A Blank Page

This morning I am excited.  I’m excited and somewhat over-caffeinated and thats alright.  The three cups of coffee I’ve already downed are just helping to further fuel this maddening energy.  I feel as though I could burst, but I don’t want anything to quell it—this feeling of potential and possibility.  Finally, finally I am sitting down to a blank page.  My revision of Chapter Twelve is done and I’ve skimmed through the first two-thousand words of Chapter Thirteen that I wrote over two years ago.  Everything I put down from this point forward is totally and entirely new.

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Passing Time

Perhaps my greatest frustration as a writer comes from the handling of passing time.  While things like dialogue come very naturally to me there is absolutely nothing natural about my handling of jumps from one period of time to another.  It is something that I truly loathe and as much as I work on a passage it never seems anything more than clumsy.  This is a problem I’m dealing with a lot in these early chapters of Metamorphosis.  Chapter Eight saw a bumbling transition from mid March to the end of April, and Chapter Nine took us all the way to Memorial Day weekend.  These were very necessary jumps forward but they were unpleasant to write, and even worse to revise.

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Forging Connections and the Perils of Serialization

I have this feeling that I am treading water in calm seas just ahead of a storm.  I can see the dark clouds on the horizon and they’re moving in fast.  I’m an excellent swimmer, so I’m not worried that I’ll drown, but I still don’t relish the idea of staying afloat on top of the coming, monstrous swells.  I know I’m going to swallow a lot of water, and I know I’m going to have to fight—

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Hiatus and Planning Ahead

I really am thrilled with how well this project is going this time around.  A month and a half in my motivation is still strong and the thought of finishing the damned thing feels more and more real every day.

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Making it Happen

When we are children things simply happen.  For most of us, hot meals appear several times a day and each night a safe, warm bed awaits us.  We do not ask how or even why these things occur, simply take for granted that they do and will.  All of our needs are met while we are blissfully unaware of just what that process requires.  We have no concept of forty hour work weeks, mortgages or rent payments, utility bills or groceries.  We cannot imagine the struggle that is sometimes required to pay for our comfortable existence—seconds jobs or even parents missing meals so that we may eat.  The details of our childhoods are as different as our particular situations, but the overarching theme is:

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