I always wanted to make an aesthetic for my WIP, though I wasn’t sure that I could.
Originally, this was due to my not understanding them as an artform. I knew they were collages of evocative photos that represents one’s story, and that they’re a common way for writers to discuss and promote their work on social media, particularly Twitter.
The inspirational title of my day planner for 2020 is “Grand Plans”.
It’s funny how so many sayings about plans are negative ones:
“If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”
“No plan survives first contact with an opposing force.”
“Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
(Continued from Part 1)
Last week, I wrote about the care I take with word choice in writing
Specifically, the first of three questions that I ask myself in attempting to create a narrative that sounds of a bygone era for historical fiction.
As writers, we all naturally pay close attention to the words we use in our prose.
Being a writer of historical fiction has made me even more mindful of word choice.
Every year I make New Year’s Resolutions, but last year, I conceived of them in a different way.
A way more conducive to my successfully achieving them.
And so 2019 draws to a close.
All year I’ve been working toward my three major goals for the year that I set on January 1, 2019 (my New Year’s Resolutions).
I did this primarily to convince myself to follow my own advice.
Years ago, on a now defunct blog of mine, I discussed the notion of pitching a novel to an agent or editor.
Specifically, on February 26, 2006, I wrote the following:
I’m often of two minds about things when it comes to writing.
Case in point: in my previous post, I argued that physical descriptions of characters of the sort that itemize their hair colour, eye colour, height, and hair style are largely irrelevant to the plot and point of most stories.
Last year, while having parts of my WIP critiqued by a CP, I received an unexpected bit of feedback.
It had to do with the physical description of a certain character. Specifically, the fact that, in her mind, I hadn’t provided a physical description at all.