You took my breath away
If only I knew
That you’d use my favorite pillow
To do it again"
— My Favorite Pillow
— My Favorite Pillow
May the clear rain now be allowed to fall,
It shall do what’s right and cover my tears,
May it come down now, impotent and tall,
It shall do my wish and make less my fears,
May the greatness of light sing to my heart,
May its power be here, lighting the sky,
May the mighty thunder make a new start,
Starting will mean I can cover my cry.
As the sound happily chose to remain,
It will help to end the crowds running deep.
I shall look around through fire and rain.
Out of the crowds I shall follow your leap.
With your eyes as guide and your hand to hold,
I shall walk the lane and forget the cold.
-A. M. Asali
Anonymous said: Whenever I start to write something I usually stop almost immediately after I start because I think what I'm writing is no good or that its not a worthy idea...how do you get past that mental block?
Have confidence in yourself! I write silly things everyday and I keep writing them because I know no one will ever see the things I write unless I want them to. You should never just quit because you feel inadequate or silly (it’s nice to go back and read the works you’d rather not share because you can see improvement which is ultimately fulfilling) Realistically, in the beginning, about 5-10% of your writings will be worth sharing. At least that’s the way it was for me. On a more promising note; the more you read and write the greater that “worth sharing” percentage will become! Most importantly never give up on something you’ve already started! Believe in your own abilities weather they be simply letting out silly thoughts or etching your personal philosophy into the minds of others!
p.s. Editing does wonders my friend :)
I can’t privately respond to this for some reason so in this post is hopefully some helpful information for you and others who are trying to develop romance in their novel aspirations
Okay so some of my first impressions are going to be to really set it up when you’re writing. It doesn’t have to be the focus because you have a great plot to work with, but build it none the less. I’d probably do the initial showing of interest while they’re not missing through dialogue vs. internal thoughts and ideas. It allows it to seem more natural and less forced. Journal entries are a great way for characters to examine their own thoughts and feelings in a genuine way to the readers. It sounds really solid and again the main thing to look out for would be jumping in to early. Also- never forget the importance of side characters to help main/romance characters indirectly figure out their true feelings! It creates better inter character relations and strengthens the ideas. I hope I could be of help and always feel free to ask or comment or say anything at all!-Rebekah
Anonymous said: Dear Adam, I hear you like romance Novels so I was wondering if you had any pointers/ideas. The book I'm writing isn't exactly going to be all romance (more leaning towards syfy) but sort of have an underlying romantic tone.
This isn’t Adam, but I might be someone who can help because I semi obsessively read both syfy and romance novels and novellas and short stories and well anything! What specific issues are you having? Is it with development or the pairing together of characters? What to do after they are together? There is such a complexity that goes into writing a believable and strong romance that I’d like more information if you could spare it.
A general side note, it’s been my observation especially in the syfy category that the more drawn out and laborious a romance is the more believable it is. Too many novice and seasoned writers fall into the trope especially in this genre of having an incredibly fast buildup because it isn’t the central plot which kills all the romance that should be there.
Excited to hear more so please respond!
And so it ends with me. I’m Rebekah and I too grew up in Winston-Salem and was always among those whining about its lack of activities to do and boring location. As I age and am readying myself to leave the nest I’m beginning to see all the hidden charm that escaped me as a child. I’m attending UNC Charlotte next year with almost nothing in mind for what I’d like to study.
I myself have no talent in most of the arts but I’ve always been lucky enough to surround myself with beautiful people and even more beautiful artists. I’m introducing myself more and more to the art world every day and would love to discuss it with any of you! I enjoy yard sailing and making mosaics out of old china plates. My real true passion though is creating slam work and finding new artists. A few of my favorites are Buddy Wakefield, Anis Mojgani, Taylor Mali, Big Poppa E, Mike Rosen, Chad Anderson, Denice Frohman, Andrea Gibson was my first love and I could keep going.
I was raised the youngest in a divorced household. I was a strange kid who was convinced my parents were aliens until age 8. My mother is a strong baptist woman and my father is a converted Jew to a Moravian. Flip flopping back and forth like a ping pong I’ve never had a strong sense of home in either house and instead am more partial to making homes within humans. I have two older siblings, one of whom is no longer living. My oldest sibling was Seth, a bright eyed boy who went off to war and never came back. My sister is Sarah Elizabeth and she’s shaped who I am completely without knowing it. I fit into the last role my family needed, the little redhead who didn’t talk and read too much. I grew up on oldies and westerns with my Dad, but my musical taste can be described as similar to the two lovelies above me but I also love rap. Classical, old school, new, underground, all of it. Its format is so similar to poetry that I think they are but extensions of each other.
I hope to one day live in Argentina and have a big, big dog.
The young composer, working that summer at an artist’s colony, had watched her for a week. She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in love with her. He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she mused and considered answers to his questions. One night, walking back from a concert, they came to her door and she turned to him and said, “I think you would like to have me. I would like that too, but I must tell you that I have had a double mastectomy,” and when he didn’t understand, “I’ve lost both my breasts.” The radiance that he had carried around in his belly and chest cavity-like music-withered quickly, and he made himself look at her when he said, “I’m sorry I don’t think I could.” He walked back to his own cabin through the pines, and in the morning he found a small blue bowl on the porch outside his door. It looked to be full of rose petals, but he found when he picked it up that the rose petals were on top; the rest of the bowl—she must have swept the corners of her studio—was full of dead bees.