... Novel Writing ...|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 7 most recent journal entries recorded in
... Novel Writing ...'s LiveJournal:
|Monday, December 6th, 2004|
swinging at the first pitch
with the grace of a tap dancing drunk, i stumbled upon this group and joined. I, too, am attempting to write a novel. I have gave myself the deadline of december '05. one year for it to be completely done, spit shined and polished. The subject? don't know but I have a feeling the pages will be pock marked frequently with the word, "fuck".
p.s. sorry, i'm new at this.
Progress, such as it is
I have now discovered three separate novel concepts, none of which I have developed satisfactorily. It is extremely clear I shall not finish a novel within the allotted month ....
The concepts are:
- A man with slight relationship troubles gets in touch with his masculine side. The mirror-image of chick-lit. POssibly to be called Bernard Jones, Superstar! after something a friend of mine kept singing when we were in a play together.
- Totally surreal things happen in an overbearingly bureaucratic future.
- Cultural clashes occur, but with aliens. Recently a lot of fiction has dealt with clashes between cultures, although the means by which this has been explored has varied fashionably. The possibility of characters who do completely inexplicable, rather than merely quaintly unexpected, things fascinates me. Much will be done whose reason is never, ever revealed.
I've also been working on song lyrics, and I have found a way of expressing my essential problem -- this morning, I realized that spanning tree is a good rhyme for Manningtree. I cannot conceive of a situation where a song would reference both spanning tree, which is a way of connecting together a set of points so that there is exactly one way to get from each point to each other point, and Manningtree, which is a town in Essex. I cannot conceive of many songs which would reference either, or at any rate, not many good ones.
Simplify, simplify, says Thoreau. I need a way of simplifying without overcomplicating that simplification by referencing Thoreau. Current Mood: quixotic
|Sunday, November 28th, 2004|
It would be fair to say that I've failed to write anything for a whole week. I have an exucse and a half -- I'm doing a PhD and we've suddenly got a pair of fine gigs next Thursday and the Monday after. Since I really have to get on with this, I think I should switch to a ProMuWri project -- I have a song half written that I want to finish. Badger me until I submit lyrics? Current Mood: tardy
|Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004|
A true story
My Canadian classmate is glum. Autumn here's turned glorious: trees give up their last three leaves as you pass beneath them, and the clouds are silver-tipped and ominous. T. can't stand it. It snowed
the other day, about seven in the evening. The whole sky broke to pieces, turned pale and fell, and the clumps in my friends' eyelashes froze damp and white. It settled overnight and next day was so cold it didn't thaw, just crusted the grass and made the rooftops shine. They scattered grit salt on all the paths in college, college being too important for a shell of frozen snow. T. pictured snow-ploughs lumbering down our narrow, cobbled streets, and felt a familiar sharpness on her skin. This travesty snow's not like home. T. misses home.
|Sunday, November 21st, 2004|
Hello! With this post, I nowri join. I am afeared, for now people may read my stuff. But creativity is a frail flower that requires repeated prodding with the blunt-edged trowel of harassment, so I hope hereby to actually get some writing done.
I think andrewwyld is terrifically brave to have a set a date and to have begun. Writing and I have an altogether more casual relationship. Occasionally, I do
feel the urge to commit, but this is rare. More commonly we roll along together, writing and I, enjoying our protracted fling. Sometimes all is passion; I stay in bed with nothing but a pen and pad for hours. Sometimes I hunch over my keyboard, face wan from the screen's insipid light, thrashing out letters into the tiny hours of the morning. Sometimes, I leave it for weeks, even a month, yoked to the grey convention of academicese. Academicese is not writing. This is a common mistake. My academicese is especially not writing.
Always, in the end, I come back to writing. I couldn't leave forever. My brain frays at the edges with contrived images wanting to be let out. My middle finger starts to ache for a real pen. And here I come to my confession: I am a ProNoGrapher. I didn't know there was a name for people like me until Mr Wyld pointed it out. Now, labelled, I feel a little more secure in my promiscuous novel writing, my dalliances with more than one story at a time. I'm here in part to reform, but in part to indulge my vice. I'd love it if you'd like to watch...
|Friday, November 19th, 2004|
I've decided, on completely arbitrary grounds, that today is the day.
I shall begin my novel writing month. I would like you all to bear in mind that I have no idea what this novel is about, or where it is going; in this respect, it will be rather like a one-man Yeats is Dead!
, or one of Dickens's early episodic novels, but without the talent. I suppose what I shall do is write each chapter trying to make life difficult for myself later, and then do amusing gymnastics trying to fix it. Then again, maybe not, who knows?
In any case -- do bear with my total lack of direction. You know I'll get there in the end. Current Mood: elated
|Monday, November 15th, 2004|
Well, let's see. I saw this community advertised on discuss_writing
. I'm working on my novel now, and did actually start on November 1st. However, I know it will take me much longer than a month to finish. Right now I'm hoping that I'll have the first draft done by the end of March, but that still might be too optimistic. At the moment, I'm on page 40. I'm going for about 200 pages.