nothing to update, and thoughts on stories that don't go boom
So, so. Poor little me. Finally got myself some coffee office time, and I can't focus enough to write. Typical.
See, cuz, I polished off the first scene of Chapter 27 under the steady stream of Kinglet-chatter (oh, and also the final scene of Chapter 26, which I decided was pure dren - see previous update), only to find that the next scene needs just as much work. I pretty much scrapped a page of boring bad writing and need to come up with something from scratch. I know generally what I need to write about, but the words - nay. The motivation isn't there. I think it'll take mulling it over in the car and the bath before the right approach reveals itself.
Or maybe I'm just procrastinating.
In the meantime, I'm bouncing through some random things here, chatting with This Guy and sipping coffee.
Here's one of the random bouncy things: http://www.ursulakleguin.com/SteeringCraft_57B.html. It's a bit about "slice of life" fiction, a little literary genre that isn't getting much love these days.
I've received two kind, personal rejections lately that skirt this issue, for me. One was for a short story that takes place over about an hour in a pregnant woman's kitchen. A zine told me they liked the writing but the story lacked conflict and, indeed, wasn't much of a "story" at all.
Then another magazine returned my flash fiction piece about an intimate moment between two "just friends". The editor rejected it with compliments, but wished it opened up from something other than a personal encounter.
I don't begrudge either of these critiques - I think they're perfectly justifiable and these editors know what's right for their venues.
But I do find myself thinking, well, there wasn't MEANT to be anything more to either one of these "stories". They're about moments. That's all. There's poetry and drama in the way sunlight angles through a kitchen window. There's something worth mentioning in the flutter of a woman's heart when she looks at a man and thinks "oh."
I am convinced that I do not know this person until he looks at me again
this is my friend
I like slice of life. I agree with the author in the link above, that not all literature has to be driven and conflicted. A moment may not be a blockbuster, but it can sure be tasty. Like this here coffee.
Which is running low. Excuse me, will you?
See, cuz, I polished off the first scene of Chapter 27 under the steady stream of Kinglet-chatter (oh, and also the final scene of Chapter 26, which I decided was pure dren - see previous update), only to find that the next scene needs just as much work. I pretty much scrapped a page of boring bad writing and need to come up with something from scratch. I know generally what I need to write about, but the words - nay. The motivation isn't there. I think it'll take mulling it over in the car and the bath before the right approach reveals itself.
Or maybe I'm just procrastinating.
In the meantime, I'm bouncing through some random things here, chatting with This Guy and sipping coffee.
Here's one of the random bouncy things: http://www.ursulakleguin.com/SteeringCraft_57B.html. It's a bit about "slice of life" fiction, a little literary genre that isn't getting much love these days.
I've received two kind, personal rejections lately that skirt this issue, for me. One was for a short story that takes place over about an hour in a pregnant woman's kitchen. A zine told me they liked the writing but the story lacked conflict and, indeed, wasn't much of a "story" at all.
Then another magazine returned my flash fiction piece about an intimate moment between two "just friends". The editor rejected it with compliments, but wished it opened up from something other than a personal encounter.
I don't begrudge either of these critiques - I think they're perfectly justifiable and these editors know what's right for their venues.
But I do find myself thinking, well, there wasn't MEANT to be anything more to either one of these "stories". They're about moments. That's all. There's poetry and drama in the way sunlight angles through a kitchen window. There's something worth mentioning in the flutter of a woman's heart when she looks at a man and thinks "oh."
I am convinced that I do not know this person until he looks at me again
this is my friend
I like slice of life. I agree with the author in the link above, that not all literature has to be driven and conflicted. A moment may not be a blockbuster, but it can sure be tasty. Like this here coffee.
Which is running low. Excuse me, will you?