A splendid thunderstorm began as I finished my words last night. I listened to the rain and watched the lightning through the blinds. It was calming and invigorating, an experience to file away in my mind in case I have need of them in my current novel.

There have been times at parties when I have sat back and watched. Sometimes I try to capture the feel of a party through listening and close my eyes. I do this, not to use it against anyone or make a caricature out of them but to hear the rhythms of conversation, the clinking of silverware and the taste of certain foods.

I have done this at other places as well such as malls, baseball games, the forest, anywhere that might help my senses take in an entire experience.

One night, years afterward while at home in Grand Rapids, I had a dream about being there and it was shocking. I cannot share what happened now because it is a plot point of my novel, but it was something that was so vivid it was if I was transported back.

I don’t think I would be writing this novel had I not been paying attention to the atmosphere of Keuka Lake. It is incredibly valuable as a writer or artist to get the “feel” of an experience through all of our senses. If you have a scene in your novel that happens at a play, go to one. If you have a scene in a mall, go to one. Sit down, soak in the sounds and sights and tastes. 

Some writing is about making stuff up. Some writing is about relaying an experience people have. What better way to learn about an experience than to actually have it yourself?

Cheers,

Bob

I don’t have a lot of time to report but I did want to write an update today.

Last night, I broke the barrier all writers desire to break when writing their novel. I began to like my story.

I know that sounds silly but writing is work. Some people have a job they love and some people have a job they hate. Writing can be both and one or the other at different intervals of the writing process especially at the beginning or end of a particular work.

I believe I am beyond the point of searching for my writing stride and have found that precious writer’s groove we all hope to discover when penning our novels. The one that makes us hungry and eager, looking for any sliver of time to jot down a few words.

I hope with this new found joy in my story, I can plow through my first draft in the next few months. Perhaps this is a bit ambitious with buying a house and moving my family in the next month or so, but I think its better to have an aggressive date of completion, than none at all.

Until tomorrow, keep writing.

Cheers,

Bob

Good day. It is day three of 500 words a day for a week and I am pleased to say that I am still writing and it is coming easier. I was not sure how long it might take to get into the story I am writing but as I have little research to do I can write fairly quickly now that my fingers are accustom to fiction again. I am not saying it is good, but it is there and that simple fact is refreshing.

I realized as I was finishing my 500 words last night that I have not read a lot of children’s stories lately. I’ve read the Chronicles of Narnia a while back (they are mountains better than the horrible Disney adaptations please read them!) but I wanted to delve deeper into the classic literature my target audience reads.

I decided to start with The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald. Here’s what C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton have to say (through Wikipedia) about this esteemed man:

It was C.S. Lewis who wrote that he regarded MacDonald as his “master”: “Picking up a copy of Phantastes one day at a train-station bookstall, I began to read. A few hours later,” said Lewis, “I knew that I had crossed a great frontier.” G. K. Chesterton cited The Princess and the Goblin as a book that had “made a difference to my whole existence.”

If it can mean that much to the giants of Lewis and Chesterton, then, perhaps, it may serve me well to glean what I can. 

If you’ve taken up the writing challenge, good luck to you.

Cheers,

Bob

It’s day two of the 500 words a day for 7 days gauntlet. Also, just to be clear, this blog does not count. Only work on my novel does. I was successful last night even with the distraction of the Nashville Predators and Detroit Red Wings playoff game. It is the quarterfinals and they put up a miserable game. Down 0-1 — what a shame. Come on Wings!

Anyway, in between the intermissions I was able to get some words down on my new story. I’m into chapter two which describes a drive out of New York city toward one of the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. It is an all day and night excursion coupled with an awkward conversation between a father and son. I will not say much about this story yet but that it is about family.

Many stories that surround families are tragedies, ones that see loved ones wrenched apart by horrors and unfortunate circumstances of life. This story is about how that sort of family comes back together and is stronger all the more because of it.

Here’s to another 500 words tomorrow.

Cheers,

Bob

I have been a complainer lately to my writer friends. I have been childish, lost, and above all, lazy. When you are lazy and a writer, those are the two worst things you can be. The novels will not just sprout up out of the ground like spring tulips, right?

If there is a magic formula to this writing conundrum, please someone tell me. Otherwise, I will be resigned to believe you just have to do it, which is not what I want to hear.

Therefore I write this blog post to declare that I will write 500 words a day for the next week. I will check in here. I will tell you if I am successful. Whether the writing is good or bad is not the point. The point is I am out of writing shape and I need a pep talk. I need to start working out those horribly flabby writing muscles.

I have a billion excuses just like you. I have a child that does not sleep. I have a demanding job. On top of these, I want to be a great husband, father, friend, and employee. We are also buying a house (WOOHOO!)

There are times one needs to find refuge under the mother duck’s wing. There are also times that one needs to strike out into the storm of life and march forward no matter what the cost.

My first instinct is that I don’t want to be accountable. I don’t want to be more exhausted than I already am. I want to eat pizza and beach myself on the couch to watch another Detroit Red Wings game. But I just can’t anymore.

So here’s to a weekly challenge of 500 words on my new novel. Here’s to a fresh start and bucking up. Here’s to a swift kick to my rear end and the public acknowledgement of commitment to writing.

If you want to write and just can’t, join me for 3500 words in 7 days, beginning today.

Cheers,

Bob

My goal for 2011 was to read 40 books in a year. That may not seem very much, but I accomplished even less. With having two children, writing my own novel, and working full time, I was only able to finish 26 books. Here they are listed in the order of completion.

