Trees with a Twist of NaNoWriMo

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North Carolina Arboretum (11/4/2017)

I hope this opening sentence doesn’t make anyone click away, but I’m not quite done posting fall photos. Remember how I’ve taken more than 400 fall photos this fall? I wanted to share a few more. This is likely to be my last “fall photo” post, so please come back if, like my son, you find fall color a bit ho-hum. If you like fall color, this post is dedicated to “Fall Color around Town.” When I couldn’t resist, I would snap a photo or two of a particularly brilliant tree. The reds were remarkable at the end of October; the oranges were slower coming along, but they got there.

Originally, I had thought of doing a series of posts on fall in different locations: fall at the Carl Sandburg House, fall at the Biltmore Estate, fall in the neighborhood—you know the kind of thing. Then I signed up for NaNoWriMo. I delayed it until the first day of November, and I made no plans whatsoever for this novel that I was planning to write. But I did commit to NaNoWriMo, and, much to my astonishment, I am still “in the game.”

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Waynesville, North Carolina (11/2/2017)

What kind of person commits to writing a full-length work of fiction as part of a game? Yet the worldwide count for NaNoWriMo participants in 2016 was a staggering 384,126. Even the language on the NaNoWriMo website speaks of it as a game: “How do I win NaNoWriMo? What are the prizes? Is there an entry fee?” There’s a WikiHow article on how to win NaNoWriMo (I ought to bookmark that). It may be hard for WordPress readers to believe, but there are people who don’t know about NaNoWriMo. I had to explain this writing phenomenon to a woman at my son’s basketball game on Monday. She had never heard of NaNoWriMo, but she was curious as to why I was sitting in my van, typing furiously away on my iPad, during the 30 minutes or so before the basketball game started. (The coach likes players to arrive 45 minutes ahead of time. Thanks to my son’s choice of a less traveled route that GoogleMaps advertised as nine minutes faster, we did arrive 45 minutes early on Monday—which gave me more time for NaNoWriMo.)

To my surprise, she seemed very impressed that I was writing a novel. Were she to read my draft, I suspect she would be less impressed. I find little that is impressive about pursuing this objective: I did it more out of peer pressure than anything else. Last year, my daughter, along with a few of my nieces and nephews, participated in NaNoWriMo. I advised her against it, but she persevered anyway. We have this strange relationship in which she encourages me to do things (some creative, some housekeeping-related) and I discourage her from doing things: she knows I need encouragement, and I know that she tends to overdo. On the whole, I have been helped more by her encouragement than she has by my discouragement—okay, I haven’t seen much improvement in the housekeeping arena, but that has taken on the status of a lost cause, so I am not surprised.

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Biltmore Park (11/3/2017)

She has “won” NaNoWriMo twice, but I have not been allowed to read her novels. This saddens me, as I feel that my gifts really lie more in the editing department than in the creative department. (You won’t be able to tell that from this post, into which I am determined not to put much time, since I am supposed to be busily at work in the housekeeping arena today. A prolonged dentist appointment changed my mind: I felt that I deserved a reward for having an unexpected procedure. What better reward than writing an impromptu post? But the housekeeping needs aren’t going to go away just because I’m ignoring them. The piper must be paid eventually.) My daughter’s novels belong to the potentially lucrative genre of science fiction, and she is a good writer. Maybe one day I’ll persuade her to let me have a look.

Now that I’ve written a third of my own novel, though, I can see why she doesn’t want to let anyone read hers. I am literally making it up as I go along, and I find it difficult to believe that anyone could be edified by a perusal of my 15,881 words to date. Technically, I haven’t quite reached the one-third mark: 50,000 words is the official goal. Here’s the teaser from NaNoWriMo’s site that got me hooked:

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. On November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 PM on November 30. Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought about writing a novel.

