"I can write better than anybody who can write faster, and I can write faster than anybody who can write better." ~A. J. Liebling Cynthia 1:07 PM

This week I did some much-needed reading. I’m almost finished with The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and I finished Room by Emma Donoghue.  I much prefer Room. I finished it in a day and found myself thinking about it when I wasn’t reading it. But I found that after 500 pages of The Fountainhead, I got tired of the characters being caricatures and bored of everything being overstated, ala:

“Just sit there and get used to me. Stop being afraid of me. Forget everything you said yesterday. This wipes it off. We’re starting from the beginning. We’re partners now…..”

 And so on. I know there are a lot of people who loved it, but it’s just not my kind of book (although I still have 100 pages left…it could wow me in the end) and that’s okay. Still, I was impressed with a lot of the content and the general idea behind the book. Room, however, I found riveting in every aspect—the language, the characters, the settings—everything. Kudos, Emma. I resolve to be unafraid to use the world “poo” in my writing. Much better than “traverse.”

I’ve done some editing on A Scribble in the Margins this week. It’s a complex process. I have to weave every change throughout my storyline, but it’s been good for me—nothing like building something and then dissecting it to help you figure out how it really works. I wish I could print the manuscript out each time I want to make a change, lay it all out on the floor and mark it up, but I try to only murder as many rainforests as I absolutely have to. When my novel is published, I will plant a tree to give back what I have taken. If it becomes a bestseller, I’ll plant an orchard with some of the proceeds. Am I counting my chickens before they hatch? Not only that, but I’m also naming them and custom-designing their rooms so their chickenfriends can come over to play.

Blog off.

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once. ~Albert Einstein Cynthia 11:08 AM

I’m sitting here drinking a cup of coffee and feeling reflective—not reflective like that tape nighttime joggers wear so they don’t get hit by cars—the think-back kind.

This week I’ve been basking in the creative genius of my children. I’m so pleased that they are exploring their artistic sides. On Monday, I’ll be attending the graduation of child Three of Five, and congratulating myself on producing another amazing adult, who will no doubt contribute to the world in a positive way. Tomorrow is Four of Five’s birthday. She’ll be 17. She’s beautiful and brilliant and has the whole world before her. I truly believe she can do anything she wants. One of Five and Five of Five are writing novels as I type, and Two of Five has been creating some beautiful poetry.

Which brings me back to me. As I funnel children through the school system, I think back to myself as a high school kid. There were good moments and there were bad, but throughout the ordeal I had an insatiable love of reading and writing.

 I was in a critique group with my boyfriend, Tim, when I was in the 9^th grade. I remember he read one of his short stories and used the word “traversed.” “Oh he’s so smart,” I thought, and I attributed that to the fact that he was a senior and wore a fedora. “Maybe,” I thought. “If I had a fedora I would be that smart and use words like ‘traversed’.” But my parents said no to the fedora and I don’t believe I’ve ever used that word in one of my stories, which probably turned out better for me in the long run. (Although I currently own a fedora. There’s still time to work it in….)

I’m sure we all do this, but I find myself wondering what would have happened if Now Me went back to Then Me and gave me some writing tips—told me to keep on keeping on, forced me to read something besides Nancy Drew and The Black Stallion (Yeah, I had a crush on Alec Ramsey). I jest of course. I’ve read more books than I can count. My favorite places were the library and the paperback exchange when I was young. But while I wrote some AWESOME stories in my youth—Stellar Strategies; Carnelian; and Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday to name a few—I definitely spent more time losing myself in other people’s fiction than honing my writing skills.

Now Me can’t go back and help Then Me but Now Me can help Now Me stop procrastinating and Now Me can certainly encourage One, Two, Three, Four and Five of Five to follow their dreams with courage and conviction.

Blog Off.

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read. ~Groucho Marx Cynthia 9:12 PM

I just finished reading Contact by Carl Sagan solely at the gym. It was a bit of a headache (literally) to read on the elliptical, but I feel like a champ for multitasking in this way—exercising body and mind simultaneously. A fellow gym-goer commented that he’d never seen anyone go that fast on the elliptical while reading before. That’s how determined (crazy) I am. And Sagan was great. As far as novels go it a) wasn’t really anything like the movie b) kind of rambled on ala Les Misérables or Dune, and tended to be a bit overwritten, but the ending was worth it. I think I said “Whoa,” or something else very Bill-and-Ted-esque.

I’m thinking about reading Plato’s Republic next, but I’m kind of craving something lighter. Contemplating complexity while bobbing up and down and sweating is tough on my eyeballs and my brain.

I haven’t looked at my novel in a week. We’re not speaking to each other for a while. Is it weird that I found myself wondering how my characters were doing in my absence? That I kind of missed them? That maybe I have a crush on one of my characters and found myself wondering if I was his type?

Ah. I’ve said too much.

Still, I felt like we needed some space. I’ve got some after-hours work stuff that’s demanded most of my time this week, I’m aching to finish editing A Scribble in the Margins, and I promised my son I’d read the 600-page novel he wrote. (Way to go, Jaed!)

I wish you all a happy and productive week. I’ve missed your comments on my blog, so feel free to leave something to let me know you were here.

Progress Report—Week 5: Cynthia 10:05 PM

62,000+ words

I learned some things about myself this month. A) that I like singing Katy Perry’s E.T. at the top of my lungs B) I will never have enough time to clean my whole house, and C) I can comfortably write about 2,000 words a day. 

When I do the book-in-30-days project in the future, I’ll give myself 45 days instead. That’s right folks—I need 45 days to write a 30-day novel.

It’s not that I fell short of my goal—my goal was to write a 50,000-word manuscript in 30 days and I did exactly that, since I had 10,000 words to begin with, but I realized halfway through the month that 50,000 words doesn’t make much of a novel. And why not do it right, eh?

I had smooth patches and rough spots in my writing. I will definitely need some time to edit. Another 45-day month should do it, but I don’t want to put my manuscript away until it has an actual ending, so I’m extending my month another 2 weeks. I won’t tell you what my manuscript is about, but how about suggesting an ending for me, eh? 

Give me some ideas. I’ll give you a dollar if I use it.