Imagination doesn't just mean making things up. It means thinking things through, solving [problems] or hoping to do so, and being just distant enough to be able to laugh at things that are normally painful. [Some people] would call this escapism, but they would be be entirely wrong. I would call fantasy the most serious, and the most useful branch of writing there is.
--Diana Wynne Jones

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Writing Marathon Weekend

Hey, I'm doing a writing marathon this weekend. Decided...um, just this minute.

I wish


It was Carol Lynch Williams's and Ann Dee Ellis's idea, and they're throwing a dinner if you meet your goal, so consider dumping everything and joining the marathon. Here's the link that tells what you have to do. It's free, and you set your own rules/goals, so how can you lose?




I'm doing this because I need a deadline.




 
An excuse not to cook dinner or clean my house for three days is always nice, too.

Do I need an excuse? No. But it sounds slightly better than the usual: my mom's a writer so it always looks like this around here.



My goals for the marathon: finish my current polishing-up run-through of my novel and go back and fix all bajillion things I made notes to myself to fix, so I'll be ready by Monday to print out my WIP for yet another run-through.

Goals are good, but you don't have to do a writing marathon to have them. What are yours for this weekend?

Do you need an excuse to write? Sign up! Write! Just do it, like Nike.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Hello, Spring!

Saturday: 74 degrees and the magnolias popped. 

Today: my poor, frozen magnolias.




And what's left of the daffodils.




Hello, Spring!


April's writing goal: to finish my Barefoot revisions and send them to Steve by the end of the month.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Acquainted with Night

It's 12:15 am and I'm drinking green smoothie and writing a blog post. Robert Frost fit my mood. Simple, elegant, eloquent. And depressing. Perfect.

Acquainted with the Night 




   I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

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