Espinela Verse Form

This Spanish form was named for Vencinente Espinela, and is often referred to as “the little sonnet.” Being a musician, he designed his form to be pleasing to the ear when recited. Here’s where it can get a little confusing.

It is also sometimes incorrectly referred to as a Décima, which is a Spanish term for any ten-line stanza. However, there is also a popular song form from 15th century Spain called the Décima which consists of forty-four lines (an introductory stanza followed by four ten-line stanzas).

The Espinela has only two stanzas, with four lines in the first and six in the second for a total of ten lines. Each line has eight syllables, and it follows a strict rhyme scheme of abba/accddc.

Schematic:

xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxa

xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxd
xxxxxxxd
xxxxxxxc

I think the nickname of “little sonnet” is an apt one, it is very much like writing a sonnet. And like a sonnet, the Espinela can be written on any subject.


Evening Song

Skin still warm from the summer sun
Glimmering in the fading light
Waiting until the moment’s right
Waiting until the day is done

Waiting for that special someone
The touch, the taste, the feel of him
The bending to another’s whim
Anticipation building slow
Reach the peak and then overflow
The moment caught, too soon to dim.

Writersfest Wrap-up

A creative writing workshop will contain students whose ambitions and abilities, whose conceptions of literature itself, are so diverse that what they have in common - the desire to write - could almost be considered meaningless.
— Rachel Cusk

I think that, in principle, a workshop is such a beautiful idea - an environment in which writers who are collectively apprenticed to the craft of writing can come together in order to collectively improve.
— Eleanor Catton

Being part of the Workshop is like being part of a really big family. Everyone is so close. Everyone feels the success of others who go on to do well. Whatever happens, I will still be part of the Workshop.
— Lucy Carless

This was my fourth foray in the world of Writersfest, and I have to say that each time it’s been a little bit different.

The first time was on a package that included the workshop tickets and the hotel room. I really enjoyed the workshops and learned a lot. Unfortunately, I went with a friend and came home without one (figuratively, not literally). To this day I have no idea what happened. She wasn’t talking, and I didn’t push her to. Que sera, sera.

Then we had COVID and the lockdowns, so I didn’t go back until 2022 (in 2021 I went to a different writing retreat). I still sprang for the festival pass, but this time I went for all four days. Technically it was five, but I opted out of staying the extra night just for the one workshop (which I wasn’t really interested in anyway). Instead I paid extra to hear Guy Gavriel Kay read from his newest work (and got a signed copy for the daughter).

Because I was late calling for my hotel reservation, I couldn’t get the discount rate at the Holiday Inn, and ended up staying at the Delta (which was only a block away). The workshops were interesting and I learned a lot. The weather was beautiful and I took a lot of early morning walks along the waterfront.

My third Writersfest was in March of this year. This time it was being held at the Delta, and I did call in time for the discount on my reservation. Wow! What a difference it made in the price! The weather was a little cold and crappy, which made staying at the same place where the workshops were taking place even better.

That being said, I enjoyed a couple of the workshops but was disappointed in a couple. The rest were kind of so-so, but I still learned a lot. There were a handful of us who paid for the four-day pass, and we kind of got to know each other a bit.

October’s Writersfest was held at the Holiday Inn, and even though there was no discount offered, I booked my room there. Can we say pricy? And the room wasn’t all that great. Although I did have a tiny balcony that overlooked the water. AND it’s right at the end of Princess Street, which is a mecca for shopping magpies like me.

Like many organizations, Writersfest is having a hard time getting volunteers. One noticeable difference was they no longer did the land acknowledgement at the beginning of the workshops, and sometimes there wasn’t even anyone to introduce the facilitators.

I found a couple of workshops were more seminars than actual workshops, but they were still okay. Three of them I really enjoyed and learned from them. I skipped the Travel Writing workshop to go to a reading called Folklore, Fable, and Fantastical Females. The most disappointing workshop of them all was something called Creative Collaborations – Combining Imagery and Words. It was nothing more than a sales pitch for an independent small press who sold very pricy boxed sets of stories.

Will I be going back in the spring? Maybe, maybe not. There’s a stitching retreat which I missed last year because it was the same date, but this year I’ve already got it paid for, so it’ll depend on when the spring writersfest is.