Three phrases did it:

  1.  “seat-of-your-pants.” I am the original fly-without-an-outline writer. I can make outlines because my high school teachers forced me to, and my writing is better when I do, but I so much prefer to hit the ground running.
  2.  “goal.” I doubt if I would play the piano today if my mom hadn’t offered me the incentive of a new Nancy Drew book if I practiced every day for a month. I cannot seem to successfully meet my own goals, but I have a decent success rate of achieving goals that others set for me. Sad but true.
  3. “anyone who has ever thought about writing a novel.” My thoughts of writing a novel have mostly been motivated by my desire to earn filthy lucre. I much prefer writing essays, but I never heard of anyone who made money writing essays. (Please correct me if I’m wrong. I’d even make outlines if that would help my essays make a bit of money. I did submit an article speculatively to a magazine back in my college days and received a small sum when the article was printed, but that was a fluke. I tried that blind submission tactic a few times as a new mom and met with rejection.)

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Barn at the Carl Sandburg House (10/14/2017)

But, sure, I’ve thought about writing a novel. I had no idea how difficult novel-writing was until November 1. I lifted a plot from a suggestion a Facebook friend had made and tweaked it a little, but finding ways to advance the plot has not been my problem. My difficulties have been technical. How do I move my character from the commuter train (which I stupidly set in a real location), down the sidewalk, and into the Boston Public Library? (Oops, I gave it away there. Yes, a visit to Boston and its suburbs would help me right now, but there’s that filthy lucre problem that I mentioned earlier.) Do I need to tell every thought she’s having? Every text she’s receiving on her phone? What if the owners of the actual house that I’m writing about have a problem with their address appearing in my novel? I’m getting ahead of myself there and assuming that this assortment of words will be published. Why would it be?

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Asheville, North Carolina (11/5/2017)

Also, I find myself borrowing from every person or situation I’ve ever experienced. I’ve always wondered how novelists manage not to alienate their family members or friends. There is Thomas Wolfe’s well-known example—and he was a resident of Asheville, North Carolina, too! It would be a little too neat if the book that offended people from Wolfe’s past were You Can’t Go Home Again; that book was published posthumously, so it didn’t matter how many folks he offended. Wolfe’s earlier book, Look Homeward, Angel, reportedly resulted in his receiving death threats from residents of Asheville, which he had fictionalized in his novel. As an Asheville transplant, I am aware of the angry local reactions to Wolfe’s novel. Perhaps that’s why I chose Boston and its suburbs instead as the physical setting for my “novel.” (The quotation marks are necessary.) But, oh, how much time I am losing, zooming in on maps of Boston and images from the library, looking up schedules on the MBTA’s website—and all for what? So that I can claim to have won a game at the end of November?

For the moment, I am trying to ignore all the reasons that I shouldn’t keep writing and forcing myself to try to meet the daily quota of words. (Even my encouraging daughter told me that I shouldn’t expect to “win” the game on my first try. I think she’s concerned about the cluttered condition of the house. Or maybe she’s concerned about my sanity.) But, if you see me here on WordPress a little less for the next couple of weeks, you’ll know why.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, if I disappear until December 1!

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East Asheville (10/18/2017)

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Writer’s Quote Wednesday: Portrait of the Artist as a Middle-Aged Woman?

The Arnolfini Portrait. Artist: Jan van Eyck (1434 ). Source: http://www.nationalgalleryimages.co.uk/ Contact: picture.library@nationalgallery.co.uk  Copyright © The National Gallery, London

Some scholars believe that Jan van Eyck’s famous Arnolfini Portrait includes a self-portrait of the artist within the mirror.

“Every man’s work . . . is always a portrait of himself.”–Samuel Butler

Not long after I started blogging, I had an eye-opening conversation with my mother. This blog is the first public writing that I’ve done since college, and she was happy to see me exploring a creative outlet.

My mother explained that she sees my blog as a way for my children to know me better — the real “me,” that is, not just the mom who chauffeurs them, or washes their clothes, or makes sure they do their schoolwork. Her next remark took me by surprise: “You may not realize how much of yourself is in your posts.” Hmmm. Now I felt nervous, wondering what I had unknowingly revealed about myself in my newly minted blog.

