December 10th, 2008
Since we've already traveled back in time to talk about the mighty thesaurus, let's stay in the Jurassic period a little bit longer for essay nineteen in my ongoing series of essays on the art and craft of writing. I like the Jurassic period. Things were simpler there: eat or be eaten. In case you somehow missed it in my happy discussion of dinosaurs, this is the nineteenth essay in my ongoing series of essays on the art and craft of writing. There will eventually be fifty essays, all of them based on my fifty thoughts on writing. Any excuse to talk about dinosaurs around here.
Here's our thought for the day:
Thoughts on Writing #19: Brontosaurus Bones.
I realize that the title isn't entirely helpful, which is why we always have an expanded topic for discussion. (My personal shorthand for a lot of things is very, very strange. This is only one of those things.) Here's today's expanded, hopefully less-confusing topic:
Talk about writing exactly as much as you, personally, need to talk about writing. I suggest finding tolerant friends. When I talk about writing, I'm like a velociraptor gnawing on a brontosaurus bone -- it's going to take me a while to get my head all the way around things, and there's a whole lot to swallow. If I tried to work everything out in the privacy of my own head, I would explode, and nothing would ever get done. You may be on the opposite side of the spectrum. There is no wrong answer.
So that's where the dinosaurs come into things. (Also, yes, I'm aware that the paleontologists of the world have decided that there was never such a thing as the brontosaurus. Since I'm not actually a velociraptor, I really don't care.) This week, we're talking about talking about writing. A lot of people have said a lot of things about talking about writing, and now I'm going to say several more.
Ready? Excellent. Let's get started.
( My thoughts are not your thoughts; my process is not your process; my ideas are not your ideas; my method is not your method. All these things are totally right for me, and may be just as totally wrong for you. So please don't stress if the things I'm saying don't apply to you -- I promise, there is no One True Way. This way for my thoughts on talking about writing.Collapse )
Here's our thought for the day:
Thoughts on Writing #19: Brontosaurus Bones.
I realize that the title isn't entirely helpful, which is why we always have an expanded topic for discussion. (My personal shorthand for a lot of things is very, very strange. This is only one of those things.) Here's today's expanded, hopefully less-confusing topic:
Talk about writing exactly as much as you, personally, need to talk about writing. I suggest finding tolerant friends. When I talk about writing, I'm like a velociraptor gnawing on a brontosaurus bone -- it's going to take me a while to get my head all the way around things, and there's a whole lot to swallow. If I tried to work everything out in the privacy of my own head, I would explode, and nothing would ever get done. You may be on the opposite side of the spectrum. There is no wrong answer.
So that's where the dinosaurs come into things. (Also, yes, I'm aware that the paleontologists of the world have decided that there was never such a thing as the brontosaurus. Since I'm not actually a velociraptor, I really don't care.) This week, we're talking about talking about writing. A lot of people have said a lot of things about talking about writing, and now I'm going to say several more.
Ready? Excellent. Let's get started.
( My thoughts are not your thoughts; my process is not your process; my ideas are not your ideas; my method is not your method. All these things are totally right for me, and may be just as totally wrong for you. So please don't stress if the things I'm saying don't apply to you -- I promise, there is no One True Way. This way for my thoughts on talking about writing.Collapse )
- Current Mood:
thoughtful - Current Music:The Pet Shop Boys, 'Go West.'
Lilly has managed to get out -- accidentally, but out is still out -- twice in the past few months. Being blazingly intelligent and essentially fearless, she really doesn't understand that the world outside the house would be happy to cause her extreme bodily harm. Sadly, I understand this all too well, and basically age five years every time she gets out.
Since I'd like to live long enough to finish all the books I'm writing, I decided it was time to Take Certain Steps towards securing Lilly's safety. Step one was a collar (tragically with bell). She tolerated the collar with astonishingly good grace, and so tonight, while I was out running errands, I instigated step two.
I bought her a tag.
The front of it says 'Lilly'* and gives my phone number; the back says, in large, friendly letters, 'INDOOR CAT.' Hopefully, this means that if she gets out, anyone who finds her will realize that she doesn't belong there, and contact me. My address isn't on the tag, simply because that would require it either be very large (which she wouldn't tolerate), or that the text be very small (which makes it less likely that people will actually read it).
She has her tag and her cursed bell now, and has discovered that the two of them together can be used to make a hideous cacophony as she trots around the house. On the plus side, this means I always know where my cat is. And that's...soothing.
(*Her full name is Lillian Kane Moskowitz Munster Cavanaugh-Sawyer McGuire. That definitely wasn't going to fit on a tag.)
Since I'd like to live long enough to finish all the books I'm writing, I decided it was time to Take Certain Steps towards securing Lilly's safety. Step one was a collar (tragically with bell). She tolerated the collar with astonishingly good grace, and so tonight, while I was out running errands, I instigated step two.
I bought her a tag.
The front of it says 'Lilly'* and gives my phone number; the back says, in large, friendly letters, 'INDOOR CAT.' Hopefully, this means that if she gets out, anyone who finds her will realize that she doesn't belong there, and contact me. My address isn't on the tag, simply because that would require it either be very large (which she wouldn't tolerate), or that the text be very small (which makes it less likely that people will actually read it).
She has her tag and her cursed bell now, and has discovered that the two of them together can be used to make a hideous cacophony as she trots around the house. On the plus side, this means I always know where my cat is. And that's...soothing.
(*Her full name is Lillian Kane Moskowitz Munster Cavanaugh-Sawyer McGuire. That definitely wasn't going to fit on a tag.)
- Current Mood:
chipper - Current Music:Mixes from Jeff for the new album.