Category Archives: Writing

A Blog About Nothing

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Today I came across an article by Hugh Howey called, So You Want to be a Full-Time WriterYes, I thought to myself. Of course I do. So I read it.

Hugh has great advice for sticking with your writing, setting goals, making time, simplifying your life, and being better than everyone else. He also suggested that a good tool for success was blogging. I have a blog, I thought to myself. Myself and I, we chat a lot. If you scroll through my mindless ramblings from years gone by on this blog, you’ll probably stumble upon a few that announce the rededication of my blogging…and then days, weeks, and months go by with nothing.

Blogging is hard for me. That little nagging writer in the back of my mind says I’m wasting time and should be polishing my novel instead; there will  be plenty of time later for blogging, when I’m counting the royalties from my movie deal. But then I wonder how other writers manage to crank out several novels a year AND post daily on their blog. The nagging writer tells me I don’t have anything of interest to say outside of a good story anyway. The things that go on in my imagination are much more interesting than my daily grind. I have virtually nothing to say. Three years into a novel and it still isn’t quite ready for beta readers (almost though!), and I have no real words of wisdom to share regarding the craft itself other than to regurgitate the advice of other writers like Hugh Howey. I’m not a scientist who can blog about my latest microorganism discovery, and I’m not even that good with technology and that’s what I get paid to do.

So I sat down at my computer this afternoon and forced my fingers to minimize the window of my current manuscript and open a blank project on Scrivener. I stared at it for several minutes, trying to come up with something fun and interesting to write about. Time passed along with my second cup of coffee and the page was still blank. That’s when it hit me. I will just write a blog about nothing. And so I did.

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Mom – Lindsay’s Story

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My daughter wrote me a story and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. She’s also written one for her brother and sister. Her talent is undeniable and her words have touched me more than I can describe. Enjoy:

Raphael, an angel of the Lord disguised as a mortal, walked amongst the earth. He knew not the plans the Lord had for him, but ventured on with faith in his heart.

After miles of travel, a light as bright as the sun flashed across the sky. Startled, Raphael blinked, turning his head away from its radiance. Suddenly he felt as if a rope had been tied around him, pulling him in the direction of this lights source.

“I shall go,” Raphael said aloud, obeying the pull from the Holy Spirit.

As he drew closer to the glow, Raphael passed rows and rows of houses. Cars drove down the streets, children gleefully played in yards, and life all around seemed blissfully comfortable. But nothing in this neighborhood caught Raphael’s attention like the beauty of this foreign light which beckoned him. Like a crystal shimmering in the sun’s rays, Raphael followed it until he came to a house, and there was no doubt in his mind that this was where he was supposed to be.

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But It’s Already Been Done

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ImageThe novel, Conscript’s Creed, that I’m writing with my daughter, Lindsay, has been quite an adventure. The idea for it hit us three years ago while we were in a Half-Price Books store waiting to have our books appraised. One of us (okay, I’ll take credit) said, “You know, we should write our own book.” Lindsay laughed but within a matter of minutes we’d come up with this amazing story and we couldn’t wait to go home and write it.

But, we didn’t. Well, we went home, we just didn’t write it. Instead we just talked about writing it…for an entire year. Our original idea was completely different from the one that eventually became known as Conscript’s Creed. I won’t share much about our original story because, who knows, we may still write it one day, but I’ll tell you it involved angels. The reason we ended up not writing it was that other angel books started to pop up left and right. So we shelved it and came up with great idea number two, The Healing Book (now The Healing Book Trilogy).

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Toothbrushes, Spiders, and Other Writing Revelations

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ImageLast night as I was drying my hair, a small spider scurried across my bathroom counter. I wasn’t afraid of the spider, but when he decided to hide in my toothbrush holder my mind went into overdrive.

I dumped the little guy into the toilet and watched him swim for his life. He actually managed to climb halfway up the bowl before I flushed him. (I’m a twisted human being, what can I say?) Then I returned my focus to the toothbrush that was nearly infected by spider-carrying, flesh-eating germs. Even though the spider did not come near the bristles, I ran it under scalding hot water for several minutes just to be sure it was clean.

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Finding Time to Write When Time Cannot be Found

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What I wouldn’t give to be a full-time writer. Everybody knows that writers stretch out comfortably in their fluffy lounge chairs on their huge wrap around porches each day. The ceiling fan above them creates a gentle breeze as they sip on hand-pressed coffee, surroImageunded by the sounds of chirping birds. Inspiration hits them instantly as they begin banging out bestseller after bestseller on their laptops. If I had that kind of freedom I’m certain I could produce thousands of novels!

Unfortunately, that’s not even close to my life. I’ve only managed 27,552 words in the past 6 months, despite the fact that I shoot for 1,000 words/day. For some reason, of which I just can’t put my finger on, I’m completely unable to find enough time for my writing. Here’s what my day looks like:

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One Man’s Trash is Another Man’s Mystery Novel

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Driving my kids to school this morning I passed a large black trash bag, carelessly tossed on the side of the road. Instantly my mind filled that bag with a dead body. I wondered what horrific events had led up to this person’s demise, and if it was male or female. And, although the bag was quite large, I wondered if the body was completely intact, or if it had been dismembered so it could fit nicely inside. Was someone looking for them or was it too early in the day for anyone to notice they were missing? And could the lady in the hair curlers driving the mini van behind me be the killer? Some might think these are disturbing thoughts for a mom to have while hauling her young, impressionable children to school. But I say seeing a dead body in garbage bags is a sure sign that I was born to write.

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