The Obdurate Writer

Wednesday’s word of the day, from Wordsmith.org:

obdurate. adjective. 1.Stubborn: not easily moved. 2.Hard-hearted: resistant to emotions.

That reminds me of my recent experience in rewrite mania.

*****

The body of a woman, her hands covered in what appeared to be red ink (lab results pending), was found slumped over a pile of papers and an open laptop. She was mumbling the numbers “eleven ninety-eight” repeatedly when police woke her. During questioning, the woman reported hacking scenes and chopping characters and “whittling, whittling, whittling.” She has since been taken to the Medical Center for observation, where she continues to plead for her laptop and a “juicy red pen!”

More details to follow.

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A Short Story and a Juicy Red Pen

It’s Friday, and I’m giddy.

It isn’t the sunshine, though I hope a few UV rays will cut the glare from my legs the next time I step out in public wearing shorts.

It isn’t the upcoming weekend, even with the anticipation of family, fellowship, and an unorthodox amount of candy.

Really, the fact that it’s Friday has little to do with the butterflies in my stomach or the bounce in my step.

Right now, I hold a short story in my little hands, an old piece of fiction that went out into the submission world and come back. I like the story, well enough that I want to send it out again. But, the place where I want to send it requires that I cut the story’s word count in half.

In half.

Oooo, I love a challenge.

I love the anticipation, the adrenaline, the prospect of conquest. I figure, I have nothing to lose in attacking this story with a juicy red pen. And, at this point, I have everything to learn.

So, with that in mind, I ask:

What are your tried and true techniques to cutting a story? I mean, really cutting a story?

Do you start by circling the scenes that work the best? Or do you start by slashing away at anything that hints of disconnect?

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Camaraderie, whether you want it or not.

On Monday, I read Wordsmith.org’s introduction to this week’s theme. The first line begins, “The German language’s affinity for sesquipedalians….” Ouch.

Tuesday, the word realpolitik popped up in my inbox. I started to sweat.

These exercises are difficult for a variety of reasons. One, the words that come across the Wordsmith radar are rarely used in colloquial speech (the bright side of that being I have a little more flexibility to play with Wordsmith’s choices). Two, I’m always on a time crunch on Wednesdays. The longer it takes me to get a post out, the closer I get to publishing the piece before its time. And, three, I fight my inner editor all day long, pushing away quick-fire insults that usually end with “You’re not up to this. Why don’t you just skip it this week?”

I always have to remind myself: writing is about taking risks.

This morning, I woke up to:

zeitgeist. noun. The defining spirit of a particular period: the general culture, political, intellectual, and moral climate of an era.

Anytime I see or hear politics, culture, and morality in one sentence, the mood in the air shifts. Zeitgeist is a mouthful of a word to take and mold into a quick write, especially on a light, warm, and sunny Wednesday morning.

So, today, after I stared at the word and thought…absolutely nothing, I resorted to free association and wrote out a list:

zeitgeist: “spirit of a particular period”

  • High School
  • Sorority
  • Retirement
  • Prison
  • The Handmaid’s Tale
  • The Shawshank Redemption
  • Footloose
  • A closed community

One line came to mind three times while I brainstormed, so I scratched it into my journal before it slipped away: I had only been gone for three weeks.

I let that be the first line of my story.

Continue reading “Camaraderie, whether you want it or not.”