I’ve been thinking a lot about writing for the past twenty plus years (I started in 1991). I’ve been thinking about it a lot more since I started teaching the publishing class at McDaniel three weeks ago (there’s the blind leading the blind). One of the things I forced my hapless students to do was examine what they wanted from a writing career and beyond that, lurking in the subtext, why they wrote. It’s a big question for me because I was not born to write novels. I think I was born to sit on a bed with one or more rescued dachshunds and read novels; at least that’s what comes naturally to me. And yet there are these stories in my head. The problem is, I’m having a helluva time writing them. Continue reading
I’m not an author who spends a lot of time on clothes in books unless they’re a reflection of character. If a character is a clothes horse (or a shoe fanatic) I’ll mention them, but the whole “She was wearing a cerise Armani and gold Jimmy Choos” bit always seems intrusive to me. But the thing is, clothes really do make the
man character. This photo essay of classic statues in modern clothing is a great visual example: those white statues that seem so alien and inhuman now dressed in everyday clothing look like the guy next door. I still think that extensive description of clothing is disruptive, but I’m thinking more about how I use what characters wear now.