Victoria Janssen's Blog, page 105

Paragraphing

I didn't really start thinking about paragraphing - consciously - until a couple of years ago.My writers' workshop was critiquing one of my pieces. I don't remember if it was a short story or a novel, or even exactly when the meeting took place. But I clearly remember John pointing out that I'd "stepped on my own ending." He'd made this comment before, I think, to someone else at a different

Siegfried Sassoon, "Joy-Bells"

Joy-BellsRing your sweet bells; but let them be farewells To the green-vista'd gladness of the past That changed us into soldiers; swing your bells To a joyful chime; but let it be the last. What means this metal in windy belfries hung When guns are all our need? Dissolve these bells Whose tones are tuned for peace: with martial tongue Let them cry doom and storm the sun

What Happens in the Reader's Mind

"A writer's talking about what he or she is capable of, like a writer's talking about the worth of his or her own work, is a pretty good way for that writer to start sounding like a pompous poseur. Above all things, the story, the poem, the text is -- and is only -- what its words make happen in the reader's mind. And all readers are not the same. Any reader has the right to say of any text: "But

Origin Stories - Katrina Williams

Please welcome my guest, Katrina Williams!#I began to write seriously in the tenth grade, but like all teenagers, would have benefited from looking up "seriously" in the dictionary, despite using the word on a frequent basis. I was convinced I would be a writer one day and majored in English Lit to prepare, but life soon beat me down to the point where I put writing away. Forever. Too impractical

Origin Stories - Cate Hart

Please welcome my guest, Cate Hart!#So I'll start at the beginning. My mom read to me every night. As a teacher, reading has always been a very important part of her life. When I could read to myself, I devoured everything I could get my hands on – Carolyn Keene, Beverly Clearly, Judy Blume, Laura Ingalls Wilder, everything. But it was in the 3rd grade that I discovered what it was to write my

Origin Stories - Nell Dixon

Please welcome my guest, Nell Dixon!#Victoria's kind invitation to write a piece for her blog about my writing journey sounded really simple. Then I realised it was going to be difficult to choose which aspect of my road to publication might be useful or interesting to someone. I started writing when I was in my early teens; that's when I joined my first local writers group and sent off some of

Origin Stories - Mima

Please welcome my guest, Mima!#Out of the Black by MimaIn the fall of 2005, my husband dared me to stop writing scenes and openings in my pretty journals. He dared me to stop bitching about the books I'd paid good money for and throwing them across the room and moaning to him about how I could have written better. And he reminded me how I glowed when I finished a wonderful story and sighed about

Origin Stories Week

This week, four different guests will be posting on my blog about their origin stories, Tuesday through Friday.(Not their origins in the comic book sense, though!)They'll be talking about when they began to write seriously, and why, and where that journey's brought them, and what they've learned about themselves in the process.#And the winners of the Friday book drawing, thanks to random.org, are

Rupert Brooke, "The Soldier"

The Soldier If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil

Rupert Brooke, "Safety"

SafetyDear! of all happy in the hour, most blest He who has found our hid security, Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest, And heard our word, 'Who is so safe as we?' We have found safety with all things undying, The winds, and morning, tears of men and mirth, The deep night, and birds singing, and clouds flying, And sleep, and freedom, and the autumnal earth. We have