But I’ll probably go to the fall one again. And since they’re no longer offering a hotel discount as an incentive to buy the festival pass, I will probably take a better look at the workshops being offered and pick and choose what I think will be worth my while. And if that means I have more time to sit and write in my favorite coffee shop, so be it.

There are worse things I could do with my time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
Honestly, I don’t have a word for last week. Yo-yo maybe, because it was weirdly up and down.

Monday we finally got our new fridge delivered. While it takes up the same amount of space as the loaner, it seems smaller inside. And I still don’t have room for my big stock pot in it, which means I’ll need to make my soups earlier in the day so they’ll be cool enough to bag up for the freezer later that same day. No more putting it off for a couple of days. 😊

Tuesday was a very uninspiring rainy day, with a stitch in at the library (which was the bright spot). When I got home I realized I had a poetry gathering the next night, so I spent the afternoon writing a poemwork poem.

Wednesday I started out making a big pot of chicken chowder for the father-in-law, and yes, it was cool enough to bag up for the freezer before bed. The poetry gathering ran a little long, but lots of good poetry was shared.

Thursday was a rather quiet day, perfect for indulging in some online shopping, and Friday involved a lot of in store shopping, followed by me making my Death By Chocolate cake to take with me to a small get-together to say goodbye to one of stitchers, who’s moving to Toronto.

Saturday the daughter, granddaughter, and I went on a shopping road trip, which was followed by the hubby and I doing some shopping, which was followed by another social event, this time at the father-in-law’s.

But in between all of that, I managed to catch up on my NaNo words.

NEW WORDS:
2636+466+210+1201=4513 words

Once again, a lot of time was saved by having part, if not all of my posts done ahead of time. And also once again, Monday’s post was rather heavily photo dependent. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to take a lot of photos during the crafting process.

Goals For Next Week:
Keep up the good work, blog posting-wise.

NANOWRIMO:
Day 19 – 2617
Day 20 – 1930
Day 21 – 2977
Day 22 – 1788
Day 23 – 2087
Day 24 – 1936
Day 25 – 2559
Total for week 4 – 15,894
Total for month – 41,729

Slowly but surely I managed to catch up my words and as of yesterday I was back on track to the 50,000 word goal.

While I’m still a little apathetic about the whole thing, I’m liking the story better. However, it has become glaringly apparent to me that if I’m going to try and do anything with this novel in the future, I’m going to have to do a great deal of world building.

It would have been super helpful to have done all that before NaNo started, but I didn’t. So now I’m stumbling around trying to figure out the flora and fauna as I go along, what the customs and traditions of the people are, and what exactly they do with themselves all day.

Also, a better idea of what the layout of the land is would come in handy. So far I’ve got lots of jungle, some cliffs, and a river that is no where near where the people are, which makes no sense because wouldn’t they need a source of water close by?

Yeah. So there’s a lot of work ahead of me if I’m going to whip this up into any kind of shape to be readable. And honestly? I’m not even at the halfway point of the story itself, so it’ll be continued well beyond the end of NaNo.

You know, eventually.

Goal For Next Week:
Finish NaNo.

POETRY:
There was a poetry gathering last Wednesday night, and seeing as I skipped it the month before, I figured I pretty much had to show up. Plus I needed to pay my yearly dues 😉

So Tuesday afternoon had me trying to come up with a metaphysical poem (the poemwork for the month). In the end I did a black out poem. Actually, I did two of them. I looked up articles on metaphysics on Google copy/pasted a page of text from two different articles, and picked out the words and phrases to craft my poems.

I have to admit, I’m getting a little tired of all these forms. It doesn’t really leave me much time to write a poem just because I have something poetical to say. And while it’s all well and good to be able to learn a new form, the forms themselves don’t always lend themselves to creating an anthology.

Goal For Next Week:
Think about my future in poetry.

CRAFTING:
Tuesday was our library stitching, where I worked a bit on my kit. I really wanted to work more on my crafting this past week, but I didn’t have time because I was busy catching up on NaNo. I was a little jealous of one of my writing buddies, who was able to get some quality crafting done for Christmas last week.

But while I didn’t have time for crafting last week, I did find time to shop for crafting supplies. I got about $50 worth of beads and charms from Wish, and then I went to another site to buy an engraving tool and a bunch of engraving bits.

