Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman
will be at the WV Book Festival
Oct 23-24, 2015
Click for more info

I have a confession to make: I found the best blog on the internet, and I can't get enough of it - www.BrainPickings.org - and if you're a creator, it will be one of your favorites too.



Neil Gaiman's Eight Rules of Writing:

1. Write
2. Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.
3. Finish what you’re writing. Whatever you have to do to finish it ... [Click to read the rest]

I Survived Camp NaNoWriMo (and all I got out of it was this lousy banner -- and a novel)

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It began as an annual event designed to encourage writers to scratch out an entire novel in thirty days' time. 50,000 words. No editing, no cleaning it up as you go along -- just down and dirty slapping the words in a recordable form. 

I started my novel "Party Line" during NaNoWriMo 2004, I believe, and promptly had a stroke long about the eleventh day. I spent the next few years learning how to write again, talk, and comprehend language. NaNo felt intimidating and dangerous to me after that. Although more than a few times, I toyed with participating, I chickened out at the last minute.

So this year a summer NaNoWriMo came along. It was set up as a summer camp, replete with tents and related themes, but the best part was the word count goals ranged as low as 10,000. 

I was piddling with writing a children's story I made up for my two older children -- getting it on paper and preserving it for posterity -- and I kept getting distracted by Life. Bottom line, I wasn't getting it done. And 10,000 words (I thought) was outrageous for a children's book. I didn't think I could come up with a full 10,000, but I figured I would at least get the story done.

So I signed on. And I ended up on July 27th with 10,013 words. The story isn't finished! New characters kept showing up behind trees, inside of trees, in the brook, and what-have-you. That's the way of enchanted forests. 

But I have my certificate and my Winner's banner, and I am pleased with myself. And I'm that much closer to completing my story. Only now, I foresee a series of books. Ain't Life interesting? ~GH

Guest Musician: Garland Jeffreys

Ghost Writer

Music & Lyrics by Garland Jeffreys

 From the album Ghost Writer (1977)

Oh I used to stay up every night

I be so all alone

In my hand my trusty pen

I work it to the bone

Ghost writer, writer, writer, writer

Everybody thinks I’m doing fine

Ghost writer, writer, writer

I’m gonna lay you down a line

I used to live down on Ludlow Street 1964

Then I was so innocent

But now I know the score

Ghost writer, writer, writer, writer

That’s what they call me by name

Ghost writer, writer, writer

For fortune and for fame

We got Shakespeare, Spencer,

Sydney too

We all know what they do

I’m a poet of a kind

I know that you are too

Ghost writer, writer, writer, writer

Just tryina’ make my way

Ghost writer, writer, writer

I’m gonna lay one down today

We got Chaplin with his funny face

Jolson with his mask

Movie stars all in a race

I’m going to Hollywood at last

Ghost writer, writer

Like a phantom on the trail

Ghost writer, writer, writer

Yesterday I paid back all of my bail

I got buffaloed down on Barrow Street

Everybody knows it’s true

Now I’m standing on my two feet

You’re with me and I’m with you

Ghost writer, writer

I’m a New York city son

Ghost writer, writer, writer

Just tryna’ have my fun

I’ve been writing down these old stories now

For ’bout eighteen years or so

People are startin’ to call me a genius

I gotta’ tell ’em no, no, no, no

Ghost writer, writer

Tell me what do you have to do

Ghost writer, writer, writer, writer

To get your story through

Good Writing: A Definition

Artist Unknown to Me
If you know the title and/or artist's name,
please leave a comment so I can attribute.

Good Writing: Where you take the bones out of your head, and describe them in such a way that others want to take them into theirs. 
          ~~ Ginger Hamilton

Magnetic Personality

Every person, all the events of your life, are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.

         ~~Richard Bach, "Illusions"

Writer in Training

Occasionally, a friend will ask me why I bother taking more writing classes when I seem to have a pretty good handle on my craft. I appreciate these votes of confidence more than you can know! 

