Please note that this sound advice is only suitable for a writer trying to finagle her way into a new story. In any and all other circumstances, this strategy would most rightfully result in a charge of stalking and/or breaking and entering. This would be bad. Very bad.
Now, with that disclaimer made, I’d like to spend the rest of this post bragging about my chimney-shimmying.
As I’ve noted in the previous couple of blogs, I’ve had trouble getting into the late Colonial dialogue required for my Six Brothers project.
Yesterday, after several hours of extremely slow, plodding-through-the-proverbial-mud writing, I ended up with the first 120 words of my 100K novel done. Consider those numbers for a moment.
This is bad. Very bad.
So, I started shimmying. Madly.
I went to my “Colonial” dictionary (thousands of terms used in the time period by “normal folk”) and started randomly picking out words or phrases. I would then come up with a sentence of dialogue, including the chosen word, for somewhere in the mammoth outline. I would then start sculpting out a scene around these token sentences.
And voila! I had wordage.
And that’s my chimney-shimmy, ladies and gents. Take it or leave it. I offer it only as an option for a locked-out writer.
Acclaimed author of 17 novels (my dogs and mother adore me), World traveler (I’ve felt the Sahara Desert between my toes… still gobsmacked over the stars in the Sahara) And survivor (of three dirty-fighting gremlins named Anxiety, Panic and OCD)… My name is Chloe Stowe. Hello. If you’ve found your way here, you’ve most likely arrived on the coattails of my blog, The Words and Madness of Chloe Stowe. Started in 2012, my daily rantings now number in the thousands. Ranging from humorous to moody, poignant to absurd, these tiny tidbits of thought began as a way to get my name “out there.” It has long since morphed into an effort just to “be there” for anybody out there struggling with words or madness, like me. Quick biographical sketch of me? Nerd turned nut at nineteen. In my sophomore year at Auburn University, I was taken out at the knees by severe panic attacks. Chronic anxiety soon joined the dogpile, followed shortly by OCD tendencies. Oh, it was ugly. I eventually had to quit school and soon quit life, as well. I spent a good chunk of my 20’s not able to leave my room. Twenty years later, it’s still can get ugly in my head. Thanks to meds and doctors, however, I am able to lead a better life, now. I still can’t work outside the house, but I can live and smile and write. So, here I am. Broken, but stubbornly present. I hope my voice proves company to someone lonely out there. Thanks for reading! Chloe Stowe