{ of status & the letter c }

I should really be sleeping. Or working. Or probably anything else rather than writing this, which is more of an indulgence in quantifying what I class as writerly or not. But it is late and I am making poor decisions.

Recently, I read about curing writer's block. Writer's block is something that I've found that I have to deal with less and less as I go on. Writing is, in many senses, an indulgence itself, a pastime I delve into when everything else is finished (or at least not screaming to be finished) and so when I go into it I have a lot of ideas or emotions that I want to explore that I've been pushing back or cataloging for future use. It's not to say that I always have words at the tip of my tongue--hardly-- but it's more that, when I'm busiest I find that it's least hardest to be inspired.

I think a part of it is that the brain goes into full-battle mode during busy or amazingly stressful times. Everything is running on all cylinders. I take breaks by imagining things: plots, characters, odd stuff about the guys I'm working next to, or the lighting. When I'm at home and relaxing, or just zoning out because I need to be brain dead for a while, it's harder for me to find inspiration, or rather, when I do feel inspired, I know that I have to act on it more quickly.

This is all leading up to how I feel about writers. There are some people who really try to write (and either do or don't) and others who don't really try (and either could or can't). Tons of other people have lambasted those who don't try and can't and have praised those who try and can, so it's really the remaining two groups that interest me: the ones that try really hard but don't come up with anything, and ones that don't really try but maybe could.

It's always difficult to generalize anything. Mathematically, if you do it well enough you get your name on a theorem or an amazingly handy law. Usually, though, if you take stabs at it you look incredibly silly or people poke holes in your argument right away. So, in the interests of making sure I'm talking about the distinct subsets I want to, I'll acknowledge that there are a lot of different kinds of writers, specifically, many varieties that try and fail and many that don't try and are passable.

Even more specifically, I want to talk about writerly snobbery. Some of it I think is a little bit justified, especially when a less honed writer wants to strut their stuff and either does this poorly or also refuses help afterward. Writing poorly is something a lot of people do, myself included. It just happens, usually especially when you're trying hard not to. What sets poor writers apart, though, is their willingness to revise to accept critique. I class as a writer as being worse off (in their own progress and ability to self-edit) if they don't at least acknowledge what their critics are trying to say or recognize certain, perhaps subconscious stylistic things in their work. The kid that starts off using cliches and trite phrases but, on being told that he's doing that, tries new things, is better off in my book than the guy that's convinced that he's writing gold each page and thinks his critics are all jealous lessers.

On the other end of the spectrum, being good at writing doesn't allow being snobbish to people who are still trying (legitimately) to improve or people at the same level. For me, writing is something I respect people for doing: the end product is always going to be indicative of skill and dedication, but the sheer fact that a person is willing to try and put themselves through revising is enough for them to earn my respect in that regard. What I don't like is when good writers put down or refuse to consort with people who either don't write in their style or who don't write as well as they do. Writing is a process for everybody and you close yourself off to a lot of interesting and possibly-waiting-for-the-right-instruction-or-epiphany friends if you discount them for their mediocrity right off the bat. I am constantly being surprised at people's ability to change.

I, however, do not seem to change very much and am often not all that interesting. I like people whose names start with the letter "c": Crane, Callahan, Crawford-Gull, though I also like the letter "s" a lot, too. "B" I can't abide. It just makes everything sound blubbery and misshapen, all out of whack. Too many of them make a bad impression. Ironically enough, more or less all of the people I'm really close to don't have b's in their names. Odd coincidence or second-alphabet-sense? I wonder...

In other news, have been contemplating not doing Callahan and doing Argent instead for NaNo. I do want to get it written and done, and maybe Callahan could benefit from slow and steady revision rather than my throw-it-on the page style. But is NaNo how I want to tell Argent?

Still noveling in November, again having no idea what. But I think that's how I did Crane and that worked out alright.

{ of cranes and casualties }

For some reason I've really wanted to revisit Nicholas Crane, the title character of my first NaNoWriMo novel for a while now.

A part of it might be the leaving college-nostalgia: all the trees are turning yellow (because in this part of Pittsburgh there's more yellow than red or orange) and I'm starting to realize how much I'm going to miss this place. It's like trying to convince yourself that there's going to be a fall again next year-- you know it's got to happen, that it's got to take place because it's happened before and nothing's changed, but it still doesn't quite register. I still feel like I'm seeing the leaves change colors for the last time and that I've got to savor it.

But, on the upside, it's good that I've come to this realization before the best parts of the trees have fallen off. The trusty disposable camera (chimera) and I can be out in full force yet.

