Rose Writers Rise Again

I just got notice from Desiree Kannel that Rose Writers have more 8-week sessions scheduled for this fall, from August 4 to September 22 and from October 6 to November 24. There's also an advanced workshop too on Thursdays, from July 30 to September 17. That will give me something to work toward. I have definitely run aground with the first draft of my novel, so I hope being in the company of supportive writers will recharge my creativity.

This rosey little rose comes from kimmunism at Flickr.

Summertime, and the Creative Juices are Flowing

My workload is considerably lighter now that the school year is over. I plan to devote more time to writing my novel and maybe a little travel if my budget permits.

I just sent in an email to Rose Writers to ask to join the June 23rd session. It's an 8-week course based on the Amherst Writers & Artists Workshops where writers of all abilities come together to write from prompts and share their writing as well as bring other writing in for critiques. Since my Writers Village Novel Writing Class has fizzled, I need some new inspiration. It costs $100, but if I can get in, I'm sure it will be worth it.

While on the Rose Writers website, I noticed that the members will be presenting their work in a reading at the Starling Diner on June 27 at 7 p.m. Good food and good words--what a dynamite combination.

And Then There's My (Ahem) Novel

I’m sure everyone will be relieved to know that I have NOT given up on writing my novel. There’s still six or so active members of the year-long group over at Writer’s Village (out of a beginning class of 20) and two of them have finished a first draft. The bad news is that I’ve only finished three chapters out of an estimated 24, BUT the good news is that I’ve done enough planning and preparation so that I’m fairly sure of the plot and the vague outline of the next 21 chapters I have to write.

Here are a just a few of my favorite paragraphs:

Soledad fished one last beer out her cooler. Sitting together on the blanket, they passed the bottle back and forth to each other, pressing the cool glass against their foreheads and cheeks. They talked about the woman from the camper who’d left Johnny. She’d seemed old to be his mother and oddly unconcerned about abandoning a child, if that was she’d intended. Both Louella and Soledad were sure the camper had out-of-state plates, but neither had a clue about which state.

Around them, clusters of happy people feasted on roasted meat and the sticky sweet fruits of summer. Occasionally the pop and sizzle of a firecracker would erupt with the emotions of the day, and the sleeping boy, who slept with death-like stillness, would thrash convulsively and then return to his slumber. The women’s conversation drifted lazily from the craft co-op where Soledad had just leased a booth to sell her pottery to Louella’s attempts to get her mother to try email. Soledad was telling her about a free online phone service she used with a camera that transmitted her image as she talked when Johnny began to stir.

The boy sat up, rubbed his eyes and bleated like a lost lamb. Then he spotted Louella, crawled over and grabbed her hand. With his ragged hair and filthy clothes, Louella thought he couldn’t have been more unappealing but her heart went out to him. Looing deep into his sad brown eyes, she stroked his cheek and said, “It’s okay Johnny cakes, it’ll be all right.”

Back to School

Saturday was the first day what promises to be a year-long online novel writing class. It’s offered by Writers Village University, which is not really a university but a loosely knit writer’s group with hundreds of classes and forums to improve your writing and meet other writers. Everyone from absolute beginners to published novelists post there with ideas, suggestions and encouraging words. I can’t say enough good about that site. It does charge a membership fee, but if you’re looking for a place to jumpstart your writing, check it out.

The class I’m taking is based on The Weekend Novelist by Robert J. Ray, first published in 1994 with a new edition in 2005. To get things started, we all posted a couple of paragraphs. Here’s one of mine. It’s based on a park here in Long Beach. Can you guess which one it is?

Nothing was quite square in Four Square Park. The ornate Victorian bandstand teetered on its crumbling foundation, a dingy and battered ghost of its former glory. Only one of the oaks planted at each corner of the park at its opening ceremony survived. Twisted and gnarled and gouged with knifed-in initials, it fought for sunlight among the top-heavy pines. Three savage rose bushes, the last vestiges of a formal garden, stood watch over their few pallid blooms with razor sharp thorns next to the public toilet, which emitted extra strength aromas of Lysol and urine. While weeds clogged the forgotten old horseshoe pitch, the area surrounding the ragtag playground was worn to dust by families who thronged there every weekend. No, nothing was quite right in this place, but the people stuck in the traffic that clogged Park Avenue didn’t seem to notice. They had more important things to think about and more attractive places to go.