I actually enjoy the process of writing, but it is such a commitment that I find it hard to really create the environment to write. I used to think that this was just excuse-making, but now that I’m making significant progress on my novel, it’s become clear to me that I really do need at least a modicum of peace and quiet. Then comes the issue of writing something new versus re-writing. I like to rewrite a lot, but generally I prefer to do it a chapter at a time. This kills momentum forward but makes me feel good about the overall progress.

So I’m looking at my novel and I have two jobs in front of me: Re-writing chapter 5, which requires a fairly substantial amount of work, or writing chapter 6, which will be more enjoyable as a voyage of discovery. In the past, I’ve always done the re-writing until I was happy to move forward, but I think I’m going to try something different tonight–tackle chapter six and then perhaps go back to chapter five.

But, you never know, I may enjoy the process of moving forward so much that I change my whole method of writing and become more “normal”–writing the whole book in first draft form, and then going back to polish it up. We’ll see.

I don’t generally make a big deal out of what I consider minor accomplishments, but I hit two this week that are big enough that I think are worth noting.

The first is that my weight has dipped below 200 pounds. The diet that Lea has both of us using has been pretty amazing. We have both lost a lot of weight. It’s basically a home-brewed version of Medifast, which is a high protein and very low calorie diet. It’s pretty easy, but it requires a ton of self-control, and I think that having two people doing it in the same household helps a lot.

When I started working on lowering my weight, I had hit 228 pounds. My goal when I started was to get to 190 pounds with muscle and perhaps 185 if I hadn’t been working out and building muscle. So far I haven’t worked out, so I guess I’m going to have to look at the 185 total. Still, I’m well over half way to this lower total, with my last weigh-in putting me at 199 pounds. That’s right–I’ve lost 29 pounds so far. Lea has lost even more than me as she continues to really chisel away the pounds.

The real reason this is a big deal for me is that I don’t think I’ve been below 200 pounds in 15 years. When I’ve been at my “healthiest” I’ve been around 205 or so. Below 200 has been almost a pipe dream it’s been so long. But here I am–living the pipe dream. I don’t have any doubt that I’ll keep losing weight, and it will feel good, but not seeing a “2″ on the scale will be a hard feeling to beat.

The second is that I’ve passed 10,000 words on my novel. I am shooting for 100,000 words, but I honestly have no clue how many words it will be. The process of writing is not difficult for me, but the actual sitting down in quiet and spending a few hours writing–that’s quite hard. So I am now over 10% of my way to a finished novel. That’s good.

I’m hoping to make very significant progress quickly. For one reason: I idea for my next novel is really exciting me!

Yes, it is just the random kind of tangent in my life that the name of this blog refers to–I’m writing a novel on Twitter using my iPhone. This will be a challenge as Twitter will let you post at most 140 characters at a time. That’s roughly two sentences at a time.

It is a post-apocalyptic novel entitled The Grey Sunset.

We’ll see how it goes, but I’ll enjoy it, that’s for sure. If you are interested, you can read the novel as it is written via www.twitter.com/thegreysunset. I’ll also see about adding a page on the blog here with the content archived and updated for easy reading.

I’ve been trying to write for over 20 years of my life with the result each time being horrible failure. The simple truth is that I just didn’t know how to write fiction. I write good prose; I have good ideas, and I understand the basics, but putting it altogether into a piece of fiction was always an exercise in frustration.

That changed in April of 2007, which is a story for another time. But the point is that in the process of writing blog entries and “scenes” I suddenly discovered how to write fiction, at least for me. Before then I struggled with everything–writing complete scenes, characters acting real, plotting, and even dialog. Attached to this entry is a file of a story I wrote a few years ago that is indicative of these problems.

I kind of like the story, but it isn’t very good. Anyway, I recently found it while going over some old file backups, and I thought I’d share it with you. You can download the word document by clicking on the link below.
The Magnificent Herbert, Finder Of Lost Things

One of the hardest things for me to do as a writer is to keep my imagination at bay. As I wend through my day, daydreaming during a stoplight, pausing to imagine a fascinating scenario in between assignments at work, or just passing the time in odd moments, my imagination is a dear friend. Indeed, with nary a complaint, my imagination is the one that writes my stories, while I joyfully take all the credit.

But being on intimate terms with my imagination means that things are free and easy between us. If I’m bored, my imagination gladly steps in and keeps me amused. When I’m thinking of Prince Charming, my imagination happily fills in the gaps by providing a dragon, a princess, and a frog with a multisyllabic name. Oh, it sounds all well and good, but this is a difficult relationship for a writer like me.

You see, I badly need my imagination to fill in the gaps when I write. I often don’t know if that subtle glance will lead to something wonderful or will be returned with a crushing rejection. But my imagination knows, and I greedily clap my hands in anticipation of finding out. If I were lying in my bathtub, I would sigh, close my eyes, and let my imagination tell me the story. It is so easy, so rich and vibrant, and so enjoyable.

But when I’m writing, I’m not lying in my tub. I’m sitting at a keyboard and translating to the best of my ability my imagination’s tale into words on a page. And while it’s not hard, it is not the gentle bath either. For one thing, no matter how fast I type, it is slower than simply sitting back and letting my imagination tell me the tale. So I must constantly hold back my imagination, my dear friend who wants to leap ahead and tell me the most wonderful twist on the story I am writing at that exact moment. I can’t skip ahead, I tell my imagination. I need to go slow and make sure that my dear readers don’t miss the wonderful tale that you have blessed me with. But, bless its heart, my imagination doesn’t understand the concept of holding back.

And therein lies the rub: My imagination is such a wonderful story teller that I find myself constantly tempted to simply let the tale live on in my head and not on the page. Why should I write a story for others, when there are countless tales my imagination is just dying to tell me? I could write 30 novels, but how many tales would I have missed out on by telling my imagination to simply wait while I find the right words to describe a scene my imagination had already given me. Call me selfish, but I often abandon my readers for my imagination.

That is my eternal struggle as a writer. When I ponder sitting down to write, my imagination is always the Siren, calling to me to forget the keyboard, tempting me with finished tales when I must have the discipline to pursue unfinished ones. Why, my imagination tells me, must you write for these others, when we can experience the same without the effort, without the frustrating slowness, and without the delay? It is the Siren’s call that I all too often follow.

I have stories to tell. Wonderful tales. New ways of looking at old things. Old ways of looking at traditional things like dragons, fairies, and knights. Oh, I have stories to tell.

I just have to find a way to lash myself to the keyboard, put wax in my ears, and hold that dreadful wonderful most amazing Siren at bay.