The Writing Life: reflections by a working writer.

The Writing Life: reflections by a working writer. The Writing Life

Reflections of a working writer, a university screenwriting professor, and the editor of Oregon Literary Review.

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A guide to publishers and publishing services for serious writers, including info on scam agents.

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Charles Deemer

Editor,
Oregon Literary Review

MFA, Playwriting, University of Oregon

Writing faculty, Portland State University (part-time)

Retired playwright and screenwriter.
Active novelist, librettist and teacher.

Email: cdeemer(at)yahoo(dot)com

The eagle flies!

Links:

Literary archive

The Sextant Press

Personal home page

Electronic screenwriting tutorial

References

Bookstore
Highlights:

Finalist, Oregon Book Award

Practical Screenwriting

Love At Ground Zero

More books.

Blogs by (mostly) creative writers:

"Can We Talk About Me For A Change?"
Playwright Debra Neff Nathans

Inkygirl
Debbie Ridpath Ohi, a weblog for writers (resources)

Silliman's Blog
Ron Silliman, contemporary poetry and poetics

Maud Newton
literary links, amusements, politics, rants

Darren Barefoot
Technical and creative writing, theatre, Dublin

Rob's Writing Pains
Journey of a struggling writer.

Mad, Mad World
Cara Swann, fiction writer, journalist, "reflections on humanity, random news & my life."

Writeright
Random musings on a writer's life and times.

Flaskaland
Barbara Flaska's compilation of the best online articles about music and culture.

Write Of Way
Samantha Blackmon's written musings on writing (composition and rhetoric).

Alexander b. Craghead: blog
Writing, photography, and watercolors.

Rodney's Painted Pen
Rodney Bohen's daily commentary "on the wondrous two legged beast we fondly refer to as mankind." His pen runneth over.

Frustrated Writer
This one named Nicole.

scribble, scribble, scribble
Journalist Dale Keiger teaches nonfiction scribbling to undergraduate and graduate students at Johns Hopkins University.

The Unofficial Dave Barry Blog
The very one.

The Hive
The official blog of science fiction / horror author Terence West.

William Gibson Blog
Famed author of Neuromancer and Johnny Mnemonic: The Screenplay.

The Word Foundry
Joe Clifford Faust's "blog of a working writer: tracking writing projects, musings on the creative process, occasional side trips into music, media, politics, religion, etc."

A Writer's Diary
By Cynthia Harrison, who has the good sense to quote Virginia Woolf: "The truth is that writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial."

Bow. James Bow.
The journal of James Bow and his writing.

Ravenlike
Michael Montoure's weblog about writing, primarily horror and speculative fiction.

Globemix
By David Henry, "a poet's weblog from Aberdeen, Scotland."

Modem Noise
By Adrian Bedford, a "fledgling Pro SF Writer, living in Perth, Australia."

boynton
"A wry writerly blog named in honour of a minor character in a minor Shirley Temple film."

Real Writers Bounce
Holly Lisle's blog, "a novelist's roadmap through the art and ordeal of finding the damned words."

2020 Hindsight
By Susan.

downWrite creative
Phil Houtz's notes on the writing life.

Vivid: pieces from a writer's notebook
Blog of Canadian poet Erin Noteboom.

The Literary Saloon
The literary weblog at the complete review.

Rabbit Blog
The rabbit writes on popular culture.

This Girl's Calendar
Momoka writes short stories.

Twists & Turns
Musings by writer Michael Gates.

Plays and Musicals -- A Writer's Introspective
A blog by John D. Nugent - Composer, Playwright, and Artistic Director of the Johnson City Independent Theatre Company

The American Sentimentalist
"Never has any people endured its own tragedy with so little sense of the tragic." Essays by Mark W. Anderson.

Screenwriting By Blog
David C. Daniel writes a screenplay online. "I've decided to publish the process as a way to push myself through it. From concept to completion, it'll be here."

