This summer I challenged myself to post daily and write in my novel daily. They are more different than I ever believed.
Novel writing
Writing in my novel is done is dark solitude. Typing for hours with no outside conversations. Perfect sentences and amazing metaphors sit for only me to see. I battle with characters, plot construction and the art of dropping clues that don't look like nuclear bombs but are instead slight and elusive like a wispy fog. Each chapter is determined by me. I am the rule maker. God of the pages before me. Omnipotence is lonely.
Blog writing
This blog is a breathing beast. I write and it talks back in a range of voices. I post and link and before I know it the post has run off. Gaining in speed and wreaking havoc all along the way. Like a good nursemaid I watch its stats and monitor its health in amazement. Some days I think, 'ech...not bad' it thinks otherwise. I sit and bleed out my soul and the post melts away into nothingness. There are no restrictions. I post poems, research pieces, personal narratives whatever I am interested in for that day. It is very seductive. alluring me with a daily freedom of choice.
The summer goal fell apart briefly but the seductive call of free choice of subject and form have been pulling back at me.
The summer goal fell apart briefly but the seductive call of free choice of subject and form have been pulling back at me.
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