Well, it looks like I will hopefully get the book reviews up-and-running again soon. Currently, I'm in the middle of the "Song of Ice and Fire" series by George R.R. Martin, "History of Middle Earth" set of Tolkien, 1493 by Charles Mann, and Badass: Birth of a Legend by Ben Thompson. I hope to finish one of these soon.
Also, speaking of writing, I am currently trying to participate in National Novel Writing Month, a 30-day blitz to write 50,000 words. Check out the zoo exhibit at my other blog, The Great Ocean Sea. I'm a bit hastened at the moment, but more details to follow!
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
06 November, 2011
26 October, 2009
It's really easy to forget how quickly things pick-up. Moreover, despite being in hte middle of several books, I haven't quite finished any of them yet, hence the review-less October. However, it is likely to get worse, as this year, I am once again a participant in National Novel Writing Month, the challenge to write a 50,000 word story between November 1st and 30th.
I've tried this on three separate occasions before, veering from science fiction to alternate history to sci fi again, and to be fair, I have no idea where I'm going to go this year. The biggest problem for all participants, however, is motivation, so if you know of anyone else doing this, be sure to send them reminder emails to get their ass moving. I'll try to leave notes from the road during travels in whatever holds for my mind.
-Phil
I've tried this on three separate occasions before, veering from science fiction to alternate history to sci fi again, and to be fair, I have no idea where I'm going to go this year. The biggest problem for all participants, however, is motivation, so if you know of anyone else doing this, be sure to send them reminder emails to get their ass moving. I'll try to leave notes from the road during travels in whatever holds for my mind.
-Phil
08 July, 2009
A frivolous waste.
This is that which inhibits a writer. I fight the temptation, even now, to type "writer" instead, but this must be fought. This is the entirety of the philosophy behind National Novel Writing Month-- I have too much to do today, I can easily waste my time to write something later, and that day never comes. One will not progress in any discipline without practice and regular discipline of their art, this is why I struggle to write more. With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the worlds will flow easily.
A professor I once had said, "If you write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Probably not. If you do not write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Definitely not." One must keep this up. There are some books out there which will fill you with writing prompts, at which I have scowled and moved on, yet reason must exist for this.
As I sit in my office this beautiful afternoon (I must remember to get on the bicycle today), there is a finely detailed, beautiful fountain pen which Megan gave me years ago. I admire it whenever I sit here, yet there is a certain amount of sadness-- fountain pens are not practical, and it goes unused, never fulfilling its purpose. With the disuse of a beautiful object, one begins to feel that most any use is mundane-- below that of such a wonderful tool. When she and I were apart for a summer, we wrote to one another every day, and each day, I was certain to use a fountain pen and an inkwell, and now no use today seems close to that level. On the shelf next to my desk, there is perhaps a pint of fine ink which is dormant.
I discovered earlier this year that a pint of water weighs exactly one pound. I think this is how one of these quantities is defined. Excuse me, a bottle of ketchup just fell.
This is that which inhibits a writer. I fight the temptation, even now, to type "writer" instead, but this must be fought. This is the entirety of the philosophy behind National Novel Writing Month-- I have too much to do today, I can easily waste my time to write something later, and that day never comes. One will not progress in any discipline without practice and regular discipline of their art, this is why I struggle to write more. With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the worlds will flow easily.
A professor I once had said, "If you write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Probably not. If you do not write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Definitely not." One must keep this up. There are some books out there which will fill you with writing prompts, at which I have scowled and moved on, yet reason must exist for this.
As I sit in my office this beautiful afternoon (I must remember to get on the bicycle today), there is a finely detailed, beautiful fountain pen which Megan gave me years ago. I admire it whenever I sit here, yet there is a certain amount of sadness-- fountain pens are not practical, and it goes unused, never fulfilling its purpose. With the disuse of a beautiful object, one begins to feel that most any use is mundane-- below that of such a wonderful tool. When she and I were apart for a summer, we wrote to one another every day, and each day, I was certain to use a fountain pen and an inkwell, and now no use today seems close to that level. On the shelf next to my desk, there is perhaps a pint of fine ink which is dormant.
I discovered earlier this year that a pint of water weighs exactly one pound. I think this is how one of these quantities is defined. Excuse me, a bottle of ketchup just fell.
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