One value of a writers group.

Hal on May 16th 2008

Just one.

I’m running behind today. Okay, truth is that is the normal state of my days.

I think I try to pack more into each day than is possible. Maybe I should pack my days using those Space Bags. You know. The ones where you use the vacuum cleaner to suck out all the air and scrunch everything up for storage.

That would be nice to do with not only my days, but the mess of my desk.

That’s as far off the path I was setting, that I wish to go.

Anyway, I was going to post just one little reason for joining a writers group.

Encouragement.

That’s it. Encouragement.

Yesterday I met with my monthly writers group and we went over the stuff we brought. I left very encouraged as a writer.

In part it’s because of the commonality of us all. We each have a desire for words and a desire to use those words to share the passions that Jesus placed in us.

And it is also because of the great feedback I got on my writing. By that I mean help to improve it.

So if you’re not part of a critique group. Find one. If you can’t find one, make one.

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Writing during life’s storms.

Hal on May 5th 2008

Okay. I’m a writer. And oddly enough, I appear to be human.

This duplicity often times leads to stress and frustration. The writer in me wants to write frequently and repeatedly. Yet the human in me often finds the storms of life troubling and burdensome to the body, mind, and soul. When that happens the writer just can’t seem to think clearly enough to string more than a couple of semi-coherent words into more than mere pixels on the screen.

That’s where I’ve been during the last several weeks. Stressful things happening in my own life and the life of my church family.

The writer wants to write, but the human that finds it necessary to eat, live, and breathe needs to scrape together some pennies. Not only that, but being a warm body with a pulse means there is a need to work in fields that God asks me to tend with my time and hands.

The good thing about these times, these storms, is that they are fodder for the writer to draw upon when the writing time is available.

That said, I guess there really isn’t a duplicity at work here.

I’ve been reading from Psalms almost every day and I so love that book because it so sings of being a human in love with the Lord God, a human fallen in nature, struggling in life under all kinds of pressures and stress, but still able to recognize and praise God.

I try to start my mornings with those scriptures. I take the date, for example today is the 5th, and I read that Psalm. Then I add 30 to that number and read that Psalm which would be 35. Add 30 and read 65, and so forth until I’ve worked through the entire book.

It’s a wonderful way to start the day.

Well, I’ve got some time, so I’m going to try and write for the next hour or so.

Until next time.

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My favorite writing nook and an update or 2.

Hal on Apr 25th 2008

Panera Writing NookGreetings. I’ve got two updates. One on the novel and one on the software WordWeb, I mentioned in this post several days ago.

Oh, and here’s a picture of my favorite writing nook at my local Panera. It’s secluded enough to give some privacy and has a nice place to plug my laptop in. Plus it gives me a good view of people coming and going which I love because I can scribble notes for character reference when it comes to creating other people to populate my works. And best of all, the AC doesn’t freeze me out. The other location I sometimes sit at when this one isn’t available is right under a vent and it gets cold there quick.

Now, the update on my novel, Sins of Our Fathers. I mentioned somewhere, either in the eMail updates or on the site here, that I submitted a proposal to Tyndale. Well, I heard from the acquisitions editor last week and it was decided that it would be a hard sell to their market. She said my writing, the pacing, and the dialog were all good. So I’m waiting at the moment to see what decision Strang will make and I’m considering sending it to B&H Books as I just received in the mail an advance copy of Shade, by John B. Olson, and it looks to me have some content and intensity that is similar to my novel.

The second item on the free software, WordWeb. I’ve been using it and I like it. It’s quick and works as far as I can tell in pretty much every program where there are words that you may need to look up. I’ve used it in Word and FireFox without any trouble. So give it a shot. You may find you like it too.

Cheers. :-)

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One of my writing spots at Panera.

Hal on Apr 18th 2008

Writing SpotOne of my spots for writing at Panera. The only problem here is that when the Air Condition kicks in because it can get real cold.

Therefore I usually bring a jacket or sweater.

Someone stole my favorite spot. Hopefully, I’ll get it next time.

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Free definition, synonyms, and antonyms software.

Hal on Apr 16th 2008

This morning I clicked over to my eMail and my brother sent me a link to some software that looks like it might be pretty helpful.

Plus it’s free, and as any starving artist knows, free is good ;-)

The software is:

WordWeb

I haven’t tried it out so I don’t know how good it is, but one of the nice aspects to it is that one doesn’t need to be connected to the Internet to use it.

If you try it out let me know how good it is. I do have a synonym software program installed that I use regularly. It would be nice to have the definition and antonym capability, too, so I may try it out eventually myself.

Who am I kidding? I will be installing it and giving it a look see.

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Pics from tonight’s writing adventure.

Hal on Apr 15th 2008

:-D

Okay, so you’re probably wondering just what kind of pics can one have of a writing adventure?

Well… these kind:

The Word and a Cinnamon Chip Scone.

A mountain of cinnamon sweetness.

The warm inviting Panera.

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Writing in the face of frustration.

Hal on Apr 15th 2008

I guess if you are breathing then you likely know that life is full of difficulty and frustration.

Of course if you don’t know this then you are one of three types of people.

  1. Born with a platinum spoon in your mouth and never in want.
  2. Insane - ie. detached from reality.
  3. Dead.

I do suppose you could be two or maybe three of those as well.

Either way it’s pretty safe for me to write that the majority of us deal with frustrations and difficulties all the time.

My question is, how do you deal with them in your life? When at work? Or at home?

There’s a number of pretty large frustrations hammering at me in my life right now and I find them distracting from writing. And part of those frustrations is the hope I have for my novel, Sins of Our Fathers.

