Skip to main content

Friday thoughts

Just when I thought I was on the homestretch with this novel, I discovered I need to change the setting. Need, Ginger? Really?

Yes, really.

And this morning, after I had gotten accustomed to this need, I discovered I need to change my point of view. And this revision, my friends, is much more intense that simply changing the setting.

Needs and wants. Needs and wants. Why do I keep going back to needs and wants...

Comments

  1. SoozcatJanuary 22, 2010 at 2:53 PM

    For some reason I'm reminded of a story I read about Meredith Willson, the composer. Like most songwriters, he had a whole trunk full of unused songs he'd composed for other projects, and one day he decided he was going to write a musical specifically to use them up.

    Except once he got started on the musical, he realized on numerous occasions that his trunk songs, although perfectly serviceable, weren't quite right for the story. So he wrote a new song for a particular scene. Then he wrote another. Then another, and another, until finally he'd replaced his last trunk song with a brand-new composition. The purpose for which he'd written the musical was completely thwarted, but he felt as though the end product was worth the trouble--even though he still had his trunk full of unused songs at the end of it.

    The musical, by the way, was "The Music Man."

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ginger JohnsonJanuary 22, 2010 at 8:50 PM

    Seventy-six trombones led the big parade! I shall think of trombones as I'm revising.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream

Each morning, you stand by the window watching your boys until they're on the bus or picked up. You watch them leave your circle of safety and hope for the best. You can't know what that day will bring. Nothing, maybe. Or maybe a bomb threat. Maybe a math test. Maybe a lockdown drill. Or maybe a real lockdown. But on this day, there is something different. A rally. A walk-out. A demonstration. Your oldest son asked if you'd call to have him dismissed and bring him downtown to attend the demonstration. You want your voice to be heard, and even more, you want your son's voice to be heard, so you call the school, you pick him up, you drive downtown. You don't know what to expect, but the reality makes you weepy. A crowd of teenagers, many carrying hand-drawn signs stand gathered in front of the church, chanting. Adults congregate around the edges. A band plays, keeping time for the chants. Horns honk as their drivers show support. One man in a truck wags his fi...
2 comments
Read more

NaNoWriMo Check In

Now that it is almost the middle of the month, it's time for a check-in. For the uninitiated, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. Though I didn't sign on for the full experience (a new 50,000 word novel written during November; 1667 words a day), I made a goal with my peeps from the Super-Secret Society of Quirk and Quill to finish my draft of Into the Trees by Thanksgiving, or at the very least, by the end of the month. I began with 30,040 words, a hazy outline, and a slight addiction to Facebook. I now have close to 38,000 words (in addition to having shelved about 3,000 words in the course of revising). My outline has expanded significantly (um, like I have a middle now), and I have had several plot epiphanies. And I have turned my addictions to Lindt's Chili Dark Chocolate Bars. They're more productive.
Post a Comment
Read more

Dipping and Crunching

When you were eighteen, you applied for a study abroad program in Italy. On the day you received the acceptance letter, there was no one home. You wanted to call someone to celebrate, but couldn't reach anyone. All that excitement and anticipation was bottled up inside, and you felt like you could fly. But this was long before the days of social media -- long before the days of email even. So you sat at your desk in the dormer of your attic bedroom, with tortilla chips and salsa, dipping and crunching, dreaming and planning, having a celebration solo. This morning, twenty-some years later, you complete a big thing. A really big thing. And you feel like celebrating. But there's no one home. And though you could shout it from the rooftops at any number of social media sites, you think you'd rather celebrate solo. So you sit at the kitchen table with some homemade pita chips and tzaziki, dipping and crunching, dreaming and planning, and feeling very much like y...
Post a Comment
Read more