I have journeyed . . .

. . . to the dark side and done what I swore I would not do! I have purchased - gasp, double gasp, triple gasp, cough, cough, cough - a Kindle.

Okay, the lightning bolt hasn't hit me yet, so perhaps the literary gods don't mind my purchase of the Kindle. Then again, the literary gods have been known for their drama queen moments before . . .

Why did I purchase a Kindle after I swore that I would not? Money, people, it all boils down to money. I love to read. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the touch and smell of the pages. I've bought a book or two based on the texture of the page. Yeah, I'm weird at times. Did I mention I prefer hardback books? Yes, my downfall in life is that I prefer the more expensive hardback books to paperbacks. That, dear readers, is why I have gone over to the dark side - Luke, I'm your father - and purchased a Kindle. I can save a ton of money - well, not literally, but at least figuratively (those are literary terms for those not in the know) - per year by purchasing my books on the Kindle. To date, 2 books downloaded, I have saved $20. That's, like, four trips to Starbucks. Woo-hoo!

I love my Kindle. Let me count the ways:

1. For most books, I can download the first chapter (for free) and read it. If I like, I buy, if I don't like, I don't buy. Simple!
2. The Kindle automatically saves my place in the book. I no longer have to worry about accidentally (it has happened to me more times than I care to admit) shutting the book. With Kindle, turn it on, and voila there's where I stopped reading. Cool beans, dear readers, cool beans.
3. I can highlight passages and those highlights are saved in a separate folder. Woo-hoo! Now, I don't normally highlight passages in a book - personally, I believe it blasphemy to highlight or draw lines in a book (my normal mode is to write down the page # on a piece of paper and the paragraph #) - but every now and then I find a sentence or paragraph that I want to remember and cherish. Kindle makes life so much easier.

Okay, those are my top three reasons. There are a lot of other things as well, but I'm not going into depth on them . . . at least right now.

Last, I'll still buy the occasional hardback, especially since I have most of some series in hardback. There's no need to stop now. I don't want six books of a series in hardback, and the next three in electronic format. It just wouldn't do. I don't want to piss the literary gods off too much at one time. I'm just saying . . .

S

Is it wrong . . .

. . . to find inspiration for writing in the troubles of your friends?

I hate to say/write it, but I often find the initial inspiration for my writing from the limited - friends, work, situations, life - world around me. I cleverly - at least I hope I do it cleverly and not transparently, because if it's done transparently, boy am I in t-r-o-u-b-l-e (Facts of Life, Tootie, if you have no clue, you're much too young . . . dangit!) - weave reality into my writing, weaving the threads of fiction around the reality to protect the innocent (well, more like the guilty . . .). Is it wrong to do this? Should I just bypass the juicy tidbits of life? Should I be more respectful of my friends and not include the sordid details of their lives within my writing?

I really have no guilt (that's an amazing thing, since I was raised Catholic, and guilt was beat into me on a daily basis by the nuns at parochial school - okay, I didn't go to parochial school, or get beat by nuns, but the imagery was good!) about using these tidbits of real life. I only take the bare minimum of tidbits and then explore every corner of the glass houses my friends, but not I (seriously, I hope I don't live in a glass house, because what I did the other day . . . I'm just saying . . .) live in. I expound upon the tidbits, delve into the dark depths of my imagination and create conflict and - I am a gay man after all, it is pretty much second nature to me - DRAMA in the lives of the characters I create. Somebody get the jewelry polish out, my tiara is getting dull. So, no guilt, really, absolutely, none at all, and yet this sentence is rambling on as if the guilt vulture was sitting on my shoulder and - one by one - pulling out the hairs on the top of my head. Now, that would explain the slight bald patch. Dratted vulture!

So, my question remains the same: Is it wrong to find inspiration for writing in the troubles of your friends? Do I pass up the opportunity (sometimes it doesn't come knocking as often as I want) for creativity? Or, do I go with the flow and hope nobody figures out I'm writing about them?

