Throwing Bears for George

Birds on a wire

/ J. F. Riordan / 28 Comments

You know those word scramble videos, where the words or letters float randomly around the screen until they finally alight and settle in their right order, like birds landing on a wire? Or the place in a puzzle where, after struggling to get any sense of the solution, suddenly in a flash it’s all perfectly clear, and you pop the answers into their spaces, one-two-three?

Well, that’s where I am in the book right now.

I see the pieces of the plot line, and the specific scenes, and they are floating around in my head, not quite finding their right order, but all there, ready to settle into their proper places. This whirling phenomenon is familiar, it is the beginning of the race to the end; the last first step before the book truly takes shape, when I can begin trimming, fitting, cutting, and polishing.

It takes so much effort and fits and starts to get to this place, but it is the good part: the part where rather than struggling to find the line, all I have to do is snatch it up out of the air and lay in its perfectly prepared spot.

Long writing days ahead, but the solution to the puzzle is whirling like those birds

We’re in the home stretch.

Have you pre-ordered?

Just thinking

/ J. F. Riordan / 15 Comments

One of the things I love about sunrise is the giddy sense it gives me to contemplate that while it seems the sun is racing into the sky, it is we who are spinning through space at 67,000 mph (or so) while the sun stands still. At the same time, the earth is spinning on its axis, its mass creating the force of gravity to keep everything firmly grounded.

Meanwhile, tiny particles are spinning in their own miniature cosmos forming everything around us, even ourselves.

This morning the heavy fog was frozen on the branches of the trees, and an icy mist still hung in the air. The sun rose neon pink, turning the mists purple. All the invisible forces, large and small, at every moment, come together to make it possible for a human being—and her dogs— to sit here and think.

You don’t believe in miracles?

Christmas Dilemma

/ J. F. Riordan / 41 Comments

The adults on my side of the family are in a quandary about Christmas gifts. We don’t see each other very often since I am the only one not on the east coast. Some of us love the spirit of the thing, and love the connection of everyone giving something to everyone. Some are concerned about the cost. Some of us live carefully edited lives, either by choice or by circumstance (i.e., a tiny NY apartment). Some of us don’t edit, and therefore have too much stuff.

What to do? If any of you have come upon a nice solution beyond simply exchanging names, please offer your advice. Lest you think we are keeping this to the last minute, we are.

But we’ve been debating since last year.

***

Today’s gratuitous dog photo:

He has an itchy nose.

By the way, it can be complicated to comment or like a post here. But if you sign up for WordPress and/or get their app, it is much simpler. Just a thought.

Detox

/ J. F. Riordan

The house we rented in Maine is very old and very large. It has history. Perched on a small hill above the lake, it has sprawling porches, front and back, and lovely views. There’s a spacious kitchen, a laundry room, and five roomy bedrooms with four baths. There’s a massive stone fireplace in the living room. But it does not have wi-fi, and the cell signal is only one elusive bar, which seems to flit from room to room like a butterfly, and then disappear.

It has been a long time since I have left my phone sitting on the night stand, turned off, and walked away for the day. I feel released from electronic bondage. The impulse, in an idle moment, to look down at the phone is gradually being replaced by a willingness to look up, to think, to let my brain idle. That’s how writing happens. 

I had become increasingly aware of the way my phone had taken over my life. I am continually scrolling through my messages. There’s not a scene that passes before my eyes that doesn’t make me reach for the camera. There’s not a drive that isn’t accompanied by a podcast. 
It’s too much. It’s too many voices. It’s too much externality. And none of those things are good for a writer.

This week I wrote in the mornings. I hung around with my family. We did a complicated puzzle. I sat on the dock and dangled my feet, and thought about things. I jumped into the cold lake. I cuddled children. I drank cocktails. I went to bed with a book. 

It was a kind of detox, and it has put me on the path to getting my brain back. 

The temptations to return to my old habits will be strong, and I imagine there will be a gradual regression toward over-use. But I have a plan to keep it in check, and at the moment, it doesn’t even seem appealing to go back to my old ways. 

But addiction is hard. We’ll see.