I read two Writer’s Digest magazines earlier this month. I thought it would inspire me but instead, I’ve felt less inclined to write.

The first was the February issue was somewhat inspiring. The first article that stood out to me, “Your Novel Blueprint” by Karen S. Wiesner, helps me to see that a successful combination of many things, and I must know some general things before I jump into writing my novel. Of course, things can change as I write, but I still must consider all aspects (internal and external dialogs, point of view, number of “sparks” to keep the reader interested, how characters will be introduced, etc.) before I have a finished product.

Do you plot out novels before your write them?

I also found the article about rough drafts, “Rough It Up” by Elizabeth Sims, to inspire me. I just sat down and started writing. It was a confusing mess, but it felt nice to be writing. I started with her technique to write on paper — I’ve always been a bit intimidated by paper because I want to edit and fix things, and using a computer is much easier. But writing on paper was a nice experience.

Do you write rough drafts on paper or on a computer?

Then I read another Writer’s Digest. I can’t remember which one it was — I think the March/April one. At any rate, there was an interview with James Patterson. He said (and I wish I’d written it down) that when he read Ulysses by James Joyce, he was so impressed he felt he’d never be able to write anything like that: he knew he didn’t have the talent that Joyce had. Then he read a popular fiction novel (I can’t remember which one) and he said to himself, “I like this in it’s own way; I can write like this.” And then he did so and became a successful popular writer.

I don’t like popular, modern fiction. I don’t read it and think “Wow, this is interesting in its own way.” I still like the classics, and the more I read, the less inclined I am to try to imitate it. For that reason, I don’t think writing a novel is for me.

I like to write. I’ll continue to play with the poems for my “exercises in style” project. I’ll continue to share my inspiring quotes and thoughts that I may find about writing. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be a writer of popular fiction: I don’t usually like to read it, so I wouldn’t be incredibly proud if I wrote it.

If there are any readers of this blog out there, I’d be interested to know what, like James Patterson, your inspiration is. Do you want to be like the classics or popular fiction? Or do you just have an unexplained compulsion to write, as some of the authors interviewed in Writer’s Digest seemed to have?

Café Writing January (Fresh!): Seven Things

Give me seven things that inhabit or occupy your writing space. Interpret “writing space” any way you please. You’re not required to explain the items in your list, but it’s more fun for readers if you do.

Note: I’m interpreting “writing space” as I please…

1.       Freestyle

Right stroke, left stroke, right stroke, *breathe*.
– stroke,  — stroke,  — stroke, *breathe*.
str–k,  str–k,   str–k,  *breathe*.
—,     —,      —,      **.
**    **     **    **.

My mind empties once the rhythm sets. 30 minutes. No baby, no crying, no chores, no distraction. My body floats on the water. My arms propel it forward. I think. And then I write. And then I rewrite. And then I breathe again. And again. And again.

2.       My 16-month-old
3.       Lined paper
4.       A ballpoint pen

When my son laughs and looks to me, I smile at him, too. And when he turns back to his cars, I uncover my notepad. Arrows try to direct the chaos, seeking order in the midst of my crossed-out cursive. What am I trying to say? I click my pen and watch him play.

5.       A binkie
6.       My laptop

My son attempts escape from my arms: he knows naptime. And in his crib, he stands, crying and reaching for me, a traitor who removes him from his toys every afternoon. Then I hand him a binkie: his body slumps down into a position of sleep and he rubs his closing eyes. Now he’s silent. I slip out of his room and hurry to my laptop, ready to disorganize the chaos in my mind.

7.       My husband

I hear the cab driving away before I hear him. Then I hear the front door. I close my laptop and greet my husband, the inspiration for what life and love can be.

I was inducted to the “Forties Club” for my entry “The Reunion” (posted here) into the Clarity of Night “Ascension” contest. That just means that the judge gave me a possible of at least 40 points out of 45  for pacing, entertainment value, technical skill, storytelling, and voice. I’m absolutely delighted that I wrote something that someone finds even slightly good in any of those categories.

But here’s my problem: I want to know why. Why was it good? And what could I do to make it better? Any ideas? What do you think makes pacing, entertainment value, storytelling, and voice interesting?

