Wednesday, July 26, 2017

For characters

I find understanding personality hard. This one helped clarify. And yeah, I definitely was an INTP in high school. (Boyfriend #2 was definitely an INTJ).

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Head cold

Blech. I hate colds. I feel like someone took a rasp to the back of my throat, and then, unsatisfied with that piece of mischief, pulled my brains out through my nose and then replaced them with cotton wool. The rest of my body feels fine, if about twice its normal mass, but oh, oh my head.

Which is, by the way, not so conducive to writing.

So, I tried to open a program called plottr that a friend of a friend is developing. I thought I might give it a try and see how it is since I'm too stupid at the moment to do real writing. Unfortunately, I'm also too stupid to figure out how to open the thing, so never mind. I also have a dog who is competing with my computer for lap space, and she's a lot more committed to the question.

Instead, I'm going to post a link to awesome Nigerian hairstyles I happened across while looking at African fractals. Search inspired by listening to Ron Eglash on African fractals, which, OMG, why do those of us European extraction not use more fractals in our designs/architecture? So much more visually pleasing. And with that, off to bed!

Monday, August 22, 2016


Being rejected is a good thing. It means you are trying.

But it still hurts.

I will pat myself on the back for trying. Finishing is its own success, and my story is a good one, it simply did not fit quite right or have quite the right ending or tone to tickle the fancy of that editor.

And that's okay.

I will read this, perhaps even write it out again, next time I face a rejection, because it will still be true.

Back to work.

Monday, July 18, 2016


I just don't feel like writing. I'd rather do facebook (though I've unfollowed most people because that makes fb that much less time-sucking) and twitter and pinterest and TV and really anything but write. It's a sad, sad day when detailing the bathroom is more appealing than setting myself down in front of a keyboard and plunking out a few hundred words.

So instead of simply procrastinating unproductively away for another evening I'm procrastinating on my blog, which is at least a few words on a screen I can point to and say, hey, at least I'm writing something.

The world around me is depressing. There was yet another shooting in the US, this time of three police officers. Logically I know the US is still about as safe as it was while I was living there for, oh, most of my life, but watching it on the news it seems like a foreign and rather scary country. The social unrest is heart-wrenching, especially as we learn about the lives of the people who have been killed.

As much as I love writing (or rather, having written, let's be honest here) it seems frivolous in the face of such terrible goings on. Here I am, little sheltered, privileged white girl, and I'm writing about social unrest and prejudice and trying to link that to climate and environmental change in my story. Sometimes I look what I'm doing (or trying to do) and think what a colossal waste of time.

And yet, I am human, and part of being a human is telling stories. We make sense of the world through an emotional, narrative lens, and because of that the stories we tell ourselves and tell each other are important. Maybe what I'm doing isn't critical, or won't ever do anything serious to shape world or even local events; maybe all I will ever do is entertain someone for a few moments. With as well as I send things out it's possible the only person I'll ever entertain is myself. But then, I suppose that it's just as important for me to try and figure out the world around me, and if the process of writing is how I do it then it's a valuable thing. I don't ever have to publish a thing, I only have to open myself up to the process and to the empathy that writing challenges me to have and I've changed my little world, I hope in a good way. That alone has to be worth it.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Falling out of love with Goodreads

I used to love Goodreads. For a while I just LOVED finishing a book and putting it up and writing a few paragraphs on what I'd thought about it on Goodreads. I'd sometimes spend a couple of hours composing my little reviews, crafting the zingy sentences that I thought would pull people into reading the books that I loved.

And then I ran out of time.

I don't read much lately. For a while I was reading between two and four books a month, which was wonderful. Now, I probably check that many out of the library every month, but return most of them unread.

It's vaguely depressing.

Goodreads, which tracks my stats, is a lot less enticing when what it's telling me is that I'm hardly spending any time at all doing this thing that I love. So, I'm not so in love with it anymore. Conscientious I am not, which is a) obvious from this blog and b) why I'm still at the level of dabbler in oh so many things (though I did submit a story to the Daily SF slush pile, which is the first step toward publication. Waiting impatiently for my first rejection. Wahoo!).

Which leaves me with a quandry: I'm reading again. I picked up a few books that actually pull me in. So, do I go back? Do I spend the time to track my reading, slow and intermittent as it is? Or do I let my goodreads stats keeping die?

Monday, May 30, 2016

More writing resources

I've got a new computer. Right now I'm not entirely sure where said new computer is (I lent it to my husband last night and haven't gotten it back yet) but in any case a new computer means I have to get used to a new keyboard and, in this case, a new operating system, and I'm at high risk for losing important files and information.

I am looking forward to having a keyboard with 100% functional keys. My youngest is right now in the midst of the key-pulling phase of life and the throwing things on the floor that are in his way phase of life. Though my current laptop has survived its exposure to my child, its keys pop off in the middle of words (useful keys, too--like H, W, S, and E) and the screen only has two positions, neither terribly ergonomic.

Lest I lose these links I'm going to post them here:

Saturday, April 23, 2016

Thick skin

I do not normally have a thick skin. Indeed, I'm relatively think skinned, especially when it comes to my writing. Oh, I try to accept people's criticism but really whenever people tell me what parts of my writing they didn't like I hear, "you suck." I don't think I'm terribly alone in that reaction. Sometimes criticisms have put me off of writing for a time, until I remember that I want to tell stories and go back to it.

I've joined a writing group filled with writers who are probably at the cusp of being published. Actually, several have published pieces, though all of them are still working on craft and still struggling to publish a novel. All of them write things that I love and can see are a draft or two away from being ready to face the world.

The funny thing it, I have a thicker skin with them. I don't know if it's that I've matured, or if it's that they're all very good at giving constructive, positive criticism (which they are), or if the fact that I admire all of them at writers makes it easier to take what they say well, but there it is. Criticism from them makes me want to write more--to fix what I've done poorly and do it better the next time, if for no other reason than I want these people, who I like and admire, to like and admire my writing, too.