I continually hone my skills, try to cull unnecessary habits while bulking up juicy tidbits, so my readers will receive the best I have to offer. It's along the veins of a boxer perpetually in training.

You never know when the Universe and the Muse will join forces and deposit the Story of a Lifetime in my lap. I want to be ready when it happens. ~~GH

"Unless a writer works constantly to improve and refine the tools of his trade, they will be useless instruments if and when the moment of inspiration, of revelation, does come. This is the moment when a writer is spoken through, the moment that a writer must accept with gratitude and humility, and then attempt, as best he can, to communicate to others."
                ~~Madeleine L'Engle

The Writing Process

Thought I'd share some thoughts I had about my writing process. The following are excerpts from a conversation with a dear friend of mine who is an accomplished writer and editor, and a wonderful spirit. To preserve her privacy, I am only including my comments.

I'm working on a dark story about, what else, man's inhumanity to man. It is coming along well but I had to step away from it for a bit. Although I don't delude myself (too often), it's still disturbing at times to realize that aspect is part of who we are, as well. I am doing my best to incorporate and accept it as part of the whole without value judgments.

It's like holding up a mirror to my naked self and graphically sketching the ugliest aspects. I know every other human being has those same features; I keep reminding myself of that truth. It is an exercise in courage to purposefully reveal them so openly despite knowing, again, that everyone else shares them too.

Writing is actually a physical, visceral process. The more I write, the more disturbing it gets. There are dark corners in this brain of mine. Is a real leap of faith to part the curtain and let readers peer into it. I console myself -- weakly sometimes at best -- that every one of us possess the same darknesses. I know many choose to turn their backs on those aspects and pretend they don't exist.

For me, it's like knowing a cancer grows. I'd rather face it, sit with it, listen to it howl, hold its hand, learn what it has to teach me. It is, after all, part of me that I brought along for the journey. We may as well get to know one another. ~~GH

Language

"I want this music and this dawn
and the warmth of your cheek against mine.

The grief-armies assemble,
but I'm not going with them.

This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.

A great silence overcomes me,
and I wonder why I ever thought
to use language." 
      ~~ Rumi from "A Thirsty Fish"



Words are so inadequate. The more I write, the clearer that becomes. I fear if I continue trying to record my thoughts, they will soon become sheer gibberish. 

Maybe they already have.~~GH

What is Creative Nonfiction?

So for Valentine's Day, that most romantic of days, the day when we acknowledge the one we love most -- I have chosen Creative Nonfiction as the recipient of my affection. You might question my decision (if one would be so bold as to question another's choice in lover) and ask me "Why not writing in general? Why CNF?" 

I crave freedom in a way that few others even imagine. I can't begin to explain this need for freedom; trust me that it exists and drives and informs my entire existence. Creative nonfiction provides the canvas for my creativity to breathe and expand its lungs, to thrive, to celebrate Life.

Eric LeMay asks "What is Creative Nonfiction?" on his February 1st blog. Please do read his post; there are marvelous and varied explanations from many experts in the "field" of creative nonfiction about what it is, what defines CNF.

LeMay explores the question fairly thoroughly for such a brief essay. I like this take on it best of all:

As a term, creative nonfiction amounts to a paradox, a challenge, a generative constraint, one that not only makes us rethink what is or isn't fiction, what is or isn't creative, but also one that makes us ask what our medium can do . . . nothing less than to remake reality into an aesthetic experience.

So Happy Valentine's Day from me to you. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to go back to remaking reality into an aesthetic experience. ~~GH

Advice for Writers

rite with a mission in mind: Write what only you can write. Write with passion. Don't write to sell the piece. Don't write to make a living. Don't write to become famous. Write because no one else will – or can – write what you wrote.

Write because your characters long to live. Write because, if you don't write, they will haunt you the rest of your days. Write because otherwise the world will not ever read what you're about to record.

