Write Lightning is a blog from writer Deb Thompson.
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(Some links or topics may not be completely kid-appropriate.)




Wed, Dec 17 2014

Christmas lights displays

Other writing is somewhat on hold from this corner while our web site is listing special light displays in the USA. Many locations have bins for charitable donations. To check out the list, go to Christmas Lights.

If you know of a particularly impressive display, please let me know and I'll include them in the list. (We don't usually list private light tours, such as those from limousine companies.)

posted at: 17:55 | category: /Arts and Entertainment | link to this entry



Wed, Nov 19 2014

Writing for the holidays

This is a challenging time of year for many writers. The holiday season is stuffed with party invitations, end-of-year financial crunches, baking binges and family obligations. We spend the last 6 weeks or so of the calendar year fitting a few bursts of writing into a packed day if we write at all.

It's usually good to spend some time writing early in the morning. If your sister calls and reminds you that your nephew's music recital, the one you apparently neglected to put on your calendar, is tonight, you'll know that you have that writing session done and can be more flexible with social scheduling later in the day. To make this work, it's probably important to cut back on late night partying. (Do I even have to bring that up?)

It also helps to break some things into smaller tasks. Once I know that I have some writing time logged, I turn to a task that has incremental steps, such as making a shopping list or mixing cookie dough that has to be chilled awhile before baking, gathering project items and putting them together in a container, choosing clothing for a later appointment.

Save time where you can and take on fewer new things in November and December. Record favorite TV shows to be viewed later when there is more time. Shop online. Bank online. The college-attending student who is coming home for the holidays can make his or her own dental appointment. Have the car serviced in October or wait until January. Choose a few cookies that you get compliments on during the holidays and bake only those this year. Get to know a grocery store layout and shop there exclusively, even if the receipt is a bit higher. Pick your battles. If it comes down to time or money, save time for the season and get back to being frugal first thing next year.

Will I take my own advice? Ask me on the second of January.

posted at: 10:09 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



Wed, Sep 24 2014

Fluttering leaves and falling words

Autumn is the season I would skip if given half a chance. Once winter arrives, there is the forward looking to spring. Once spring arrives, there is still the warmth and cheering sun for months to come. But fall arrives with limited days that seem to become even shorter once we go off Daylight Saving Time. In colder climates, leaves deliver a brief burst of color, but then wither and dry into brown bits of last rites. We drag on layers of clothing and we char marshmallows to warm our joints a bit, but we know that winter is not far behind with its frozen-fingered grip reaching for our wobbly, human ankles.

Writing also seems to come in seasons, flowing like a clear mountain stream or choking up with uneven ooze that barely feels like language at all. I suppose that the trick is to mix seasons and metaphors so that bright words help lift us up to the task at hand. And those dead-leaf landings should make us reach deeply into the pockets of our despair and pull out words full of autumn's bronzes, coppers and golds. We keep our head down while working. When we finally do look up, it's already Christmas morning and we're racing toward a New Year.

I'm really trying to make friends with fall, but I have much more fun reaching for a red Santa hat and a big candy cane than a brown pilgrim hat with a big buckle. And I won't even get into the sad fate awaiting turkeys at on Thanksgiving Day.

posted at: 15:21 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



Wed, May 21 2014

Keeping the fire going

Process is something that my engineering husband knows well. When he works, he sees the beginning step, the middle steps and the end step as a continuum of process. The axe has been sharpened, the wood has been cut and stacked, the work tools are laid out and the engineer can concentrate on the process. He knows that if he skips steps somewhere along the way he may risk reliability, quality and even safety. Integrity needs to be present through a whole project. Proper process leads to satisfaction.

Being a creative person, I love jumpstarting the beginnings, but I often bog down in process. Middles can become muddles and endings are just sad. What is a sense of accomplishment for an engineer can translate into a sad state of melancholy and grieving for a right-brain-dominant writer or artist.

I can understand why actors sometimes long to be directors and producers, particularly in the film industry. Actors are often thrust onto a set and told to present work that may be placed out of order, or even cut from the end product. Their sense of being finished may not come until the film has been released and they often have very little control when it comes to the overall presentation and the feel of a film. Writers do have to contend with editors and publishers, though there are increasing numbers of writers who bypass these now in favor of self-publishing.

