between sunset and sunrise

The Little Foot Page, Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale

53,235. It’s a pleasure to sit and work with the words of Silk River. When a sentence written the day before revises itself between sunset and sunrise, gaining the clarity and rhythm missing from it at first writing, it’s a nice surprise. I know I’ll revise Silk River at least two more times. Not all the notes are sounding clearly within the fog.

Today I’m going to visit a friend in Los Angeles. Have not seen her in a while so we’ll have a fine chin-wag. Not sure if I’ll get any work done before it’s time to leave. I’ve not paid attention to the romantic fantasy at all this week, but I’ve been thinking about it. Still stuck on Emeryk’s visit to the magia Jeru.

Summery weather is promised, but a pale sky looms this morning, not a sun ray in sight.

spend the coin of kindness

Black Isles, Maxfield Parrish

53,108. Left that strange country of sleep and weird dreams this morning with thoughts of the tragedy of human experience, that we practice cruelty among ourselves and do not take to heart the practice of kindness, compassion, and consideration.

We admire the warmth of the human heart when we encounter it away from home, like tourists lauding the beauties of a foreign culture. We return from our journey and talk about how friendly and courteous the culture, how open-hearted the people, but we neglect to live the lesson of kindness in our daily lives as we travel through, encountering each other day after day. We complain about the darknesses in the world without recognizing we all contribute to it. As has been said time and time again by wiser thinkers than me, if we wish the world to be a wonderful place to live, then we must practice kindness among ourselves–family, friends, acquaintances, strangers, and the world at large. This is not to say bad things won’t happen; life is over-ripe with nasty surprises; only there may be less of them among ourselves. Much less.

Despite my strange dreams and moody thoughts, had a bonus session this morning. 637 words! The word bank (for those days when nothing comes) is now at 686, just shy of a full seven days’ worth.

the tide is receding

Temperantia, Edward Burne-Jones

52,501. Words for Silk River came slowly this morning, but got 110. It was a bonus weekend for the romantic fantasy. Finished Chapter 1 and halfway through Chapter 2. 5,240 words, wrote 1,315 over the weekend. Still no title.

poppies falling from cloud

Reverie, John Godward

52,391. Sat and stared yesterday morning but not a word went down for Silk River. No problem, only a bit bothersome ’cause this is a rewrite. A transition is needed between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 and more details about Rochelle too, but looking over the manuscript yielded nothing so I let it be for the nonce and moved on to the untitled romantic fantasy. Before going off to meet Janet I wrote 261 words of another scene between Emeryk and Aloli, finishing Chapter 1, and when I was home again, I applied rear of jeans to leather of desk chair and wrote 651 more words, bringing the story so far to 3,925 words, and I’m now a few pages into Chapter 2, and very pleased. I’ve got pages to read at the next writer’s group meeting.

After a good afternoon’s work, my evening treat was a re-viewing of THE PRESTIGE. Watching it again, I couldn’t help comparing it to the novel (which is terrific and better than the movie) but the movie is very good and I still love it, although I recognized that it cheats at least once, and I think this is why a friend considers THE ILLUSIONIST the better movie. I think he’s right; I loved THE ILLUSIONIST, but THE PRESTIGE still rocks with me.

I’ve decided to build my own website for the freelance writing business. I don’t need anything fancy, just a business-like representation of me and I think I can handle that myself. I’m also combing the freelance writing lists, looking for jobs I can bid for, one I can do even with the bulk of my hours taken by the full-time day job. I think it would be good to start building clients now as I prepare for the great transition. Yes, I’m frightened at the thought of letting go of permanent work, but let go I must. I welcome any fortifying advice on how to freelance part-time. My plan is to leave the day job next year.

I’ve had a good breakfast of steak hash; I’ve run my Sunday morning errands; brewed a fresh pot of mocha java for my third cup. Cloud-shadow blinds the sky this morning, and Emeryk and Aloli are waiting.

cat in my lap

The March Marigold, Edward Burne Jones

52,391. Wrestling with a transition this morning. Yesterday morning’s session went well, 298 words. I’ve got a word bank going for the days when not much goes down, and this morning might be one of those days. Meeting with Janet today. Not only do I want to get my words for Silk River, but I want to work on the romantic fantasy this morning too before it’s time to leave.

Last week I planted a window pot garden. Thyme, parsley, and mint in one pot and double pink poppies, garlic chives, and lemon basil in another. Yesterday I noticed a thyme colony of tiny green sprigs. The Huntington held a plant sale last week and I bought a lovely alpine strawberry, lively with little white flowers and sweet berries like something out of a fairytale. The berries were wonderful, and more are coming.