Oh! And there was a request for Christmas prints for a project with the stitchery group, so I donated all the Christmas prints (mostly fat quarters) in my stash, that I’ve had for years and didn’t know what to do with. Well, as any hoarder knows, as soon as you get rid of something, you’ll find a use for it.

It was just after I gave away my prints that I did the class in the folded stars. I could have used that Christmas fabric to do more stars. *sigh* As I recall, I got a lot of those fat quarters at Walmart, who was completely out of the ones with Christmas prints. So, instead I had to go all the way to Fabricland where I bought some off the bolt.

Also last week, I finally got around to stiffening my crocheted snowflakes. I used watered down mod podge and staked them all out on waxed paper covered cardboard. Worked really well too. Now all they need are strings.

Goal For Next Week:
Make some fabric stars; work on kit; work on zentangle.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished The Invisible Hour by Alice Hoffman, and I really hope she’s going to write a sequel to it because I really want to know what happens next. Now I’ve started The Hike, by Lucy Clarke.

On the Kindle I finished The Psychic Cat Mysteries by S.M Reine, which was a series of five mystery stories from a cat’s point of view.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the moderate reading habits.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I swear, that new leaf of mine is off in space somewhere.

The weather has been as variable as my mood. I’m still a little tired and lethargic, so this grey, dismal November is not helping things any.

I don’t know what I’m going to be writing about for Monday, maybe something about Christmas crafts. ‘Tis the season, don’t you know.

Tuesday is a regular meeting with the stitchery group. There aren’t any classes, it’s just a regular stitch in, which means a lot of talking and a little stitching.

Unless inspiration strikes me like a bolt of lightning, I’ll be using the last of pre-written poetry posts on Wednesday. And because December’s poetry gathering is early, I really should try to start working on the poemwork.

I did do a little of my indoor gardening last week. I dumped the dead plants (five of them!) and rearranged several others. So this week I’d like get my coleus clippings planted, and repot my money tree into a bigger pot.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my blogging schedule, and my writing in general. Brace yourself – I’m taking the month of December off from writing, and that includes blog posts. I’ll be putting up an official notice next weekend, and then I’ll use my month to make some decisions . . . and some changes.

Starting in January, things are going to be very different around here.

Forced Landing – NaNo Novel 3rd Excerpt

Today’s excerpt comes in two parts. First, we have a continuation of last week’s scene, in which Sabella is still searching for a good place to camp out. Unbeknownst to her, she has a protector/observer who’s been following her, and the second scene is him making a report to his superiors.

Before she could seriously start looking [for some place to camp], the jungle began to thin a bit and she found herself in a group of tall trees, though not quite as tall as the trees in the surrounding jungle, that were laden heavily laden with a bright green fruit.

It looked delicious. “But is it safe to eat?” she wondered.

Just then, a small, furry animal swooped down from one of the tall jungle trees. It snatched up one of the fruit that Sabella only now noticed littered the ground beneath the trees, and leaped away again.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” she said, laughing in spite of herself.

She recognized the creature as a monkey. She’d learned about them in a documentary she once watched. As she recalled, there were many different species of them, but she couldn’t have said exactly what kind this one was. He was small and brown and had an extremely long tail that if she remembered correctly, could be used almost like an extension of its paws.

Stooping down, she picked up one of the fruit, wondering as she did so what exactly it was. Not that she’d seen much fresh fruit in her life. Not since she’d been a child. The world she’d been raised on was a mix of agriculture and technology. She and her parents lived in one of the settlements at the edge of a city, more because it was more affordable than because they had any great affinity for nature.

While some of their neighbors had large gardens, her mother had no time for such nonsense, as she put it, and limited her efforts to some potted herbs to be used in cooking. Her mother was a supervising technical analyst for the Branyon Corporation, Tel-Corp’s greatest rival, which her father also worked for as an engineer. Branyon paid for their quarters, and when they’d chosen to live on the outskirts of the city, they provided them with vehicles to get them to and from work.

But none of that was important now. She hefted the weight of the fruit in her hand. It was dense, and it had a faintly sweet scent. Shrugging, she finally bit into it.

“Oh!” she said in surprise. The sweet flavor burst onto her tongue and the juice ran down her chin. The flesh was firm, a lighter green shade, and delicious. She finished it in a hurry and then stooped down for a second one. This one she ate slower, savoring the taste.