Back to Crane: I never realized how suicidal he was, or rather, lingered on being. I wrote him (formally) my second year of college, when I'd broken off from my freshman friends and was trying to find my own way (for the most part on my own). He's immortal (by curse rather than by choice) and he walks an odd balance of trying to connect with an age and its people but at the same time retains a distance, an unwillingness to latch onto anything more ephemeral than he is. Which is, unfortunately, many things. I'd been playing with the idea of why Crane didn't like being immortal-- I mean, really, who wouldn't?

He's set up fairly nicely-- he writes under pseudonyms since he can't publish under his real name, but thanks to a lineage of family connections and a handful of deceptive skills, he manages to hang onto his professorship (after long terms of absence) at a small college and for the most part makes a nice life for himself. He could go on quite nicely being immortal; the only caveat is that he occasionally turns into a swan when he gets too involved in the moving time part of his life.

I suppose that would be enough for him to want to break out of the curse: wanting to make something happen rather than write about it happening to other people and never letting anyone else read it. At the point of the story that we meet him, he should be at a breaking point-- or at least approaching one. He's lived his lifestyle for so long, he wants to break out of it. He's been running off for years-- ever once in a while he'll take an unexpected sabbatical and gallivant off across the country trying to keep the curse off (but this never works). He'll be tired, fed up with where life has taken him or has paused in its taking him, and he'll want an escape, even if it's one that he can only take once. It'll be a cold, wet night, either rainy, snowy or full of slush, and he'll have his hands spaded in his pockets stiffly when he meets the person who'll turn his life upside down.

I like it.

But enough for this year's NaNo? Hmm... I've already done tons of research on Callahan over the summer and recently, and I feel like I'd be disappointing more than a few people if I suddenly switched out. Plus, I do want to tell that story and as it's autobiographic in a lot of senses, I feel like it would be perfect for this year: a wrap-up, the final presentation of what I learned at college before the celebration semester kicks off. (Hopefully) Crane I'll try to rewrite later. I have a feeling that a lot of his brooding could be better handled by a longer stretch of time rather than NaNo's rush. Callahan, on the other hand, could definitely stand to have pressure on it.

And as a last aside: nearly sliced off a finger yesterday. Well, not quite. The verdict's still out on whether or not I'll have a scar, but I'm okay with either option, as long as the scar is cool-looking.

Needing to work on Argent more but facing a busy week. Ugh.

{ of introductions && plans }

Welcome to Ghost Harmonics, my chronicle, commentary, and occasional compendium of writing and my take on it.

If there's one thing that's been constant in my life from changing cities, schools, roles, and circles of friends, it's been writing. I'm a notebook collector, a lover of fresh pages and new pens, the kind of person who wants a new body of pages for each new idea or plan to flesh it out fully. Reading I also like, and might comment on it here, though I plan for this to be more a collection of my lonely thoughts on writing.

The title of this space is meant to mimic the way certain words make me feel--like there's a strange electricity undercutting them, as though as they strike a chord in you and stay with you long after you've read them. I'm in search of words, phrases like that. I'm constantly trying to invoke emotion, to convey my characters and scenes in a way that make them feel real and meaningful to readers.

I can't promise anything more specific than that I'll talk about writing, what I like and don't like, and what I want to do, and that I might keep this up for a while. I tend to start things and not see them through fully, or really much at all, so this is my no-promises-no-guarantees clause.

Currently, my goals include finishing my dragon story (working title Argent) and prepping to finish the second half of Callahan for this year's NaNoWriMo.

Research for Callahan has been hilarious. It's meant to mimic my life on about a million levels, as well as incorporate a lot of religious context and mythology as well, so it's a crazy ride. I've gotten tons of dark and odd looks checking out these esoteric and really fairly evil looking tomes on demonology and "dark" magic and I believe I've horrified a few librarians with the incongruence: being a mostly attractive young girl and borrowing items that would perhaps, in other times, have marked me as a odd variety of heretic or devil-worshiper. While sometimes I get sad that I don't live in another time, the freedom of information that I enjoy in this era is something I can't say I'd want to sacrifice.

So projects:

- Callahan (research && planning)
- Argent (writing)

I don't know if I can finish Argent before NaNo. It's supposed to be a Christmas present, but it's doubtful that I'll have the time to get it all done, unless I really step it up or finish Callahan ridiculously early and then spend the rest of NaNo completing it. Oh well. We'll see; I might yet amaze myself.

A