SeanAlonzo.com
Official site of occult fiction author Sean-Alonzo, exploring symbolism, alternative history, philosophy, secret societies and other areas of the esoteric tradition.

Crafty Screenwriting
Maunderings of Alex Epstein, tv scribe, about life, politics, and the tv show I'm co-creating.

Letters From The Home Front
The life of a writer, 21, home schooled, rural living.

Venal Scene
The blog of bite-sized plays inspired by the news (by Dan Trujillo).

'Plaint of the Playwright
Rob Matsushita, a playwright from Wisconsin, "whines a lot."

I Pity Da Fool!
Glenn's adventures in screenwriting.

Time In Tel-Aviv
Hebrew modern literature at its best, by Corinna Hasofferett.

Big Window
Robin Reagler's poetry blog.

John Baker's Blog
Author of the Sam Turner and Stone Lewis novels.

The Writing Life With Dorothy Thompson
What goes on during a writer's busy day?

The Rebel Housewife
Not just a housewife!

Barry's Personal Blog
A running commentary on writing and the writing life.

Bonnie Blog
Maintained by Bonnie Burton of grrl.com.

Writer's Blog.
By easywriter. "From the walls of caves to cyberspace."

Flogging the Quill
Pursuing the art and craft of compelling storytelling, by an editor, Ray Rhamey.

Man Bytes Hollywood
Sharing tools, strategies and resources for the screenwriter's journey.

Mad for the smell of paper
A writing journal.

The Writing Life
A blog by Katey Schultz.

It Beats Working 9-5
A screenwriting blog by a young Canadian screenwriter.

Stealing Heaven From The Lips Of God
Writer & Artist, Dee Rimbaud reflects upon politics, religion, art, poetry, the meaning of life, the nature of God and why toast always lands butter side down on carpets.

Robert Peake
Heart and Mind, Fully Engage ... a poet's website.

Sidestepping Real
By Ren Powell, poet, children’s writer, essayist and editor.

Suggest a writer's blog

The Writing Life...

"An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's."
J.D. Salinger

"All my best friends are writers and are dead."
A friend over beer, Berkeley, winter, 1959

"And it came to pass that all the stars in the firmament had ceased to shine. But how was anyone to know?"
The Half-Life Conspiracy

After October 31, 2006,
new posts are published at

The Writing Life II

(Posts archived here are from 01/10/03 - 10/31/06)

Saturday, August 30, 2003

Love in the Ruins -- Chapter 3
Wes bought coffee at a stand, got a newspaper from a vending machine, and sat down at a table in an indoor courtyard off the lobby, figuring Mike could find him easily enough. He started reading the paper.

Suddenly there was a noise unlike anything Wes had heard before, not quite an explosion, not quite a crash, but clearly something of magnitude, strong enough to jar the foundation of the building as if some great force were sliding the floor out from under him. And then, just as suddenly, stillness, at least in the building’s foundation. But the air was heavy with menace, like a distant, humid echo of catastrophe.

Already people were racing to the windows and running outside to see what had happened. Wes watched the commotion with a forced calm, staying at the table.

Across the way a man yelled, “The north tower’s on fire!”

The news drew even more people to the windows and exits. Wes stood up, leaving the paper on the table but taking his coffee. He headed for the nearest exit, which faced north, trying not to join the growing panic. He mistrusted panic because it depended on first impressions.

Outside Wes couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, the north tower in flames several dozen stories up, spitting out great billows of dark smoke. Even harder to believe was what he could decipher from an anxious crowd of observers, many of whom were talking and yelling at once, as if trying to articulate their own disbelief. Apparently an airplane, a jetliner, had crashed into the north tower, an accident of colossal proportions.

High in the south tower above him, Mike would have quite a view of the situation. Wes decided to join him.

He made his way back inside, weaving through the crowd still coming out of the building. In the chaos, the security guard had abandoned his check point, and Wes was able to enter without flashing identification. He found the building directory.

Mike had told him the name of the law firm where Jimmy worked. Wes scanned the directory, looking for a name that rang a bell.