Tempting as it was to keep eating until she was full, she knew better than to gorge on fruit when her stomach was so empty. She’d make herself sick for sure, and there were no med units here. She’d have to be very careful. So instead she gathered up a dozen or so – any more and they probably would just rot before she could eat them – and stowed them in one of the survival packs.

Feeling surprisingly refreshed, she continued on, seeking some place to have a proper rest.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

As usual, the clan chiefs knew he was coming and had already gathered. He had missed the communal mid-day meal, but that was nothing unusual. Eschewing the use of the ladders, he scaled the red cliffs much like the children did, using the handholds and rocky protuberances.

“Sometimes I think you are more a child than the children,” clan chief Ebou, Aaban’s friend, chuckled.

Aaban grinned in return. “Helps keep me fit. I wouldn’t want to become soft, like you.”

“What have you to tell us,” Mohlomi said, interrupting them before they got too carried away with their jibes.

“Forgive me, Clan Chief,” Aaban said, with a bow in his direction. “It is my opinion that the woman is not a threat. Those who pursued her came and left again, believing he dead.”

“And why would they believe such a thing?” Mohlomi asked with a frown.

Aaban hesitated. “Though the small ship crashed, it was intact. However, shortly after the woman left, it exploded in such a fashion that there was little doubt there were no survivors.”

“And that was enough to persuade the others? You did not assist in the deception?”

Aaban shrugged. “I may have accidentally dropped a few pieces of tak-tak flesh and bone when I was examining the wreckage. And they may have misconstrued what they saw.”

“Hmm.” Mohlomi eyed him balefully. “May have dropped flesh and bone, eh?”

Aaban made no reply.

“Where is this stranger now?”

“She follows the river Malarrich and should reach the ruins of the temple of the old gods before day’s end.”

Mohlomi pursed his lips. “She is already almost off of clan lands. Perhaps it would be—”

“Hold!” the voice came from the entrance of the meeting chamber. Ntsebo rapped her staff against the stone floor to get their attention.

There were murmurs amongst the clan chiefs. Ntsebo rarely left her cave, people usually were required to go to her. She was the oldest member of the clans, and arguably the most powerful. She was tiny, as though a breath of wind could blow her right off the cliff face, her stark, white hair confined in a braid that hung down her back, her face seamed from her many years. She walked with a cane, and was quick to use it on those who annoyed her.

She was the Mother of the Clans, a position she’d held since the first vision came to her when she was still a child. And she would hold that position until one was born to the clans who could take her place. No one knew how old she was, and there were some who believed she had always been with the clans.

“Clan Mother,” Mohlomi said, bowing his head respectfully. “You honor us with your presence.”

She snorted. “We shall see about that.”

“Have you had a vision, Mother?”

Using her stick to shoo the nearest clan chief aside so she could take his seat, she made herself comfortable before answering. “Is that not my function within the clans, to have visions of warning or guidance?”

“And which is it that you have had,” Mohlomi asked patiently. He was used to her sharp ways and was not offended by her rudeness.

“I do not know. But I have seen a stranger, a woman. She runs, though she has done no wrong. She has come to our world by accident and will surely die here if we do not give her aid. Her death would diminish us all.”

Cameo Verse Form

For such a short little poem, there sure are a lot of rules to the Cameo. This rather interesting form was invented by Alice Maud Spokes. It is written as a single sentence of thirty-five syllables spread out over seven lines. The syllable count is 2-5-8-3-8-7-2.

There is no rhyme to the cameo, but each line should end on a strong word. Line breaks should be naturally occurring, where you would pause in speaking. The poem should be a single thought, so avoid using semicolons.

Schematic:

xx
xxxxx
xxxxxxxx
xxx
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxx
xx

This actually isn’t as bad as it first looked. In fact, it’s kind of a fun form.


spider,
busy spinning webs,
you think I don’t see you up there
but I do
and I’m about to get my broom
to ruin all your hard work
again.


lazy,
you sleep in the sun
when there are mousies to be found
and hunted,
which is the job of the housecat
and you know it, lazy thing,
not me.

