I love to write. I love the creation aspect seeing things take shape, worlds appear, and characters develop. I love the sound of a well-written sentence, a catchy phrase, or a witty description. I also love the satisfaction of finishing something, be it a section, a chapter, or a book. I adore feedback. I don't just write for myself, that would be selfish. I write for others. I like to entertain and this seems to be my gift, sort of. I am definitely not a master.
All of these things aside, I am constantly reminded that writing takes work. I must think about what I want to say, the direction I want to take my characters, the goal I want to attain, and the nuances of the presentation. It takes concentration. I have to keep track of everything in my head. Who is where and what they said. Where they are going, and how I want to get them there. What would fit and what wouldn't. It is like improvising an entire play by oneself. If there is a crisis, I am the one that has to dig my characters out of it. If there is a knot, I have to untie it. I am responsible for every word, punctuation, and grammatical technique. It is a big job and hard work.
It also takes discipline. I have to make myself the time to write. If I do not, it will not get done. I must choose to sit down, ignore the email, the TV, the movies, the books, and pretty much everything else for a hour or two. It also takes tenacity. When a character won't cooperate, a scene feels wrong, a plot point appears weak, it is easy to just drop it and walk away. Thankfully, I am hooked enough by this point that the very fact that the job is half done bothers me into picking things up again. Regardless, it still takes a stubborn streak to bang out words even when you know that they aren't any good. Of course, if you keep banging long enough and hard enough, the right words will come. They will line up in formation, flashing their perfection at you until you can only praise the Great Author who made them do that. :)
Yes, writing is hard work. The best past time in the whole world.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Musings of a mother
I know that this is a little off the topic of this blog, but it is what is on my mind this beautiful Saturday morning. I have a son, an adorable, 1.5 year-old son. Usually he has the sweetest temperament in the world, easy going, happy, and content. Recently, however, he has been indulging in bouts of bad attitude where everything I ask him receives the same answer, a sulky "no."
Yes, he has only just starting using that word. I know have had a longer reprieve than most mothers before he reached this stage. However, now that it is here, I am having difficulty communicating the difference between a good attitude and a bad attitude. Of course, it is a difficult concept for even a teenager to grasp, let alone a toddler with the vocabulary of about sixty words. Yet, I must try. It is at these moments, I find myself turning to the Lord more.
He created us with out stubborn tenacity to want independence even when we can't handle it. Yes, we are fallen. I see my own fallen nature in my son, the stubborn streak, the manipulative cuteness (I am told I was quite the persistent manipulator as a child), and the desire to push the boundaries. I also see the potential. He caught on quickly to the basic flow of please and thank you. The other day, he even thanked the nurse that gave him his 18 month vaccines. He paused in his tears to mimic my thanks to the nurse.
I know that the Lord is working on him, just as He is working on me. I pray daily that Jonathan is one of His chosen. I pray that he will meet his Savior at an early age, as I was blessed to do. I pray for his future transforming walk with the Lord. As the sin nature in him uses his new skills to invent new ways to snub his nose at the Master, I pray that He will give me the wisdom to nurture this life and point him toward his Savior.
Yes, he has only just starting using that word. I know have had a longer reprieve than most mothers before he reached this stage. However, now that it is here, I am having difficulty communicating the difference between a good attitude and a bad attitude. Of course, it is a difficult concept for even a teenager to grasp, let alone a toddler with the vocabulary of about sixty words. Yet, I must try. It is at these moments, I find myself turning to the Lord more.
He created us with out stubborn tenacity to want independence even when we can't handle it. Yes, we are fallen. I see my own fallen nature in my son, the stubborn streak, the manipulative cuteness (I am told I was quite the persistent manipulator as a child), and the desire to push the boundaries. I also see the potential. He caught on quickly to the basic flow of please and thank you. The other day, he even thanked the nurse that gave him his 18 month vaccines. He paused in his tears to mimic my thanks to the nurse.
I know that the Lord is working on him, just as He is working on me. I pray daily that Jonathan is one of His chosen. I pray that he will meet his Savior at an early age, as I was blessed to do. I pray for his future transforming walk with the Lord. As the sin nature in him uses his new skills to invent new ways to snub his nose at the Master, I pray that He will give me the wisdom to nurture this life and point him toward his Savior.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Finishing the first draft
It is a strange thing to finish a first draft. In an instant, the flowering story turns from a piece to be nurtured, encouraged, and pampered to a work that badly needs pruning, grafting, and sometimes burning.
It is as though some one's life has come to a screeching halt and it is now time to scrutinize the past with a fine toothed comb. The editing doesn't restrict itself to just the odd typo and the occasional grammatical issue. Instead its spreads its scope to character, plot, and description: quizzing them with a magnifying eyeglass to see if they stand up to scrutiny. If they do, they are allowed to remain, old and solid remainders of the original structure, holding up the framework so carefully crafted. However, should they fail this close examination, they are dissected, probed, prodded, and rearranged. Sometimes they are thrown out all together to be replaced with another scene or piece of dialogue, new words to hopefully do an even better job of explaining, portraying, or describing something essential.