The Scripture say:

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Pr 13:12 NIV)

At what point does the heart become sick? How long must hope be deferred?

More importantly, how does one tighten the belt and strive on with what one considers their talent and calling when it appears that the belt is as tight as it can get without cutting off the circulation to half the body?

I think one of the keys is supportive friends and family.

Another of course is sheer will. The emotions can rage but the head must slap them down and say, “Get to work.”

How about you? Any thoughts on these questions? This sort of situation?

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Write Wrestling.

Hal on Apr 8th 2008

Some days I wrestle with writing.

Other days writing wrestles with me.

Either match is acceptable to me. Because it means I’m working at writing. What is unacceptable is not writing.

Lately too much obstructs my entrance into the ring of battle.

But that is life. And the benefit is that life makes us writers stronger and more agile when we can step into the wrestling ring.

Something I hope to do within an hour when I escape to one of my favorite writing rings, Panera Bread!

Chow.

Update:
Tonight I am the one doing the wrestling. :-8

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2.5 WordPress upgrade completed.

Hal on Apr 2nd 2008

Well, I just upgrade the WordPress software that allows me to create this blog. Woo-Whoo!

It went rather smoothly. A fact that scares me. In fact I realized half way through the upgrade process that I failed to deactivate all my plugins! That worried me since I couldn’t go back and do it at that point in the game.

Thankfully, when I fired it up everything seemed to work correctly. Whew…

If you find any quirks let me know.

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F.I.R.S.T.: Ryan Watters And The King’s Sword by Eric Reinhold

Hal on Apr 1st 2008

It is April FIRST–no foolin’–, time for the FIRST Day Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book’s FIRST chapter!

The special feature author is:

ERIC REINHOLD

and his book:

Ryan Watters and the King’s Sword
Creation House (May 2008)

Illustrated by: Corey Wolfe

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Eric J. Reinhold is a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy. The former Naval officer writes extensively for a variety of national financial publications in his position as a Certified Financial Planner® and President of Academy Wealth Management. His passion for writing a youth fantasy novel was fueled by nightly impromptu storytelling to his children and actively serving in the middle and high school programs at First Baptist Sweetwater Church in Longwood, Florida.

Visit him at his website.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:


The
Angel’s Visitation

It first appeared as a gentle glow, almost like a child’s night-light. Heavy shadows filled the room as the boy lay face up, covers tucked neatly under his arms. A slight smile on his face hinted that he was in the midst of a pleasant dream.

Ryann Watters, who had just celebrated his twelfth birthday, rolled lazily onto his side, his blond hair matted into the pillow, unaware of the glow as it began to intensify. Shadows searched for hiding places throughout the room as the glow transformed from a pale yellow hue to brilliant white.

Ryann’s eyelids fluttered briefly and then flickered at the glare reflecting off his pale blue bedroom walls. Drowsily, he turned toward the light expecting to see one of his parents coming in to check on him. “What’s going on?” his voice cracked as he reached up to rub the crusty sleep from his eyes.

***

Under a pale half-moon, Drake Dunfellow’s house looked just like any other. A closer inspection, however, would reveal its failing condition. Water oaks lining the side of the curved driveway hunched over haggardly, like old men struggling on canes. The lawn, which should have been a lively green for early spring, was withered and sandy. A few patches of grass were sprinkled here and there. Rust lines streaked down the one jagged peak atop the tin-roof house. The flimsy clapboard sides were outlined by fading white trim speckled with dried paint curls. Hanging baskets containing a variety of plants and weeds all struggling to stay alive shared the crowded front porch with two mildew-covered rocking chairs. Inside, magazines and newspaper clippings both old and new were carelessly strewn about. Encrusted dishes from the previous day’s meals battled each other for space in the bulging kitchen sink. In the garage, away from the usual living areas, was a boy’s room. Dull paneling outlined the bedroom, while equally dreary brown linoleum covered the floor. The bedroom must have been an afterthought because not much consideration had been given to the details. A bookcase cut from rough planks sat atop an old garage sale dresser.

Moonlight pressing through the dust-covered metal blinds tried to provide a sense of peacefulness. Instead it revealed bristly red hair atop a young boy’s head poking out from beneath a mushy feather pillow. His heavy breathing provided the only movement in the quiet room. Tiny droplets of perspiration lined his brow as he began jerking about under the thin cotton sheets.

Starting at the edge of the window, the blackness spread downward, transforming all traces of light to an oily dinginess. Drake was slowly surrounded and remained the only thing not saturated in the darkness. Bolting upright to a stiff-seated attention, Drake’s bloodshot eyes darted back and forth. He stared into the black nothingness shuddering and aware that the only thing visible in the room was his bed.

“Who . . . who’s there?” Drake cried out, puzzled by the hollow sound that didn’t seem to travel beyond the edge of his mattress. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck, connecting his numerous freckled dots. He strained, slightly tilting his head, ears perked. There was no reply.

***

Neatly manicured streets wandered through the Watters’s sleepy, rolling neighborhood. If someone had been walking along in the wee morning hours of March 15, they would have noticed the brilliant white light peeking out from around Ryann’s shade. Below his second-story window the normally darkened bed of pink, red, and white impatiens was lit up as in the noonday sun.

Ryann was fully awake now and quite positive that the dazzling aura facing him from in front of his window was not the hall light from his parents entering the bedroom. Golden hues flowed out of the whiteness, showering itself on everything in the room. It reminded Ryann of sprinkles of pixie dust in some of his favorite childhood books. His blue eyes grew wide trying to capture the unbelievable event unfolding before him.

Continue Reading »

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