Yeah, well....

Okay, so much for commitment. Maybe I'll get the hang of blogging one of these days, but now -- uh, no. Closed until further notice.

Thinking

My mother died on November 13, 2005 when my son was 10 months old. If there is a year in existence that entirely changed my life, it's the year I both became a mother and lost a mother. My mother had been suffering numerous illnesses for about five years prior to her death, so while her death was not unexpected, it was nonetheless difficult to bear.

So of course I still think about my mother on a daily basis, perhaps even more so now that I have two children, and for the rest of my life I'll wish she was still here and healthy. Most of the time when I think about her it's with the wish that I could share something with her. I watched the movie Waitress and thought, "Mom would have liked this movie." I read Pomegranate Soup and thought, "Mom would have liked this book." We received a brick of Irish cheese for Christmas, and whenever I eat a piece, I think, "Mom would have liked this cheese." (It's true. She would have. The woman did know her cheese).

It's both bittersweet and kind of comforting. I want her to still be here so I can share new finds with her, but I'm glad that when I think of her, it's not always in the context of her being sick. I remember the type of things she enjoyed, what would have made her laugh, what she would have liked discussing. I wonder what she would think of things. I want her opinion. I want to talk to her again.

Having a great time, Mom. Wish you were here.

Commitment

I’m committed now to blogging on a regular basis. Really. I am. Uh huh. Not going to make a liar out of myself, no sir. Although I guess it would help if I thought anyone was actually reading this. Sounds like there’s an echo in here.

Speaking of which, did you know that a duck’s quack doesn’t echo and no one knows why?

So anyway, I finished a round of rewriting for my historical erotica novel, tentatively titled “The Bridge at Daybreak.” While it always feels good to finish rewrites, there’s also always a nagging voice wondering how the book could still be better.

Lately with the intention of sharpening my focus, I’ve been reading books about plotting and pre-writing. I’ve always been something of a la-dee-dah writer—writing when the mood strikes me, when a scene or character pops into my head, following the story without much idea of where it’s going.

I think that technique is no longer going to work for me. It leads to my stories being kind of unwieldy and flabby. I dislike both unwieldiness and flab. I have a degree in Library and Information Studies—we love cataloguing and organizing and classifying. Doesn’t mean I always put those ideas into practice (although I did organize my daughter’s clothes according to type—onesies, dresses, long onesies, pants—and label the drawers accordingly. I do so love my label maker.]

So I’m going to start imposing more structure on my writing in the hopes that I won’t find myself halfway through a book thinking, “Now what?” I know some writers like discovering where the story and character takes them—I’m one of those who wants to know all that in advance. Other writers can make me think, “Now what?” when I’m reading their books. When I’m writing, I want to think, “Now this.”