I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD-SLAPS, SPEED-BUMPS and LIGHT-BULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.



Thursday, July 31, 2014

The lure of something different


I’m waiting. Waiting for a go ahead or a let it die. (This one would take time, everything I have, and cause a huge personal shake-up). But it’s big and a hell of a personal story.

I’m resting, my hands hurt and my wrists ache from the last push to ‘the end’ of something that I loved compiling. For what end, not sure yet.

I’m excited, I want to try something different, really different like sci-fi.

Years ago I wrote a science fiction short story which I sent to Isaac Asimov Magazine. I received a form-rejection but on the bottom of the dismissal an editor scribbled a note. He said he loved the story and suggested I expand it into a book.

I tried. But it was ‘long ago, and far away’, while I was mired in the quicksand of family with young children and a full time job. Plus, what the hell did I know about writing a book back then? I read them, I didn’t write them. What the hell do I know about writing a book now? I’ve written three, which means I know how not to cut the pattern and stitch the seams.

I love the story, my kids love the story, it’s actually pretty cool and, (not easy when thinking up new sci-fi), it is original.

I’m getting antsy. In the meantime I have a column deadline looming and no ideas. First in line, a have-to. Next, a want-to. Life is just full of choices. Job calls.

I’m off. Do you have to go to work today?

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