“Write every day, just to keep in the habit, and remember that whatever you have written is neither as good nor as bad as you think it is. Just keep going, and tell yourself that you will fix it later.” Jane Smiley
“Hold your nose and write.” Hallie Ephron
LUCY BURDETTE: NO, we are not talking about the election today. I'm sure we've all voted, haven't we? If not, take a minute now to run down to the polls--we'll wait here!
Now, it's on to writing. Did you know that November is National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo?
|Photo by Lainey's Repertoire|
|Lucy's going crazy while her sibs look on!|
But there were real writing issues too: What I’m working on is very different from what I’ve done before. Dark, for example, like the darkest pages of my Rebecca Butterman trilogy. Not cozy or quirky at all. And the food? Well no one’s eating anything in this book, except for nibbling at some ruined wedding food and a dish of macaroni and cheese that’s pretty much spoiled by the tension around the table. I’m working with almost all new characters too, with none of the warm familiarity of my Key West gang. And some of them are teenagers, so I have to really think about how they’d react and what they’d say. (It’s been a while since I’ve been in that age range.)
|Photo by Paul L|
A train whooshed by, then another screeched to a halt. The doors of the subway car remained closed. One woman waited to disembark, tapping a leather-gloved hand on the window. Through the glass, Addy’s gaze locked onto the woman’s face. She had enormous blue eyes and blond curls and diamond earrings, like a princess. And she wore an expensive-looking gray coat—cashmere maybe—and a gray beret, shot through with silver threads. Though she seemed sad, she didn’t avert her eyes as most people did when they saw a homeless girl. Back when she’d first come to the city, after a few weeks on the street, Addy began to understand how they thought: She’s a druggie, a prostitute, a thief—she deserves what she gets.
And she knew she looked awful tonight—worse even than usual—frightened and pale and way too thin except for the bump in her middle where the baby had been, with streaks of blood on the coat and her sweatshirt. She looked at the helpless lump in her arms, then back at the woman on the train. She sent every ounce of sorrow and panic she was feeling through her gaze, then ducked away into the crowd.
So that’s my story for now! And I’m using the excuse of NaNoWriMo to force myself back into writing 1000 words a day. So far so good, I’ll keep you posted.
And by the way, if you’re interested in piling onto the November writing binge, beware of falling into the trap of googling writing tips and sites for NaNoWriMo (there are many!) I’ll share this one called the NaNoWriMo triage center, which includes lots of help for the many different ways a writer might get stuck. None of this is big news, but isn’t it funny how something you already know perfectly well can feel like a bolt of lightening when you see it at another time?
What tips do you use if you get stuck in a project?