"There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham, English dramatist & novelist (1874 - 1965)

Edmund Burke, the Irish philosopher and statesman famously said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Whether I qualify as "good" and how much impact this will have are open questions.

Abandoned, lonely, lost in decay,
a house once beautiful,
owned by pride.

Now sits,
with paint peeling,
time revealing,
the years gone by.

I watched my brother as I have learned to watch others. Pushing thick tortoiseshell glasses up the narrow bridge of a too long nose, small sounds emanating from him as he tried to clear his throat. He was at an awkward angle for it, feet dangling over the back of the couch, head resting on a cushion. His foot was jiggling sporadically, half a beat behind the music.

The most important part of writing is getting the words on the page, always is, always will be. So focus on that first, then go through your work and underline the areas that are cliches, weak descriptions, telling not showing, and so on. Write first, edit second.

It's cold. I hug my arms around my waist and quicken my pace a bit, eager for the warmth of my apartment. I round the last corner between the bar and my home, now only a few blocks away from safety and a central heating unit. My street is as empty as the last one was. I've made this particular journey countless times since moving into the city a year ago, and since then I've learned that an empty street is nothing to be afraid of.

The pedestrians walked with their briefcases clutched tightly in their hands, their faces impassive. The cluttering of heels and leather shoes; all so absorbed within themselves. Not looking, not aware, not caring, they walked, suffocated with the intricate tangles of their lives.

My feet thudded against the asphalt, splashing against the puddles that had now formed in the road. It was no longer raining, but the merciless cold was ever present. I stepped into the alleyway, so scarcely illuminated that shadows became so robust, they seemed to be devils dancing amongst the night, mocking those who dare traverse amongst them. Or maybe I am just crazy.

I looked up into the suns core

Wondering about you

Remembering everything I adore

Kindling your ghosts past

You and I were best friends forever

And that I can't deny

It wasn't like this at first. I put Sam in her walker, gave her a few cheerios then threw on the DVD while I folded the laundry. Back then she didn't make much of a fuss with it on. I thought I had lucked out. Finally, I had found something to keep her engaged long enough for me to do things I needed to do around here. I was such a blind fool.

Chaos in millions seeping through
Causing damage they can't undo
Afterlife of crimson rain
Bleed black through the windowpane

The awesome goal site has given me some pretty pathetic insight to my lack of discipline. I hope it helps.
thanks!

Sometimes you have to do some reading.

I may not be a newbie, but I do like your article. Every writer can make use of writing resources.
Thanks for posting them and doing it in link form.

Thank you for the newsletter which was full of good things as usual! I am still unconvinced about Twitter - it has such a bad press - but Grammar Girl is something else. I took a look, researched one of those words I always have problems with and this site is really great. It's bookmarked now, too!

I really enjoyed this NL, although I do hate you for introducing me to VisuWords because I've now spent hours on that site and haven't gotten any actual work done. (Okay, that's not true... you know I love ya. )

Great NL, Brooke.
I didn't know about VisuWords. I guess that makes me a 11 WdC years old newbie. Thanks for that, and thank you for giving a link to my blog piece.