I stumbled upon this cure either by accident or cosmic design.
My laptop has become possessed, refusing to work with Windows, but happy to chum along with an operating program that turns its nose up at Word. Even the program's name, Ubuntu, hints at its ugly gaming underbelly. Obviously my beast only pretended to be literary-minded and has now shown its true colors, given me a rude gesture, and lies innocently on the desk while I try to sway witnesses.
Fed up and fighting heartburn, I handed the creature off to my last and final teenager. I hope the boy gives it hell and makes it pine for the days of peaceful word processing.
Which brings me to the cure...
Another set of boys (for those fellows at Used Computer Warehouse can only be called boys) came to my rescue with an older computer more than happy to offer me Word. But alas, the emails they do come slowly. The ancient four-year-old whom I refer to as The Dark Tower is teaching me a WWII version of patience, and I'm warming to it. I cannot surf or email, or even tweet fast enough to keep my little birdie in the air. As long as I'm in my office, my only option is to...write.
It's true.
Forced discipline.
It may be the only way for people like me to become the writer I thought I was.
Rock on, but gently.
Lesli
Showing posts with label I dare you.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I dare you.. Show all posts
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
PILE ON, BABY
I'm running a 500k, kinda. It's a NANO times ten.
The finish line is 500,000 words by midnight, October 31, 2011.
Who wants to play?!
Rules:
1. Every word you write counts, weather or not it is edited out. Even if it's on the page for a second, it counts. If you write a freaking blog post, it counts. If you write a long email, it counts.
The first point, Newanda, is to make writing as much a part of your day as breathing. The second point is to have a pile of manuscripts to show for it. Imagine! A PILE!
2.If you make it to half a mil, you get to buy yourself whatever you want. It's a RULE!
You may copy the widget to the right. (I suggest not leaving it too visible. Watching time slipping away is a little unnerving.)
THE AFTER-PARTY IS GOING TO BE A CELEBRATION...TIMES TEN!
The finish line is 500,000 words by midnight, October 31, 2011.
Who wants to play?!
Rules:
1. Every word you write counts, weather or not it is edited out. Even if it's on the page for a second, it counts. If you write a freaking blog post, it counts. If you write a long email, it counts.
The first point, Newanda, is to make writing as much a part of your day as breathing. The second point is to have a pile of manuscripts to show for it. Imagine! A PILE!
2.If you make it to half a mil, you get to buy yourself whatever you want. It's a RULE!
You may copy the widget to the right. (I suggest not leaving it too visible. Watching time slipping away is a little unnerving.)
THE AFTER-PARTY IS GOING TO BE A CELEBRATION...TIMES TEN!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
HAVE I LOST A HUNDRED POUNDS?
I sure FEEL like I've lost a hundred pounds.
On April 15th I signed with a literary agent, and now I'm warring with some pretty bizarre feelings nearly a week later.
I've taken a can opener and pried the "aggressive writer" hat off my head. I've notified everyone with my query, partial, or full that all of my works have found representation. And BOY, wasn't that unreal, UNdoing all that work, then getting lovely notes from people who suddenly saw me differently.
I guess it's kind of like losing a whole lot of weight--people are happy to look me in the eye.
Is it unfair for people to avoid eye contact with overweight people? Of course it is. But is there anything, realistically, that can be done about it? I'd say, not short of jumping on the table and dancing around until they look at you.
My point, Nuwanda, is that unpublished writers are fat. Well, we're kind of invisible in the same way as those of us who take up a bit more space in the world. I've been dancing and singing on this table for quite a while now, and The Call came just in time. My arms were getting tired from waving. My voice was getting hoarse, and the taps on my shoes were no longer tapping, so much as dragging.
So I'm climbing down off the table, with the help of my new agent, Cori. The platform is all yours, and hopefully I won't be back to try and bump you off for another try.
Sing loud. Dance pretty. And good luck!
Lesli
On April 15th I signed with a literary agent, and now I'm warring with some pretty bizarre feelings nearly a week later.
I've taken a can opener and pried the "aggressive writer" hat off my head. I've notified everyone with my query, partial, or full that all of my works have found representation. And BOY, wasn't that unreal, UNdoing all that work, then getting lovely notes from people who suddenly saw me differently.
I guess it's kind of like losing a whole lot of weight--people are happy to look me in the eye.
Is it unfair for people to avoid eye contact with overweight people? Of course it is. But is there anything, realistically, that can be done about it? I'd say, not short of jumping on the table and dancing around until they look at you.
My point, Nuwanda, is that unpublished writers are fat. Well, we're kind of invisible in the same way as those of us who take up a bit more space in the world. I've been dancing and singing on this table for quite a while now, and The Call came just in time. My arms were getting tired from waving. My voice was getting hoarse, and the taps on my shoes were no longer tapping, so much as dragging.
So I'm climbing down off the table, with the help of my new agent, Cori. The platform is all yours, and hopefully I won't be back to try and bump you off for another try.
Sing loud. Dance pretty. And good luck!
Lesli
Monday, March 24, 2008
Horseshoes and Cigars
Nothing beats reaching a goal. Nothing.
I have personally been hiding one goal in my back pocket--yes, yes, a tight squeeze, I know--and that has been to get a query sent off to a particular agent. This past weekend I got it done.
However, this goal was not on my list of things to do. It must have been tired of the lack of air and crawled out of the aforementioned pocket before making its way up onto my desk and staring me down.
No, my goal this weekend was to email a contest entry for which I had already mailed the entry fee. (That's the best way to make sure you enter; pay first. Talk about a deadline. Nothing speaks to me like a possibly wasted buck 'er two.)
Long story short, I turned this great way of self-deadlining into motivation to reach my big goal:
Even though my proposal wasn't perfect enough, it was close. Therefore, while I waited for an answer to a query, I could make it perfect. Automatic motivation.
My full ms isn't good enough, but while I wait for a reply on my proposal, I can make it good enough. Automatic motivation.
So, I will no longer put off those queries until I have my full ms polished. Doing that only gives me an excuse to wait for someday.
"Close, but no cigar"? Bull! This is horseshoes. CLOSE COUNTS.
(If you enjoy this blog, pass it on to a writer near you.)
Ainsley, in motivation mode, baby!
I have personally been hiding one goal in my back pocket--yes, yes, a tight squeeze, I know--and that has been to get a query sent off to a particular agent. This past weekend I got it done.
However, this goal was not on my list of things to do. It must have been tired of the lack of air and crawled out of the aforementioned pocket before making its way up onto my desk and staring me down.
No, my goal this weekend was to email a contest entry for which I had already mailed the entry fee. (That's the best way to make sure you enter; pay first. Talk about a deadline. Nothing speaks to me like a possibly wasted buck 'er two.)
Long story short, I turned this great way of self-deadlining into motivation to reach my big goal:
Even though my proposal wasn't perfect enough, it was close. Therefore, while I waited for an answer to a query, I could make it perfect. Automatic motivation.
My full ms isn't good enough, but while I wait for a reply on my proposal, I can make it good enough. Automatic motivation.
So, I will no longer put off those queries until I have my full ms polished. Doing that only gives me an excuse to wait for someday.
"Close, but no cigar"? Bull! This is horseshoes. CLOSE COUNTS.
(If you enjoy this blog, pass it on to a writer near you.)
Ainsley, in motivation mode, baby!
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