Writing about place, people, and whatever parts of the universe I'm lucky to see.
There are a lot of rules we set ourselves as writers. We try to show-not-tell, to make our characters round, to begin our stories with a conflict. We teach them to our students, preach them like the gospel, cite them in critiques, and write them core in every novel. And for (mostly) good reason. People... Continue Reading →
Near the end of my journey north, the bus drove onto a ferry crossing the Sogn Fjord. I disembarked and went to the boat's edge. Beneath me, the motor sounded deep and long, like a brilliant foghorn sweeping out over the water. Mountains jutted up on either side of the fjord, and swirls of gray... Continue Reading →
I've long been puzzled by the idea of conflict so ubiquitous in the stories we read and write. Why is it necessary? What, precisely, is it giving us? To what extent is the focus on conflict reflecting our worldview and basic human psychology? Is it possible to write a story without conflict? If you keep... Continue Reading →
Sometimes, those days come when we page back through old writing, scroll up in a long WiP to where it all began, where perhaps no one has looked for years. What do we find? How do we relate to what we wrote in our pasts? How do we understand where we have come from, and... Continue Reading →
I recently finished reading Naomi Alderman's The Power, for me a game-changing look at gender and historical power hierarchies. The engrossing story that follows the sudden reversal of gender hierarchies worldwide opens with a letter from its fictional author, a member of The Men Writers Association. The book has me thinking about #OwnVoices literature and its... Continue Reading →
Nearly four years has passed since I decided I would make writing a central part of my life. It's the end of the year. My journey as a writer has taken me deep into myself, and I am feeling more sure than I did four years ago, more than I did one year ago. Let... Continue Reading →
How do we know when to call our writing finished? Right now I am hurtling towards that moment when I will call my novel done. The thought is so exciting. It is the next stage in my journey, before I begin seeking publication. This is Rice Creek, a park I walked frequently during the four... Continue Reading →
I think both look pretty nice. Why must I choose? A novel is big, literally as well as temporally. At the point I finished a complete first draft of my novel, I had an embarrassing splat of 160 thousand words and a nearly three-year distance from my first paragraphs. Revision beckoned; then it loomed. Although... Continue Reading →
The land here is dry. The leafy tendrils I saw from the airplane, riverbeds, I imagined, are really more of folds in the rock, like the skin of a naked cat around the haunches. Earth muscles, they make me think of. It's December, and a bit of early winter snow remains , but mostly it... Continue Reading →
Jimmy Kindree 