Fine, I'll be that guy who goes first. Today I wrote (revised) for 2.5 hours and trimmed my word count from 1905 to 1667 in addition to reworking a couple of scenes. Then I logged a page in my journal about my hilarious life.
Woo day one, here we go. Wrote? Yes. Started forming another novel idea. I may abandon it though, we'll see. That probably speaks to the "quality?" question.
I hope all is well you beautiful inverted Tower of Babel, you. You posses such deep azure and jet, with your Islamic and Hebraic swirls, your cuneiform imprints, your circles and lines and curves. Everywhere you are are whispered and sung and woven. Was it Nietzsche who said writing floats on a sea of talk?
Am I listening closely enough?
For all your boisterous, impetuous fury you can be timid, enigmatic, and even silent.
Word, you inhabit crowded rooms and empty alleys. You are compressed like a million sunset petals within book lungs. You can be lush, harried, or scrubbed down to bare bone.
I've known you to be topped with too much beer or enough Jack to roil with the sea swells and heave. I've seen your inky pupils contract into the merest of syllables meaning almost anything or nothing at all: a burp . . . an er. . .a gasp. But some of your shortest machine-gun-staccato utterances take aim and hit the universe: yet . . .if. . . yes!
The way you sometimes glide, round and sleek, is lovely to behold: enameled. . .organelle. . . calliope. Other times, you have your skates on and you incise cold planes of icy thought: cunt. . .prick. . . shiv. . .zinc. . .zealot.
You contain fire and lighter fluid in equal measure. You are the clues on a map and the treasure. You stub tongues with: sate. . .cicatrix. . .sanguine. . .stain. . .satin. . .saint.
Or you jest: bulbous. . .girdle. . .horripilation.
It is impossible not to get goose bumps; not to be humbled by your teeming combinations of vowel, consonant, meaning; impossible not to be shocked by the revenants you waken or the ideas you rip to shreds; impossible not to notice when you show up in a shimmering dress and uncork the champagne: giddy. . .fickle. . .incandescent.
No one can ignore your contrary nature that labels everything as you lend yourself to war, scrabble, cigarette packs, the lining of underwear, and constitutions. Your concoctions can crunch: churl . . . carbuncle. . . frack. . .curdle.
Sometimes you are dipped in honey: saffron. . . amble. . .borealis. . .elan. . . hula hoop. Other times you can be spiced: fricassee. . .piquant. . .fierce.
Coiled. Uncoiling. Braided. Boastful. Contagious. You are the virus of dreams, the physics of thought. Just so you know, dear Word, I've tracked you through a thousand storied woods and overheard you in as many places. I know the way words can slip, slip from their definition like a snake shedding skin.
I've known you to lie, but you are also a teller of the truth.
A happy evening. Revised three poems. Compiled ten to send to my new mentor. Tried to figure how they go together, in what order they should be, as a first step towards compiling a short manuscript (maybe a chapbook). Thank you for the community, it's great to do this in good company. Olga
Alright. Today spent 1.5 hours or so on poetry - revising one poem and drafting a new one, word count unremarkable. Then later a half hour or so writing some creative prose, about 500 words (of complete dreck, obviously).
I thought I would work on a short story that I need to finish (and polish) by the end of the month but alas, other things happened. I started something new. 1284 words of something new. And my morning journal pep talk.
Hello everyone! 474 late evening words on a day I would have skipped, if not for this high accountability effort. Worked my way into a scene I've envisioned for a long time but put off, involving lots of fragrant Filipino food! (Need for more research someday soon. Yum.) Happy to see everyone here.
Wrote 500 words on erectile dysfunction from the perspective of one Campbell Fry, and would not have done so if not for this "challenge" and Ben's "stupid beard." Obviously. Also may read one of Lynn's stories and try to strike the hold-back from it. MNF in the background. I'm getting up at 4:50am tomorrow. You?
4 hours, 4000 words. Wrote most of a first draft of a story and a bit of journaling.** Wish I had the energy to complete the story tonight. I'll try in the morning.
2 hrs revising what I workshopped at Bread Loaf. Noticed that I like to reward myself first then write. For ex: watch a couple episdoes of Games of Thrones first, then sit down at my desk.
Thought about doing this but didn't get around to it, which is exactly the problem with my finding tine to write. New personal motto: Less Thinking. More Writing. hmmm. Seems more doable (if you will) than Stop Thinking. Start Writing. thoughts?
Fine, I'll be that guy who goes first. Today I wrote (revised) for 2.5 hours and trimmed my word count from 1905 to 1667 in addition to reworking a couple of scenes. Then I logged a page in my journal about my hilarious life.
ReplyDeleteWoo day one, here we go. Wrote? Yes. Started forming another novel idea. I may abandon it though, we'll see. That probably speaks to the "quality?" question.
