the house and then moving it back again
• Checking out houses on MLS
• Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest (not so much with the pinterest - its kinda boring)
• Perfecting the art of scanning several news sites all at once - not really READING anything
• Watching too much New Girl (I'm a sucker for nerd romance...sigh....)
• Bemoaning the chilly weather
• Avoiding pretty much everything difficult

 And, now? 

The party is OVER!!!!!!! Finito binito.

Time to get cracking....apply glue to bum.....engage brain......

Time to ask Signy Shepherd and Grace and Alex but most especially Dr. Solomon Smiles and his lovely wife, Lisa, to start talking to me again.

I did it before, I can do it again. I just need to start with 500 little words....

And there is no better way for me to sit my butt back down in my writer's chair that to give myself a...Dead...(gasp)...Line.

Deadlines have a distinctive sound to them, kind of like the roar of a waterfall just around the next bend. Nothing serves to sharpen the wits more than the drone of impending doom.

And so, on speaking with my agent last week, I assured her that I would have the first draft of my second novel (working title: Dark Territory) complete by the end of August, 2013.

August, 2013.

I might as well have painted a giant red target on my butt. Come one, come all...see that girl who can't write make a fool of herself. Ha...ha.

Hold on Dumpy....This is not the time to go all wimpy and negative. Beside, wallowing in self-pity and fear is really nothing more than another procrastination tool.

But, August, 2013...?

Three months and two weeks... (deep breath)...  I can do that.

 Sure, I can.

Come ON, Dumpy Grace!!


What nugget of wisdom has kept you going through thick and thin?


What deep philosophical truism has never failed you? What brilliant insight has dragged you through even the most trying times?

That's right, Dumpy Grace. You know it in your heart...


Captain Kirk would NEVER give up....

And neither will you, Dumpy Grace

NEITHER will you....

Live Long and Prosper....

Why I've Been Away....

Three Birds with One Stone

Number one reader and I went to Belleville and forked over sixty bucks to get a yearly library membership. As cool as our local library is, it is the size of a one room school house and stocks ONLY best selling commercial fiction. Kinda limiting when one is in the mood for something a little more cerebral.

So...anyway, after a quick perusal of the stands...fuggedabout cerebral, I ended up with the audio book of Outlander. Yes, I've read it before I admit - but Diana Gabaldon does a great job with description and has a knack for voices. I thought it might be useful to read (ie listen) to it again. Research for my own writing, see.

Besides, number one reader and I had a day trip planned and I took along my giant box of Outlander CD's to pass the time. It was fun and number one reader actually enjoyed the disappearance of Claire through the standing stones, her re-appearance two hundred years in the past, her adventures in Castle Leoch and even her forced marriage to Jamie Fraser.

But, he drew the line when Jamie and Claire's wedding night antics never seemed to end. "Ach, Sassenach," whispered Jamie, his breath warm upon my quivering cheek, "your wee fat bum is as tender as a fresh plum just asking to be pinched." My fingers traced the outline of his zygomatic arch, his eyes as deep and dark as Loch Ness on a winter's eve, his reddish gold mane as thick and proud as a lion's after a successful hunt.'  or something like that...

On and on and on and on it went and I could tell number one reader was reaching his limit. But it was the whispered "Shall I service thee again, Lass?" that tipped him over the edge. I turned it OFF before we crashed in the ditch.

But, later that night, as I stood all aquiver admiring his zygomatic arch (at least I think that was his zygomatic arch) he was ensconced in front of the computer muttering bitterly to himself. He was writing an email, a task that with his two fingered typing technique usually requires at least an hour of angry tapping. "Ach," I said, batting my eyes in an entrancing fashion, "would you say my bum is like a fresh peach?"

"Hmmmhmmm?" he said, not looking up.

And that is how I found myself killing two birds with one stone. It's funny how walking on the treadmill becomes a lot less boring with the indefatigable Jamie Fraser playing the golden red stag to Claire Beauchamp's coquettish doe over hill and dale, up one crag and down another, on the heather, in warm ponds, on chilly rock outcroppings, under flea riddled quilts, in front of 20 highland raiders, inside deserted crofts, under the wide Scottish sky.... fat bums flashing, muscular thighs pumping....

Weel, you get the idea.

 On second thought, it might be more accurate to say I killed three birds with one stone....

What Do You Like To Read?

One of the hazards of full time writing is the lack of time for reading!