Write because of all the billions of people who have ever lived and ever will live, you were chosen to tell the tale. Tell the tale. ~~ Ginger Hamilton (Caudill)

Enticing the Muse

"A Lady With Lyre"

Charles Edward Halle

'm working on a new project. Had intended to finish an old project but, as is often the case with my creative world, a shiny new object popped up and distracted me -- er, the Muse. There are times to buckle down and force the Muse; there are times to indulge her. Now is a time to offer decadent soft-centered truffles and deep, satisfying massages. Soon enough, there will be deadlines and unpleasantries, pouts and protests. For now, Persephone will be indulged and appeased.


I shared a few hundred words with a cross-section of volunteer readers (and three coerced ones as well -- my gratitude to all of you) to conduct sort of a temperature check. I wanted to gain a sense of the meaning(s) folks made, to see if what I wrote was effective -- if what I intended to convey, conveyed.


Turns out this section means something different to every reader so far. Ranging from birth, to death, to claustrophobia, to rebirth, to depression, to loneliness, to sleep, to dreaming, to drowning, to being trapped within one's own head due to a traumatic brain injury -- the Muse has found a way to pluck the lyre's strings and elicit a different note in each person's head. She even triggered a panic attack in one reader. 

This is sobering, and thrillingly exciting, and frightening at the same time. At first, I felt a great sense of accountability and responsibility. Then I realized that would only serve to impose self-censoring and that is not a path I want to take. So I will trust that you, Dear Reader, can handle your own reactions. It's not my job to protect you; it is my job to write. And write I shall.~~GH

Writers Folly

Consider the profound folly and insanity of being a writer, whose work it is to describe abstract and ineffable concepts using the absurdly limited toolset that is words. 

People find math inconceivable, and mathematicians have ten digits with which to work. The English alphabet contains twenty-six letters. 

And yet, this is my chosen vocation. ~~GH

MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

***MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT***
(Not to be confused with a Major Award)

So far, every word I've written unless it was marked as fiction has been gospel truth as far as I can remember it, but tiny fractures are about to appear for comedy's sake in the story I am currently writing, and this practice will continue going forward. 

I feel sure Jean Shepherd did the same thing in "A Christmas Story."

All these years until today, I have accurately recorded my family's history, planning to reveal the admittedly 

hard-to-believe horrors in hopes of helping someone else.

Now my paradigm has shifted and I think perhaps I can help an entire generation by painting the events with the humor that has largely saved me and my siblings in the same way Jean Shepherd's stories have touched so many people. 

Folks will be able to recognize the dysfunction but not be horrified by it. I mean, think about what poor Ralphie and his brother endure during "A Christmas Story"! 

Truth is fragile. Trust is even more so. This shift in my story telling method was not casually made. I have purposefully turned the crate "HIS END UP" (you might not have noticed that detail before, but the crate says "HIS" and not "THIS") before prying out the nails and throwing away the Excelsior, leaving only the Major Award: A grand tale. 

I realize I am besmirching a page that cannot be reclaimed -- the Page of Truth Telling -- and by going down this road, there is no going back; no one will ever again be able to believe what I tell them is true. 

This is a huge thing for me as a writer.

It is a scary step but as Joseph Campbell said, "The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure that you seek." 

I've got my knee-high waterproof boots on and new batteries in my flashlight. I'm going spelunking.~~Ginger

Stroke Aphasia 0, Me 1

I had a stroke several years ago which affected my use of language. In short, I was unable to call forth the word I needed or wanted to use, in either spoken language (speech) or written language. Example: The word blue would not pop into my head. I wanted to express “blue” but could not for the life of me think of the actual literal word “blue.” I could describe blue (“the color of the sea or the sky”) but blue itself would not pop into my head. Needless to say, this limited my writing severely.

My speech was also affected. Words would not come to me when I wanted to express them. My sentences were halting, my speech was stilted and uneven. I perpetually sounded as if I were searching for the right words (which I was). I felt stupid. Even expressing a simple concept was painstaking and difficult. Every spoken interaction was a monumental effort.

