Archive for the ‘ Writing ’ Category

Busy little bee

The title says it, I haven’t had time to write anything of substance all week.

I dislike that intensely.

Things and stuff

I haven’t had time to write the last couple of days. This week is crazy busy.

Hopefully I’ll have some time this weekend.

Also ruminating in the background for NaNoWriMo. I’m not completely certain what I’ll write, but I’ve got a character in mind. I think that he’s an interesting amalgamate of hopes, dreams, triumphs, defeats and anguish. He is tragically flawed, but he’s got potential.

I can build a world around him.

You’re fast becoming my reason. Not the only one of course, but a serious wow.

I rather like that.

Musing on a muse

Inspiration. What an odd thing it is. I’ve always enjoyed the Greek concept of the muses; my muse is surely a strange creature.

I wrote a poem about my muse ten or so years ago. I believe I’m going to pause this post and dig it out of my long-dead devART account (my name is nowhere on the account sooooo good luck finding me there haha).

After a bit of thought, I decided to update the poem, I have progressed to a point somewhat further along my path to mastering my craft and I seriously couldn’t let myself post this without tweaking the punctuation at least a little (it should also be noted here that I don’t write much poetry anymore and also that the craft of writing isn’t one that any writer ever truly masters).

my muse…

she is a strange thing;
forever stalking me.
so quietly, surely silently-
i remember that i am a dreamer,
when her visions find me:

breaking me,
to reform me in her purpose…
she gives herself to me,

(joining in me,
completing me,
catalyzing me.)

like a whirlwind in my rain.

shaken from my reverie,
so luridly;
startled by the sheer intensity,
designing feverishly,

and suddenly;
she is gone and i am hollow.

my muse…
always she leaves me hungry.

I tend to write free form verse, I dislike being hindered by such things as iambic pentameter or being confined by the forms that rhyming couplets and sonnets require.

I do enjoy haiku though.

Cautiously Optimistic

Warning: This is probably going to be a rather disjointed post.

So I’ve started doing the post a day challenge (rather late, I know, but I only found out about it around four or five hours ago).

I try to post everyday, I don’t always succeed so maybe the postaday2011 tag will help remind me.

I also signed up for NaNoWriMo. Or national novel writing month. It’s in november if you’re interested. If you win you get cool swag and if you don’t you still win because you just wrote a novel in a month. How freaking cool is that?

50,000 words in one month. Anything you want to write, no editing, no tweaking, just writing. I’m already writing a series, which I’m very much enjoying but this is going to be pure fun. I’m super excited to see what my incredibly random creation process comes up with.

I’ve been slacking on the running a bit as my workload has increased. Honestly though with a full time job and my writing gig it’s not like I’ve got a ton of free time anyway. So I don’t feel all that bad about being a slacker. In other words my bmi is still golden.

It wouldn’t hurt to do some crunches now and then though…

Hmmmm, my categories included love and inspiration so I feel somewhat obligated to mention them, since it’d be easier than deleting the tags.

What inspires me? I don’t know that I’ve really thought about that in serious detail. There are a ton of authors that I look up to, men and women who write words that speak directly to my soul.

This topic bears a more intensive discussion at a later date.

As for the love-tag. I’ll keep it simple: I can feel it on the edge of my awareness, it is slowly saturating my thoughts. It stalks my dreams and hovers behind my eyes when I awake.

It seems to permeate my every mindful action; making me strive to be the best possible version of me that I can be.

It’s an amazing feeling.

Annnnnd since I’m bored it’s picture time again:


Someday I may explain why I sign my posts with a heart.

Randomy Random Randomness

Spending another Friday night writing.

Strangely enough, I’m pretty psyched about that.

In other news it is fcuking cold in Vancouver right now. (Yes, I meant to misspell the f-bomb. I’ve been trying to take the swearing out of my vocabulary, we’ll see how that goes.)


Yep, wearing a ten-year old DC Shoes beanie. I’ve never seen anyone with this particular beanie, which aside from it’s remarkable comfortableness is why I love this hat.

What you can’t see in this snapshot is that my laptop is on my lap…keeping said lap extra-toasty.

Hopefully while most of my timezone is out getting schwasty-faced I’ll get four or five chapters at least outlined and even more hopefully, partially written.

Sidenote: I’m slightly jealous of everyone that’s out having a good time tonight.

Being an adult is sometimes not as much fun as I’d always imagined it would be.

Honestly, I find it rather Marxian at times. The choice to choose is usually just a multiple choice exam filled with things that you’d rather not do.

The choice you don’t get is the one I’d most like: the choice not to choose.

That said, it’s not all bad. I’ve always thought that life is what you make of what you’ve got.

From that perspective it’s very safe to say:

I freakin love my life.


I considered writing this post in business letter format. Then I decided that I’m far too lazy for that level of pretension today.

At any rate, life seems to have begun to hit the right groove.

Writing is going swimmingly, it’s not going to cost me nearly as much as I’d thought to start my company and there’s a pretty amazing copilot for my journey.

Can’t complain today; not even my usual existential angst can gain a foothold lately.


Being a good fiction writer essentially means you’re schizophrenic.

I just give the voices names and faces; histories and then I let them tell their stories on paper.

Oddly enough

It’s a listening to pennywise drinking straight espresso kind of Sunday.

And as soon as I typed that my shuffle left pennywise and went to the subways.

Hence the straight espresso.

And it’s now about fourteen hours after I started this post. I’ve got a wicked cold-allergy thing going on, so I’ve spent most of the last couple of days in bed being useless.

Which is nice, just not when I’m crazy stressed about a deadline.

Annnnd twelve more hours:

Although it’s not as bad as all that, my creativity has returned with a vengeance, making up for lost time.

Being a writer is an odd thing in my estimation.

I rather like it though.

Serie-us (I’m so clever it makes me ill)

In a break from my usual modus operandi today we’re talking shop.

As in writing shop.

My first series is moving forward in fits and starts. Which is quite normal for me lately. I’m not quite certain where I want to break this book off and start the next. I’m looking for that perfect spot that says both completion and read more!

Therein lies the difficulty of writing a series. I’ve got a couple of spots that would work, choice, always the issue is choice.

I’m also not quite sure how I want the next book to start. Add in my complete lack of focus on this series and you’ve got a bit of a pickle. I like that phrase although it barely makes sense in literal terms.

I’ve got too many projects in my head. The lack of focus is a result of my creativity; brain never turns off.

At any rate I know this is incredibly vague, I’ve been debating posting a chapter or two but I’ve been a little leery at the thought of posting unpublished material, even though it’s copyrighted.

I ❤ you intellectual property laws. But I digress:

Anyone out there get stuck like this when you're trying to finish a project? I like that I'm constantly forming new ideas for books, I enjoy the conceptual exercise of it, but I would really, really like to finish this one first.

Ah, well. The curse of the endlessly prolific and gifted. I'm such a whiner today.

Life or something like it

I am finally free.

I want to jump off of something very high, with a chute of course.

Sometimes your feet are moving of their own accord, and there’s a big difference between knowing the path and walking the path.

I am right when and where I am supposed to be in my life. As everything starts to fall into place, I can feel the muscles in my face form a smile; unbidden, slightly ironic and decidedly mischievous.

Loose ends tied. Baggage checked at the door.

Metamorphosis complete. There are thousands of words in my personal lexicon, many more available through my dictionary app, not a one can describe how I feel right now.

I rather like that.