When we last left our long-winded heroine she was apologizing for her utter lack of reliability in regular posting, and sort of promised another update sometimey soonish. Well. Almost two weeks later, here we are. I should be downright sheepish, but you guys, I fell down an educational rabbit hole this time. Well, sort of.
Reasoning with Vampires can be nitpicky and harsh, but I also found it very, very amusing and could not stop reading. The blog writer takes a critical look at the grammar and syntax of the Twilight series, and posts corrections and improvements using scanned pages from the books. I read and even (gasp) enjoyed the Twilight series and managed to read this tumblr-blog without getting my panties in a wad (the indignant and defensive protests from Twihards are especially entertaining). Seriously, what a fun way to explore some of the finer and often abused points of grammar — I’d happily read a similar blog on any number of other popular books. Take out some of the innuendos and language and this sort of thing could be a great way to teach grammar to teens, don’t you think?
Reading the ENTIRE archive of Reasoning with Vampires led to one of those weeks wherein I accomplish absolutely nothing but feel rather as though I am doing quite a lot. I call it the Plight of Pointless Research. Awakened to my own writing flaws I found myself searching the internet for ways to improve one’s grammar when you are an adult and rather set in your ways. I also looked into a wide variety of writing workshops that I’ll never muster the gumption to actually sign up for, and poked around the “for writers” sections of my favorite authors’ websites, making a list of their recommended “How to get that novel out of your head” type how-to books. I then ordered three more “How to Write” books even though I already own an unwieldy collection of said books; many of which I haven’t finished yet. (Did I use that semi-colon appropriately?)
It’s all just a lot of silly dithering and time-wasting leading up to National Novel Writing Month in November. This will be my 3rd year participating. I don’t find it difficult at all to spew out 50,000 words (obviously), but I don’t think it has resulted in anything remotely worthwhile, though I do enjoy the process.
I, like a frillion other people, feel that I have several stories rattling around in my brain, whether they are good stories or not, I couldn’t tell you. They’re simply there, and are very noisy from time to time. I write character profiles, draw their portraits, dream up their backstories, and even take a stab at archetyping and story arcing. I have dozens of languishing half starts and a handful of “complete” (<-- those are airquotes) stories in need of approximately eighteen million more re-writes (if not bonfires). Books I've airquote "finished" are spectacularly bad and not even my mother has seen them.
I can’t not write (and thus, my complicated relationship with writing online). I’ve been writing since I could handle a crayon. I don’t think it matters (to me) if any of that writing is ever mass produced or read by more than a dozen people, I’ll still write. It’s just impossible not to.
I’m currently re-reading The Forest for the Trees and I enjoy her different profiles on the different types of authors. I am a combination of the both the ambivalent and neurotic writer, but seem to be missing the gene that either desires fame (shudder) or fortune (at least when it comes with fame). In other words, I’m missing that special something that pushes a writer towards publication. If I ever do manage to write something readable I will probably quietly self-publish under a pseudonym and never tell anyone I’ve done it. I realize most authors can visit the grocery store without being accosted by fans, but I have this innate fear of publishing an actual book with my actual name. I can’t explain it. I’ll probably write my whole life, but never feel that push to ‘come out’ of my writerly closet.
I find both the ideas of a packed book signing and a ghost-town book signing EQUALLY horrifying. At least recluse authors are not unheard of, though I laugh (rather manically) at the thought of being included (guffaw) as one of their peers. Still, I identify with their public-shy ways.
Anyway, my meandering point is that this past week has at least been more literary minded, which feels like a better thing to be than mired in the very questionable swamps of celebrity gossip. I think that’s an improvement even if my inbox is ready to burst and my blog has been moldering over here in a dusty state of neglect.
I’m certain no one is dying for my next health update, but I’m doing the artwork for it TONIGHT (like seriously, right now) since I’m currently plagued with ridiculous insomnia. Why not draw angsty adrenal glands while listening to Mark reads Twilight? (Because, obviously, that’s what you do when you run out of Reasoning with Vampires posts to read.)