I also cross-posted “The Reunion” on Writing Practices here.

I’m feeling burned out in my reading this week. So I’m turning to writing. But I’m so out of practice. I realize I need more balance.

Write on Wednesday this week is a writer’s meme, so I’ll start here. (more…)

In the past few months, I’ve been focusing on my reading. That is why I’ve been absent from “Writing Practices.”

In the New Year, I want to visit “Writing Practices” at least twice a month. I will share inspiring quotes, write my thoughts about writing, and maybe revisiting some of the memes that I really would like to participate in.

I’ve been thinking about why I want to write. In some respects, I feel like I’m really meant to be a reader. I am so impressed with the power that others have behind their words. The more I read, the more I want to keep reading, and the more I feel I will never be able to command language as do others.

In The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, one task for the budding artist/writer was to go a week without reading: that way, you are open to your own creativity. But I don’t want to do that. Not yet. I am so in love with reading at this point in my life that I don’t want to let go of it. Reading – both fiction and nonfiction – inspires me and helps me expand my mind.

I know writing would do the same for me: I just must do it in order to experience that creativity.

I want to be more balanced in my life overall, by reading, by writing, by cooking, and by working on my photography. I’d love for you to follow along with my progress, although don’t be surprised if my reading blog remains the most active 2009.

Write On Wednesday asks:

Do you consider yourself a writer? Do you think blogging is “real writing?” What does it take to be a “real writer”?

I write for a blog.

Actually, I write for four blogs.

But, like Becca says, I don’t tell people I do. When they ask what I like to do, I say “reading” or “photography,” but I never say “I like to write.”  I never say “I blog. A lot.”

I am torn in that respect. Why can’t I speak up? Chefdruck mentioned on her site a few weeks ago that she similarly had to “come out of the closet” in admitting that blogging is a large part of her life. I’m still in the closet.

In my mind, my blogging-writing isn’t “real writing.” It is a hobby that I take seriously. I spend much more time writing my book reviews. But when I get time, as I do this Saturday morning, I sit down to write and think about my writing process. As I’ve made clear on this blog, at some point in my life, I hope to make writing (anything) a priority. When will that be? I don’t know.

What would it take to make my writing “real”? Real writing, to me, is something that has been written and rewritten and polished. I’m sorry to say that while I do work hard on these blog entries, they are hardly “polished.”

Someday, I’ll write “for real.” Maybe I write a well-researched nonfiction book about something that interests me. Maybe I’ll write a novel. Maybe I’ll write a story. Maybe I’ll ghostwrite. At some point I’ll make my writing real.

I still consider myself a writer. For now, though, I’m just a “closet writer.” A “blogging writer.”

How do you cultivate creativity in your life?  Have you found the things that make you come alive? Are you doing them? Shouldn’t you be? (Write on Wednesday)

I started blogging for the public world in May — a book blog, this writing blog, a photography blog. All the sudden, there is a new creativity in my life, and it feels good.

Sometimes I get an idea for a writing sketch. Writing that makes me come alive.  I am not very good at fiction, but when I had time, I sat down and responded to some Fiction Friday prompts. I really felt alive as I created those characters. I’ve tried my hand at a novel that I have in mind. But time seems to stifle my creativity; I don’t have nearly enough time to spend nurturing those little children into being.

Every few weeks, I take some pictures, or I work with old photographs I’ve taken. I tweak them and upload them to my photography blog. I like working with my photographs, and I feel creative. But again, time stops me, and I get busy and forget.

Most often, I’ve been reading. When I finish reading something and stop to write a few passages about it, I feel I come alive. Analyzing what I read was what I did in college as an English major. I loved it then. I love it even more so now because I’m not spending days on each book: I’m finding the inspiring themes in less than 1,000 words and then I’m moving on to another inspiring book. Good literature is helping me cultivate my creativity.

Am I doing all I can to cultivate creativity? No; if so, I’d spend all day nurturing my fictional characters and the words and photographs that feel so good. Instead, I nurture my little boy, who is going to be walking soon and seems to eat constantly these days. Should I be doing more? No, my priorities are where they should be right now.

