I love writing! Particularly in a month like this, with the Spanish translation of Mia’s Nest – El nido de Mia – coming out with Panamericana in Colombia. They delivered a truly gorgeous book with the awesome work of one of the most talented author/illustrators I know, Angela Peláez Vargas. And yesterday Boreas en de duizend eilanden – Boreas and the Thousand Islands – had its book birth, which made me super happy. Both books are on their way to San Francisco and I can’t wait to hold them in my hands, my book babies. I hate writing, too! On nights like this, when I wake up at 2:30 am with my brain reeling like a kite caught in a tailspin, because I remember something my muse must’ve whispered…
Mina Witteman – author | editor | teacher of creative writing
Posts tagged “muse”
an elm tree stands oblivious of the misery in my witless brain its bark rutted with waterfalls of moss and mould that suck up sap buds the color of crimson crowd its branches festering wounds ready to burst a swift breeze whips quicksilver over chocolate water eyes that mock and flee similitudes of the words that mock and flee my pen before I can ink them in a line a boat floats by fingers point sunglasses stare up cameras snap as if they can capture the illusive muse and me in an embrace of body and mind a display of fire that feeds me the final scenes and carries me to the climax of a novel that gutted my soul
Tagged: #amwriting, Amsterdam, canal, Herengracht, Mina Witteman, muse, YA
There’s some Shakespeare in the novel I’m working on. I’ve mentioned it before. Hamlet, to be precise. He pops up in the more troubling scenes and every now and again the bard and his word play throw me off course and make me loose track of what I want with this story (well, not entirely, just a little). In any case, I needed a bit of guidance and I needed it quick – I have my crit buddies pounding on my door. What better solution to force a breakthrough than to meet up with one of the bard’s greatest interpreters, the playwright George Isherwood. We had a riveting conversation about death, which is a big thing in the story, and about life. Equally big in the story, I…
Tagged: #amwriting, Death, Guidance, Hamlet, Life, muse, Ophelia, Shakespeare
the cold room paints my feet blue a silent luminescence colors water in the softest greens a bird cries high and sharpens the morning glow wakens my brain i draft new lines the first in a sunday morning spree of words i carry myself back to the organ let waves wash over me darkness covers my characters casts light on my pen illuminates the pictures in my mind i watch the twinkling across the bay the muse drifts by provokes images visions too fevered to write i loose myself in the muse’s arms for a while and when i wake i find myself alone on a path to a predawn nowhere
Tagged: #amwriting, muse, Poem, road, Sunday Morning, Wave Organ
My previous post – Dark Musings – turned out to be a tad unsettling for a few readers. Let me take the edge off: it’s about my protagonist. Not about me. Even if I have a penchant for the dark. I do will myself to skate very close to the memories of my time in the abyss that is so euphemistically named depression. I force that upon myself to make sure that the emotions in my new YA novel ring true to the reader. It’s a hard topic that I touch upon in this story and it needs to come from the heart. My heart. I can do that because, as a former hockey goalie, I know how to take a blow. When those memories and life throw me…
I plowed through the tons of letters and invoices that gathered on my desk while I was away, I’ve done the laundry, I reconnected with my workout buddies Toni, Maria, Astarti and Anna. I sniffed up Amsterdam air. I plunged into a swarm of tourists diddling around outside my house. I bought tickets for the new Chagall exhibition. I witnessed a beautiful sunset from my fourth floor window. The good news is I haven’t forgotten how to ride my bike. The bad news is that I seem to have forgotten how to write, as if my compass lost its north. I’ve written one word for my new project since I’m back at my desk: ‘It’. And then it all stopped, as if someone had…
Tagged: #amwriting, compass, Elvis Costello, muse, North, poetry, Someone took the words away
After 45 days on the road, it’s time to go home and last night’s show was the perfect ending to this road trip. Fiddler on the Roof is all about love and loss, just like my journey was rediscovery of the power of love and loss. A rediscovery that I could pour into the story I’m working on. I didn’t have to wait long before I realized that Fiddler on the Roof perfectly illustrated what writing means to me, Tevye’s first lines were enough. I’ve adapted them slightly here to show you (and I hope Joseph Stein will forgive me for changing his words): “A writer on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Fiction, you might say every…
Tagged: #amwriting, Fiction, Fiddler on the Roof, Joseph Stein, muse, stories, Tevye, writing
Mina Witteman 