Making Something From Nothing

With company in town last weekend, I took some time off from my computer and spent a few days enjoying my adopted state of North Carolina. One of the places we stopped at was the Ball Garden at the Sandhills Community College, where an art installation had been erected several weeks ago and was causing quite the buzz. By weaving together different sized branches and sticks, rooms were created out of nothing.

 

Complete with windows and doors, these various cubicles towered over us. They were quite unique and wonderful, which got me to thinking about my writing and how similar it is to this art form. 

 

What's that, you say? How can sticks and twigs possibly be the same as words and paragraphs?

It's very simple. The artist of this stick room creation had an idea. He or she probably sketched out a configuration of the completed work. Then, they started construction, weaving all their piles of twigs and branches together to form a completed room. And, unless I miss my guess, some of these rooms didn't turn out exactly as envisioned, but the end result was a sturdy and striking structure that is quite beautiful in its originality. 

So, too with writing. We start with an idea, and maybe put together an outline of how we imagine the work taking shape. Then, we start the construction of each paragraph, forming chapters to weave the piles of words and sentences into a cohesive unit that's sturdy, striking and quite beautiful. And, unless I miss my guess on this, too, the outline and the finished product vary to some degree, since stories have a way of veering off as they're being written, and bending at points different from what we originally envisioned. In the end, both this art installation and a new manuscript were created out of nothing. 

Then, to top off a perfectly delightful experience, I got to play with my favorite sculpture of all time. I'll have to get away from the computer more often. 

The Stockings Are Hung

Any of you who follow this blog regularly will already know that I'd rather celebrate Thanksgiving than Christmas. Because we never had much growing up, my memories of Christmas are pretty bleak. So, during the last couple of years, when I didn't put up a tree or send greeting cards, it didn't bother me, even though it offended my friends for whom Christmas is the day they look forward to all year.

Which is why this year is such a marked contrast. Already, with weeks to go before THE day, I've got my gifts in the mail and the cards have all been addressed and sent. I purchased a little tree with fiber-optic lights and hung my special White House ornament collection on it. There's just enough room for these beautiful and unique ornaments, each of which have a special significance to the former occupants in the White House.

Why am I so ahead of the game this year? I asked myself that question as I sat last night watching my tree go through its light rotation. I came up with only one reason: My routine is back to normal.

I am a list-maker, as are so many of us. Each week, I prepare my list of what needs done in the next seven days and love being able to mark things off the list. I include things that are relevant to my work, and hold myself accountable for both my creative work and my side hustle job. But there are also things on the list like meeting up with a friend for lunch, going to my exercise class, and other mundane chores like swiffering the floors and taking my trash to the dump. If it needs doing during the next seven days, it goes on my list.

It's been hard this past year for me to adhere to my list, since life got in the way of my routine. But I'm happy that I was able to complete a manuscript that got picked up by a publisher, and I will have a new book coming out next year. And I'm happy that I've found a new and fascinating era from our past that I can delve into. The Revolutionary War affected every person, great or small, rebel or resistor, gun-toting farmer or Quaker pacifist. My work with this period of our past makes what's now going on in Congress especially memorable, and I marvel every day at the forward-thinking of the framers of our Constitution.

So, routine has been reestablished, the tree is up, the stockings are hung, and my little dog Mary and I are set to enjoy the milder climate of a North Carolina December. Wherever you choose to celebrate the season, stay warm and be happy.

Keeping It All Together

This past week has been challenging on several fronts. I'm despondent at not being able to go to Nationals, and have been glued to Facebook and the RWA site, trying to live vicariously. I elected not to go because my sister had major heart surgery scheduled this summer. It turned out to be more complicated than anticipated, and was touch and go for a time. She's on the mend now, and should come home next week.

Which leads me to my next challenge. My basement is filled with mold, and has resulted in a sick house. The previous owner decided to finish off half of the basement, and put up drywall and laid carpet without taking the first essential step and waterproofing what was being covered up. I've lived here for seven years now and it's taken this long for the mold to seep through to the point where I could see it. Now, the carpet and drywall will be ripped up and removed before the scrubbing of the mold can take place.

While all this chaos is going on in my life, I'm still trying to write something every day, even if it's only an outline of a story. And, of course, I'm coming up with all kinds of analogies between my life and writing. Such as: Sometimes a story veers off in a totally different direction than you thought it would go when you planned it out in your head and you make adjustments. Sometimes you can't quite put your finger on what's wrong with a story line until it smacks you in the face and you have to remove what's making your story suck.
Sometimes you should stop and write an outline instead of jumping in unprepared and throwing something together.

The mold will be removed next week, just in time for my sister's return from the hospital. All will get back to normal in my world, and I'll be able to sit at my desk and be creative. My second round of edits are due next week, too, which should settle me down and make me focus.  And I'll chat with my friends who did make the trek to San Diego and regale in the stories they'll bring home.

The remainder of the summer will be spent helping Sis out, like she did for me last year, finding an agent for my middle-grade historical, and getting my contemporary, in which I've left my h/h in a precarious situation, finished and polished up.

How about you? What's on your agenda for the rest of the summer?

The Best Laid Plans...

At the end of last year, with the knowledge that my long commitment to the Cotillion Ball Series and Crimson Romance was at an end, I decided to come up with a list of book project ideas for this year. I listed the book and thought about everything in terms of red, yellow and green lights. Red was what roadblocks were in the way of the project, green for things that would help fast track the project and yellow for the things that needed further consideration.

My list included seven potential books. To date, three of them have been completed. I'm on track.
So now, what do I do? Start on the fourth? Oh, hell no. That would be too easy.



My restless mind came up with an idea for a YA historical novel–not on my list, not in my wheelhouse. But it's a great idea, so I'm going to run with it.

Then, today, as if that weren't enough, I had a wild idea for a contemporary story combining an event that actually happened to me along with an event that happened to a friend. All I have at this point is shoelaces and coconuts. I'll start on that one tomorrow.

Sometimes not having any deadlines to meet frees you up to explore new options in your writing career. And sometimes being so free can lead to ADHD tendencies in your writing, and you have to have three projects going at once. Even if you try to be sensible and make plans for the year and set goals for yourself, the best laid plans can be shoved aside when a great idea gets into your head.

At least I'll never be bored.