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I dig jazz and single-malt scotch.  I write plays; I direct them too. I love STAR WARS more than is healthy. I walk my dogs every day, unless it's raining or terribly cold.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

In the Weeds


I want to contribute regularly to this blog like I want to get the hedges trimmed around my house. And just like this blog, those hedges are trimmed sporadically and poking out at some unseemly angles.

As many bloggers have found, the best blogs aren't really diaries, they are commentaries. Sometimes it's commentary about what you just did today, but it is shaped and filtered to make a coherent experience for the reader.

Like this blog and my unevenly trimmed hedges, my writing life in general has been sporadic and unsatisfying.

That is, until last week. Last week I clicked a link posted by a colleague about writing, or more precisely, not writing. It was funny, glib, and true.  Partway down the list I started recognizing myself. It began by mentioning half-hearted blogging. Hmmmm. Lookit that. Hmmmm. I kept reading and recognized some more.

It's not that I hadn't read similar lists, funny jabs, even spoken many of these things myself. But it was the right list at the right moment with just enough punch and sparkle to leave a mark and knock me back into DOING the thing I haven't been doing.

For the second half of last week and the first half of this week I took the writing challenge to heart. I got up and started writing, everyday. It was a slog. I wasn't writing anything phenomenal. I was sussing thru an idea I've had for a while, an idea I don't feel qualified to write, an idea that I have started two other times over the past two years. But then, after a week of slog, and figuring out how to activate a writing schedule, things started clicking. Plot points began revealing themselves, not just in the big arc kind of way (this story, and most of my stories, have the big arc from the get-go), but the small things that deepen character and add texture to the world while supporting the larger plot.

There it was, is, right now, swimming around in my brain, and some of it is on paper, or in pixels.

I'm writing again, but I'm also seeing the plot and the story with sharp, precise vision. It's exciting to get back to work on it everyday. It's hard not to think about it. It's hard not to work on it.

My hedges are still a mess. Oh well. I can do that later. Right now I'm busy (wait for it) -- writing.

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Check out 20 Ways to Sabotage Your Writing by Chris Brecheen

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