Plotless Fiction – Writersfest Part VI

When I say “plotless,” I am including texts that may have a different or radical way of approaching “plot.” Can imagery, syntax, typography be plot? I guess we’ll find out.
— Stuart Ross

Going back in time, I really admire the experimental fiction of the 1960s and 1970s that B. S. Johnson, Toby McLennan, Donald Barthelme, bpNichol, and Daphne Marlatt were creating, among others. Hell, I still consider Michael Ondaatje’s greatest novel, Coming Through Slaughter, a masterpiece of innovation!
— Stuart Ross

Simply put, for me, innovation in fiction means challenging conventions, expanding boundaries, and confounding expectations.
— Stuart Ross

Day four, workshop one was probably my favorite of all the workshops. But wait, you say. What happened to day three? Well, day three started with a workshop on Travel Writing, which I skipped to go to an author event – Folklore, Fable, and Fantastical Females, a reading and conversation with Paola Ferrante, Emily Urquhart, and Anuja Varghese. It was really good, but not the sort of thing you take notes on.

The second workshop of day three was nothing more than a sales pitch for some very pricy boxed sets. Yes, the workshop was a disappointment, but I did buy three of their product. This was followed by an actual workshop on Spoken Word poetry, which isn’t really my thing, so I skipped it and went shopping.

Anyway, day four, workshop one was Plotless Fiction, facilitated by Stuart Ross. I tell you, you can never go wrong with a workshop run by Stuart Ross.

Writer, editor, and writing teacher Stuart Ross offers a relaxed, supportive workshop that explores the possibilities of fiction beyond the constraints of narrative and the artificiality of plot. In this hands-on session, you will be introduced to writers whose works push against the definitions of the story, and will produce your own short works, using a variety of enjoyable, challenging writing strategies.

Plotless Fiction is also known as Experimental Fiction, or Weird Things You Can Get Published.

When Stuart Ross says plotless, he means literally plotless, as in no plot to it. It’s like making a short story that is actually a list.

Plot in fiction is a series of things that happen in a novel. The trajectory goes up and up and up to the conclusion.

Can there be tension without plot? Yes. You can care about the characters, which creates tension. Perhaps the idea is to create a question for the reader – what will happen to the character.

Throw away the way you normally write. Experiment. The human mind is built to find stories and make connections. They will always try to make connections.

Exercise: write a series of single sentences describing various objects objectively.

A booklet sits on a black tablecloth, its pages fanned from use.
The pastry is braided and dotted with nuts.
The stack of torn pages sits haphazardly beside the more orderly stack of magazines.
The brightness from the window hurts my eyes.

Now write a series of sentences starting with “I” – each one a different person.

I like to walk the streets at night, staying in the shadows.
I am tired.
I hate the falling leaves, the longer nights, and pumpkin spice.
I need to start planning for Christmas.

Now randomly join them together.

The brightness from the window hurts my eyes. I like to walk the streets at night, staying in the shadows. The pastry is braided and dotted with nuts. I am tired. A booklet sits on the black tablecloth, its pages fanned from use. I need to start planning for Christmas. The stack of torn pages sits haphazardly beside the more orderly stack of magazines. I hate the falling leaves, the longer nights, and pumpkin spice.

Your results could be a short story, or a poem. You can put together any two lists of things.

Next we were given a separate page to write on and asked to write ten lines describing chaos. (Note, 10 hand written lines translates to 5 typed lines)

Dark, stormy clouds sweep in from the south. The lake churns, waves crashing along the shore. There’s a smell of ozone in the air as the first thunderous crash of thunder, like a sonic boom, precedes the jagged spears of lightning. Like cameras held by the paparazzi, the flashes come one after another, the thunderous timpani keeping time with the volatile storm.

Then we were asked to write ten more lines describing serenity.

The view out the window is full of serenity. The tranquil water is calm, at rest. The day has barely begun, so enjoy the peacefulness while it lasts, for it won’t last for long. The flags lay limp because there is not yet a breeze to stir them. Even the birds are at rest, anticipating the world waking up. It doesn’t last for long, but dawn giving birth to the new day is amazing.

Then we tore the pages apart, and folded one of the ten lines in half, placing it over top of the other one to create a new set of ten lines. First we have serenity on the left, and chaos on the right.

The view out the clouds sweep in from the tranquil water churns, waves crashing day has barely here’s a smell of ozone peacefulness, first thunderous won’t last for like a sonic boom, because there is jagged spears of lightning. Them Even by the paparazzi anticipating one after another, the doesn’t last for timpani keeping time with birth to the new.

Now we have chaos on the left, and serenity on the right.

