I know I said my next entry was going to be about Darlene Cypser's book, The Crack in the Lens, but I'm not done reading it yet. However, I am immensely enjoying the experience.
I've been writing fairly steadily since I was fourteen. The writing bug first bit me during my freshman year of high school. You see, from the time I was four, I wanted to be an actress. One day, during freshman year, though, I was cleaning my room, and I found a notebook in my closet. When I opened it, I saw about two pages' worth of a story I'd begun, probably around the time I was ten. It was about a young girl, trapped in a warehouse, with a deformed (we're talking deformed, like Phantom of the Opera has nothing on this guy's ugliness,) monster closing in on her. A policeman showed up and shot the monster.
I was intrigued by what I honestly didn't remember writing until I found it in that closet and I decided I would continue it and actually make a novel out of it. I wrote on this thing all through freshman year, and it wasn't until the summer that I reread what I'd written and discovered one very important thing . . . It had absolutely no plot whatsoever! But I was bitten by the writing bug.
My sophomore year was when I wrote my first young adult novel, and though it has yet to be published, I'll get there one day. I have about forty ideas for different young adult novels, in addition to my five book Holmes series, the short story Holmes book I want to write, and the stand alone Holmes novel I came up with that is my own explanation for where he was during the Great Hiatus.
Anyway, one thing that I've noticed now that I'm actually a published author is that I'm taking a lot more notice of the books I read, especially when they concern our favorite detective. I'm a lot more observant with how things are written and I find that's incorporating itself into my writing. I'm more conscious of the vocabulary used, when something sounds "Holmes-ish," how well the story is told, and when things are informative yet largely unnecessary, or have a larger purpose in the grand sweep of the story.
And once again, I'm being interrupted by my temperamental little parrot who refuses to just quietly sit on my shoulder . . . I'll come back to this as soon as I can, because I do have other thoughts on it.