S

Ideas

I never really give much thought to where my ideas come from. I'm just grateful that ideas occasionally pop into my head so I can write.

Yesterday, maybe for the first time, or maybe it's always this way and the old brain just can't remember, I was reading my Page-A-Day calendar page and - brilliant illumination, blinding almost, I had to reach for the sunglasses - BAM (Emeril at his best)!!!! Yes, an idea out of nowhere. I wasn't even looking for the pesky thing and there it was slapping me - repeatedly, I might add - in the face. On a Page-A-Day calendar page no less.

So, I made a note to myself to save the page. I tore it off this morning and laid it on my desk. You'd think that would be enough? Right? Well, of course it wasn't enough, life is not that simple. Fate is a capricious entity at times. I'm minding my own business, making my oatmeal and coffee (no, I don't mix them together . . . but there's an idea) and I was like . . . what if . . . yes, the idea monster was doing twirls in my brain in some nice stiletto heels. The back of the calendar page is now filled with notes since the pesky little idea that began to form yesterday just won't leave me the heck alone. I have things to do - life, work, walk the dogs in the pouring rain that may or may not turn to snow, and blah, blah, blah.

Well, now that I've rambled on and totally gotten off the original point of this post. Where in the heck do your ideas for writing come from? One of my best came from a pitcher of margaritas. Most of them, however, just form in the depths of my imagination and somehow emerge into a coherent - or, in some instances, not so coherent - story. I just never thought about the actual catalyst for the idea until this morning when I was reading the calendar page once more.

Why is it I never considered the catalyst for my ideas before now? Do all writers just have moments of epiphany? Or, is there always a catalyst and we just don't recognize the catalyst? Are there more ideas waiting in my Page-A-Day (Forgotten English) calendar? Will I flip to March 1 and - brilliant illumination, blinding almost, I had to reach for the sunglasses - BAM (Emeril at his best) again???? I have no clue. I just thought I'd send this question out to the masses (yeah, right!) who read this blog.

S

The intensity of . . .

. . . the writing has diminished. It is not because my passion for the project has diminished, but rather because I have neared the end of the rough draft phase of the current project. This is always a bittersweet time for me. I absolute LOVE the driving passion of the first bloom of a project. I love it even MORE when that passion becomes obsession and I am able to bang out the rough draft (as in this case) in a few weeks. Intensity can only be sustained for a limited amount of time before it begins - at least in my case - to wear the person down. So, bittersweet as the moment is, I am thankful that the intensity has diminished as well. I need a night on the couch with the boyz (Jesse and James, my cocker spaniels). I need some time away from the project before I begin the read-through/edit phase of the project.

At this point, I'm just scrolling back through and inserting a few "filler" chapters here and there to tie everything together. A time will soon come when the project is set on the back burner to simmer for a few weeks. Such is life . . .

The whirlwind . . .

. . . of this current writing project is nearing an end. The ferocious (can you belive I spelled this word correctly???) winds have begun to decrease in intensity. The obsession begins to wane. There is a sense of both relief and disappointment. It has been far too long since I wrote with such passion and drive. I dropped into bed each night exhausted after hours of writing at the end of each work day. The weekends were a frenzy of writing and very little socialization. The poor dogs (Jesse and James) would stare at me longingly and wonder why I wasn't on the couch with them allow them to wallow all over me. Don't worry, I didn't neglect them entirely, not to mention there are two of us in the house, so the dogs do get a ton of attention. I just didn't spend as much time with them as I normally do. That should change by the end of the week.

I'm 72,000 words into the project in a little over two weeks. I should finish by this coming weekend. I have just a few more chapters to complete on the rough draft stage. Again, there is a sense of relief and disappointment. Then again, such is the writing life. Once I finish the rough draft I will set it aside for a few weeks and go back to editing another process. I also need to send out another query letter and then . . . as usual . . . wait and wait and wait some more.

