What’s the point in reading if you aren’t enjoying it? And how can you enjoy a story if you aren’t understanding it? This isn’t a trick question. Fictions — well-written fictions, anyway — are created with the intention of pleasing the reader with an interesting tale. If you are struggling to grasp what is being conveyed on the page, then maybe you’re just not into the work. It’s OK, you can move on.
I’ve got a couple hours to myself today and I am spending them by eating lunch and going to see the new Quentin Tarantino film, Once Upon A Time… In Hollywood. The moon and the stars have aligned and I am able to see my first movie out in ages and ages. I’ll even do you one better than that! The last time I saw a movie on opening day weekend was… well, maybe it’s never happened before. Not in my recent adult life anyway. And by recent I mean the last decade or so.
I’m not blogging this week. Why? Because I’m on a bloggy break. This one doesn’t count. There’s nothing to see here. Just a placeholder for the week of July eh, what’s today’s date? 24th? I don’t think it’s the 24th yet.
Are you a writer? It’s ok if you haven’t admitted to yourself that you are yet. And it’s perfectly fine and normal if you haven’t yet admitted it to anyone else! In fact, I’d be surprised to hear if you do go about proclaiming your self-prescribed title to everyone you meet.
Dear fiction writers (especially those who are struggling to complete a first draft — I’m looking at you, world builders),
I’d like to talk about one of the biggest impediments to my progress toward finishing the first draft of my sci-fi novel. I will do so in screenplay form, because the distance dulls the pain.
Please enjoy Backstory: The Movie!
Until today, I never once wondered what the E stood for in Alfred E. Neuman. Upon learning the news that, after 67 years, Mad Magazine is cutting its production to “year-end specials” for an undetermined time, I cranked up the creaky Google machine to learn (quite to my satisfaction) that the eponymous E, believe it or not, stands for “enigma.”
If my calculations are correct, it’s just about 7:30 p.m. EST on this current year’s 4th of America. That means it’s still light outside because, you know, farmers require their ever-lovin’ sunshine to sow their night crops of barley, hay, and thyme. Or something. I forget how most things, including Daylight Savings Time and a well-balanced mentality, work.
As long as most of Act III’s scenes may have been, the first two of Act IV are just as short.
Um, I’m not sure that observation is a) worded well, b) accurate, or c ) at all interesting to the story.
Give me a break, will ya? Shakespeare ain’t easy.
The first word in this play is “Nay.” A guy named Philo comes out and says “Nay, but this dotage of our general’s o’erflows the measure.” He goes on to say more but I just had to stop and appreciate that some guy I don’t know from Adam is immediately in my face and disagreeing with me. Hey Philo, did I tell you your general’s dotage was overflowing with measure? Nay! I did not, sir! So take it back a step, will you? All right then, let’s read the play!
I’m busy contemplating many things, including but not limited to marketing Marcus, finding time to draft new projects, figuring out how to present/possibly package said projects, reading and blogging Shakespeare, anticipating Frozen 2 with frosty breath (OMG it’s gonna be so good!)…
This is what a thousand words looks like. This is how it feels to be inside a thousand words. Welcome.
“Back in my day,” wrote the old man who somehow got himself a bloggy, “we used to do a thing called freewriting.”
That’s fascinating, Grandpa! Tell us more!
I’m currently in a 30-day trial period with a popular email service company called ConvertKit. It seems to be the proper choice of many successful indie authors, including Chris Fox, an extremely prolific author who, quite believably, is of no relation to Marcus.
I love Walt Whitman. I have always loved Walt Whitman. And yet, as such things go, his big two-oh-oh escaped me. What can I say? I guess I have more pressing things in my life now. That doesn’t change the fact that I love Walt Whitman.
Oh right, the drum. OK so before we plow into Act IV, I need to head back into III briefly. I forgot to mention that in Act III there was quite a bit of importance laid on some drum of war.
Whether you’ve been blogging for 10 years and 10 minutes or 10 minutes and 10 seconds, eventually you’re going to come to a point in your illustrious bloggy career when you hit the proverbial wall.
Back in 1990, no one could have predicted that a little show debuting on HIBBO would, nearly 30 years hence, rise to become the world’s most intensely watched, anticipated, and scrutinized television program of all recorded time.
Well, now what?
I’m sitting in a haze of post-published, euphoric loss. I feel like I’ve had to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends. I gave him up to the world and now he doesn’t write me anymore. Wait, Marcus may be a storyteller but he’s not a writer. I don’t think.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of being a published author. It began, one might suppose, in my early childhood days of climbing the branches of the tree in our front yard to sit there, midway up in the perfect nook, reading for hours on end.