Dark, stormy window is full of serenity. South the lake is calm, at rest. The along the shore begun, so enjoy the in the air as while it lasts, for it crash of thunder long. The flags lay limp, precedes the jagged not yet a breeze to stir like cameras held birds are at rest, the flashes come one world waking up. It thunderous timpani long, but dawn giving the volatile storm day is amazing.

Weird, eh?

And finally, we were given a series of newspapers, magazines, and pages, and asked to just pull random lines and string them together. This was actually kind of fun – like a reverse blackout poem, only longer. And it was interesting using different sources for the lines as well – a newspaper for one line, an advertisement for the next.

Opinion
In life, there are minor errors. The reader may perhaps wonder. Our large ensemble offers a diverse repertoire. This group currently meets on the first business Monday of each month. A firestorm of controversy over Exeter’s mishandling of sexual misconduct on the part of faculty members. According to sources, then Congressman DeSantis cultivated Trump’s support. A violent storm of hail forced Joseph to take shelter. Meanwhile, Statistics Canada said its early estimate for August pointed to an increase of 0.1 percent for the month. There is growing evidence that new mothers can help in creating a healthier bottom line. This cycle is an opportunity for corporate leaders to play.

As always, Stuart Ross’s workshop was the highlight of the retreat. The final workshop of the day was to write about food, which necessitated a change in location, but I opted to just go on home instead.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
The word for last week is . . . perseverance. It took a lot of perseverance to make it through last week, I tell you what. And that cold I’ve been fighting was every bit as persistent.

My time at Nottawasaga was chronicled in my Monday blog post, and if you’re curious you can read about it HERE . By Friday night I was feeling queasy from the cold medication I was taking, and it didn’t seem to be helping anyway, so I stopped taking it. I was no better, cold wise, the rest of the weekend, but at least my head was a little more clear.

One big difference between a stitchery retreat and a writing retreat is the alone time. I guess because writers are more solitary creatures, our day starts later, ends earlier, and we have breaks in between workshops. Stitchers, on the other hand, are far more social. And despite the fact it was a more energizing atmosphere than being around most groups, I was pretty much peopled out by the end of the weekend.

NEW WORDS:
2656+1157+411+949=5,173
UP: 475 – words

The fact that I had Sunday’s post written and up on time was due to having most of it written before I left for my stitchery retreat.

Monday’s post was photo dependent, so while long, it was fairly easy to write. And of course for Wedenesday I had a pre-written poetry post. And Friday, all I had to do was find an excerpt from my NaNo. So all in all, I got off pretty easy with the blog posts last week.

Which was a good thing, because as I said before, this cold has been kicking my butt big time. I have been so tired and lethargic this past week it’s not even funny. Between the weather, my cold, and the new diabetic medication I’m on, it was a real effort to do anything, let alone any writing.

Goals For Next Week:
Kick the cold to the curb so I can get some real writing done.

NANOWRIMO:
Day 12 – 492
Day 13 – 1,034
Day 14 – 354
Day 15 – 984
Day 16 – 1541
Day 17 – 2411
Day 18 – 2452
Total for week 3 – 9,268
Total for month – 25,835

Yikes! As you can see, I fell way off the wagon as far as NaNo goes. As of yesterday, I should be at 30,000 words. Sadly, even after I got home from the retreat I had a really hard time generating any words. The NaNo mojo just wasn’t working.

The last couple of days I’ve slowly been catching up, but it’s still a bit of a struggle. And I still need to up the pace if I’m going to finish on time.

But one good thing, I figured out my ending. I gave up the whole murder/self sacrifice bit, and replaced it with an accident. A little less convoluted, but it makes better sense.

My NaNo experience this year, has got me questioning why I keep doing this. While it’s hard to resist getting caught up in the whole NaNo whirlwind, I have to ask myself what I’m getting out of it.

It’s certainly not making me a better writer, just because of the very nature of NaNo – writing quantity, not quality. So while it might make me a faster writer, for a month at least, it’s doing nothing to improve the quality of my writing. And do I really need another unfinished manuscript to add to my pile?

I still plan on finishing this year’s NaNo, or at least try to, but maybe it’s time to let go of that winning streak I’m so proud of. Because honestly, all those unfinished manuscripts are not the mark of a winner.

