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I'm currently listening to the Lord of the Rings on my ipod. I don't particularly like the reader. He doesn't do very good voices and tries to sing the poems embedded in the text. The result is hideous melodies that get stuck in my head for hours.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the read and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is hear us!
This refrain has been stuck in my head for approximately three days. A broken soundbite that fills every inch of my brain when I'm trying to sit quietly and mind my own business. I suppose there could be worse things stuck in my head.
Anyways, while I scoop poop I listen to the adventures of Frodo Baggins. It's quite interesting because I also have the text. What I found is that while I don't mind listening to the book on tape, reading it is much more enjoyable. I wish the guy who did Harry Potter would do Lord of the Rings.
The snow storm that we were so desperately counting on was a complete bust which means we are still using the ATV. It's a little frusterating because I don't really do anything. I harness dogs and then tag along for the ride, a little bit of extra weight to pull. Usually, I try and think about the book that I'm trying to write. I say "trying" because I haven't gotten very far.
It seems as if I have all these great skeletons for stories in my head but giving them flesh and organs has turned virtually impossible. I have an army of half-alive stories parading around my skull bragging about the fact they are seemingly incomplete.
I'm not sure how to get around this problem. I write, but then what I write I do not like or I don't know where it's taking me. Or I try to plan, but I don't much like that either.
I keep feeling like writing a story should be like reading one. It should unravel itself to me as I go along, but I'm not naive enough to actually think that's how great books, or any book for that matter, is written. I don't like the endless struggle that seems to unfold every time I sit down to type or the endless questions about style or my characters.
My characters lately have been the worst part. I'm finding that I have a very hard time writing characters who are unique and, more importantly, have flaws. I specifically need to create unsavory characters but find myself incapable of doing so, despite surrounding myself in literature filled with them. The result is pages full of characters who are mind numbingly similar and who are predictable.
No one is perfect, but why am I so set on creating characters, who in seemingly every way, are perfect? And if not that, at least not mean. Jeesh. I have learned about myself from this process; I think people are inherently good or at least start off that way. Stupid, perhaps. But I can't exactly rewire my brain. Maybe I can override it though.
Alright, time to load up the dogs.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the read and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is hear us!
This refrain has been stuck in my head for approximately three days. A broken soundbite that fills every inch of my brain when I'm trying to sit quietly and mind my own business. I suppose there could be worse things stuck in my head.
Anyways, while I scoop poop I listen to the adventures of Frodo Baggins. It's quite interesting because I also have the text. What I found is that while I don't mind listening to the book on tape, reading it is much more enjoyable. I wish the guy who did Harry Potter would do Lord of the Rings.
The snow storm that we were so desperately counting on was a complete bust which means we are still using the ATV. It's a little frusterating because I don't really do anything. I harness dogs and then tag along for the ride, a little bit of extra weight to pull. Usually, I try and think about the book that I'm trying to write. I say "trying" because I haven't gotten very far.
It seems as if I have all these great skeletons for stories in my head but giving them flesh and organs has turned virtually impossible. I have an army of half-alive stories parading around my skull bragging about the fact they are seemingly incomplete.
I'm not sure how to get around this problem. I write, but then what I write I do not like or I don't know where it's taking me. Or I try to plan, but I don't much like that either.
I keep feeling like writing a story should be like reading one. It should unravel itself to me as I go along, but I'm not naive enough to actually think that's how great books, or any book for that matter, is written. I don't like the endless struggle that seems to unfold every time I sit down to type or the endless questions about style or my characters.
My characters lately have been the worst part. I'm finding that I have a very hard time writing characters who are unique and, more importantly, have flaws. I specifically need to create unsavory characters but find myself incapable of doing so, despite surrounding myself in literature filled with them. The result is pages full of characters who are mind numbingly similar and who are predictable.
No one is perfect, but why am I so set on creating characters, who in seemingly every way, are perfect? And if not that, at least not mean. Jeesh. I have learned about myself from this process; I think people are inherently good or at least start off that way. Stupid, perhaps. But I can't exactly rewire my brain. Maybe I can override it though.
Alright, time to load up the dogs.
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