Since spring is almost here, I’m offering “Writing through the year – Winter” as a free gift till March 21. Let me know if you’d like a copy – I’ll send you a SW coupon or the mobi file for your kindle.

Here’s what it’s about: (more…)

WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

Just as in life itself, there are three key components to every story, no matter how short or long, or simple or complex: People. Space. Time. In other words, characters, situations, events. For a story to work well, all three of these have to connect with each other in a relevant way. If you include an event that has nothing to do with the story, it is obviously disposable. The same with dialog: Wherever you include dialog, it has to be relevant to the unfolding of the story. If it’s not relevant, cut it out.

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WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

Last week you listened, you eavesdropped – you were surprised by nuance, misunderstanding, flow, pitch, tone… Now it’s time to write purposeful dialog. By ‘purposeful’ I mean dialog that

• illuminates characters
• moves the story along
• and is fun (or harrowing) to read.

How?
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WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

We talk most of the time – except for when we’re not. The gift of language is part of our existence. We communicate with words far more often and easily than we do through writing or even through an expression like a glare or a smile. And yet much of the time, in conversation as in life, things are not what they seem. Words don’t necessarily mean what you think they do, or what they mean when you’re writing narrative prose. That’s because in dialog the words themselves are colored by the people who are using them. (more…)

WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

Scientists have discovered something new! Sitting is deadly. Spending most of your days with most of your weight resting on your delicate lower spine is dangerous, even if you regularly exercise.

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WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

It always amazes how little we know about each other. When I lived in New York City, I remember looking up at the hundreds of windows in a random apartment building and imagining the real live stories going on within each apartment. Or watching my fellow subway travelers and wondering where they came from and where they were going. Who were they going to meet? Why did that young man wear a secret smile? How did that old woman feel when she had to push through the crowd to emerge onto the platform? Where were those dressed-up teenagers headed and what were they whispering about? (more…)

WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

For many years, every morning I write down three phrases that I call my ‘daily happinesses.’ These are simple – usually appealing – images that help me peek into another, more objective, reality.

In a way, they are also writing prompts. Each one of these little phrases conjures a vignette, a mood, a story, a person. For example: “Planning for a garden of rare and wild roses.” “Penguins diving into the sea.” “The silence before applause.” (more…)

WriteSpa – An Oasis for Writers

A long time ago someone (a man) read a book I wrote and was startled into saying, “Wow! You write like a man!”

He meant it as a compliment. (more…)

In a recent essay on Writers Block and other Urban Legends (http://dosomedamage.blogspot.com/2009/08/writers-block-and-other-urban-legends.html#comments), Jay Stringer defines (and dismisses) the affliction that he says is erroneously labeled as writer’s block. At first, having suffered painfully from this alleged ‘affliction,’ I read his piece with a certain amount of resentment. But then he wrote this:

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From The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

The next planet was inhabited by a tippler. This was a very short visit, but it plunged the little prince into deep dejection.
“What are you doing there?” he said to the tippler, whom he found settled down in silence before a collection of empty bottles and also a collection of full bottles.
“I am drinking,” replied the tippler, with a lugubrious air.
“Why are you drinking?” demanded the little prince.
“So that I may forget,” replied the tippler.
“Forget what?” inquired the little prince, who already was sorry for him.
“Forget that I am ashamed,” the tippler confessed, hanging his head.
“Ashamed of what?” insisted the little prince, who wanted to help him.
“Ashamed of drinking,” the tippler brought his speech to and end and shut himself up in silence.
And the little prince went away, puzzled.
“The grown-ups are certainly very, very odd,” he said to himself, as he continued on his journey.