Owl Song
Owl Song, a spirited and often humorous fairy tale adventure, is the story of Sophia - a reluctant and insomnolent princess who finds courage and love in the midst of an astonishing journey.
Excerpt
His brush swept over the canvas as if he were born to do it - to create color and shape and texture where there was once nothing at all. He squinted at the canvas, his large head tilted as he considered his next stroke, and then his brush went to the palette again.
He would never have dreamed he’d be here, in this place. It was as much home to him as a home could ever be. He loved the lushness, the cool nights, the warm, transparent days, as if there were nothing else existing in the world. Just this place, a solace; a haven. Of course, he knew this kind of thought was, in fact, dangerous. That he might be considered, by some, to be hiding away, to be avoiding what he had to eventually face. He had to, at some point, figure out his next move. And he thought maybe she would be the one who could help.
She was coming. He could feel her. Her spirit was strong, and she moved him in a way not many could. He closed his eyes, his brush in mid-flight, trying to imagine her face, to envision her – but it was only a feeling he had, and nothing more. If he could summon up her face, perhaps he could pull her more quickly to him. But he had interfered too much, already. And then he wondered if he should just forget it all, and instead stay and paint and watch the stars forever, until his body became dust and dry bones, crumbling to the earth in a great release.
However. That didn’t seem quite right, either. So he was left here, going back and forth between instinct and intellect, both trusting and disbelieving his powers. He wasn’t sure he would ever really know the answer. And maybe that was the best answer he could ever have.
He dipped his brush and pressed it to the canvas, willing his mind to be still. And in the stillness, his heart pounded in the rhythm of the words, she is near, she is near.
She is near.
this writing life
Positive Feedback
In the never-ending quest to perfect a manuscript, one phase proves to be particularly important. And that is, having a good group of readers to help you look at your draft in a new light. Hopefully, what is illuminated turns out to be a masterpiece. Or at least a diversion on a slushy day in mid-winter. Along with some hot cocoa. And a warm blanket.
A group of good readers can help you see your manuscript for what it is - be it fabulous, on its way, or in much need of work. But how negative should the feedback be? How far does one go in accepting constructive criticism?
One train of thought is that with positive feedback a writer can plainly see what works, and what doesn't, without all the hullabaloo of negative criticism and all the baggage that goes along with it. In other words, by providing only positive feedback, the things they like about the chapter, the characters that work, the dialogue that sings, readers provide an important service - to allow a writer to emphasize the strengths, and minimize the weaknesses.
Many workshops I've attended have encompassed the good, the bad, and the extremely ugly. And honestly, I've found that the good feedback, the what-works, the atta-girls, and the keep-that-ins, have helped me take a look at the rest and realize what I need to chop off. Knowing what readers connect to allows me to understand what I need to improve upon as a writer, and what it is I need to emphasize, to bring to the manuscript. And that is positively invaluable.
say it out loud
I sit at my computer sometimes, muttering to myself.
No, I'm not insane. There are no voices in my head, and I'm not Dorothy Parker. I'm simply...well, working.
I find that reading aloud from whatever I'm writing gives me a clearer idea of how it flows, and how it might come across when read by someone else. I realize that much of the written word isn't necessarily meant to be read out loud, just as Shakespeare suffers when read silently - but I find that when I read aloud, the poetics of the thing come to life. The words take on an almost tangible shape, springing off the tongue like buttah. Well, springing off the tongue like buttah is what I aspire to. Sometimes the words gingerly step off the tongue like dry fruit cake. With little neon green candies. And it's time to revise.
Like staring off into space, and napping, muttering can be work, too. Just make sure you're reading something while you're doing it. There's nothing worse than an unbefitting mutter.