I’m up for air.
I have been entangled in a computer web of word files and the rap-tap-tap of a keyboard since January and now, I am crawling out. I am itching the Times New Roman (12-point font) out of my eyes and my right thumb is in a sling from hitting the spacebar 4.2 million times. Not to mention the pads of my fingers have no more visible fingerprints…if the FBI needs me, it will have to be a retinal scan. At this juncture, however, my retina and macula are ready for a view from a mountain top somewhere and not a blinking cursor.
Ahhhh. The life of an editor and a writer. It is a bit sadistic. Even now as I’m scurrying off to run an errand, I figured, it would be a good time to chat about, well, writing.
I started a writing group back in October: The Featherstone Writers’ Group. I did it for two reasons. Other writers need assistance with what we “other” established writers already know. Writing is solitary–we all need help on the sea of doubt and the sea of exaltation. Writing is anchored in both vast bodies of water. The second reason is I needed to get back in front of people and talk. My talker was rusty and I wanted to get it oiled up.
Apprehensive at first, I find that now, months later, I look forward to the burgeoning group. We have a section called, Writerly News. Each writer is to bring in a tidbit of news about writing, a passage or an anecodote or a piece of wisdom.
I bring something, too. Show and tell. Or rather…show only in the writing world.
I found something the other day in a writing book I’m beginning to lean on. The writer, Stephen Wilbers, talks about being a bulldozer and not a bricklayer when writing your manuscript. The bricklayer has to make everything perfect before he or she can get to the next paragraph. The color of the hat, the lilt in her voice, the passerby’s act of gratitude. The bulldozer barrels right through from parapraph to paragraph not caring about the color of the ladies hat, not caring about any lilt in the voice, and not caring about a passerby–the passerby isn’t even in the scene. The bulldozer gets finished. The bricklayer wears out.
Today, I’m going to bulldoze through this. I don’t care if it sounds right or looks right or even has any meaning. When I edit, or when you edit, your magic palette will appear to do the spackling and the bricklayer will still be stuck on paragraph six of chapter one.
Since I’m up for air, I am now offering more free sessions as I did last fall. If you are a publisher or a writer looking for assistance with me and my arsenal of bulldozers and such, then shoot me a note and we’ll set up a time.
I’m down for more taps on the keyboard…more blinking cursors making me open my Times New Roman and font it for you. Font is now a verb.
Verbs are good. Active ones. So, is air…out to breathe for a bit.