Last night, I discovered a notebook that I used to write while I was in the hospital for my stroke episode. It is bizarre to read the language and see the penmanship, etc., in that notebook. The marked out sentences – example: I wrote “She offered to take [sic] out to lunch” and scribbled it out. Apparently what I intended to write was “She assisted with my gown, tying the strings correctly and seeing to it that my rear-end was covered.”

I wrote out the ending of my novel while in the hospital. This was a celebration, to find those words! I thought I had lost them in a corrupted computer file. Redemption, once more!

How I struggled, but kept writing. Example: “The phrophets roam the streets of America as they've done since the beginning of Time, and declare the Truth.” “Phrophets.” I am a meticulous speller. And of course, prophets have not roamed America's streets since the beginning of Time (America hasn't existed since the beginning of Time as an entity called America, nor have there been streets) – such a fallacious statement! But that's a sample of how hard it was for me to express what I wanted to convey.

But I kept writing, and I kept talking despite feeling embarrassment and without speech therapy other than what I provided for myself.

This was all compounded by the fact my MRI revealed no area of clot and so my doctor decided I probably didn't have a stroke. Um, well, yes – yes, I did! Or something, some phenomena took place that changed my entire world and how I expressed myself.

You may understand how this language barrier changed my writing. So when you compare my writing style now to my prior style, you will see a richness today where once existed a sparseness. Perhaps I use too many words nowadays – maybe I'm a little flowery with my language, a little scattered, less focused than I used to be. But I am just thankful to be able to express myself at last. It's a good thing.

"An Intimidating and Impenetrable Fog"

Still not smoking. Got tested at the doctor's office today and my airway is 100% open now. Yay! Lung capacity still low (54%) but hopefully, that will improve.

Working on several papers for classes. Starting to feel a little pressure -- okay, more than a little pressure, now. Big difference between an anotated bibliography and fiction writing. Researching for the anotated bibliography on "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" and symbolism is a little like diving into an intimidating and impenetrable fog.

Pied French Bird Dogs Named FiFi

Am experimenting with Dragon Naturally Speaking (voice recognition software) to see if it can be beneficial to my writing. It's an acquired skill, apparently. Here is what it typed, followed by what I dictated. Funny stuff. Maybe Dragon is funnier than I am!

Dragon version: The truth of it was that she rarely is more than a mouthful of anything, she drank like a fish, and inexistent by and large on pell-mell nonfiltered cigarettes, fringe, and gossip. The only love of her life had been a repugnant pied French bird dog named FiFi.

Ginger version: The truth of it was that she rarely ate more than a mouthful of anything, she drank like a fish, and existed by and large on Pell Mell non-filtered cigarettes, bridge, and gossip. The only love of her life had been a repugnant pied French bulldog named Fifi.

On a more personal note, for anyone who's been following my quit smoking saga...today is the thirtieth day without cigarettes. So far, so good! I'm pleased. :)

25 Days Without Nicotine...on the wall?

I feel like singing. Singing something silly like "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Except I want to change the lyrics to go with "25 days without nicotine" to celebrate nearly three weeks smoke free. I still think about cigarettes, but not too much. Outside waiting for my ride today, everyone around me smoked and I got a heavy dose of second-hand smoke. It still wasn't too bad. I remember wondering if I would smell like cigarettes, and hoped I didn't. The cigarette smoke doesn't smell terrible to me like I figured it would by now. Been working on my novel most of the day while not in class. It's coming along, s-l-o-w-l-y but surely. Right now, I am doing a lot of write/revising as I go along. Instead of free flow, stream of consciousness writing, I am laboring over word placement, usage, diction, blah blah blah. I'm just trying to accept it (for now) as less work I'll need to do later.

Last night, my novel writing class professor likened what he's read of my novel so far as being written in the styles of Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller. I was touched, moved, tickled and honored. I admire both of them very much. I actually chatted with Joseph Heller online several years back. He was fun to talk to -- dark, sad, depressed but clever and kind. If I could only write half as well as he did, I'd be thrilled.