The point that Samuel Butler makes here — “Every man’s work . . . is always a portrait of himself” — is one of the reasons that I’ve been wary of writing fiction. What if I unwittingly incorporate real people into my fictional world? If my fiction is to be lifelike, can I avoid using people I know for models? And (shudder) what if those people aren’t portrayed in a flattering light? There is a thin line between the world of reality and the world of fiction: I don’t want to be like fellow Ashevillian Thomas Wolfe, unable to go home again. No satirical descriptions of my hometown, past or present, thank you very much.

But, if Butler’s observation is right, fiction isn’t the only medium that could give me away. This very post will betray something about me — about what I value, what I believe, what I fear, what I love. Am I okay with that? Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe I should change this site’s name to The Tentative Blogger? (I suspect that name is not in high demand.) It’s not as if hordes of readers are flocking to my posts, but someone might stumble upon a part of myself that I try to conceal. Have I unintentionally bared my innermost self to the public eye?

Even when we try to play our cards close to our chest, we may give glimpses of a King here or an Ace there. Any creative endeavor will reveal something about the artist’s personality. There are so many nuances and subtle choices behind a photo or a painting, for instance. What color palette did the artist choose for the portrait of his wife, and why? Fiction, with its need for believable characters, still seems dangerous to me: one’s judgments will surely creep into seemingly innocent descriptions. But is prose any safer? How can you write about the life you know without writing about the people you know?

self-portrait 2015In the end, the blog world is no place for the faint of heart. Neither is the world of literature, of course. The semi-autobiographical work for which Victorian writer Samuel Butler is best known, The Way of All Flesh, was not published during his lifetime, by Butler’s own wish. George Orwell praised Butler for his courage, but how courageous was Butler, if he didn’t want his novel published while he was alive? Perhaps Butler was uneasy not only about his criticisms of Victorian society but also about his self-revelations. The older I grow, the less charm I find in mirrors. Should that distaste carry over to the unconscious mirror of my words, spilling heedlessly onto the screen?

This dialogue begs the question, “Why are you afraid to expose your innermost self ?” Fear of criticism? Fear of self-discovery? Reluctance to accept the face that timidly peers back from the mirror? I am not the person that I wish I were, or the person that I hope to be. If I don’t want the world to get a glimpse of the woman behind the facade, I should stop writing blog posts.


This post was written as part of Silver Threading‘s Writer’s Quote Wednesday event. Thank you, Colleen, for continuing to host this event, week after week. I first encountered Butler’s observation in my son’s English language book. After writing this post, I discovered that the quotation had been abridged. The full quotation reads, “Every man’s work, whether it be literature or music or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a portrait of himself, and the more he tries to conceal himself, the more clearly will his character appear in spite of him” (Chapter XIV, The Way of All Flesh).

A Blog Bog

Sunrise, 2015 (Virginia Beach)

Sunrise, 2015 (Virginia Beach)

While Uncle Remus’ stories of Brer Fox, Brer Rabbit, and Brer Bear have fallen out of fashion, the Tar Baby incident illustrates my sentiments about this blog since the start of 2015. In this tale, Brer Rabbit allows himself to be trapped by a Tar Baby — a figure that Brer Fox has fashioned out of tar and posed in the road, knowing that the sociable Brer Rabbit will attempt to strike up a conversation with the Tar Baby. When the Tar Baby fails to respond, Brer Rabbit eventually gets frustrated and strikes the Tar Baby — only to find himself caught in the sticky tar. Of course the wily Brer Rabbit outwits his captor by manipulating Brer Fox into tossing him in the briar patch, but, for a time, Brer Rabbit is entangled with the ooey-gooey figure of tar, unable to extricate himself.

I took a break over the holidays — partly to enjoy time with my college kids and working son, partly to celebrate Christmas, partly to visit with extended family. On returning from a week at the beach, where we shared a very large house with other family members, I had amassed quite a few photos and was mentally planning a couple of posts. I still hadn’t figured out how to juggle time spent on my blog with time spent on my daily responsibilities, but the creative wheels were beginning to spin. Then I read an article in The Daily Post recommending that I “optimize” my photos before posting them, and — wham! Just like Brer Rabbit, I was entangled in a mental mess, unsure how to proceed.

