Every writer I know is waiting for something. The right moment. A longer stretch of time. The fully formed idea. The confidence that what they write will be good enough. Here's the truth: writing confidence doesn't arrive before you start. It builds because you started. Sure, it's daunting to be faced with a blank page in your notebook. Or to have to watch that blinking cursor on the vast expanse of unfilled space on your computer screen. The thing is, that inspiration you're holding on to won't suddenly appear. You have to sit down and do the work! You don't need to write a novel today. You need to write 300 to 500 words — a scene, a moment, a fragment of something that interests you — and call it done for now. Lower the bar until it's easy to step over. Then step over it every day. Progress beats perfection every single time. The finished page, however imperfect, is infinitely more useful than the perfect page that exists only in your head. Yes, you are a writer. You can do this, one word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time. Short stories, scenes, small fragments of writing all count. Start with confidence, because confidence is a decision, not a feeling. And don't forget to give that writing a title, and include the date when you save it, especially on your hard drive. As those pieces of work add up, you'll have a visual marker of your progress.
A Not-So-Quiet Revolution
Your character’s Wound-Want-Need Triangle is the story engine that drives everything.
Here’s a snippet from a conversation early on in Kenora’s interactions with Jake...
The Lake Decision - 3
The Lake Decision - 2
The Lake Decision - 1
...About the word 'Black'
Bernice was my mother's name. It's still difficult for me to say that out loud. She's been gone for years, but I have so many happy memories.. Thanksgiving and Christmas were always busy, happy times for our family - music, laughter, food, company, drinks and desserts aplenty. As the only and firstborn girl, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen learning from my mom. The purpose wasn't only cooking, though. In the warm, scented confines between the countertop, the stove and the fridge, we'd chat about almost everything. She'd listen to my adolescent tales of woe or triumph and I'd hear snippets of her life story before and after children. My three younger brothers learned the basic culinary skills when they got older, but their main objective was to taste whatever savoury or sweet item we were preparing.