Goal For Next Week:
Continue to catch up my NaNo.

POETRY:
Once again it was nice to be able to dip into the pre-written poetry form well. And I have two more forms in that well, so that should take me to the end of NaNoWriMo. But that’s not to say I won’t work on more, if I get the chance. It’s kind of nice to have forms ready to go in case of an emergency.

Goal For Next Week:
Think about doing the remaining three example poems.

CRAFTING:
You know, you’d think going away for a whole weekend of stitching I would have got lots of stitching done. But the truth is, our time in the sewing room was a lot like one of our regular stitch-ins. There was a lot of socializing, and only some stitching. LOL

I did get some work done on the kit I’ve been working on, and I finished the third square of my zentangle. And I was blown away by a lot of the work around me. The ladies from the Toronto Guild were so welcoming and friendly . . . and the talent! The sheer quality of the work was mind boggling. And it was comforting to know that many of these projects have been works in progress for years.

Then Tuesday there was a regular meeting of my own stitching guild where I learned to make a Christmas star using folded fabric. It was a lot of fun, but I was still recovering from the weekend so I left right after the class, even though our time wasn’t up. But guess what Monday’s post is going to be about? 😊

Goal For Next Week:
Make more stars; work on kit; work on zentangle.

WHAT I’M READING:
Read another couple of chapters of The Invisible Hour by Alice Hoffman, and I’m kind of sad I’m getting close to the end because I’m really enjoying this book.

On the Kindle I finished The Guest is a Goner by Carly Winter, and started The Psychic Cat Mysteries by S.M Reine, which is a cute series of stories from the cat’s point of view.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the moderate reading habits.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

Yeah, I think that new leaf I was nurturing has crawled back into it’s seed shell, waiting for me to find my focus. I don’t blame it. If there was room, I think I’d join it.

The weather has been absolute crap lately, typical for November, but it hasn’t helped me recover from my weekend away. I need to ignore the weather and start getting back on track this week.

It should be another easy week for posting. Monday’s post is pretty much a done deal. I took pictures as I was making my fabric star, not just to help me remember how to make it, but to chronicle it for the blog.

And Wednesday I’ll be able to use another of my pre-written poetry forms. Nice to have them ready to go. And of course Friday I only have to find a suitable excerpt from my NaNo novel.

Tuesday is the library for stitching, and I haven’t decided whether to take my zentangle to start a new square, or my kit because it’s better fabric to work on.

I didn’t take care of my indoor gardening last week, so it would be nice if I could find the time for it this week. I don’t know why, but my hearts on a string are starting to die. I haven’t changed anything about the way I’m looking after them, so maybe I need to look up what I should be doing differently. I also need to see how big of a pot my money tree can be put in.

But the priority for this week is going to have to be catching up on my NaNo. You’ve seen the numbers, I am seriously behind. I think the most I’ve written in one day during NaNo was 10,000 words. I could really use a day like that this week. 😊

Lot’s of stuff to do, I’m just waiting on the ambition to do it this week.

Forced Landing - NaNo Novel 2nd excerpt

In this scene, Sabella has escaped the bad guys and crashed her ship on a largely unpopulated planet. After grabbing a couple of survival packs, she blows up the ship, hoping the bad guys will think she died in the crash, and then started following a river into the vast unknown.

She spends her first night near a waterfall, and although it would make a great camp site, she’s worried it’s still too close to the crash site in case the bad guys are still looking for her. So she decides to keep going upstream along the river. She’s not able to climb the rocks the water is coming from, so she decides to go around instead.

There was the faintest of trails around the rocks, and she followed as best she could. It sloped uphill, and her calves felt the strain after only a mile or so. She wasn’t used to walking so much, although she did work out at the fitness center on a regular basis.

Suddenly, she stopped. How long had she been walking? Judging by the angle of the path, she should be above the waterfall by now, but there was no sign of the river. How could she have lost an entire river?

Remembering the hand held scanner, she pulled it out and switched it on. Damn and double damn. In her efforts to skirt around the edge of the rocks, she angled away from the river. It would take her hours to get back on track. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment.

A quick check of one of the survival packs showed no water, just empty bottles waiting to be filled. There were several foil packets with colour coding that meant nothing to her. She picked one at random and tore it open. Inside was some kind of grey paste. Making a face, she squeezed some of it into her mouth. It didn’t taste as bad as it looked, and she was sure it was nourishing, but the texture left a lot to be desired. Maybe it was meant to be spread on crackers or bread or something.