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Horseshoe crab’s shell

IMG_3508 (640x480)The reasons for “optimizing” images — which, as best I can tell, means to resize them — were good ones: smaller photo files load more quickly and take up less space. All well and good, but I began to feel as if I had plunged a foot into a murky bog. Here was another process to factor into the time it takes to put together a blog post, and I already had difficulty justifying the time spent on my blog(s). At the very least, it would take at least five minutes per photo to resize and save it; for a post with ten photos, that’s nearly an extra hour. And I’d have to be careful to save the resized photo as a new file, so that I didn’t lose my original high-res file. I might even need to install a new program on my over-loaded computer.

Guess how many blog posts I wrote after reading that article? Zero. On my other site, which is more abstract in orientation, I found that, even with one foot bogged down in the mire of indecision, I could still write Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday posts. But here on sappy as a tree, where I wanted to write a couple of posts with many photos, I was stuck.

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Part of the tail of a skate

I had plenty of time to think about blog posts yesterday as I drove my daughter to an out-of-town audition: she had been up past midnight the night before at a homeschool formal, so she needed to sleep in the car. I could have listened to music or an audiobook, but I decided to keep things quiet. I muted the GPS, kept an eye out for cops, and planned blog post after blog post.

Up to now, I had felt proud of myself for not accumulating many unpublished drafts in my Dashboard; for this site, there are only three unpublished drafts: no guts, no glory, right? But I realized something as I drove down the road: I’ve been drafting posts all along, but, mostly, they never get out of my head and onto WordPress. Now, with the weighty issue of image optimization dragging me down, I was less likely than ever to transform my latest ideas into posts.

All week long, we saw many egg sacs of skates along the shore.

We saw many egg sacs of skates along the shore.

It’s not that I have to optimize images, you understand, but I’ve been on the readers’ side, waiting for the images to upload. I can see that this is the way of the future, and, for this post, I will experiment with resizing my images before I upload them to the library. Or I could just beg Brer Fox to throw me in the briar patch? P1070759 straighten (640x469)

Pack Your Bags: Virtual Blog Tour Award!

Christmas at the mall

You know you haven’t been decorating your house when you have to use a photo of mall decorations.

 

After my post about readying hearth and home for Christmas, you may be surprised to see me here. ‘Tis the season not only for being jolly but also for passing out awards! The thoughtful and creative author of The Grizzle Grist Mill has nominated me for the Virtual Blog Tour Award, which humbled and surprised me. I have enjoyed her reflections on life, her photographs, and her poetry.

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My daughter prefers for me not to watch her rehearse, so I’ve been respectful of her wishes. She made this photo from a video — hence, the poor resolution.

One unusual feature of the Virtual Blog Tour Award is that nominees are assigned a date for publishing acceptances. My date is December 15. Once I’ve posted my responses to the award questions, I will return to preparing for Christmas and readying my house for the out-of-town guests who are coming to see my daughter dance the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy in “The Nutcracker” later this week. (Did that just slip out? Yes, I’m a proud mama.)

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Here are the rules:

1. Pass the tour on to up to four other bloggers. Give them the rules and a specific Monday to post.

2. Answer four questions about your creative process. Your answers will help other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.

  • What am I working on at the moment?
  • How does my work differ from others in my genre?
  • Why do I write or create what I do?
  • How does my writing or creative process work?

3. Compose a one-time post which is posted on a specific Monday (date given from your nominator).

So, here goes:

DSCN0691Four bloggers whom I nominate: 

1. Heather Publishing

2. Perspectives On . . .

3. Glimpses of Beauty

4. Trees of Transition

If you accept this nomination, please respond by posting on Monday, January 5. (If it is more convenient for you to post on December 29, that is fine.)