On a loud speaker, a man was telling everyone not to panic, that the problem was in the north tower, not here, and that everyone should return to work. Few paid attention and a great flow of people continued to move outside.

Jacobs & Smith! That was the firm. The 88th floor. Wes headed for the elevators.

The first to arrive was packed with people coming down to get out of the building, still ignoring the advice to go back to work. When the last woman stepped out, Wes entered the elevator. Only several others joined him.

There were no stops until the sixth floor. The door opened. Just as a woman was about to step in, a horrendous explosion rocked the elevator, knocking Wes and everyone else off their feet, the woman landing on top of him. He quickly maneuvered free and struggled to his feet, then helped the woman to hers. Someone yelled that they must get off the elevator, but Wes was a step ahead of the advice, wandering into the hallway. What the hell had happened?

The hallways were filled with stunned employees, everyone in shock, moving en masse toward the stairs, and Wes stepped along with the flow. Where had the explosion come from? Certainly from above, somewhere high in the building, somewhere closer to where Mike was.

Wes could hear screams coming from throughout the building. As he moved with the crowd to the stairwell of the fifth floor, one scream in particular caught his attention, a woman with a British accent, calling desperately for help from somewhere close. Wes moved into the hallway and found her only a few doorways down, a young woman in a gray robe, the style of dress worn by Arabs, who was kneeling over another Arab woman, whose robe was purple and orange.

“Someone help me!” the young woman cried.
Wes raced down the hallway.
“She can’t walk,” Areeba told him. “She twisted her ankle.”
Wes reached down to the young woman on the floor.
“Take my hand.”

Hayaam grasped the hand, and Wes pulled her to her feet. Hayaam grimaced in pain.

“I don’t think I can walk,” she told him, also with a British accent.
“Okay, here we go,” said Wes.
He bent forward and lifted her up into his arms.
“You okay?”
Hayaam said, “Yes.”
“This way.”

Wes carried her back to the stairwell, where he joined the crowd that continued downstairs. Areeba took his arm and followed.

Something had changed. The air was now filled with dust and a pungent odor, strong and unpleasant, reminding Wes of the smell of burning oil. If his hands had been free, he would have held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, but he was carrying the young woman in his arms, who was surprisingly light.

They continued downstairs with the flow, everyone staying calm, as if this collective routine was enough to put a temporary halt to fear and anxiety. But when they reached the ground floor, spilling out into the lobby, the crowd exploded into its panicked parts, with individuals suddenly racing for the exits and crying out in unintelligible anguish, the crowd becoming a mob.

Wes carried the young woman outside and moved far enough from the building so the crowd scattered a safe distance around them. He set her carefully on her feet.

“I have to go back inside,” he said. “Will you be okay?”
“Yes,” said Hayaam. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”

Hayaam recognized the same after-shave on the man as the earlier man was wearing, the one who had spoken to them. She offered her hand, the American gesture of gratitude.

“I am Hayaam. This is my cousin, Areeba.”
He took her hand.
“I’m Wes.”

There was a silence. When Wes realized he was still holding her hand, he released it.
“I have to go. I’m looking for someone.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

This had not occurred to him, and Wes had no time to reflect on the matter. His plan was to return inside the building and somehow find Mike, but when he looked up, as if expecting to find his brother staring down at him from some window high in the tower, Wes saw a horror of flames and dark smoke, and he realized that whatever catastrophe had happened in the north tower had occurred in the southern twin as well, creating a chaotic evacuation of the building which made it impossible to return inside. Wes had no choice but to leave Mike to his fate, and to look out for himself and join the escaping frenzy of frightened people running randomly across the plaza, racing to go anywhere but here, racing to get as far from the towers, this center of western civilization, as possible.

8/30/2003 06:28:00 AM | 0 comments

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Sketch says, "Happiness is sunshine and a bone."

__The Writing Life

After October 31, 2006, new posts are published at

The Writing Life II

After October 31, 2006,
new posts are published at