Oh my gawd! Friday the thirteenth came and went and I didn’t even notice. I usually remain quietly at home, (That’s more difficult now that I’ve read home is where most of the accidents happen.)waiting for the toll of midnight that announces the “all clear.”
I’m excessively superstitous about thirteen of anything, but Friday the thirteenth is the worst. So, how come I had a normal, possibly dull, day yesterday? Hmmm. S’pose I’ve made my own bad luck in the past? Hard to believe.
A Quote
It’s always good to find a quote that expresses what is inside your own head. It’s that ahhh moment we all look for when we read a good book or see a good movie and the character expresses what we can relate to. “Oh, that’s it! That’s exactly how I feel.”
Here’s one I liked this week: “Life is not about longevity.”
Yes.
A Sunday of Palms
Today by venturing down from my mountain retreat I became caught up in the bustle of a Sunday market–lots of fresh flowers, organic produce, strolling people, freshly made crepes–Yummmm. Walking back to my car with my clutch of tulips in one hand and a bag of pears in the other I ran into a church congregation walking out the church and around to the side grounds. Everyone carried palms. A bagpiper lead the way. His sound was breathtaking amid the churn of cars, the laughter of bicyclists just down from their morning trek and all the other noises around a town square on a Sunday morning. I stopped and listened to the piper, soaking in memories of Scotland and appreciating all that wonderful flavor of my town.
Better than Yesterday
I may live. I had good or at least not such bad news from a friend I was concerned about. The sun is out–well, I’m in California and that’s not news, but still sun out helps the mood. I haven’t been rejected by an editor or an agent yet this morning, and some flowers I planted are blooming.
Good Day Bad Day
Today is not a good day. Today is bad day. You can tell by my simple clauses. Either that or I’m into alzheimers. Either way it is not a good day.
Philosophy 101
Here’s my philosphy for today: Everybody can write. There are a few who can write brilliantly. Some who can write well. Many who can write and get published. But even if you write brilliantly you will never be published unless you try.
Contestitis
I’ve got it! The contest bug. I’m on round two of the Snoop Red Light Green Light. I’ve entered YAfiction, and I’m honing a ms. for W.I.N. How did this happen?
Contest Mania
I’ve gone from never entering a contest, oh one, but that was so long ago I only remember I won something–a hundred dollars actually and for something that I wrote under the influence of youth. So I do remember that contest now that I’ve reached into the back of my brain. And, guess what, I’m going to do it again. Maybe I’ll even enter more than one. Up my odds. I could use another hundred dollars.
One Thousand Words
I did it. Chapter One is exactly one thousands words, and, surprise, it’s far better than before. I’ve decided that writing under pressure of word count has merit. It’s just like writing grants, just like writing conference proposals. Choose those words with care. Use those structures wisely. Think about what is really important and cut the heck out of everything. I love it when I only have four words to add the lace I want. Yeah!
The CONTEST
Oh my gawd. They only want 1,000 words! In those few words have I made the character engaging, launched the conflict, established the setting, drawn the reader into the story? Whew! So maybe this is why contests are worthwhile. Instead of wasting time in self-absorbed drivel, I’ll have to actually appeal to my readers. Nice concept.