While on my way I remind myself of my muse’s mastery replay his voice his words like mist on my skin tender brisk smoothing the serpentine twists of my memory rousing the radical thinking in my mind as he challenges me to live the sober lines and daunting scenes of my novel like a first
Tagged: #amwriting, Mina Witteman, muse, Poem
One more day and night to go before I travel on to my next destination. These past weeks were intense with days of glorious, sometimes even demonic writing and days of calm and reflective composing. Days of solitude and days when my muse popped in to shake up my thinking. Days when I shamelessly called in my writer friends Jim, Donna and Scott to brainstorm about this wretched project of mine. Days that I plunged so deep into the dark that I was beyond grateful to be enveloped by the loving care of the Adelson family. Good weeks. Productive weeks. Weeks that taught me my writing soars when I’m alone. The book ain’t half done and I have decided that I need to come back here to finish it. It’ll be a few months…
Until today I was so wrapped up in my story that I never realized that there was more than yesterday’s flash fiction kernel that started it, or maybe not started it but at least unconsciously spurred me on to write it. I should’ve known when I started my journey at Schiphol Airport and took out my passport, because I carry my passport with me in a Penguin card holder that depicts the cover of D.H. Lawrence’s The Lost Girl. I should’ve known when I pulled out my travel pouch and notebook to scribble down my thoughts during the 11-hour flight to San Francisco, because I carry my pens, sharpies, pencils, my good luck trinkets with me in a Penguin travel pouch that is printed with the cover of Jack Kerouac’s On…
Tagged: #amwriting, D.H. Lawrence, Jack Kerouac, On The Road, Penguin, The Lost Girl
Besides writing longer novels, I write short stories. For the young but also for adults. My adult short stories are flash fiction pieces, often no more than a few lines or 250 words at the most. I love writing flash fiction. It forces me to be concise, sharp, snappy. It forces me to be harsh and merciless. Not necessarily topic- or story-wise, although my flash fiction often turns out a tad gruesome, but harsh and merciless when it comes to trimming the word count. I mostly write the flash fiction in English and there’s no fluffing up with a limited vocabulary. It pushes me to not skirt the core of the story but to go straight for the kill. Sometimes a flash fiction story germinates and grows into a novel, like…
Tagged: elm tree, Flash Fiction, Short Story, word count
were you to go beyond the boundaries of your own mind there would be no ties no cords to pull you down there would be no chains to rope in your wishes the numbing beauty of booze-induced amnesia would be uncalled for an excess a waste cross limits in audacious trust unchain the liberating force of your own mind to open new doors let transformational neurophysics happen reshape your molecules into a whirl of dust for your new breath to blow and scatter
After days of solid writing and going deep, I needed a break. From writing. From the story. From solitude. So I decided to hop on the ferry and meet with my friend Donna Weidner across the Bay in Tiburon. Donna, also a writer, and I had a long and thought-provoking talk about life and about writing and what it does to you if the story is close to home and chafes your soul. Like this one, which is my story and at the same time not my story. One of the things I had to decide was between a happy, or at least a hopeful, ending and a sad ending. I knew already it had to be the latter. It is a sad story and like real-life sad stories sometimes there…
Tagged: Donna Weidner, open ending, Protagonist, writing, YA
I went out to look for lonely places for a lonely protagonist. I did that on a day that I felt pretty lonely myself, being in a foreign city with even my muse going AWOL on me. Loneliness is often perceived as a negative emotion but I think it can be a great creative boost too. You just have to find the break in the clouds. In this case my loneliness made sure I would pick up on all the right vibes. Evelyn, who works at the café where I’m writing this book, had pointed me towards The Wave Organ, a curious installation at the end of a jetty in the Marina district. The installation consists of 25 organ pipes made of PVC and concrete. The pipes are located at various elevations, allowing for the…
Tagged: ghosts, Marina, San Francisco, The Wave Organ
Mina Witteman