Sometimes, I wish I could spend eight hours a day writing and reading. Then my boy laughs as he stands up: he’s so proud of himself. I realize I don’t want to change anything.

So for now, I’ll focus on being a mom 24 hours a day. That keeps me alive. I’ll also keep reading inspiring literature: it adds an aspect of creativity that makes me feel alive, even when I’m too busy to sit and give life to the fictional characters and writing sketches residing in my mind.

I’d thought I needed the motivation of a blog to write, respond to prompts, etc. But there are so many prompts out there, and they don’t inspire me so much. Much of what I want to write is intensely personal; how do I find it within me?

Recently, I decided to follow the example of other writing bloggers and read an inspiring writing book. That would be a good way to get a “jump start” into my writing, right?

I decided to start with a book most writers quote, Stephen King’s On Writing.

So I read it.

I hated it so much I couldn’t come back to this blog for a week. I couldn’t bring myself to even think about writing. Read my review on my book blog to read my thoughts on it.

How did I get the desire to come back to writing, to this site? Well, I’m still pretty disgusted, but I’m healing. The healing process continued as I read again.

I was reading Never Give In: The Best Winston Churchill’s Speeches. These are political speeches, written by the Nobel Prize in Literature winner, Sir Winston Churchill. And as I read these political speeches, I came across the most beautiful explanation of why I want to write. I posted it on this site.

Write on Wednesday asks: Do you ever feel the need to jump start your writing? What drains the energy from your “writing mind”? What do you do when your creative battery dies?

What drains the energy from my writing mind is poor writing. I’ve decided that when I need a jump start on my writing, it won’t be by reading other writing blogs. It won’t be reading the memoirs of “best-selling” authors. It will be by reading inspiring, well-written words of good writers. Quality, not quantity.

I’ll still read blogs; I’ll still read “best-sellers” (sometimes). But I won’t find the inspiration I need from those sources.

That leads me to the question, “Why do I have this writing blog, a collection of mediocrity?” I don’t know anymore. I may be back and write something here again. But it’s not really what I need.

When I was seven or eight years old, my mother gave me a cloth-and-porcelain doll she’d loved as a girl. I loved that doll, despite the arm falling off at the seam. My mother sewed a new arm on her.

My doll was my baby. I put her in a doll crib at the foot of my bed. I changed her clothes. I rocked her to “sleep.” She “napped.”

At some point, I moved on and left her in my closet. She’s still there somewhere.

Almost nine months ago, my firstborn son was born. I admit that I did try every single newborn outfit on him within the first days, just because he was the most adorable baby I’d ever seen, better than any doll. But I love him. I rocked him to sleep, day and night.

Now that he’s squirming and crawling, he’s less doll-like. But he’s perfect, and caring for him is my life every day, 24 hours a day. Even when I get a break, I am thinking about him, worrying about him, loving him. I’m constantly writing things to him and about him, in my mind.

At some point in my life, I’ll probably go back to work. I may write a book: fiction, nonfiction, who knows at this point. When you turn to the About the Author page, you’ll probably see my picture with a description like this:

Rebecca Reid is the proud mother of — and the wife of —. She loves her family with all her life.

It won’t be unusual, though, because everything in the book, fiction or nonfiction, will relate to motherhood, family relationships, and the love of a mother for her child. That is my line now, but it is also my imagined happy ending.

True response to Write on Wednesdays: What is Your Line?, Write Anything: About the Author page, and Sunday Scribblings: Endings.

Right now I sit on the couch with my laptop on my lap. I’m downstairs, beside the playpen full of toys, in our living room. The playpen is empty, the baby that usually occupies it asleep upstairs for his morning nap.

I see the dusty hardwood floor that needs to be swept. I see the dishes in the sink that need to be loaded in to the dishwasher. I see the basket of clean clothes that need to be folded and carefully returned to the dresser.

I have no comfortable chair in a private office with “Do Not Disturb” the door. I have no quiet peaceful retreat on the porch in the early morning hours. I have nowhere beside the couch downstairs or the office chair at my lopsided desk upstairs in the loft.

Instead of doing my chores, I sit here on the couch, my feet on the coffee table, and face the empty page. The cursor blinks.

Response to Write on Wednesday question.