1. Sherlock Holmes – A Study in Scarlet parts I & II – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
2. The Four Loves – C.S. Lewis
3. The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins
4. Catching Fire – Suzanne Collins

   

5. Mockingjay – Suzanne Collins
6. Essays – George Orwell
7. On Becoming a Novelist – John Garner
8. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J. K. Rowling
9. The Land Between – Jeff Manion
10. Forgotten God – Francis Chan
11. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone – J. K. Rowling
12. Master of the World – Jules Verne
13. 1776 – David McCullough
14. The Prestige – Christopher Priest
15. A Circle of Quiet – Madeleine L’Engle
16. Book of Job
17. The Magicians Nephew – C.S. Lewis
18. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – J.K. Rowling
19. A Shropshire Lad – A.E. Houseman

    

20. More Poems – A.E. Houseman
21. The Fellowship of the Ring – J.R.R. Tolkien
22. Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
23. Tolkien Man and Myth  A Literary Life – Joseph Pearce
24. The Great Divorce – C.S. Lewis
25. The Writing Life – Annie Dillard
26. Burmese Days – George Orwell

Hello. It has been a few weeks since I’ve put words down here. I apologize to my readers. Blogs, so I’m told, are something you are supposed to keep building and growing. Posting in three week gaps might not be the best way to do that. Regardless, for me, and for you I hope, the time away has proved fruitful. I have had a lot of progress in my work and am roughly three chapters from being finished!

The obvious anecdote to many blogs this time of year is to write something seasonal. And by that I mean compose something about the holidays that would inspire, relate, or simply share a story from this time of year. I would like write about how the change of seasons can affect writing, and mine in particular.

During summer, I typically do not get much done. My adventurous spirit is thrilled to be going on hikes, to the beach, or take up a walk down a beaten path with my family. My writer’s spirit has difficulty with it. Every day could be the same for weeks. Glorious sunshine is wonderful, but stagnate. There is nothing to awaken my sense of wonder. I know, I know, there are those sun bathers out there who might vomit at the wish for snow or a dark and stormy night, but have you ever read a novel that took place in a perpetual warm summer air? There is almost always a storm.

Fall. Now, in Michigan and some of the other northern states, that is one of the best times for writing! Inspiration abounds this time of year. I fell in love with my wife in the fall. Life is in motion as people shift across the country and the world. All students head back to university. The leaves change into crimson and gold, we buy, if I may take a line from You’ve Got Mail, “a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils”, in preparation for studies, and the morning air is cold and crisp bringing with it a sense of intimacy and clarity. This is my most productive time of year.

I can remember, during my freshman year of college, walking from Van Osdel Hall where I lived to one of the academic buildings and being whipped by the wintry winds. The cold would literally snatch the air from your lungs in the minus fifteen temperatures. For me, and again you sun bathers might very well unfriend me on Facebook, the winter is a quiet and beautiful season of the year. Have you ever gone on a midnight stroll beneath a full moon in winter? Everything is so quiet, most people nestled under blankets and all of the animals, migrated, hibernating, or asleep. I get such a thrill walking in a dark morning or evening during winter, crunching the newly fallen snow underfoot while gentle snowflakes descend. I imagine I could be in Norway, Sweden, or some other far flung local of Norse Mythology. I look forward to the first blizzard. I write a lot this time of year.

The love affair with winter can only last so long before you long to stretch your legs and go outside for a barefoot walk in the grass. Spring is when I start to slow down my writing. I’m not sure why. The only thought that comes to mind is that I need a break from my work. I hope to avoid the self derailment this year. I should have a novel to promote this time, so, my hope is that will be inspiration enough to continue.

Do you have particular times of the year you are most productive? Thanks for being patient for the latest post! Now, back to my novel…

Cheers,

Bob

This month is National Novel Writing Month or NANOWRIMO. I am not working on a new novel but trying to finish an old one and it is proving to be more difficult than I imagined. As I get toward the finish line I feel more and more tired. I also have bouts of avoiding opening the document containing my latest chapter, sort of like a kid who is forced to eat something he doesn’t like and does everything they can to get out of it. Blogging is an outlet of writing so I can feel accomplished. I can feel like I have written something, and takes care of the “itch” as C.S. Lewis would say. But, that’s not my goal. Blogging is nice, but the book is my mission.

I have planned many times to lay down words, but when the time comes I write a paragraph then delete it. I write another and delete it. The inner critic gets the best of me. I have had a plan to write on my novel many times. I have even felt inspired and wrote a quick 500 words. However, I know they are poor attempts of regurgitating the golden ideas as perceived by my mind. I thought for a while of why the sudden rush of avoidance? Why the shouting of the critic of my mind – when I thought I had put him to bed?

I now know why. I had some friends come visit who I see about once a year. It was a pleasure seeing them, but at the end of out time together we spent the last spare minutes either telling a quick joke or sharing a brief story, doing anything to extend the time and to not bring up the fact that our time together is now at its end.

This is the reason I am not rushing to finish. No one likes to say goodbye. No one likes to end a good time, and not just a fun time, but something so satisfying it is a glimpse of life or the world as it should be. Thus, I confess today that I don’t want to say goodbye to my friends. I don’t want to have invented them only to dismiss them. I have more novels planned with some of them, but others are gone dismissed into the “shadowy world of my mind”.

Here is Charles Dickens putting my thoughts into better words. This is a snippet of the preface of David Copperfield (Penguin). I think I now know what he was talking about. It will be grand to finish, but I will miss the people in my book, once their/our adventure is over.

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret – pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from my many companions…It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of two-years’ imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of creatures of his brain are going from him for ever.

Cheers,

Bob