Enough lollygagging. One hundred words are waiting.

the truth of the imagination

A Tale from the Decameron, John William Waterhouse

51,852. Like Hemingway, I left myself with a good start to this morning’s work. Was thinking about my word count, how much I manage each morning. About 100 words a session, sometimes less, but I’ve decided to let that be the goal–100 words a day. That’s 3000 a month and it means, if I attain the daily target, I’ll have the second draft completed by October 31st. So that’s the 2nd draft deadline. Gives me something to aim for, and a better sense of my progress. Just ordered Peter Selgin’s By Cunning & Craft, his book on writing. I’m a writing book addict and can’t resist what appears to be a good one. I read the excerpt online, nodding my head in recognition, and the book is coming my way.

I wasn’t sure yesterday morning what I’d write, but I managed a conversation between Rochelle and Jewel that took an unexpected turn and opened up the path a little more. If I’d not written, I would not have those good words. I’d not have the truth of the imagination on those pages. Time to plumb the imagination some more.

welsh rats

The Shrine, John William Waterhouse

51,762. Trying to find my way back into the story, although I’m not sure where to go. Can’t find my copy of Ayn Rand’s “The Art of Fiction,” which I was reading a while ago. Discovered I also have her book, “The Art of Non-Fiction,” which I’ve not read yet. Anyway, I’m wasting time this morning. I’m apprehensive about the story, yet I know I can write it. Just have to think it through. It won’t even take 50,000 more words. I’ve got a case of Steinbeck’s Welsh rats. So, “Silk River,” where was I?

dumped by the machine

 Sweet Solitude, Edmund Blair Leighton

Two work mornings lost this week dealing with a blown Internet connection–webpages were not loading. After three phone calls to Apple and one to Earthlink, and jumping through various tech hoops, I finally got back online. Disconnection is so distressing. But all has been resolved, except I lost every last one of my bookmarks, and I had them all categorized in folders–about 25 folders I think. My whole blog list of links, my research sites, my writing sites, art sites, history sites, science fiction and fantasy sites, cooking sites, a host of miscellaneous information links, copywriting sites, book sites, publisher sites–good grief. I’ve got to search them out and rebuild my “library” again and some of them I’ll have to luck upon again. Oh well…

there’s always more where that one came from

A Love Story, Louis Wain

51,685. Reading about foreshadowing in one of my favorite writing books, The Art and Craft of Novel Writing by Oakley Hall. I’ll have to finish the second draft of Silk River before I can do that, although at this point I do know one particular thing that needs foreshadowing. I’m also beginning to see how to develop the story, that is conflict and complication, without giving too much away.

Much of what I wrote in November is backstory. Placing Rochelle in Silk River from the get-go saves me from all that “moving furniture” writing, and I can get on with the story. Rochelle has moved from Los Angeles and Silk River is new to her. Seeing the town and its surroundings through her eyes provides me with a great way to thread in setting as well as her backstory. “Always write as if the action of your novel were taking place before your eyes on a brightly lit stage.” says John Braine, quoting Ford Madox Ford, in his book, Writing A Novel, another favorite.

To answer your question, Wynn, I’m working on two novels and one short story right now. That would be Silk River, the untitled romantic fantasy, and any one of my short stories that calls my name. This weekend it’ll be A Geometry of Vapor, but Jealous Wine is sitting in the wings. I’ve never had a problem switching focus from one story to the next. It’s just the way my mind works. Insights and revelations for my many fictions occur to me frequently, and when that happens, I pull that story from the file and add the new. It may not go much beyond that at the time. Things come to me in dribbles and drabs, and I’ve learned to go with it. It does leave me with a plethora of unfinished fiction, but I’ve made my peace with that too. If a story is taking too long to grow into itself, if I’m spending too much time wrestling with it, I store it away ’cause there’s always more where that one came from, and eventually I’ll find another piece of the path into that particular story.

Meeting with Michelle today; we’re going to get some writing work done and then visit the Constable exhibit at the Huntington again. I thought I had a free weekend this week, but I’d forgot about going to see the exhibit, and a friend from my former job called and wants to get together Sunday, so that’s my weekend. Last night I stayed up late moving the office from the bedroom to the dining area. It looks great. I’ll post a photo soon as I get around to downloading from the camera.

The writing is going great with Silk River, although I’m only managing a few hundred words, if that, each morning. This week I didn’t get to write on the romantic fantasy, but I’ve got stuff(!) and can hardly wait until I get sit down to it again. I need a title!

hanging out the shingle

Goblin Market, Arthur Rackham

51,328. Yesterday’s gift from the Muse was wonderful. I’m feeling freer with the writing since I’ve dropped A Lamentation of Swans. The Muse is no longer sitting hunched on my head with a stony look on her face. She’s floating free, has changed her gown from the ragged sack to violet silk, and she’s smiling.

What happened was the writing itself gifted me with the resolution to a sequence of scenes that I thought were going to give me trouble, and the path into this particular part of the story smoothed. I’m not skipping along, but no brambles are tripping me either.

I’m glad the weekend is almost here. I’ll be working on A Geometry of Vapor tomorrow.