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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Exactly one year ago today I decided to do a little time travel. You may remember I mentioned a site called FutureMe, an easy and fun (and free) way to write yourself a letter to be delivered at some time in the future. 

My letter arrived this morning, delivering a boost from NaNoWriMos past.

Thanks, Past Me, I will.

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Photo by Mihai Moisa on Unsplash

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One thing I like about being a writer is the rejection. That sounds weird, I know. 

As I’ve mentioned before,* I used to hate the cycle, write, submit, be rejected, write submit, be rejected. Then one day you wake up and realize that rejection is no longer as painful as it once was. And some time after that, it occurs to you that rejection is really just another part of the cycle, winter to acceptance’s spring. Or whatever. 

Don’t get me wrong, acceptances are definitely more fun. But they aren’t the only way to mark writing progress.

All I know is that my email tonight contained an editor’s, “Sorry, it was great and all but it’s just not great for me” email and it was Not A Big Deal. More like another hole in my writer’s punch card. 

Rejection, and the possibility of it, used to dictate a lot of what I did or did not do with my writing. No longer. 

Tonight, my first thought after skimming the rejection was, “Cool cool cool, glad they finally got back to me.” My second thought was, “What’s next?”

* A few examples: Making the Most of Rejection; Keep Writing; Exposure Therapy 101.

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Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash

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It’s funny how much you can absorb without intending to. The other night I put on a classical channel in the background. An elegant but weighty piece came on and I looked up to see that it was by Brahms. Makes sense, I thought. 

The next tune was lighter, a sparkling Baroque presence. Telemann. Ah yes, I thought. 

Finally, a dramatic, Romantic sound that spoke of strength with warmth. Dvořák, of course.  

Of course? What do I know about classical music? Nothing, that’s what. But my father played it all through my childhood and apparently some of it sank in.

It’s the same with writing, I find. I’m not great at picking apart a story into pieces like sixth-grade sentence deconstruction. (That may have something to do with my memories of actual sixth-grade sentence deconstruction. Ugh.) 

Whatever genre I’m exploring, I prefer to swim in it, absorb it, dive deep until I am close enough to understand why some readers love it, even if I don’t. 

That way, I absorb more than I know.

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Photo by Caique Nascimento on Unsplash

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Photo by Austin Lowman on Unsplash

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We went to the woods today. Blue jays, gray jays, deer, a tick and a spider as big as a fifty-cent piece, wild peppermint, oaks and maple and birch and hickory trees and their nuts, moss, lichen, granite ridges wearing down at geological speeds, and an abandoned bird’s nest, waiting patiently to be discovered in the middle of the trail. The first person stepped over the nest, unaware, the second person strode past, unaware, but the third saw it. And stopped.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

― W.B. Yeats

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“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. I mean everybody. All of the people in the whole world, I mean everybody — no matter how dull and boring they are on the outside. Inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds… Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.”

― Neil Gaiman, A Game of You

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Photo by ruud slinger on Unsplash

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Things I am currently in the middle of:

  • making yogurt
  • finalizing my contract with Writers of the Future
  • working on that fun and funny Wordle story
  • deciding whether or not to update my nom de plume to something more unique
  • writing more, or at least aspiring to write more.

If you, too, have already started but not yet finished, perhaps you’ll appreciate Martha Wells’ new article on writing:

Getting Unstuck – Apex Magazine

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Photo by Lachlan Dempsey on Unsplash

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Interested in writing advice? Perhaps you’re on the waiting list for Charlie Jane Anders’ new book, Never Say You Can’t Survive, and wondering how long it will be until Tor opens up the ebook to libraries?

Good news! The posts on which the book is based are available on Tor.com’s website. Reading them is a window into the voice of experience, and persistence, and a lot like a call from a friend when you’re not quite sure things are going to work out.

Spoiler alert: They will.

Never Say You Can’t Survive | Series | Tor.com

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Photo by Elena Koycheva on Unsplash

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This quote has made the rounds but deserves to be repeated.*

When books are run out of school classrooms and libraries, I’m never much disturbed. Not as a citizen, not as a writer, not even as a schoolteacher … which I used to be.

What I tell kids is, don’t get mad, get even.

Don’t spend time waving signs or carrying petitions around the neighborhood. Instead, run, don’t walk, to the nearest non-school library or the local bookstore and get whatever it was that they banned.

Read whatever they’re trying to keep out of your eyes and your brain, because that’s exactly what you need to know.

— Stephen King

* Although I do still find book banning disturbing, it is quite helpful to get a list of exactly what to read next.

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Author notes: Let me say up front that there are a lot of things wrong with this story, technically speaking:

  • First, it was supposed to be a drabble, and at just under 200 words that clearly has not happened.
  • Second, even the North Atlantic Octopus doesn’t go as deep as the Titanic, which sits at 12,600 feet below.
  • Third, the octopus is a relatively solitary creature and would probably skip the classroom for more of an independent study sort of situation.
  • And finally, the idea that an octopus would care about the fate of salmon is, of course, patently ridiculous.

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Meteor Descending

Ironically, the first human words Ololilon puzzled out were from a menu. He’d come across the wreck while riding the current.

Metal loomed from the dark, a gaping hole in its side. Oli swam past a deck chair and through a gap in the torn metal, pushing deep into the remnant.

Few would have been able to decipher the fading text. Even in the Cold Deep time has meaning. And this fallen star had been resting on the ocean floor for lifetimes. 

But Oli’s eyes were adapted to the dark. Each shimmering wavelength told a tale, and this story was one of horror.

Chicken, peas and rice meant nothing to him, but oysters and salmon? Cousins and neighbors. Consumed.

But while this message was one of horror, it also bore hope.

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“Teacher, my podmate says aliens aren’t even real.” 

Ololilon’s classroom was full. Spawning season had ended and it was a perfect time to teach the juveniles English. They would need it.

“Their meteors are real enough. And if we can learn how to speak with them,“ Oli said, tentacles swaying with emotion, “perhaps we can keep them from killing us all.”

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Photo by NOAA on Unsplash

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