Thin skinned dabbler

I recently entered a writing challenge. A story is outlined then the contestants write the first 13 lines of the story. The idea is based on the premise that the first page of a manuscript will probably only have about 13 lines on it so those lines need to be good enough and hooky enough to get an editor to read on. For the last two weeks my entry has been heavily panned. Notably this week,"That error, along with some sloppy writing, turns me off from this story".
It's hard to recover from such negative feedback when I get so little feedback of any kind on my work. It puts me in mind of the Harry Chapin song "Mr. Tanner." I posted that last stanza. I know how he feels. I am my best audience therefore that is who I will write for.
I love to write, I have stories swirling through my mind all the time, five at a time. I just don't have the tools I need to write effectively. I know what good writing is, it pulls you into the story so you aren't even aware of the writing. The words become amazing settings, well realized characters and story lines that draw you in emotionally.
I told myself last week I need to use my creative energy to write on my own stories, no more writing challenge but it is so seductive to hope someone will think your few short lines are magical.
Oh to have Shrunk and White poured into each crease of my brain so that my ideas come out as lyrical prose.
I will stop referring to myself as a writer, I am only a dabbler. It is enough if I enjoy the imperfect scrawlings.

Time Bandit

We battle through life pushing against the sands of time and wonder, as we see the silver trail of dust sift through our fingers, where all our hours and minutes have gone. It is unfathomable to me that nearly two months have past since my last entry. I have pecked away at the edges of several of my stories but never really sunk my teeth into the meat until today. With the teeth sinking and pecking I have written nearly 1200 words on the sequel, a little over a thousand words on the fairy tale but none on the main novel. I hang my head in shame. I will not have the manuscript ready for the May contest, sigh! Still without equivocation writing brings me the greatest joy. So I shall muddle on in my own erratic way.
I reread one of my favorite books this past week; Adam Bede by George Eliot. She is an artist with the written word painting beautiful pictures as backdrops to well realized characters. I can only aspire.

Anger management

Today I wrote my MC mad. It was fun. Stomping through the streets of the city trailed by his entourage. I got 1201 words written on the sequel.

On Writing

I finished reading Stephen King's book On Writing. I loved it for a number of reasons. First and foremost it gave me permission to read and read and read. It also helps me set my own head in order about what my priorities in writing should be. I write like I read. I have several stories going at one time; a book by the side of my bed, on the living room end table, in the car and possibly one in the bathroom. I often walk around with my finger in a book. And so goes my writing; in my head I will jump from getting Terran explorers out of the marshes, to having a dwarf cast a spell on a beleaguered Prince, to tromping the back streets of a city behind a troop of cats. I know I should spend my energy finishing one story before I write on another but that's not how my head works. Mr. King has helped me set a goal: one thousand words a day on the main novel and then any energy I have left on what ever else is swirling through my head. I wrote 1066 words today and didn't want to stop; the end of a chapter is in view and I want to rush to meet it. I love how once the creative juices start flowing they fill my veins with energy.

P.S. I couldn't stand it I had to finish the chapter another 406 words.

My Muse

I will go days on end and not find a minute to write. Whether it's domestic duties or a riveting book or no time on the computer it's still amounts to the same thing; no word count. Then my muse strikes and no obstacle can stop me from writing. Tonight I wrote 1206 words on the fairy tale rewrite.
My husband says that one of his favorite things about me, and there are hundreds he says, is to watch my face when I am reading or thinking about writing. He says I get this pleasant smile and my eyes light up. Tonight was one of those moments when I'm sure my face expressed absolute joy. I love the interplay between my hero and his nemesis and writing about their interaction has been a real treat. I look forward to them meeting up again.

Long Hand

With five people in my household ranging in age from 13 to 52 getting computer time becomes an exercise in patience. I have promised myself if I ever make any money at my writing it will go toward a lap top of my very own. Today the story was fairly bursting from my fingertips. I decided to write the old fashioned way; longhand. My daughter asked me what that meant. She said writing doesn't make your hands long so it makes no sense. Irregardless, I felt very good about my effort I got over 1300 words written in the sequel. I am muddling over a scene in the main novel so it once again has stalled me in that effort. Like my children each of the works begs for attention but some are just more vocal than others and doing much more interesting things so admittedly they are the ones that get the most attention from me.
Our Book Club read 'Little Women' this month, I am wracking my brain to remember if I read it before. I know I read 'Little Men' within the last ten years. I only read the first half before the meeting but was so enthralled that I finished it this week. What a delightful story. It was wonderful; great characters and highly moral. I can't recommend it enough as a reread or discover it for the first time.
My mother-in-law loved words and I found a million dollar one Louisa May Alcott uses: philoprovenitiveness which means-love of children.
Yes, I'm writing this in the middle of the night because all my competitors are in bed. So good night.