In Line for “Superman Returns”

My wife and I went to pick up our tickets last night.  We’re old fashioned that way.  Truthfully, I don’t like paying $.50 extra for a ticket online when I can just walk to the window and get it regular price. 

Back when Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire came out, we started going to newer films the Saturday after their premieres.  We get the tickets a week in advance and show up about two hours early for the show.  Usually we’re the first in line, and anyone else that’s already there is bound to be another fan, and you can make a quick friend for two hours before everyone takes their seats. 

Anyway, we walked up to the box office last night.  The first showing isn’t until 10PM tonight, but there at the door, we saw it—a two-room tent set beside, I kid you not, three guys sitting on a large “L” shape sofa under a sign that read LINE FOR SUPERMAN STARTS HERE. 

Geek boys, yes.  And there was a time when I would have tried to join them.  The thing is that, while my couch is very comfortable, it is not my preferred place of slumber. 

(Love ya, sweetie)

Some more thoughts on writing…

I promise—I’ll get this down and then I’ll try to start writing something more substantial.  The writing has come very hard for me this last week.  I cringe at my metaphors and there are times when my prose is…well, let’s just say that “ghastly” sounds pretty good right now. 

 

This happens every so often, and usually, two or three things will help me break through to the other side of this mish-mashed, inarticulate phase.  The first is writing about it, which you’re enduring right now.  The second is reading other good books.  I found that I was producing some decent prose during the time I was reading The Killer Angels, for instance.  I just finished Lord of the Flies which, aside from utilizing a different narrative technique than I’m used to, was a great read. 

 

The third resides in little silver and blue cans imprinted with the word “Red Bull” in shimmering red letters.  I don’t know if it was the caffeine, the ginseng or both, but I had a can Tuesday morning and—wow, man—I hadn’t felt that lucid in a week.  I actually produced close to 1,000 words of decent prose in one sitting that day.  And that’s rare for me. 

 

So, back to the writing and back to the reading.  Hope to return soon with something more interesting to write about.  

Some thoughts on writing…

After reading this, I’ve decided to turn a little introspective on my recent writing, and see if fleshing out some of my thoughts on the matter will help me jump this ditch I’ve encountered in the road. 

I started a novel back in September last year, and after eight months, I’ve progressed to nearly 20,000 words.  To put this in perspective for my readers who may not know, the smallest novels run about 50,000 words.  Larger works by the big boys (Stephen King, John Grisham, etc) usually run over 100,000 words. 

So I don’t sound too lazy, let me also say that it’s taken more than 50,000 words to get there—the product of discarded beginnings, ugly prose and what have you.  I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being just a little too anal with this story.  I’ve written enough to where I know my protagonist pretty well, and I know the lesser supporting characters much better than I did last September.  20,000 words later, however, I’m stuck.  A mud hole has swallowed my boot. 

Now, I know I have already put myself at a disadvantage taking on a project like this when I haven’t even seen my work in print yet.  They say the last thing an aspiring writer should do is try to start a novel, and I’m beginning to understand why.  The novel is more like running a 10k when all you’re really used to is shorter sprints and a couple miles every other day. 

As I write this just now, the reason for my fatigue becomes a little more apparent.  Maybe it isn’t that a mud hole has swallowed my boot.  Maybe I’m just not ready to run 10k. 

At this point, I’m considering shelving the novel for a bit to focus on some shorter assignments.  Build up my wind, so to speak.  I’ve got a few ideas sitting in small notepad in my back pocket just dying for some exposition.  It may not be a bad idea. 

If the novel has any real hope, it’ll wait for me.  It’s a good story.  I just don’t feel like I’m quite ready for that run yet.