David Hoffman is the author of The Seven Markets and the forthcoming Beautiful Handcrafted Animals. He and his wife live in Westchester, New York. He is currently working on two books, and really ought to sleep more.
The Seven Markets is his first book.
He really enjoys writing about himself in the third person.
I wrote a thousand words last night.
I wrote a thousand words the night before.
Aaaand, the night before that, if memory serves (the thing about having a five-month-old in the house is time kind of gets fuzzy).
This is a marked improvement over the previous state of affairs. Which is to say, I was writing, and it was fine, but it was a trickle rather than a flow. Two hundred words in a night? That was A-OK. Two hundred words was a gift.
This past weekend was, as the title of this post may imply, Layla’s first holiday weekend.
Well, since Father’s Day. Maybe I should have added on “At Home”, but I think it scans better without that. Can’t even edit myself. So it goes.
Anyway. It was her first long holiday weekend at home. Once upon a time, before we had a baby, we’d have spent such a holiday weekend lounging in and by the pool, drinking beer, barbecuing, and visiting wit
From a purely theoretical sense, I sit down to write every night from ten o’clock to about one in the morning. ”Theoretical” is the most important word in that sentence.
What does my writing schedule look like in practice? Well, it varies.
Some nights I pull myself together and at ten-oh-one I’m in front of the keyboard. Other nights . . . less so.
So I get it. And I try to do my best. And I try to be flexible and not get to
About two weeks ago I posted about the Clarion Write-a-Thon and that I was aiming to use it to goose myself along in finishing up The King’s Glamour (while simultaneously using the finishing of Glamour to try and raise some money for the Write-a-Thon).
Well, it started yesterday. Yessir. I checked my page and saw I’ve already got a $50.00 donation up . . . which is nice. Also, I’m going to bust this old friend out:
I think I mentioned that I was in Madison, Wisconsin last weekend, no?
One of the awesome things about our trip was our hotel. We stayed at the Hilton, Monona Terrace, one of the two hotels suggested by our friends in their wedding invitations. We wanted a slightly larger room so Layla would have some floor space to play around on, and ended up with an amazing view, from the twelfth floor (there were also at least a dozen amazing restaurants within two or th
I’m going to sort of skip forward in the narration.
I’m going to assume that you, oh intrepid writer looking for a boost, a nudge, a poke, a wiggle, are good with committing to building the good habit of writing.
“I want to write,” you say. ”But I don’t know what to write.”
Okie dokie. I can help with that too.
Maybe you’re staring at that blank screen with no idea where to begin. Maybe you’ve got a great idea for a story,
I haven’t seen Man of Steel yet.
Hey, we’ve got a 16-week old baby at home, I’ve got a book to write, and going to the movies isn’t a huge priority. So I’m not here to address whether MoS is good or bad or whatever. For my part, what I’ve read makes me believe it might be a good movie, just not a good Superman movie, if that distinction makes sense.
But, again, that’s not what I wanted to write about.
I didn’t do any writing this weekend.
Wellll, that’s not exactly true; I wrote this, “My kitchen is a damned mess.” That’s the possible opening line to a short story (set in the Painted Ocean universe) called, The View Never Changes. It’s another case of my having an idea that didn’t seem to work, then stumbling onto a really neat, interesting way to make it work.
But I digress.
I didn’t do any writing this weekend. I had my laptop, to be su
Write write write write.
Write write write.
Write write write write write write write write.
And so on, and so on.
Yes, I am still alive. Yes, I have been writing up a storm (and deleting up a storm as well — Chapter Elven is kicking my ass, but I maybe sorted it out yesterday).
And yes, I have been a terrible blogger of late. There just hasn’t been the time and working on The King’s Glamour has taken precedence over
Let’s see if I can possibly format this so it looks good:
We play at paste Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar, And our new hands Learned gem-tactics Practicing sands.
-Emily Dickinson, Poem 320
When I was in college, I wrote short stories. I wrote a LOT of short stories. I’d inflict them on my friends, printing my little monsters out at four in