S

Once upon a time . . .

. . . there were three little girls who went to the Police Academy. Wait, sorry, wrong ending - flashback to the 70s. Hate it when that happens. Let me try again.

Once upon a time, the writing became an obsession. The man wrote and wrote, could think of nothing else, and began - for the most part - to isolate himself from the world. Luckily, his beloved partner was a caring and compassionate individual who endured the obsessive stage of writing.

Flash forward a few years later. For whatever reason, the obsessive stage of writing has begun again. Last night, all I wanted to do was write. Unfortunately, life - dinner, walk the dogs, pay attention to my partner of almost fifteen years before he goes into work, feed the cats, and such and such and such and such - sometimes interferes. Arrrrgghhhh! So, my partner decides to dawdle last night, to talk about this and that, that and this, this and that . . . and all I want to do is write. I nodded and smiled, made a comment or two . . . but all I wanted to do was write. Finally, my partner leaves for work. Hallelujah!

No, I'm really not that bad of a person. It is so rare when the obsession stage of writing hits me, that my frustration level just seems to rise and rise and rise. I love my partner. He's put up with me for almost fifteen years. He deserves multiple awards for that feat. I'm definitely not the easiest person to live with in the Universe. Still, he loves me and I guess that's all that really matters in the world.

Now, back to my writing. I don't question why the words flow, or when they flow. I just - sorry - go with the flow. I try to be a nice person during the obsession stage. I try not to let my frustration show. Pushing a man out the door can lead to suspicious thoughts forming in said man's mind. I've written about such things. It's never pretty! So, I nod, I smile and I make a comment or two. I'm not pushing my partner out the door to have an illicit affair . . . unless my writing counts . . . if that's the case, I'm having one heck of an illicit affair right now . . . and it's good, very, very good. I'm just saying . . .

S

It's been a strange . . .

. . . jumble of days, more than a week really, since Jordy journeyed on to that great catnip field in the sky (or wherever the eternal catnip field might lie). Life goes on. I deal with my grief as only I can, and with the support of friends and family. I immerse myself in the day to day routines - work, home, bed, etc. - of my life.

I spent this weekend reading Juliet Marillier's Heir to Sevenwaters. Absolutely loved the book. In fact, all I did on Saturday was sit on different couches in the house and read the book, from beginning to end. I haven't done that with a book in forever. Heir to Sevenwaters is the newest book in what was once called The Sevenwaters Trilogy. I guess since this is book four, the whole trilogy thing just went out the proverbial window. I am currently re-reading Daughter of the Forest the first book in the trilogy that is no longer a trilogy.

I guess the mere fact of immersing myself in a book has gotten my creative juices flowing. I've written for four straight days. I don't know why, I'm not about to question why, and I'm just going to go with the flow. I'm not setting any daily goals with this current writing endeavor. I'm just writing. I take what I can get, when I can get it, and just hope for the best every day. I guess that should be everybody's philosophy toward life, and toward whatever dream they might have.

At some point this week, I need to send out a query on another project. For whatever reason, I haven't been able to find the motivation to do so. Perhaps I have been beaten down by multiple "this just isn't right for me" responses, or no responses at all. Personally, I know agents are inundated with queries, thousands upon thousands of queries; but a simple "this isn't right for me" automated response would sure as heck make the lives of the thousands upon thousands of queriers (yes, I know, not a word, but I'm using it any how) just a little bit simpler. I know, it's not about making the lives of struggling writers simpler. It's just a thought . . . and a dang good one at that, if I do say so myself!!! So, sometime this week, I'll send out another query and wait and wait and wait and wait until the designated time frame specified on the agent's website expires, and then begin the process all over again. SIGH!!!!! In the meantime, I'll write and write and write when the moment takes me, because that's my path in this life and what I love to do. Maybe one day (fingers and toes crossed) in the very near future, all my hard work will end up in publication. A man can hope!