ReplyDeleteAn open letter:
ReplyDeleteDear Word,
I hope all is well you beautiful inverted Tower of Babel, you. You posses such deep azure and jet, with your Islamic and Hebraic swirls, your cuneiform imprints, your circles and lines and curves. Everywhere you are are whispered and sung and woven. Was it Nietzsche who said writing floats on a sea of talk?
Am I listening closely enough?
For all your boisterous, impetuous fury you can be timid, enigmatic, and even silent.
Word, you inhabit crowded rooms and empty alleys. You are compressed like a million sunset petals within book lungs. You can be lush, harried, or scrubbed down to bare bone.
I've known you to be topped with too much beer or enough Jack to roil with the sea swells and heave.
I've seen your inky pupils contract into the merest of syllables meaning almost anything or nothing at all: a burp . . . an er. . .a gasp. But some of your shortest machine-gun-staccato utterances take aim and
hit the universe: yet . . .if. . . yes!
The way you sometimes glide, round and sleek, is lovely to behold: enameled. . .organelle. . . calliope.
Other times, you have your skates on and you incise cold planes of icy thought: cunt. . .prick. . . shiv. . .zinc. . .zealot.
You contain fire and lighter fluid in equal measure. You are the clues on a map and the treasure. You stub tongues with: sate. . .cicatrix. . .sanguine. . .stain. . .satin. . .saint.
Or you jest: bulbous. . .girdle. . .horripilation.
It is impossible not to get goose bumps; not to be humbled by your teeming combinations of vowel, consonant, meaning; impossible not to be shocked by the revenants you waken or the ideas you rip to shreds; impossible not to notice when you show up in a shimmering dress and uncork the champagne: giddy. . .fickle. . .incandescent.
No one can ignore your contrary nature that labels everything as you lend yourself to war, scrabble, cigarette packs, the lining of underwear, and constitutions. Your concoctions can crunch: churl . . . carbuncle. . . frack. . .curdle.
Sometimes you are dipped in honey: saffron. . . amble. . .borealis. . .elan. . . hula hoop. Other times you can be spiced: fricassee. . .piquant. . .fierce.
Coiled. Uncoiling. Braided. Boastful. Contagious. You are the virus of dreams, the physics of thought. Just so you know, dear Word, I've tracked you through a thousand storied woods and overheard you in as many places. I know the way words can slip, slip from their definition like a snake shedding skin.
I've known you to lie, but you are also a teller of the truth.
With Deepest Admiration,
jljl
A happy evening. Revised three poems. Compiled ten to send to my new mentor. Tried to figure how they go together, in what order they should be, as a first step towards compiling a short manuscript (maybe a chapbook). Thank you for the community, it's great to do this in good company. Olga
ReplyDeleteAlright. Today spent 1.5 hours or so on poetry - revising one poem and drafting a new one, word count unremarkable. Then later a half hour or so writing some creative prose, about 500 words (of complete dreck, obviously).
ReplyDeleteI thought I would work on a short story that I need to finish (and polish) by the end of the month but alas, other things happened. I started something new. 1284 words of something new. And my morning journal pep talk.
ReplyDeleteHello everyone! 474 late evening words on a day I would have skipped, if not for this high accountability effort. Worked my way into a scene I've envisioned for a long time but put off, involving lots of fragrant Filipino food! (Need for more research someday soon. Yum.) Happy to see everyone here.
ReplyDeleteSounds yum indeed! Would you post the results? I love that food but don't know all that much about it (had it once or twice!).
DeleteWrote 500 words on erectile dysfunction from the perspective of one Campbell Fry, and would not have done so if not for this "challenge" and Ben's "stupid beard." Obviously. Also may read one of Lynn's stories and try to strike the hold-back from it. MNF in the background. I'm getting up at 4:50am tomorrow. You?
ReplyDelete4 hours, 4000 words. Wrote most of a first draft of a story and a bit of journaling.** Wish I had the energy to complete the story tonight. I'll try in the morning.
ReplyDelete4000 words... showoff.
DeleteThank you for noticing, Dan. Who wants to write this hard and have nobody pay attention?
DeleteDan, keep at it. Campbell Fry is a voice that needs be heard.
ReplyDeleteAlso, wine!
2 pages long hand. At 3 a.m.
ReplyDelete2 hrs revising what I workshopped at Bread Loaf. Noticed that I like to reward myself first then write. For ex: watch a couple episdoes of Games of Thrones first, then sit down at my desk.
ReplyDeleteI have a tendency to go for the reward first, too, Leslie. -Darla
DeleteThought about doing this but didn't get around to it, which is exactly the problem with my finding tine to write. New personal motto: Less Thinking. More Writing. hmmm. Seems more doable (if you will) than Stop Thinking. Start Writing.
ReplyDeletethoughts?
Wrote for 30 minutes this morning before work. For me, success is writing even a little each day. -Darla
ReplyDelete