N.R. Brown – Feast at Famine’s Table

I don’t know what it is about me and blogging…I’ll go along telling the whole world about my life and then I forget/get lost/get bored/feel burned out/know that no one is reading this and just stop doing it.

It’s a shame.
Really, I am much better than this. Or perhaps I am not.

I sometimes worry that I am not a true lover of writing. I read so many biographies of writers that could do nothing BUT write. Letters by the bushel, journals by the roomful, and stories, stories, stories. They find purpose and release in any sort of writing, not just the kind that leads to publication. They eat, drink, and breathe the medium. Going so far as to take jobs in the journalism field just to be near their beloved words.

I am not like that. Words and I have torrid little love affairs. Hot, intense things full of dark rooms and isolation that lead my fiancée to wonder where I have run off. We see one another after a long absence and instantly fall into one another’s arms…but we are willing to part, more than willing, when the shine wears away after a few weeks.

This is not the enduring love my parents have (50 year strong this year, thank you). This is the thing I had with that hot guy with the Mohawk.

There are days I worry, that I am a dilettante at best. Then again, memories of hot Mohawk guy can still make me smile (and blush).

Perhaps it isn’t all bad.

Balticon cometh and this year I am not excited. Why? Because I was DE-termined (gotta say it like DEEEEEEEE-termined)…to get my novel edited and walk into Balitcon with the first three chapters ready to shove at anyone that would look at it.

I was ready to lean on the few people I see and interact with every year for a little help along the author highway.

BUT I’m not.
I’m just not.

I can’t beat myself up over that though, I can’t get down in the dumps about it, I can’t get DE-feated (said the same way)…
I can’t because I just don’t have time. If I can’t come to Balticon with the whole thing done, I’m going to at least try to come with the first three chapters done.

That way this year wasn’t a complete waste, although lets be honest 2009 is going down in my book as WORST YEAR EVAH!

A friend from my writing group once wrote a story where the opening scene took place in a Curling Rink/House/Stadium. Now, I’ve heard of Curling before…and I’ve even watched it during the Olympics, but I’d never considered including it in a story.
It was such a neat and unexpected sport to be portrayed that it stuck with me. Still does.

As I watch the games on TV, I was reminded of that story over and over. Not just because of the sport, but because of the things he had imbued in the sport when he wrote about it.

As I watch, I am reminded of the sense of space he gave the rink…the weight he gave the stone…the slickness he gave the connection between shoes and ice…and I replay in my mind, over and over the sound he included of a person hitting their head on the ice. It still makes me shudder.

One scene, one very good opening scene later…and I’m scarred for life.
I hope I can do that to someone some day.

My momma doesn’t like what I write. It’s not that she doesn’t like my writing style, or the fact that I write…she just isn’t into the “weirdos” that I write. Don’t get me wrong, she loves to read. She often gets up an hour early to spend time reading the newspaper. BUT she’d rather read nothing than what I publish.

It’s ok, I’ve always got my dad. He loves fantasy/sci-fi/horror. He was the one that took me to Star Wars (I BARELY remember it). The problem is that dad doesn’t like to read.

So how did I end up the way I am? Dad’s love of a good story, mom’s love of reading…it was a “perfect storm” and there I was to soak it all in.

So, what happened to you? How did you end up writing what you write?

Someone…anyone…please…send a 4×4, a plow, a salt truck, ANYTHING!  SANTA, FOR GOD’S SAKE I’LL TAKE SANTA!

White...everywhere!

5 days in the house, we’ve only made it out once…and I understand how someone who lives in a place where blizzards and multiple feet of snow are a regular occurance can lose their minds and kill their loved ones.

Seriously, one can only watch so much TV before your brains slide out of your ear and start mucking up the collar of your shirt.  Back on Sunday, I didn’t understand why people (in tiny little cars) were out wandering the steets…now I do.  I am willing to brave the blizzard now.

Being alone with the snow, ice, wind, animals and woman are diving me out of my tree!  I LOOK FORWARD TO SHOVELING!  Ok, ok, so I liked shoveling before…it made me feel like I was exercising…but I’m just going so stir crazy I’d chew off my own leg if I thought it would get me out of here!!! 

Don’t get me wrong, I love this time off…I’ve gotten almost all the laundry done, the dishes washed, I’ve gone through some books and marked them for donation, I’ve put away all my clothing…but I can’t settle my mind enough to do anything worth doing.

I could have spent these 5 days (soon to be 6) wrapped up a world of my making…but I can’t quit cat vacuuming long enough to do it!!!!!  I’m disappointed in myself, but I’m resentful of even having to write this…

What has happened to me?  Have I lost my writers drive?  Did I ever have it to begin with?  Or am I just snowbound and stircrazy?