The Oatmeal!

Ahhh, the oatmeal. These guys are great! This post about writing is on the money (mildly depressing because of its precision and reality), but very entertaining. Check it, and other great posts, at this link



Hello, World!
Here are the instructions to this month’s Absolute Write Blog Chain!

In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, write a mock review of a writing project that you have done or would like to do. Make sure to either give a brief, one-sentence description of what the project is or work it into the review somehow. You can review anything (poetry, prose, collected blog posts) and in any way you like (funny, serious, Dadaist).

And here are the participating blogs:

Participants and posts:
orion_mk3: (link to post)
Ralph Pines – (link to post)
bmadsen – (link to post)
dolores haze – (link to post)
SRHowen – (link to post)
Angyl78 – (link to post)
writingismypassion – (link to post)
meowzbark – (link to post)
pyrosama – (link to post)
randi.lee – (link to post)

wonderactivist – (link to post)

Here’s the post:

Chad Sorrens is a young and talented soldier facing his biggest challenge yet: to survive Project Archangel. In B.M.’s first novel, Project Archangel, the protagonist faces a series of challenges outlined by an underground terrorist war in Russia. Written at the age of 15, this novel has predictable twists and turns, but does have a gem somewhere beneath the troupes.

Within the gunfights, cliché love scenes and crummy dialogue we are forced to endure if we want to finish the novel, there is a harsh criticism towards war and the psychological turmoil soldiers endure. Sorrens, in the end of Project Archangel, regrets every second he spend holding a machine gun in the middle of the Russian Winter. Not because of himself, but because of the changed lives around him.

Overall Project Archangel, at 120 thousand words, is an ambitious creation by a young writer with much to learn. If the book is left to mature (and the writer) for a couple of years, it just might turn into a decent novel comparable with Ludlum, Forsyth and the earlier Clancy.

The review is of my very first book.

My creative independence slaves me:

Greetings, world! This post revolves around the July topic of Absolute Write’s Watercooler blog chain: Independence and Slavery. Firstly, the participants of this chain are mentioned:

Drum roll, please:

Participants and posts:

orion_mk3 – (link to this month’s post)
knotanes – (link to this month’s post)
meowzbark – (link to this month’s post)
Ralph Pines – (link to this month’s post)
randi.lee – (link to this month’s post)
writingismypassion – (link to this month’s post)
pyrosama – (link to this month’s post)
bmadsen – (link to this month’s post)
dclary – (link to this month’s post)
Poppy – (link to this month’s post)
areteus – (link to this month’s post)
Sweetwheat – (link to this month’s post)
ThorHuman – (link to this month’s post)
Tex_Maam – (link to this month’s post)
MelodySRV – (link to this month’s post)

My creative independence slaves me:

It was a Saturday afternoon, the wind had suddenly chilled to the point of discomfort and the clouds had flooded the skies. The sun was only visible as insistent rays piercing through the thick gray tumults. Evergrey echoed in my headphones. And my manuscript was right in front of me, challenging me to change it.

This was the seventh—or eighth, not really sure—revision and still I couldn’t seem to break from the original idea, even though I didn’t like it. And worst of all, it really caught my eye to see that, though I could come up with anything I wanted regarding the characters of this novel, I couldn’t break free from the original idea.

As I analyzed every line of my manuscript I realized that it was that very same initial creativity that held me back. I created characters, gave them lives, names, problems and fears, they spoke back to me, asking for a change, telling me they didn’t agree with the grainy beard, the pokey eyes or the soft hands. The novel moved on, they moved on, growing up, becoming defined as individuals in a world I had created.

Slight fear had overtaken me. Had I gotten to a point in which they ruled what was to happen and not me? If that were so, how would I know how the novel would head?

I wanted to change them. I wanted to impose my point of view and not theirs. It didn’t work.  Now I must work with them in order to see if we can come up with an agreed ending, a defined rhythm, heck, even the color of the house they live in.  It seems as though I’m a slave to my own creativity.

I got to admit, I like it, though it sometimes frustrates me. Perhaps this post was just a creative rant, a moment of weakness in a usually steady flow of creativity, but it felt from the skies at the right time to let out my frustrations.

I will work with them. But not right at this moment, I’ve just gotten an emergency call. One of our machines is needed in the hospital.