There you are, sitting in front of me, mocking me. Do you not understand what it takes to decorate your face with just black ink? How am I to write upon you when you are not giving me any expression or meaning? I have needs too you know? Are you amused when I wince uncomfortably searching for just the right word, sentence, or structure? I am a writer who crafts words to put on you while you laugh each day that I struggle to fill you. Be wary my white friend. The day will come when you laugh too much, or taunt me into a cruel corner. I will crumple, shred, and send you into oblivion without a thought then turn my back on your pitiful pulverized mess and pull a clean sheet from the stack. This new paper will not disrespect me, and I will continue to write whether you are a clean slate or a small mount of powder in my waste bin. I am a writer and I will fill your face with my words, and laugh at your weak attempts at ridicule. Now, step aside, I have a story to write.
A Quote
The other day, on arbitrarydustbunnies, I posted this quote as a stand alone entry:
“The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life.” The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
The Great Gatsby has page after page of beautiful descriptives that paint a masterpiece of words. Fitzgerald has taken a simple moment and filled it with life in a single sentence. I was there, breathing the night air right along with Nick listening to the symphony of sounds.
Another passage from the book takes the idea of a telephone jangling in the background, as if it were an additional guest at the party, and twists it into a tight ball of nerves preventing anyone from ignoring it.
I couldn’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss. Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest’s shrill metallic urgency out of mind.”
The story captivated me from the first chapter to the last word, and, in the end, I was left saddened. This world of Gatsby, Daisey, and Nick was painted in my mind through the written word, and with the last letter, I had to leave.
Filed under Books, On Writing, Quotes
Quoted from…
“The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Wool, Shift, Dust
Hugh Howey’s series of books, starting with “Wool” followed by “Silo”, and ending with “Dust”, have captivated audiences around the world. “This is the story of mankind clawing for survival, of mankind on the edge. The world outside has grown unkind, the view of it limited, talk of it forbidden. But there are always those who hope, who dream. These are the dangerous people, the residents who infect others with their optimism. Their punishment is simple. They are given the very thing they profess to want: they are allowed outside.”
The story moves with grace and vigor mixing the sweet elements of love with the sour taste of life. Tragedy mixed with triumph intermingled with challenges that keep the reader on edge. Howey’s well developed writing style will pull you into the world of the silos. The reader can taste the grease in the air and smell the heat of the bodies as they race up and down the spiral staircase connecting the deepest places of the silo to the highest reaches.
Howey does not rehash information from previous books with each new volume. It is refreshing to not be bogged down with re-stated details from the past allowing the reader to jump in with both feet and in the blink of an eye and find themselves still reading into the wee hours of the night.
At the end of the Omnibus Edition of “Wool” Hugh Howey was asked “Why are these books so cheap?” His reply, “Because I’m a big fat nobody, that’s why!” It seems safe to say that Hugh Howey is no longer a “fat nobody”. He has made his mark on the science fiction genre that will remain for a very long time.
Life in the Mousetrap Factory
One of my first jobs was in a mousetrap factory where we built “Can’t Miss” mousetraps. I sat in front of a bin, a monstrosity in itself, filled with the wooden 2”x4” bases that all the mechanical killing equipment was attached to. Each day I sat at my chair with the saw dust smell filling my nose and the sounds of the oily machine as it pulled each plank in, one at a time, and slammed in two staples and the “tail” of the trap. Eight hours a day I sat and shoved traps into the machine and eight hours a day the traps were spit into a bucket with two staples and a tail. A small mouse could have easily loaded this empty frame of a trap onto it’s back. By sliding it’s arms through the two staples this little fellow would have a bit of armor to fight off any foe that may approach.
There were two of us that stapled the mousetraps on my shift and side by side we had identical work stations with identical bins with the same number of traps in our bins. To keep things interesting we would have contests each day to see who could staple and tail the most traps in a single shift. Invariably she would beat me, but I always gave her a good run. On our record day, we slid and stapled and tailed 45,000 mousetraps. That’s 46.875 mousetraps a minute each. Where did all those mousetraps go? Just think, 45,000 mousetraps each day, five days a week, 56 weeks a year, where two shifts of trap crafters spewed out 25,200,000 traps from this one trap factory each year. That’s a lot of dead mice.
