Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
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Blog, Blog, Blog
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Welcome!
In 2011, my main focus will be on writing a novel. Since I'm a novice novelist, I've decided to come at the project from different angles, exploring the genre and experimenting with its elements. This blog and its offsite sister blog will be my journals where I attack novel-writing one day at a time.
As I was creating my BlogSpot page, the inspiration for the blog solidified in my mind. I named that blog "One Significant Moment at a Time." In essence, I want to use the format as a reminder to walk through my life with my author's eyes open, taking in the details, feeling the emotions of the day. As moments unfold and I feel their affects on me as a person, a woman, a mother, a sister, a member of the world community, I'll let the writer in me talk about it.
Creative Nonfiction is the genre most fitting to describe what I envision accomplishing here, moreso than blogging or journaling. The style is best suited, I feel, for my ambitions as a novelist.
In addition, Friday entries will not be written by me. Instead, I'll turn the keyboard over to one of the characters in my novel. He or she will relate the events of the day as s/he saw them, through the filter of his or her perception.
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Leave me a comment there, and I'll send you a WDC token of my appreciation!
Become a Follower there, and I'll send you a Supportive Merit Badge! -- You don't have to go to blogspot.com each day; in fact, I post much of the same entries here in this WDC blog. But building up a verifiable readership may prove important one day when I'm knocking on literary agent/publishers' doors!
To Follow, just click "Follow" on the right margin of my blog page. You'll have to sign in using, or create, a Google account (it's free and only takes two minutes!), and then follow the short instructions. It's easy, and I'd appreciate it so much!!
2011 Reading Goal = 25 Books in 52 Weeks. To see the list of books I've read so far, CLICK HERE 
 Leave me a comment anytime ~ even on older postings!  
Thanks for reading!!
August 24, 2009 at 8:22am August 24, 2009 at 8:22am
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Acme  's writing exercise for today is perfect, because I plan to work on an entry for "Show Off Your Best at the Bee Hive " and this is a warm-up exercise. The first book my eyes fell on was my eleven-year old's copy of The Simarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm not a fantasy writer so this is parochial at best -- but I met the goal, at least. I began writing at 7:50 am and finished at 8:07.
Getting Going
A fifteen minute warm-up writing exercise.
Pick a book off a shelf.
Turn to a random page.
Pick any sentence you fancy to be the first sentence of your fifteen minute writing exercise.
Write
Take that sentence anywhere you want. Write only for fifteen minutes.
He walked in the deserted ways of Tirion, and the dust upon his raiment and his shoes was a dust of diamonds, and he shone and glistened as he climbed the long white stairs. He was home, and his hammering heart pounded out a code of longing and joy that hissed along his arteries, mingling with the chilly blood of resentment until his fingertips grew cold and his face froze in a determined grimace. He thought the years away had healed him, and the anger simmering under the surface of his skin surprised him. He was a changed man. He’d sought success and captured it like a prized possession. So why was bitterness gnawing at his soul?
At the top of the stairs, he paused at the massive black door and stared at his reflection in its lacquered surface. He saw the long locks of twisted hair cascading down his shoulders, each strand a witness to the time that had passed since his departure. He inhaled, feeling his chest rise, imagining courage filling each to capacity. He raised a smooth hand and grasped the golden knocker. Its baritone chime echoed through the halls beyond for only a moment before his reflection retreated off the side of the opening door.
“Master Charleton! It’s so good to see you, sir,” gushed the servant. The three braided strands of his beard quivered as he bowed deeply. Without straightening, he said, “I shall announce your arrival immediately.”
He turned but stopped suddenly.
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice boomed.
The servant bowed and scurrying away. Charleton found himself face to face with his father.
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