Welcome to my little scratch of virtual land. Here you'll find essays about the writing craft; writing exercises, tips, games, and lessons; word-nerd humor; and other writer-oriented content. For a weekly newsletter and a boat-load of freebies, join the Creative Writing Collective by jotting your email in the box below.
As mentioned in a previous post, this website will be undergoing a major split. This split (dubbed”The Great Sundering” by one member of the CWC) will be starting shortly. Given that I’m a busy human being with all sorts of stuff on my plate at this exact moment, I will be doing this move incrementally. Here’s a basic rundown of what will happen and, approximately, when.
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Image courtesy of Marlon Bundy MMX
Wounded Soldiers
I.
When we woke, the room glittered with wounded soldiers,
the sun imprisoned in prismatic bottles,
pale sweat shimmering on your skin.
Intoxication perfumed the air:
sharp sour hops, burn of liquor,
cherry fumes of your hair.
We chose those bottles for their foreign names,
wild tastes, and the cartoon fantasies on the front labels.
The silver-glint horn of a unicorn gazed down from my bookshelf,
hobgoblins collapsed on the carpet, fairies danced on my desktop,
a bumbleebee on my bed-stand, black widow on my windowsill.
Do you trust me?
This one goes out to my wonderful editor, Heather.
Of course, credit for the comic goes to Charles M. Schulz. Like many authors, he worked for Peanuts. (Too punny? Sorry. I’ll try to calm down.)
Have a writerly comic, bit of word-nerd humor, or some other piece of awesome that should be covered? Let us know via the the contact form. Have thoughts, concerns, opinions, regrets, anecdotes, or neat information about the lifespan of newts? Share in the comments.
Write on,
Rob
As this blog moves more into personal projects, I feel more comfortable sharing content like this here. (writing-specific content is being siphoned off into the CWC website, which is coming soon.)
I’ve decided I want to give vlogging a go. I’d love some feedback. Since I won’t be sharing most of my videos on my blog, I encourage you to subscribe to my channel if this sort of content interests you.
Have feedback on the video? Leave a comment or use my contact form to let me know.
Cheers,
Rob
This week’s writerly humor is from Calvin and Hobbes. Click on the image for a larger version.
Image courtesy of Calvin and Hobbes, created by Bill Watterson, distributed by Go Comics.
This “funny because it’s true” comment actually has a neurological reason, as I discuss in my series on the neuroscience of writing. The short version? Writers are adrenaline junkies with anxiety issues. We need that last-minute kick to break us past our intertial barrier. Is this always true? Nope. Creative rushes happen in a variety of contexts and some writers are disciplined enough to write whether or not they feel inspired. But the more I get to know other writers, the more I see how “normal” these procrastination patterns are.
How about you? Do you need that last minute to get started on your writing projects? Or do you have a set routine that helps keep you on course?
Write on,
Rob D Young
A few months ago, I combined all of my blogging properties into this one blog. Strength in unity, I thought. But recently it’s become clear that this blog is targeting a specific audience for a specific task: My content is meant for writers who want to learn more about writing as a craft.
Awesome. But where do I put entries that are about my written work, personal life, or travels? Why is this blog about writing even on a website that’s connected to my name?
It’s hard to admit that this union was a mistake, but yeah, a divorce is necessary. Here’s how we’re handling custody: This blog will be split into three territories. (Tempted to make a Lear reference here, but nothing’s coming to me. Anyway….)
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Dear David Foster Wallace:
Having just finished Consider the Lobster: And Other Essays, I wanted to write to you. Of course, I realize you’re dead and therefore will either get this message immediately (via whatever angel-in-cloud spy network is set up so the infinitely-bored deceased can spy on us) or never get it at all. So, yes, I’m writing to you in the abstract—but I can’t shake the feeling that this is about more than the abstraction of you.
There’s this phrase in my head lately: You can’t decide who you’re related to but you can decide who your family is. Is it arrogant to say I feel like you’re a sort of big brother to me right now? Is this trying to pick up on some reflected glory? (When I wrote “reflective glory” just now, was that a typo or did I mean your penetrating way of looking into the world and yourself?)
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