My Words Fly Up
Three weeks ago, I finished the first draft of my latest novel, Time Passages. I set it aside so I could empty my brain, get away from the story for a little while, and now I am waiting to begin again. This is always the tough time for me when I’m writing a book—putting it
I walk. It’s a defining characteristic, a must-do every day. These are not long walks, they rarely qualify as hikes, but for me a walk is frequently–maybe always–a creative walk. I read this article about walking about a year ago. I nodded in agreement through most of it, but was certainly surprised to learn all
“Write what you know” is one of the more confounding pieces of writerly advice. It can, unfortunately, be interpreted as “write what you have experienced.” I say unfortunately because, for most of us, that would result in deadly dull fiction. I used to complain to my mother about having been raised in white-bread suburbia.
No work of art is perfect when first conceived and first worked on. I’ve never been satisfied with a book until it’s gone through at least three sets of revisions. Eventually, though, I reach the final round, and solutions for all the remaining plot and character problems appear effortlessly. The final round can be
For most of my life, I never went anywhere without a book. I was always a great reader, as were my brothers, and on trips, silence frequently reigned in the backseat as we all read. This habit held me in good stead in college, where as an English major I had to read thousands of