Yes we are in the middle of a terrible crisis, and many many people are at risk of death, and serious financial woes.
In the midst of this though, is a moment of quiet beauty. My favorite part of the week is early Sunday morning when NYC is very empty.
But it's never this empty.
And I think I have lost my taste for that now.
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| I stole this from Twitter |
Tip of the Day
As you build your novel, assess expositon by asking yourself what your reader will already know.
Leave out everything you don't need on the page.
14 comments:
Quiet means something different now.
I've never seen NYC that empty either. And it must be eerily quiet because, no matter how well insulated the buildings are, and most of them aren't, there's always that underlying drone of the living city.
The sun is out this morning. I could work outside today, but it's 30 degrees. I've cleaned and pressed until the house shines. I need to get out in the flowerbeds and get them cleaned out. The good thing today though is my newest JD Kirk read, The Last Bloody Straw dropped in my Paperwhite this morning so that will keep me busy for a few hours today :)
I like today's tip. Sometimes while editing my work, I'll think, You already told them that. You don't need to say it again with different words. Then there's the other kind of stuff that's not necessary to say--it's a given the character will close the front door behind her, unless there's some reason she might or might not.
The sound of silence...eerie, beautiful, serene, but so is laughter, music, life...hopefully we'll appreciate what we once had and may have again.
Hey guys, just a word about this weekend’s 100 word nonfiction non-contest.
To all who left their clothes on the hook on the back of the door and allowed us a peek, I am so moved by your participation. And to you who have personally messaged me, thanks for your kind words.
I’ve been a minnow on the reif for many years now. Your names are very familiar to me and my assumptions regarding many of you are like a stack of manuscript pages that have been sitting on the corner of my desk for a long time. This weekend you edited my thinking. Thanks. What a special bunch we are.
And to you Janet, a special thank you for giving us a chance to look back while moving forward.
Hopes and prayers for all the people able to shelter in place and for those who work essential jobs and for regions that are attempting to reopen.
That photo is incredible. Get well soon, New York.
I guess that I am riding out this storm on a different boat than you.
To me the beauty of new York is the people, the great unwashed masses. People watching is what cities are for, in my opinion. Concrete canyons aren't at the top of my list of beautiful things.
Sorry, but the empty streets look spooky to me.
In the late 50s there was a movie called The World, the Flesh and the Devil with Harry Belafonte. All the people in the world were gone but for a few survivors. The scenes in NYC were filmed just after daybreak because the streets were empty at that time. Now every time I see big city streets as blank of people as a world gone empty it reminds of that movie.
I used to live in Jersey and travel into the city often. All of this is so unbelievable and hard to take in.
Like many good tips, this one sounds so simple. The execution, on the other hand, is daunting. It's so difficult to spot in your own work. But when you do -- oh, it's a moment worth celebrating.
If you edit right, you should find lots of moments like that. And since you're clearly not out on the street, you must all be inside editing. Or writing.
Keep going!
That picture makes me think of the opener for Breakfast at Tiffany's.
One of my Writing Friends™ tells me that it's interesting what I say, sometimes, but not saying something (in a story). In some ways, I think I already take Janet's advice! In other ways, I explain too much, as I'm talking myself into a story (though that's a first drafts problem), and other times, I have sketched things too lightly and need to flesh it out.
I had to venture out yesterday (Sunday) and go somewhere that was roughly a 30-minute drive each way. It was so weird to drive on roads, including a 6-lane divided highway, that are usually heavily travelled and to feel at times like I was the only person left on earth. Eerie. Unsettling.
My imagination wandered so far into story possibilities -- where is everyone, what happened here, am I next -- I almost missed my exit coming home.
Very, I am legend.
I hope it returns to the hive of activity that it is... when it's safe.
That tip is spot on. I hate being over-told in a story. I just hope I don't do it in my own.
It sounds like quiet New York streets are like ice-cream. When you get too much of it it's not the treat it used to be. I hope one day in the not too different future quiet Sunday morning city streets are a treat for you again, Janet.
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