Both process and creativity have to be involved in writing. I keep trying to remember that on days when my original idea has burned down a bit and I have to make myself get up and put another log on the fire.

posted at: 08:24 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



Mon, Apr 28 2014

The boot and the basket, not to be confused with the pit and the pendelum

I've somehow injured my foot and have been told by the doctor that the chief remedy is rest, with minimal walking to be done only while wearing a rocker-bottomed, foam-lined, knee-high contraption full of hook-and-loop fasteners and metal bracing. The foot isn't broken, but the doctor tells me that I will end up with a stress fracture if I don't treat it seriously as an injury for several weeks.

The truth is that a lot of us think we're just waiting to be told to get off our feet and relax. We want it to be a prescription, imagining ourselves lounging around and finally writing that blockbuster novel. Instead, I found myself planning and taking longer to do the simplest of other tasks in order to make every step count and then get off my feet as much as possible. And then when I did sit down and command my brain to produce something worthwhile, I ended up unable to concentrate. That was the first two days

I decided that this was not going to work. I finally appealed to the lazier side of my nature and imagined how I could accomplish more with less effort. I grabbed a basket with a handle from storage and put into it the things I'm likely to carry with me from room to room. I've even wrapped and tucked my lunch nibbles into the basket as though I was going on a picnic. (It was actually fun, but I'm trying not to turn life into one big picnic right now because I can't burn off too many calories.)

The whole psychological notion of not moving around more than necessary surprised me by being less freeing and more stifling, so I've tried to work on adjusting my attitude to lean toward thinking of this time as a blessing. If I take an hour to eat my lunch, there's no harm. If I sit there and browse through a hefty stack of magazines and clip the best parts with plans to use ideas later, I've actually gained some control over clutter. If I stare out the living room window at the birds-of-paradise blooms in the sun, I'm building a descriptive scene for writing. As usual, it's not what happens that matters. It's what we do in response to what happens that matters. I do keep plenty of paper in the basket for making notes and rearranging words into poetry. It's a little tough to be so still when spring is full of activity and motion, but I intend to record and filter as much of the season's mood as I possibly can.

posted at: 16:44 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



Mon, Mar 17 2014

A St. Patrick's Day rambling on memory and societal assumptions

I had a blog subject nicely tucked into my mind and then I put off writing down my thoughts. I had my hands full of items and had no pen, no paper and no device on which to put a voice reminder. Now I can only hope the thought returns to me in some idle moment.

I recall hearing tales of people using their own blood to sign correspondence or add their name to treaties or sworn oaths. These tales are often chilling and are filled with threats and dire consequences held over the heads of those who don't keep their word. There are times when I doubt that this was true and that the participating parties simply had no immediate access to ink and so were afraid of losing either the document or their nerve, so they seized the moment and cut open their arm or hand in order to seal the deal with a long-lasting, colored liquid.

I realize that last paragraph might be cringe-worthy and highly charged with religious and cultural taboo. I don't intend to offend. I simply take the opportunity to point out that a lot of our archeological and anthropoligical discoveries may mistakenly attribute items (or events) to some other-worldly influence or idol worship, when the truth of the matter might be that a preferred item or proper medium was simply not at hand at the perfect moment. People in snowy climates often grab a credit card to scrape frost off a car windshield in the driveway before they drive to work. Some discoverer could find this card centuries from now and might suppose that the plastic item held significance as a charm placed in front of homes to ward off evil spirits, when the truth is that the driver dropped the card in a snow bank beside the driveway, was in too much of a hurry to look for it and drove on to work. The temperature rose, the snow melted and the returning worker rolled over the card with the car and pushed the thing into the mud. He never remembered to look for it. It remained there for many generations near the crumbling remains of the home until any researcher finding it could only speculate on what purpose the little piece of rectangular plastic served in some distant past.

And then there's the other question. What will the researchers consider when they find an actual old, plastic and rusty-bladed ice scraper that bears the faded remains of a message that is actually an advertisement imprinted on its handle?

Brown Mortuary and Chapel: Professional End-of-life Assistance

posted at: 14:21 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



Wed, Feb 19 2014

On the rails, between the rails, outside the rails, straight ahead

I've been occupying a vast space between the extremes of monkey-typing and overthinking each phrase of writing the last couple of weeks. I'm making better progress. I have increased freedom from my inner editor, but I'm also taking brief pauses to think about sentence structure a bit as I go. A train track of extremes might appeal to some, but getting real work done in my reality seems to require keeping watch on a bit of passing scenery on the way to my planned destination.

posted at: 10:40 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry



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--anonymous ?
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