Here are my answers to the questions (which make me realize that perhaps I am not enough of a Writer with a capital W to merit this award):

What am I working on at the moment? As far as blogging goes, I plan to take a break. I need to recuperate from three months of intense blogging that began with September’s Blogging 101 and continued through November’s Photo 101. Yesterday, I posted the final theme, “Triumph,” on my other blog. Eventually, I will review my Photo 101 pictures and put together a gallery of ten favorite photographs, but that can wait until after the holidays. Photo 101 was supposed to stop after Thanksgiving weekend, but, because I was so slow, it continued into mid-December; Photo 101 has crept into Writer’s Quote Wednesday posts and into Stream-of-Consciousness posts. Going places without a photo theme in mind will be strange, but I need a respite from thinking constantly about what to post.

This weekend, I read an excellent post on stepping back for a broader perspective. Blogging has insinuated itself into nearly all of my leisure hours — and some of my working hours. I need to assess why I’m here on my blog so often and whether that is an appropriate use of my time and energy. While I plan to take time off from posting, I hope to continue writing privately at 750words.com, which has been a great resource for online journaling. I’ve contemplated re-taking Blogging 101 in January, since I never finished the second half of the course. And I’m sure I will continue to take photographs through the holidays!

How does my work differ from others in my genre? Many bloggers seem to write fiction — novels and short stories — and poetry. Aside from one haiku that I wrote this fall, I have not written poetry in years. The last poem I remember writing was when my ballerina-daughter, who spends many hours a week in pointe shoes, took her first steps! I have realized that the most productive time for my writing poetry was during my college years, when I was reading quite a bit of poetry in my classes; I also had far more time for solitary contemplation. As a homeschooling mother with two students to educate, I am unlikely to expand my writing beyond essays at this time.

I illustrate posts with my own photographs, but that is not unusual in the blogging world, particularly with blogs that are travel-related (as mine set out to be). Literary allusions sometimes work themselves into my posts, but I see similar references in other bloggers’ posts.

Why do I write or create what I do? When I started this blog, my goal was to share my experiences of hiking, mostly in local places, and of traveling. We had just returned from California, and I had many photos and memories that I wanted to share, particularly with the children who weren’t able to accompany us on that trip. While I have rarely kept a journal of my daily life, I like to keep a travel journal. The habit of keeping a travel journal began when my husband and I went to Pakistan for two months. Before we left, friends gave us a blank journal with Bible verses or quotations written at the top of many pages. Later, I was very thankful that I had a detailed record of our experiences.

Writing, for me, is a means of self-expression and of self-discovery. It is a way of filtering the beauty of the world through the beauty of words. Writing is also a way of preserving the past and of creating a visual record, through photographs, of the places I’ve been. Some day, I hope to write something of more permanence than a “blog,” which seems such a flickering and insubstantial medium. I once envisioned myself as an author of children’s books, but my creative spark would need to be rekindled first.

How does my writing or creative process work? I prefer to write in response to an internal prompt: an idea or observation will start germinating; then, suddenly, I must sit down at my computer and write. I do not make a written outline, although I have a mental outline of what I want to say and how I plan to support my points. Once a draft is written, I will rearrange sentences and paragraphs or add transitions. I have to cut out many “extra” words, sentences, and, if I’m feeling strong, paragraphs. If I can get one of my daughters to read my draft at this point, I am a happy woman. Other eyes always catch things that I miss.

Blogging events and courses are more difficult for me creatively. I find it intimidating to write a post on a Photo 101 theme or a Daily Post prompt, with hundreds of other people responding to the same topic. I try not to read other responses until I have finished my own: if someone else takes an approach that I have considered, I move on. “There is nothing new under the sun,” but I find it easier to participate in an event like Silver Threading‘s Writer’s Quote Wednesday, in which each blogger brings her own prompt. There is less risk of duplication.

While I find it harder to respond to an external prompt, once I get going, the writing process is much the same. I prefer to do all my writing on a post in one or two sittings. When I am “in the zone,” I would not notice a herd of elephants stampeding past me, much less one of my children trying to get my attention. It is dangerous to interrupt me at such times; yes, my family is very patient.

