Romance Novel weblog by Carolyn Jewel
Carolyn Jewel Romance Author

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Writer's Diary

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Remains of the Mind

Back from George R. R. Martin. I'm thrilled to pieces. Yippee! Can't read the book until after school is over. I was sitting there at the bookstore with many many other readers, waiting (had to get there a bit early to get a good number and a seat with a line of sight over other short people) and the book kept whispering to me Come on, open it up. It won't hurt to start reading just a little bit. He's gifted. He's an amazing writer. You've been reading Walt - I wrote a lot of BORING poems - Whitman all freaking day. How about something that will blow you away? But I was strong because I know otherwise I would be up all night. I am proud to report that like yours truly, he is a pantser. He didn't use the word and I don't really know if it gets used outside the Romance community, but he is. His Fire and Ice series is sublime and he achieved it as a pantser.

So, in other news, I found out today that my website is mentioned in the December issue of The Writer! So I ran out and bought the issue, and it's not just a sidebar thing. There's an article about naming your characters, about which I have waxed eloquent. At first, I couldn't find the mention because I was looking at the article sidebars, but in fact, he mentions my site in the article and briefly and very well paraphrases me, and he used the phrase "fine website" during the mention. So that was pretty cool.

I met with my prof today about the new project and the discussion was very helpful. I have some interesting things to target.

In reading news, I slogged through more of Whitman today. Some of the poems are really, really good, but some are just not. Leaves of Grass is a book that needs to be read slowly, over time, with ample opportunity to reflect. Reading the things like it's a novel or something is imho bad for you. I'm halfway through and my brain turned to mush long before that. Oh. hideous poems. Words that flow together like molasses trickling into the interstices of my brain. That stuff may never come out.

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