It has been many years since my life at the mousetrap factory. I heard that they are still open and still making mousetraps. My sister found an old trap from the day and sent it to me. I proudly hang it from my office wall where I gaze upon it knowing that I was a part of this great cause to bring about the reduction of the mouse population. This one tiny trap has never been a part of the violence that brings fear to every mouse in the United States, but it has been a part of one day that one crafter put two staples and a tail on it.
Filed under Arbitrary Thoughts
How I Did It
The other day I posted about those pesky verbs that take the color out of telling a story. I gave you all a prompt sentence to re-write and put color to: While playing pool with friends, Mary thought about Jake .
I’m sure everyone is still busy working on something awesome for this writing prompt and I have finally finished mine. Here it is:
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She lined up her next shot. CRACK! The colored balls scattered in every direction across the sea of green felt. Each ball slowly rolled to a stop short of their respective holes. “Crap!” With burning eyes she slapped the stick to the table and pinched the bridge of her nose. Talking to no one, “What was he thinking? “
How would you bring that sentence to life? Add it to the comments if you like.
Filed under On Writing
Thought Verbs by; Chuck Palahniuk
I found this post by way of another post via another post (amazing how these things work). Chuck Palahniuk makes a challenge to fellow writers to drop certain words from their writing vocabulary and I, for one, am going to take him up on that challenge.
Anyone care to join me?
Below is a sentence that break’s “The Rules of Chuck” (as I have decided to call them). Your challenge is to create of the perfect way to write the sentence following “The Rules of Chuck.” Write several sentences, or even a paragraph. Get creative!
- You must read the article (link at the top of this post)
- You must follow “The Rules of Chuck.”
- It must be rated PG (yes folks, I’m a bit of a prude)
- This will be open for comments forever (or until the post gets lost in the past).
Here’s the prompt:
- While playing pool with friends, Mary thought about Jake .
Here is a short list of just a few of the words mentioned by Mr. Palahniuk:
- Thinks
- Knows
- Understands
- Realizes
- Believes
- Wants
- Remembers
- Imagines
- Desires
- Is
- Has
- Wonders
The list can go on and on, but you have a few of the disallowed word choices. So, read the article about Thought Verbs and come back and face the challenge. This is a great place to practice.
I’m Writing a Book….
It’s true. I am still on the skeleton of the book, but I am writing it. I have read hundreds and hundreds of books over the years (maybe even pushing that thousand plus mark), and I decided it was time. At the end of every well written book I get that “post-book depression.” I want more of the story. I want more of the character’s lives. As I close the last page I want to know who these characters are, where do they live, and what happened after the story ended? During the story I became best friends with the characters and after the last page they’re gone. They have moved away and there is a good possibility I will never see them again. Enough is enough. I’m tired of saying goodbye to these wonderful characters and by writing my own story I will have the privilege of getting to know each and every one of them. Better still, if there is anyone in the book I don’t like I can kill them, or just edit them out of the book, and if there is someone I truly want to know better they may return in future stories so you too can get to know them better.
“The Manx” is my debut into the world of book writing. Kat Manning, and all the rest of her friends, will be off on the adventure of a lifetime. As she saves magic from being completely drained from the world, she will face trials, pain, growth, and a rainbow of joys. She will visit Between where she meets her Guide, all the while battling against the evil forces of King Magnus. Of course, a story of magic wouldn’t be complete without a cast of fairies, knights, and few Buggans just to keep it fun.
I look forward to sharing this story with you and to those of you who actually purchase a copy and read it from start to finish, I say, “Gur mie eu!”
Filed under On Writing
The Jewel of Life
A drop of water is the essence of life. Be a drop of water.
~K.J. Scrim
Filed under Arbitrary Thoughts, Nature Photography, Photography
I Like to Feel Literary, Too
I occasionally frequent a poetry reading in a well-known college town perhaps a bit outside the capital city I live in. (Hey kids! Being vague is fun!) It takes place at one of only three poetry-exclusive bookstores in These Corporate States of America. Innisfree is also, wonderfully, a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. The sort of place with high stools to look at passerby through big windows, lots of table space to drink your large mocha, skim (delicious, by the way) and whip out your overdue assignment for that week’s writing workshop. The staff are the sort of beautiful not-quite-hipsters that make you feel like yes, today, you are a poet, and no, you don’t have to look or act a certain way to do it. I’m serious. The guy who runs the poetry reading they have every Tuesday has this shocking pink fringe that falls from under his pageboy hat and…
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