I’m still researching how to figure out where my stories fit in “the realm of marketable books. I spent another day of searching “how to write” websites. I am looking up many words I am not familiar with and trying to absorb the information. Today the term Oxford comma, came up several times on Twitter. I must admit I had to look it up, I was right though it was what I thought ( a serial comma used in a list of three or more terms after a coordinating conjunction).
I also came across a free-writing exercise, a tool for creative writing, where thoughts are put down by inspiration, portions of which may later be used to fill in gaps or enhance a story you may be considering.
I thought blogging was an example of that, but not quite, free- writing is a thought or phrase put together, and can be used as inspiration later. This is a process to help bring forth a story. I think I will try.
Sunset on the beach when I was young, staying up all night, cool ocean breeze. Homemade bread from scratch, mom’s kitchen and the aroma. The cat in the closet with six kittens, casually looking up at me as the kittens struggle to stay attached. I wish I could remember the rules of English my father would constantly remind me of when we spoke slang or incorrectly. What was that she said to Brian after he said “My girlfriend thinks I am a God?” She responded, “She must be dyslexic.” That is the funniest spontaneous response — ever, she gets a gold star.
I could go on but you get the picture. It was fun and random, I felt a little bit like I did when I wrote my first novel, however that had to flow and make sense.
Another suggestion was to write poetry if you are a novelist, or write a story if you are a poet. It gives your creativeness a jolt and can inspire you.
I am getting a little weary, I had decided I wasn’t going to write today, take a day off. The mail came, and the book I had ordered was in my hands, it was recommended by one of the agents I had submitted my ms to, but wasn’t a “good fit” after all. It gave me the incentive to sit and write this blog. It is easy to become discouraged, I keep receiving words of encouragement and it helps.
I have finished my fourth book, essentially. I need to go back through it and expound on some of the scenes.
I’ll close with a poem.
My office window is open and I can hear traffic,
some directly outside and some on the highway about
a half a mile away.
In the other room are sounds of a keyboard,
static notes on a curious instrument,
perhaps an e-mail is being constructed.
It is too hard to say.
I’m not hearing what my hands are about,
they slowly set the words I want to play,
as the cars on the highway are now miles away.