I have always dreaded this part of the process, taking my precious writing apart. But, as mother, I find that I have more practical point of view in regards to my latest creation. I can see that as much as I detest editing, it is vital. Everything has pieces that need to be removed in order for the whole to shine. With children and ourselves, it is the sin in our lives. With the written word, it is the weak scenes, the rambling dialogue, and the wordy descriptions that need my attention. And like every mother, I do not enjoy some aspects of my job, yet I cannot ignore them or let them gather dust. I must attack them at once with energy and prayer. The longer the dishes, diapers, or mess is left to wait, the worse it becomes and the more it settles in to stay.
So, I am setting off. Tackling my least favorite task. With the Lord's help, it will make the novel shine all the brighter for His glory.
- Rachel Rossano
It is as though some one's life has come to a screeching halt and it is now time to scrutinize the past with a fine toothed comb. The editing doesn't restrict itself to just the odd typo and the occasional grammatical issue. Instead its spreads its scope to character, plot, and description: quizzing them with a magnifying eyeglass to see if they stand up to scrutiny. If they do, they are allowed to remain, old and solid remainders of the original structure, holding up the framework so carefully crafted. However, should they fail this close examination, they are dissected, probed, prodded, and rearranged. Sometimes they are thrown out all together to be replaced with another scene or piece of dialogue, new words to hopefully do an even better job of explaining, portraying, or describing something essential.
I have always dreaded this part of the process, taking my precious writing apart. But, as mother, I find that I have more practical point of view in regards to my latest creation. I can see that as much as I detest editing, it is vital. Everything has pieces that need to be removed in order for the whole to shine. With children and ourselves, it is the sin in our lives. With the written word, it is the weak scenes, the rambling dialogue, and the wordy descriptions that need my attention. And like every mother, I do not enjoy some aspects of my job, yet I cannot ignore them or let them gather dust. I must attack them at once with energy and prayer. The longer the dishes, diapers, or mess is left to wait, the worse it becomes and the more it settles in to stay.
So, I am setting off. Tackling my least favorite task. With the Lord's help, it will make the novel shine all the brighter for His glory.
- Rachel Rossano
Monday, April 6, 2009
Oh Fickle Muse
To be completely honest, I don't truly believe in a fickle muse. However, having worked so long to capture on paper "that moment" as I have recently heard it described, I do find my goals as a writer sometimes elusive.
Unlike the suffering poet or artist I have read of, though, I have not given up to wallow in self-pity and despair. On the contrary, I have found that I possess a very stubborn nature. If I cannot obtain what I wish on the first writing of a page, I shall continue to strive. And even if I do grasp a bit of that certain something that defies description, I am still not completely satisfied. The editor in me will return repeatedly to go over, cut, add, mull, criticize, and final leave it alone still unfinished yet again.
To be a writer is to always feel like your work is unfinished. Even when the plot is portrayed on the paper, the character of the main cast is clear, and the prose relatively error free, there are still nagging issues, points, items, details, descriptions, etc. that could have been done differently and perhaps better. Writing is an imprecise art, driven by mood, whim, and elements only half grasped. Yet still I sail, like a sailor with a broken compass on an ocean with a hazy mist obscuring the stars, hoping that I am piloting my ship in the right direction knowing only that I will get somewhere at sometime and wondering why I ever left dry land.
At the same time, I know I must leave dry land. I must take the risk. Like a sailor who has the sea in his blood, I must return to my wandering.
- Rachel Rossano
Unlike the suffering poet or artist I have read of, though, I have not given up to wallow in self-pity and despair. On the contrary, I have found that I possess a very stubborn nature. If I cannot obtain what I wish on the first writing of a page, I shall continue to strive. And even if I do grasp a bit of that certain something that defies description, I am still not completely satisfied. The editor in me will return repeatedly to go over, cut, add, mull, criticize, and final leave it alone still unfinished yet again.
To be a writer is to always feel like your work is unfinished. Even when the plot is portrayed on the paper, the character of the main cast is clear, and the prose relatively error free, there are still nagging issues, points, items, details, descriptions, etc. that could have been done differently and perhaps better. Writing is an imprecise art, driven by mood, whim, and elements only half grasped. Yet still I sail, like a sailor with a broken compass on an ocean with a hazy mist obscuring the stars, hoping that I am piloting my ship in the right direction knowing only that I will get somewhere at sometime and wondering why I ever left dry land.
At the same time, I know I must leave dry land. I must take the risk. Like a sailor who has the sea in his blood, I must return to my wandering.
- Rachel Rossano