In the old days it was nothing for me to read several books per week. By the time I was old enough to ride my bike to the library, I remember coming home every week with stacks of books tucked into the basket on my bike. Nothing was more satisfying than lying on my bed or out in the sun on the chaise lounge devouring story after story.

Dumpy Grace in real life - almost 50 years ago!

When I was a child I read anything and everything about animals. Two of my favourites were Vulpes, the Red Fox - the story of a red fox and Vixen, his mate which has probably the saddest ending in the history of children's literature, notwithstanding Old Yeller. Despite the thousands of books I've given away over the years, Vulpes still graces my grown up bookshelf. The other was Big Red, about an Irish Setter that lived on a farm. Another tear jerker for the ages.

When I was a preteen I loved Nancy Drew. The image of her speeding around town in her roadster, her titian hair blowing in the wind, her friend George by her side...ah...heaven.

In addition to library books, I would pour over everything my parents had in their library including a scientific Time/Life series with titles like: Mammals, Fish, The Earth, The Stars, etc. Fabulous! My mother also kept some 'steamy' books that I read, although didn't quite understand at the time. The Tropic of Cancer and The Valley of the Dolls spring to mind. Later I went searching for more, including Lady Chatterly's Lover and Fanny Hill, and anything by Anais Nin. Tsk! Tsk!  

In my mid-teens I went through a Russian period. I read Alexander Solzhenitsyn's The Cancer Ward, and Tolstoy's The Death of Ivan Ilyich, which for some reason, touched me deeply. After that I read every Russian author I could get my hands on including Dostoyevsky, Chekhov and  Pushkin.

In my late teens I admit to a fling with Ayn Rand. I read every book of hers, not really understanding her objectivism philosopy but clinging to the notion that as individuals we are responsible for our own happiness and success. It was a life lesson that has stuck with me.

I was a science major in university and never had a formal literature education. Wanting to educate myself I would visit the library or the Bookshelf Cafe in Guelph and would work through the Penguin Books. Remember the distinctive orange covers? At the time, I believed that anything published by Penguin was high art and therefore, necessary reading. I wasn't wrong.

Along the same vein my father purchased a set of Classic books from the Franklin library series and it was here that I was introduced to the ancients such as Homer, Ulysses, Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, as well as amazing American writers such as John Steinbeck, William Styron and William Faulkner, among many others.

I fell in love with the short story genre, as well. Among my favourites, Margaret Laurence, Alice Monroe, science fiction writers such as Arthur C. Clarke. One of my all time favourites was Bronwen Wallace, who, sadly, died at a young age and never got the chance to write a second book.

And always - the popular fiction/science fiction and mystery/thriller/suspense series dominated. From John Le Carre and Len Deighton to Lawrence Block and James lee Burke. PD James and Thomas Perry, Stephen King, Patricia Cornwell, Umberto Eco, Sue Grafton, Graham Greene and Peter Hoag, to name just a very few.

The latest non-fiction I read was The Swerve - a brilliant exposition of how a 1400's era monk, by the name of Poggio Bracciolini discovered a copy of Lucretius's long lost, On the Nature of Things, and how this epic poem changed the world.  I can't wait to read more by Stephen Greenblat.

Currently, I am enjoying the Giles Blunt series, set in North Bay, Ontario. I love the nuanced protagonist, John Cardinal. The latest James Lee Burke is always a must read, mostly for his wonderful characters (Dave Robichaux and Clete Purcell) and his heart breaking descriptions. And I wait with bated breath for the latest in the Keller series by Laurence Block. Best psychopath ever.

But, I digress. The point I was trying to make is that I miss reading for pleasure. After a long day hunched over the computer, the first thing I want to do is get up and move. The thought of sitting down, or lying in bed, or out in the sun on my chaise lounge for that matter, just doesn't appeal. I want to read, but don't want to SIT!

I need to find a solution. I like audio books but the closest library that stocks audio books is an hour away. I do have a treadmill but I can't read while walking unlike my friend Kathy, who reads while jogging! How the heck does she do that without going blind?

Anyway - this week I am setting aside all writing obligations and giving myself permission to simply read. I scored a couple of free books while visiting Simon and Schuster. I've already been through The Demonologist, a good read by Andrew Pyper, and am now ensconced in The Firebird, by Susanna Kearsley, which I'm loving! It seems to have been inspired by the Diana Gabaldon Outlander series, and I am not ashamed to say that I am an avid Jamie and Claire fan.

Ahhhh....heaven!