jentropy » about writing

Grievous Vacation

Jen — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 06:03:39 +0000

I’m putting Grievous on hold for a while. I’ve been thinking about it and finally made the decision. It’s summer vacation and I now have two little ones at home and only small moments of time for writing. The story for Grievous is enough to fill a novel, and I’ve decided I don’t really want to write an entire novel on my blog. I remember being excited initially about releasing content as it is written, but I’m seeing things differently now. In the last few months, I’ve learned so much about the craft, I don’t think my writing now is consistent with my style when I began. It has been an interesting and enlightening experience. Some day I will probably write the whole thing. It’s all there in my head, and it’s good! For now, I’m going to focus more on learning about writing, and practicing as much flash fiction as I can get in.

Forward

Jen — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 02:26:20 +0000

My last four stories were set on a beach, the same beach, though I’m not sure anyone noticed. There are links between the four stories and I did try some new styles and elements. I’m ready to move on. I am inspired by the beaches of the Pacific Northwest and have included some of my photographs here. My next series will run more like a chapter book. I understand series stories aren’t very popular, but I’ve only got 30 subscribers, so I’m less interested in popularity, than with the challenge of trying something new. I think you’ll find the plot engaging, and I hope to start publishing the posts soon.

Finding Inspiration

Jen — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 18:03:38 +0000

I am fortunate to live in a beautiful place, so I am always inspired. The last four stories were inspired by the town of Snohomish, a few miles from my home. It is a small city along the river, and the stories take place in a fictitious coffee shop on 2nd Avenue. The town is full of antique shops and small local businesses and recently suffered from the severe winter flooding we had in this area. Despite the damage, the spirits of the locals remain high. Every time I visit, I’m greeted kindly.

One of my favorite antique shops has incredible lighting for photography. I bring my camera and ask permission to take photos. I’m not a professional and have no training, but I get pleasure and inspiration from composing the shots and seeing something that may inspire me later. I never edit the photos, as I feel some kind of attachment to them in their original form. This morning I created a set from my Snohomish photos, to give you a better idea of the location where the last four stories were set. The photos feature Creative Commons – Noncommercial - Attribution – ShareAlike licensing, so you may reuse them according to the license.

My next set of stories will take place on the beaches of the Pacific Northwest and I will share my beach photos as well.

Learning to Write

Jen — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 00:52:36 +0000

I trusted the counselor when she told me I should take Honors English in high school. I didn’t really understand what it meant, but I followed along. The teacher was also the adviser for the yearbook and I was the only student in the class who was not on the yearbook staff. I was definitely an outcast. I was new to the school, one of those old, Maryland brick buildings named for a dead president. Our assignment was to write a paper on an American author. I immediately rebelled by requesting Victor Hugo instead. We were to read two books and find three other sources. Our only direction from the teacher was that it was not to be a biography or book report.

She accepted my author choice, but was not happy about it. I read Les Misérables and Notre-Dame de Paris. I questioned her over and over about the nature of the paper. It made no sense to me. I gathered my sources, filled out my index cards and pulled together a rough draft. She slashed through it with her red-ink revisions, and I started again. Another draft was slaughtered, but I kept going. I don’t remember her name, but I will never forget her perfume. She overwhelmed me daily with the smell of scented toilet paper.

In the end, I wrote her paper. It was hers. I used every line she wrote. None of it was mine. She gave me a C. It has been more than twenty years and I have not forgotten. I still don’t know why it affected me so deeply, but I do think I understand what she wanted, and why she did what she did. She taught the way she was taught. She did what countless professors did before her. I survived the class and eventually made it to college, where I have no memory of any work being challenged in that way.

I have always been frustrated with words and language. I find it hard to communicate meaning to others, without using standard form and predictable content. I’ve struggled with my limited vocabulary and redundant language. I have even wondered if the problem was in having English as my native language. After writing countless pages of commercial, instructional and academic text and hundreds of thousands of words of online content, I am finally discovering a new way to write, and I feel completely liberated.

It isn’t natural for me, and I am challenging myself with exercises for each story. That is what is so exciting to me. My head is full of stories! Each story could be written a million different ways, and I am in love with discovering how to play with the words. I no longer feel constrained by convention. I can break the rules, as I’m not delivering a message or instruction. I have no audience. I am alone with the story and I can craft it delicately, or leave it rough and untouched.

I crave the word play now, and sometimes will spend all day thinking of the variations on a single sentence. My biggest challenge is still with my patience. I will spend days on the first few paragraphs of a story, working and reworking. Then I push forth the ending, with very few edits, because I have such a strong urge to release my work. This is my habit, and one I will learn to control. In the mean time, the fun is in the thoughts I have between the writing, the work I do away from the machine. At thirty-seven, I am learning to write.