I’ve decided to focus this blog more on the writing side of things. All of my thoughts on parenting, homeschooling, and gardening and such will now be over at my new blog, Endurance Mom.
There’s nothing much there yet, alas. Been too busy this week with school stuff. Next week should be easier, though, so I should be able to put some real content on the site, as well as ripping off the links from this blog and expanding them there. Then I can put more writing related links here, as well as all the book/literature stuff that I’d like to have available.
Right now, my writing is at a standstill while I try to build the world up from nothing. Since it’s a big world, it’s a big job. I doubt I’ll be doing any active writing until October, just notes and ideas and research. I do plan to finish the re-writes and synopsis on my first novel so I can start sending it out. Just another task on a list that’s way too long already. Oh well, it can’t all be fun and games, can it?
The ideas part IS fun. I’ve been piling silly ideas on top of themselves until the whole edifice threatens to collapse under the weight of so much ridiculousness. I have to make this world both unique and believable. And real life isn’t serious all the time. Some of the cultural baggage that we carry around is just ludicrous. Really, our huge taboos are words about bodily elimination and sex? What are we, five year olds? It’s just dumb. So of course my world will have some things that just don’t make a whole lot of sense, but do conform to human possibilities.
Plausibility is a hard thing, though. I’m trying, doggedly, to finish reading a book that I waited for with bated breath. Now, I’m just fighting to not throw it across the room. The scenarios that the author dreamed up are just SO out there . . . the main character so unlikable and unrealistic . . . the different sections of the book so patched together and arbitrary . . . ugh. I don’t even want to mention the name of the book, because I am embarrassed for the author.
It’s the frightening thing about the writing process– that you can heartily believe in something that is truly awful. I’ve submitted SO many dreadful stories to magazines, stories that I thought were good at the time. I’m glad they never were published. Otherwise, they’d be a lot like this book– humiliating evidence that my ideas aren’t always good and that, yes, sometimes our darlings are wretched nags that need a bullet through the head.
I’m just hoping that the author finds his way back to “great, awe-inspiring, amazing” territory with the next book. I’ve still got another 150 pages left of this one and I can’t force myself to finish it. I have to, of course, since the author is one of the big names in the field right now, and I need to know what’s going on in the genre. It’s just so much easier to close the book than to deal with another sex scene.
And I’m still trying to remember what book it was that had large elephantine aliens who always told you what emotion they were feeling because their voices were deadpan. Anyone remember which book that was? Can’t get my overloaded brain to spit the name out.
Oh well. Back to the drawing board. And back to the fifteen thousand other things I need to do this month!