if three words are good, two are better. maybe.

by | Aug 23, 2012 | Uncategorized

I give my files quirky names.

I could be (should be) better organized, placing everything properly in labeled folders so that I could find things more easily, naming my files descriptively, deleting old versions, all of that.  but instead, I name files whimsically, capriciously, and suffer the consequences later.

sometimes I remember what I did, and sometimes I don’t.

what brings this to mind is that I’ve been working on a synopsis for my latest manuscript.  I hate working on synopses.  verbosity is my friend; concision isn’t.  yesterday I had to provide a 500 word synopsis for an agency:  I began with my 978-word synopsis (which was labeled synopsis attempt 17) and started whittling.  pain.  agony.  frustration.

I had to leave the table and then return.  I printed out the 978-word version (which had been culled from a 3-page, 1200-word version) and took my precise-V fine-tip pen and struck through words and lines, squiggling out half a paragraph.  then another sentence.  two words.  an “and,” the word “unbelievable.”  I ate lunch.  struck another clause.  napped.  returned, once again, to the table.

I had it down to 513 words after an hour’s diligent work had passed.  sweat gathered on my brow.  another chop, and then, who needs that sentence, voila, 497 words.  which 3 could I re-add?

I saved that version as “synopsis attempt 18.”  I may or may not remember that this is the 500-word version.  perhaps I should rename it “synopsis attempt 18: 500 words.”  that would be logical, possibly helpful in the future, definitely wise.  but wordy.    a more organized person would probably label this file “500 word synopsis” and call it good.

editing superfluousness is always a challenge.

less-than-literary fiction

by | Aug 9, 2012 | Uncategorized

every writer has their quirks.

some need a certain pen, a routine to follow, a single environment.  coffee, a scented candle burning.  an alarm clock.  a specific drink, notepad, musician playing softly in the background.

quirks are expected, even honored.

addictions, however, are questioned.

addictions, obsessions, wants, desires, habits, compulsions: I won’t go into a discussion of separating one of these from another, for the lines between them are faint and wiggling.  I will state, however, that we all have some of these in our lives, and that most of us are likely a bit embarrassed by one or two of them.

I absolutely love my precise V5 pens, and am saddened by being forced to write with anything else:  this is a quirk, one that I can admit to without shame.  as is my love for lemongrass candles, and for lemon verbena lotion, and listening to my favorite coldplay songs over and over again while trying to write.

I fear, though, that I have an addiction that, as a writer, embarrasses me.  I love words, grammar, definitions, wordplay, all of that.  and I love exceptional writing, great writing, fabulous writing.  however, I also find myself pulled to read a genre of books you might call thrillers/crime fiction/mystery/whodunits:  not exactly literary fiction.

jack reacher, joe pike, and myron bolitar are a few of my most beloved characters, ever.  I even like alex cross, though he is slipping a bit, becoming less complex and more two-dimensional (hint, hint, mr. patterson).  and I admit that reading books about these characters slips across that wavering line into addiction because what I find in them is escapism.  which feels an awful lot like satisfying an addictive pull.

I need to escape.  I can do it on my bike, but that’s not always enough.  fiction that lets me escape is a treasured gift.  I know the set-ups of these books are far-fetched, hard to imagine, unreal, or possibly scarily real.  but when such plots are well-devised and cleverly written with intriguing, complex characters . . . I’m hooked.

and that is my secret for today, released to the world:  I’m addicted to less-than-literary fiction.  it makes me happy.  please keep writing, harlan coben.

one who writes

by | Jul 29, 2012 | Uncategorized

some of us dream about writing, one day; some of us want to write; some choose to write; and some–like me–simply have to write.

it’s what I do.

it’s not my only occupation, but it’s what I am here to do.  it’s what I do to solidify my place in the universe, to make sense of my world, to free what’s inside, growing and burbling and seeking opportunities to escape.

this site will allow you glimpses into my written words, my written world.  each of my manuscripts has a page you may visit by clicking on the buttons above . . . and links to purchasing sites will be posted in the future!  feedback is welcome, anytime, all the time, because as much as I live in my own world of wonder and words, I love to visit others’ worlds as well.

namaste,

susan