I haven’t made much progress on Elemental in the past few days, gentle viewers. The main reason is that I haven’t been sleeping well, which is one of the big reasons why I am glad to be finding a new job in one short month. One of the unfortunate side effects is that I start to experience a sort of episode that is rather similar to narcolepsy. I pass out the second I get home. There is occasional drool accompanied by memory loss. And needless to say, productivity suffers.
That said, there are only four weeks left of school. And then life starts back up. I’m ever so excited about that.
My goal is to finish the first draft of Elemental by the time I go to Scotland, which gives me about a month and a half to do so. From there, it’s onto the revision process for Primeval. I’m not sure yet, but this process may involve a title change. We shall see. What I’m really excited about is getting to spend some time developing some finer points of the writing craft in Scotland. There are a couple of exercises I like to do for description. The cool thing is that you can practice them without even using a pen and paper. When I would take the mini-bus in Poland to perfect the art of disguising myself as a sardine, I would use the cramped hour and a half from Krakow to Oswiecim to observe the people around me, to pick out the few details that set them apart from everyone else and describe them in my head with as much clarity as I could manage. This helped me with two things: painting what I saw with words and forging an image into my mind for later recollection. I still like to do this with interesting people or places.
I still recall this old man who sat in front of me on one of the trips in which I was lucky enough to survive the Great Seat Scramble and find a place to store my bum for the journey. His face was rugged like old, soft leather, with folds of deep wrinkles that fanned out around his eyes. His brows were peppered cresting waves flowing onto his forehead. Beneath them, clear marble blue was obscured by wire-rimmed spectacles whose lenses were thicker than chunks of ice mined from a frozen lake. His lips, folded inward, hinted at a smile. Tufts of hair protruded from underneath a crisp red baseball cap several sizes too big. As I watched him, he stared out the window at the blur of green Polish fields.
Posted on May 23, 2010, in elemental, primeval, the silver thorn chronicles, Uncategorized, writing progress and tagged description, emmie mears, fiction, memory, writing exercises, writing process. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Lazy Sunday.