Insecure Writers Support Group

Hello. It's that time of the month again. Hang on. That doesn't sound quite right. It's the first Wednesday of the month again, which means it's IWSG time! It also means my kids are sick. Yes, even in summer, they managed to find a virus. Way to go, team! I'm sure it wasn't deliberate, but these summer programs are non-refundable, so buck up campers.

June has been a bit weird. It started off fabulous. The family spent a week body surfing off the SC coast, doing flips in the pool, and dodging deer on our bikes along the golf course. Then we got back home and quickly realized my daughter's 5th grade class would not be the only ones bidding a fond farewell to the elementary school.

Not one of my daughter's three teachers will be staying to teach her younger sister. The Yankees' fan who cracked delightfully sarcastic jokes? Moving down to first grade. The amazing math teacher who not only directed the 5th grade play but also single-handedly made nearly all the costumes? Off to middle school. Ditto the third. Even the principal, who donned sunglasses to jam out with the band to "Uptown Funk" on his sax has left the building. For good. Le sigh. Le pout.


Image courtesy: Tony Hisgett

But I'm complaining. Let's talk about writing. Do I still do that anymore? Maybe in bits and pieces. My husband (a math prof.) dragged me to a fancy dinner at the President of RIT's house to recognize faculty who've brought in the big bucks with grants. Best part? When the festivities were halted (right smack dab in the middle of my husband's introduction btw) by a pair of foxes bouncing through the yard and past the pool. Second best part? Meeting the fellow in charge of grants. For my husband's first major grant, I wrote the introduction and apparently, this piece of writing is trotted out at grant writing seminars as a how-to piece. Cool! I may not be cashing in on my writing, but somebody else is.

In the fiction arena, the ongoing edits for the historical novel are big in the sense that they are changing what the novel is about, but not so big because the actual numbers of words added and deleted are around 2K each--so far. (I'd love to shorten this sucker, but I'll have to be content on not letting it bloat.)

This book's becoming a story about boundaries: the ones you keep, the ones you choose to cross, and the upheaval that comes when circumstances put you on a side you never thought possible. That last one is the biggie. When the climactic scene comes, I don't want to slow the pace expounding on the importance of the moment. If I set the groundwork properly throughout the novel, the impact will be implicit. Easier said than done, if this makes any sense at all.

Enough vagaries! I'm a co-host this month and need to be out visiting. Does that last paragraph strike a chord with something you've either read or written?