It might be wise to wait a day before posting a completed piece, but I like to be done with a post. A half-written draft gnaws at me, so I try to finish drafts while the drive is there. It is a rare post that gets published and remains unedited. The day or so after I publish a post, I keep coming back to fix a sentence, cut an adverb or adjective, or change a caption. After a couple of days, I let the post go. I enjoy editing a piece that is still warm from the oven, so to speak, but revising an old post is like eating a piece of stale bread.

End of the questions! Good luck to my nominees (should they choose to accept this award).

Look homeward, angel

Look homeward, angel.

Tea Time with the Master

Wenham Tea House, March 2014

Wenham Tea House, March 2014 (iPhone 5s, edited in PicMonkey)

“Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” With this qualified statement, Henry James welcomes us to The Portrait of a Lady, an arena in which Old World and New World meet. His first sentence is masterful: to borrow a line from Jerry Maguire, Mr. James had me at “afternoon tea”  (and “agreeable” didn’t hurt). Mr. James lays the groundwork for his plot as he describes the three men sipping tea on the lawn of an English country house — tea drinkers “not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the occasion,” as Mr. James notes wryly.

Isabel Archer, the lady of the title, does not make an entrance until the second chapter, but the young American is enamored of the Tudor house and its trappings from the moment that she walks onto the lawn: “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as this.” Mr. James’ naively independent heroine does not find European society as agreeable by the end of the book, but that is a spoiler. At this point, the reader is mentally settling into a cushioned wicker chair and — if the reader is an Anglophile — reveling in a scene that includes not only tea but an eligible English aristocrat. By the time we realize that Isabel, like many nineteenth-century heroines, is a victim of her own illusions, Mr. James has caught us in his novel.

Although I glanced at Leon Edel’s introduction and Mr. James’ lengthy preface recently, I haven’t read The Portrait of a Lady in decades. Mr. James began writing the novel in Venice, where the beautiful view from his rooms was so distracting that he complained about it in the preface. It might be interesting to read his carefully crafted novel now as I would read any book, not because I was assigned to read it (which is how I experienced it). Would I read on to the end, or would I put down the book in exasperation as Isabel refuses one good man after another? I tend to finish books, unless I cannot sympathize with any of the characters, and Isabel, caught between her desire for culture and her wish to remain independent, still compels our sympathy, despite her failings.

I re-read enough of the first chapter to renew my appreciation of Mr. James’ abilities as a writer. His novel first appeared in serial form in two magazines, and he had not completed the novel before the first installments were published in 1880. The opening chapters have the crucial job of getting the reader interested enough to buy future magazines. Clearly, Mr. James is skilled in the art of drawing in a certain kind of reader — a reader who, like Isabel herself, is enchanted with the ceremony of afternoon tea.


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My choice of this famous first line for Writer’s Quote Wednesday was inspired by Lucile’s photograph of a glass teapot. I took my photograph of a glass teapot in March, when I had tea with family members at the Wenham Tea House in Wenham, Massachusetts. To his credit, my brother, who is not much of a tea drinker, suggested that we eat there because he thought his sisters would enjoy it. (He was right. Our one sadness was that another sister and my mother were not there to share the experience.)

As always, thanks to Colleen of Silver Threading for hosting this event. To read other submissions, click here and look for the pingbacks at the end of Colleen’s post. Leon Edel’s introduction appears in Riverside Editions’ The Portrait of a Lady (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1963). Text of the post and photo copyrighted © 2014 by Sandra Fleming.

O Brave New World

Miranda:
O wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
That has such people in’t!

Prospero:
‘Tis new to thee.

The Tempest (5.1.181–184)

I had planned to stay off WordPress today, but I wanted to respond to a post that I’d read last night. As I was firmly forcing myself away from my desk, I got a notification from WordPress. Typically, I ignore those, but this one got my attention: “Congratulations on getting 500 total likes . . .” “Total” includes “likes” on my posts and on my comments, and I felt deeply grateful to every WordPress blogger who ever sent a “like” in my direction. Bruce Thiesen‘s “like” for The Edge was the 500th that put me over the edge, so to speak. Too bad there is no jackpot for being #500, Bruce, but I recommend your thought-provoking blog, Ram On.

