thanks for your show about nothing.
It paved the way for internet navel gazing- also known as personal blogging. I believe in giving credit where it’s due.
I’m not hating (seeing as I fit into this category).
Just drawing some obvious conclusions.
Sincerely,
Diva
It’s Tuesday.  I’m trying to finish some fiction for the website for August, as well as make money to pay bills.  What do you want from me?

Because of my consulting gig, I  travel back and forth from Charleston to Columbia for meetings, which means that I have a lot of time in the car.  Alone.
This is fine.  I listen to the TJMS if it’s morning, or my iPod.
Sometimes, I just drive in silence and think. Yes, I still actually have the ability to do that.
And writing is ALWAYS on my mind.
The theme for this week is censorship.  And I’ve been mentally checking myself and my writing for ways that I censor.
Here is my list:

I only hit …

I have just spent 6 of the last 8 and a half hours plotting my WIP. Yep, while The Man was putting up shelves to help reduce the piles of books on the living room floor, I was letting my creative juices flow.
Hmm.  Umm.  What I mean is, the story that I have been mulling over for the last few days started coming together in my head in a very real way.
Usually, I know how a story begins and ends.  I sit down to write, and I assume that the …

 In my quest to become a better writer, I joined a writer’s group.  I had no idea what to expect, so imagine my surprise when I was hit with the force of the different personalities.  
For some reason, I imagined that most writers were shy and introverted.  Not the case with this group.  
The Screenwriter- seems only interested in contests and placing once again at the Sundance Film Festival.  
The Blowhard- talked a lot about obscure writing terms and how he has been writing for 35 years and “only writes …

 I love reading books that move quickly.  The twists and turns as the heroine moves along her path keep me involved in the story and anticipating what comes next.
Reading a well-written page turner is one thing.  Writing a well-written page turner is a whole ‘nother thing altogether.  
I have been struggling with the plot of a new WIP for a couple of weeks now.  So, instead of writing, I started reading lots of stuff about novel plotting.  I just ended up reading the same information over and over with no …

It was a relaxing Saturday morning. She was soothed and inspired by the house sounds- the whir of the ceiling fan, the air conditioner cranking up, the dog’s constant licking. And yet, the absence of sounds from the television and/or stereo did not go unnoticed. Her thoughts started out on their random parade. What was she going to do today? What would she read after she finishes the fantasy book later today? Will she get any writing done?
Ahh, writing. It always came back to …

 The ideas come in waves because she is busy doing other stuff.  She is much smarter about the process now, so she keeps her notebook and pen nearby so that she can jot things down. 
She uses complete sentences when recording her thoughts.  The  single words and phrases are no longer triggering her aging memory properly. 
She can’t believe that the ideas come so vividly. She wonders why this does not happen when she is sitting in front of her computer with time uninterrupted.  
She won’t look a gift horse in the …

She knew that all the thinking about writing wasn’t actually writing.  She wanted to devote uninterrupted hours to her writing, but the week behind her, as well as the week ahead, simply would not allow it.  She had parenting, relationshiping, and work to contend with (not necessarily in that order).  But soon, things would slow down.  She would have the luxury of early morning writing on the porch before the sun began to heat the humid air, making it hard to breathe while getting burned to a crisp. Her family …

She sat at her desk listening to the owl hoot.  It was pretty strange considering it was 5:05 in the evening.  She wondered if the gray days had the poor thing a little confused.  And then she wondered where he was.  Was he sitting on the fence separating her yard from her neighbor’s, or was he up in the tree on a low hanging branch? The thought of going out to look for him suddenly felt like a brilliant idea. But, then what?  Tell him that it was too early …

She fancied herself a writer, but she found that she had not engaged in “writer-like” behavior in weeks. You know, actually writing.  And it wasn’t because she didn’t have the tools or the space.  She had all the trappings:  the sexy and sleek computer, the roomy L-shaped glass desk that she had coveted for months before finally purchasing, the leather executive chair that embraced her like an old love when she sat down, Moleskine notebooks, great gel pens, and much, much more.  But this stuff did not do the writing …