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mamadeb
"Write what you know."
What aspiring fantasy or sci-fi writer hasn't heard that advice and cringed? We don't want to write about *us* - our lives are so boring and mundane. Or are they?
Everything you do that seems deathly dull is probably unknown and new, even alien, to someone somewhere else. Even if it's not, as a writer you should be able to make it seem that way to your readers.
Pick up the challenge. Take a slice of your normal, dull, boring daily routine and write it the way you would a fic. Keep it true but make it interesting. Write yourself in third person, the hero/ine of the newest chart breaking novel about a student/office worker/mother/net geek/whatever. Write what *you* know best.
She slapped the alarm clock off without opening her eyes and nudged her husband before rolling over into the warm spot for another 40 minutes of sleep. He'd get his shower and wake the kids. All she had to do was tie shoes, find backpacks, zip coats and play chauffer if it was raining. It wasn't the chaos/motion study nightmare of previous years, but still stressful.
It wasn't raining. A quick glace through the broken ends of the miniblinds (the cat had broken them off in his preference for that particular western windowsill) as she turned off the space heater confirmed that. She threw on a nightshirt over her panties, and ambled out to the futon.
No sock wars this morning, the homework was all packed, and all that was needed was a double knot on the 7's sneakers. She made a mental note to buy velcro next time as she coaxed her fingers into making the bow. The winter settled in a bit deeper every year. The 12's trumpet mouthpiece was stuck again, so she loaded everyone into the minivan. Maybe the band teacher would tell her where she could get one of those pullers he used.
Five seatbelt clicks, a quick drop at the elementary school for the boys, and a swing through the circle drive at the junior high. She could do it in her sleep, and was this morning. Two hours was a nap. Alone with the 5 at last, she pulled back into the drive.
"Mama, I want cereal with milk."
She didn't answer, just nodded and reached the cereal down from the top of the refrigerator, while the little one got the bowl and spoon from the dishwasher. She poured the frosted mini wheats into the bowl, splashed some milk over them and sent the baby to watch The Wiggles. If she was lucky, someone would have left a blanket on the futon and she could sleep through the next hours of kiddie programming, and be half-way awake to go to work at 4:30. If not, there was always caffiene.
What aspiring fantasy or sci-fi writer hasn't heard that advice and cringed? We don't want to write about *us* - our lives are so boring and mundane. Or are they?
Everything you do that seems deathly dull is probably unknown and new, even alien, to someone somewhere else. Even if it's not, as a writer you should be able to make it seem that way to your readers.
Pick up the challenge. Take a slice of your normal, dull, boring daily routine and write it the way you would a fic. Keep it true but make it interesting. Write yourself in third person, the hero/ine of the newest chart breaking novel about a student/office worker/mother/net geek/whatever. Write what *you* know best.
She slapped the alarm clock off without opening her eyes and nudged her husband before rolling over into the warm spot for another 40 minutes of sleep. He'd get his shower and wake the kids. All she had to do was tie shoes, find backpacks, zip coats and play chauffer if it was raining. It wasn't the chaos/motion study nightmare of previous years, but still stressful.
It wasn't raining. A quick glace through the broken ends of the miniblinds (the cat had broken them off in his preference for that particular western windowsill) as she turned off the space heater confirmed that. She threw on a nightshirt over her panties, and ambled out to the futon.
No sock wars this morning, the homework was all packed, and all that was needed was a double knot on the 7's sneakers. She made a mental note to buy velcro next time as she coaxed her fingers into making the bow. The winter settled in a bit deeper every year. The 12's trumpet mouthpiece was stuck again, so she loaded everyone into the minivan. Maybe the band teacher would tell her where she could get one of those pullers he used.
Five seatbelt clicks, a quick drop at the elementary school for the boys, and a swing through the circle drive at the junior high. She could do it in her sleep, and was this morning. Two hours was a nap. Alone with the 5 at last, she pulled back into the drive.
"Mama, I want cereal with milk."
She didn't answer, just nodded and reached the cereal down from the top of the refrigerator, while the little one got the bowl and spoon from the dishwasher. She poured the frosted mini wheats into the bowl, splashed some milk over them and sent the baby to watch The Wiggles. If she was lucky, someone would have left a blanket on the futon and she could sleep through the next hours of kiddie programming, and be half-way awake to go to work at 4:30. If not, there was always caffiene.
no subject
no subject
Work is, I presume, 4:30 in the afternoon?