500 likes

When I started this blog in June, I was unaware of “how many goodly creatures” there are in the blogging community. I have been impressed by the respect with which bloggers treat other bloggers, and the kindness shown to struggling bloggers. Blogging 101, Class of September 2014, was the catalyst that forced me into interaction with other newbies — Beth, Aileen, Deborah, Karen, Terri A and Terri B, April, Lucile, Flavia, RoseRed, Kellie, and Doug are just a few of the many bloggers with whom I crossed paths. I am grateful to WordPress for facilitating those connections: it’s a marketing strategy, but it builds relationships. Blogging has become a “brave new world” in which I interact with people like Teresa and Momma, who live in another hemisphere, and in which I am challenged to post more regularly through events like Linda‘s and Colleen‘s.

In an effort to keep this post short, I cannot thank every individual whose “like” contributed to the 500, but I will note the bloggers whose “likes” for my latest post preceded Bruce‘s lucky “like”: lrod1726, Teresa Ohjswunxin, Dan Antion, Wandering Dawgs, LifestyleswithLia, restoredpeople, fillyourownglass, Victo Dolore,  Priceless Joy, Allison, Terri Webster SchrandtBespoke Traveler, and kcg1974. The bloggers who most recently liked comments are: annanolan2014, Deborah Drucker, thecraftyladyincombatboots, jswunxin, Retirement Lifestyle, Silver Threading, luciledegodoy, Beth, Bespoke Traveler, and sorannymm.

Thank you to the readers who cannot “like” because they are not WordPress bloggers but who have demonstrated support for my blog in other ways. You know who you are!

“A Humour for Writing”

Jane Austen humour“I am not at all in a humour for writing; I must write on till I am,” wrote Jane Austen in a letter from Godmersham Park to her sister Cassandra on October 26, 1813. Is there any writer among us who has not felt that way at times? For whatever reason — and there are many good ones — writing is the last thing you feel like doing some days.

Maybe it is a grey day, and the clouds seem to have drifted inside, obscuring your flow of thought. Or maybe the sun is streaming through the windows, tempting you to forsake your writing for a long walk. Perhaps the topic has been assigned to you by someone else, and you’re “not feeling it.” Are other people in the room, asking for your input or making just enough noise that you can’t concentrate?

While any number of outside distractions might have contributed to Miss Austen’s disinclination for writing, I take heart from her resolution: “I must write on till I am.” Although Miss Austen initially wrote for her own amusement and to entertain her family and friends, two of her novels — Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Pride and Prejudice (1813) — had been published by the time she wrote this letter. The modest financial success of these books was probably an incentive for Austen’s pushing herself to write on, despite her mood. With another novel drafted (Lady Susan) and two more in the works, she surely knew that the words would come, sooner or later. Rather than waiting for a moment of inspiration, she presumably picked up her quill and wrote.

How thankful I am that Miss Austen pushed herself to write, regardless of her “humour”! Five of Miss Austen’s completed novels are among the books I have re-read most often. Which gem might we lack today, had she allowed an uncongenial humour to defeat her? Mansfield Park? Emma? Persuasion —  the last novel she finished and possibly my favorite?

Her implicit advice — write yourself into a frame of mind for writing — is worth remembering. Sooner or later, every writer has one of those days. I have found that, once I get some momentum going, the words spill onto the page, almost of their own volition. Do I have to cut more words from the writing than I do on days when I’m pulling out the words rather than the words pushing me along? Undoubtedly. But an imperfect draft is better than no draft at all.


writers-quote-wednesday (2)Note: In the context of Austen’s letter, she was almost certainly referring to letter writing rather than to novel writing when she made this statement. Because I have personal experience with writing as a means of getting past a block, it seems legitimate to apply Austen’s quotation to all writing.

Many thanks to Colleen at Silver Threading for hosting the Writer’s Quote Wednesday event. In deference to Miss Austen’s nationality, I have used the British spelling of “humour” in this post. Text and photos copyrighted © 2014 by Sandra Fleming.