I have things to write about and will do soon.
They are:
Michael Buble'
Horses in Houston
A Good Marriage
More Guilty Pleasures
and another one that I wrote down on the back of a receipt in my car while I was driving into the city for an appointment. I have time to think about them, but, apparently, not to write about them.
More later.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
25 February 2010
31 December 2009
Stories... Hmm...
So... of the cheesy love stories I'm about to write or have half-written in notebooks strewn about my house (and, oddly, my garage), which are you more interested in: the super-unlikely cinderella-ish story, the semi-autobiographical "college freshman" chick lit, the adolescent ghost-mystery-fuzzylove story, or the semi-scandalous December/May (really more October/April) romance?
I've gotta say, though, 3 of the 4 take place on a college campus: I wonder why I do that?
I've gotta say, though, 3 of the 4 take place on a college campus: I wonder why I do that?
01 July 2008
Creativity
I used to write when I was a kid. I wrote stories, songs, poems - I even tried to write a novel in the fifth grade (I only got about 3 chapters in). I used to be inspired by things and had to control the urge to spill everything onto the pages of my little notebooks.
It's much more difficult for me now. I still have the urge to spill my thoughts onto the pages, but the thoughts don't flow like they used to. Perhaps I've become too aware of my potential audiences and am fearful of appearing foolish, but I've recently become frustrated with my stuttering creative impulse. Is it gone? Am I too grown-up to allow my imagination the freedom it used to have? I refuse to believe that is the case.
I want to be published. I've dreamed this for years. I have potential titles, plots, outlines and characters all stored away in the corners of my mind and spiral notebooks. Every time, though, I try to sit down and put the thoughts together, I either feel stumped or over-analytical. I'm going to keep trying, though. Twilight author Stephenie Meyer had a dream one night, and she sat down and wrote out the story of it in two months, and then had a three-book-deal within the year. Her talents as a writer are not unparalleled, but the spark - the idea -the inspiration - gave her the edge that she needed to be recognized and published. I'm praying for the dream. I'm racking my brains for the spark that will set my keyboard ablaze and allow me to realize one of those big, lifetime goals. I know it's in there. Somewhere.
Someday my inspiration will come.
It's much more difficult for me now. I still have the urge to spill my thoughts onto the pages, but the thoughts don't flow like they used to. Perhaps I've become too aware of my potential audiences and am fearful of appearing foolish, but I've recently become frustrated with my stuttering creative impulse. Is it gone? Am I too grown-up to allow my imagination the freedom it used to have? I refuse to believe that is the case.
I want to be published. I've dreamed this for years. I have potential titles, plots, outlines and characters all stored away in the corners of my mind and spiral notebooks. Every time, though, I try to sit down and put the thoughts together, I either feel stumped or over-analytical. I'm going to keep trying, though. Twilight author Stephenie Meyer had a dream one night, and she sat down and wrote out the story of it in two months, and then had a three-book-deal within the year. Her talents as a writer are not unparalleled, but the spark - the idea -the inspiration - gave her the edge that she needed to be recognized and published. I'm praying for the dream. I'm racking my brains for the spark that will set my keyboard ablaze and allow me to realize one of those big, lifetime goals. I know it's in there. Somewhere.
Someday my inspiration will come.
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