Lizard, just fabulous.

Although...

it occurs to me that this thread hasn't seen poetry for a while.

::cough:: Except what I posted a few days ago.

Yes indeed, Steph posted some sensational poetry. Which means we've seen two good hits in damned near as many days.

Which makes me happy.

Rebecca, damn.

Woo. Thank you.

::cough:: Except what I posted a few days ago.

Oh, come on. This is the Internet; and the thread has been fast. A few days is months' worth in those conditions.

I love these: Aeolyta, Melosyne. Those are sensational names.

Thanks! I'm fond of them. The characters, too.

Hampshire is a part of England.

This is what I mean. New Hampshire was named because it had historic ties to another place in the world. Allow your fantasy world to have historic ties within itself. Let it move through time. That was my point, apologies if I waxed a little too rhetorical.

Bev, that's the way I had visions of writing. But when I tried, it turned out I intimidated myself with the pretty. I had to have a feeling of impermanence, editability. Hence, I have a bin full of post-consumer-recycled steno type pads, with pages falling off from use and storage. But I wrote freely, allowed myself the freedom to screw up and leave lovely unfinished bits for future use.

'Permission to screw up' is an important part of the creative process! I used to have a motto taped to the top of my writing computer: "This is cheap entertainment fiction. You are supposed to enjoy writing it" as a reminder that I didn't have to get all grim and earnest while writing.

"This is cheap entertainment fiction. You are supposed to enjoy writing it"

Absolutely. If I don't enjoy writing it, nobody will enjoy reading it.

I had to have a feeling of impermanence, editability.

What's more impermanent than electrons?

I like writing on paper, but I also love the fact that if I edit on a computer, it's neat straight away. I can see how the whole sentance looks without having to read around my crossing out and spelling mistakes (yes, I run spell check every couple of words. It's great). All about the impermenance.

I intimidated myself with the pretty. I had to have a feeling of impermanence, editability. Hence, I have a bin full of post-consumer-recycled steno type pads, with pages falling off from use and storage. But I wrote freely, allowed myself the freedom to screw up and leave lovely unfinished bits for futuer use.

Oh, understood. But when I began I was so repressed and convinced I had nothing of worth to say--only a burning desire to scribble--that I sort of made an exalted "safe" space to do the scribbling. The pages I so lovingly archived have scratched-through, blotted, even torn-out bits. They're not gorgeous. But they were precious to me simply because I'd been able to create them.

It's no longer such a dedicatedly formal process. I have stacks of wire-bound notebooks with post-its sticking out of them marking bits that might be relevant to something I have been/am/may be working on, and scraps of paper napkins, envelopes, other scribbled-on detritus shoved in among the pages.

But the "archiving" was a good symbolic way of bestowing importance on my writing, however banal it actually was. The process, and the creation of the habit, needed some ceremony. For me.

If I don't enjoy writing it, nobody will enjoy reading it.

That's actually one of my primary editing tools, if I'm having to force myself to write something, pretty good odds are that it's not working.

if I'm having to force myself to write something, pretty good odds are that it's not working.

word word word word

Connie, that ought to be stitched onto a sampler and hung over every writer's desk, I think. And you know your editor is right there when she (or he) goes over the ms when done and unerringly hits those exact portions with a red pen. "This lags...."