Whatever, at least it partially filled the hole inside her. Taking up her packs again – as soon as she found a place for a proper rest, she was going to have to go through the packs and take stock, maybe even reduce them down to a single pack. One last glance at the scanner, and she was ready to start out again in a new direction.

It occurred to her, after an hour or so of walking, that she hadn’t really seen any trace of animal life. There were more plants and trees than she’d ever known existed, but shouldn’t there be animals as well? There were birds, she’d heard a veritable cacophony of chirps and tweets and songs. And a couple of times she’d surprised groups of birds with her presence and they’d taken flight in a colorful flurry of feathers and squawking.

Was the lack of animals a good thing or a bad thing, she couldn’t decide. Maybe they were there, but up in the trees, or hiding in the bushes. Apparently they were more afraid of her than she was of them, although she highly doubted it. The closest she’d come to a live animal was one of the nature vids the service ran on rest days.

What would she do if ran into an animal? Being a trained linguist in no way prepared her for an introduction to wild creatures. Didn’t people use to kill and eat wild animals? And seriously, she could tell herself that there would be fish in the river, but even if she could figure out how to catch one, what was she supposed to do with it?

No, she couldn’t let these undesirable thoughts fill her head. She was beginning to freak herself out. What she needed to do was focus on getting back to the river. She needed fresh water. And if she was lucky, she’d find some fruit or roots or something to eat. If she was really lucky, one of the packs might hold a data cube of edible plants.

The sun was becoming uncomfortably warm, and she was all too aware of the insects that were buzzing around her. So far she hadn’t been bitten, but she figured it was only a matter of time. Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, she found herself on the bank of the river again. Not that it was going to do her any good.

Sabella stood on the edge, looking down. The land had risen more than she realized. It was several feet down to the water, and no way to get down to it. She supposed, if she was desperate enough, she could just jump, but she couldn’t swim very well, and there was no way to get back up again.

With a sigh, she turned and began to follow along the top of the edge, hoping that either the land would lower again, or the river rise. Her footsteps began to drag a bit. She no longer feared the Tal-Cor men finding her, now she was worried about surviving. But surviving to do what, she hadn’t the faintest idea.

The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. Yes, she’d escaped the Tal-Cor thugs, at least for now, but now what was she supposed to do? How was she going to survive?

“One day at a time,” she muttered under her breath. “First priority, find a new camping spot, preferably near the water.”

Trichain Verse Form

The Trichain is an invented form, credited to Lisa La Grange of Allpoetry.com. Like many invented forms, information about this one was hard to come by. And a search for the author didn’t help. So here’s what I know.

This form is stanzaic, consisting of three or more quatrains (four line verses). Each quatrain consists of three 8-syllable lines, and one 6-syllable line. It also has a somewhat unique rhyme scheme. The first three lines of each stanza rhyme with each other, but the fourth line has the same rhyme throughout the poem.

Maybe a schematic would help:

xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxb

xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxxxc
xxxxxb

xxxxxxxd
xxxxxxxd
xxxxxxxd
xxxxxb

Is it just me, or does this make it a little tricky? Presumably you can make it as long as long as you wish. The minimum length is three stanzas. There were no suggestions of what to write your Trichain about, so it looks like you can use any subject matter you wish.

While I thought the rhyme scheme was interesting, I find having only six syllables in the last line of each verse a little jarring. Of course that could be because in my first attempt I forgot, using eight syllables instead of six, and I had to totally redo it.


Turning Seasons

One day the trees are brightly green,
the next they’re something in between
and finally they’re gone, unseen
the seasons turning here

The sky is dark, the moon is bright
the air is clear this starry night
with just a hint of winter’s bite
a start of the new year.

In bitter cold, snow turns to ice
thaws and freezes, not once but twice
the snow compacts down so concise
and soon begins to clear.

The snow is gone the rains begin
there’s mud where once the ice has been
a hint of green, still looking thin
branching out, more appear.

The sun is warm, and soon it’s hot
time to relax, devoid of thought
with all the pleasure this turn’s brought
never lasting I fear.

The sun begins to cool again
once more it’s time to reap the grain
the leaves will turn, a glowing chain
as seasons reappear.