by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Dec 28, 2015 | about the current writer, craft of writing, essays, stories, Writing by Writers |
I have been looking into schedules. Even when we read physics, we inquire of each least particle, What then shall I do this morning? How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Oct 9, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, my writing, provincetown |
I wanted to tell you about my novel that went out the first week in June to a very small number of editors. Good, positive, specific things were said but no takers. Honestly this time I’ve been unsure what to do next. I’ve thought about starting a new...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Aug 12, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, provincetown |
I’m reading The Green Road by Anne Enright. I’m a huge fan of hers, but I’m having a little trouble getting into this one. I started it on the Kindle, then ordered the book and re-started it. I don’t feel like I have to finish it, but because...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 26, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, Pam Houston |
Too much sitting, not enough moving. This morning my body hurt. I stretched, then I set the timer on my phone for an hour, and when it went off, I got down on the floor and stretched again. Then I reset the timer. At one, I went to run–thirty minutes of...
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by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 24, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, my writing, provincetown |
I’m in Provincetown doing what I do best–shutting out everything except for the essential in order to complete a project–a hopefully final read-thru on my novel. When I got here on Wednesday, I went to the grocery, and since then, I’ve only...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 12, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, journeys, my writing |
During the holidays, at a cocktail party, someone asked me how my novel was coming. Can I buy it yet? Another Christmas, I thought, another year where nothing had changed on the outside. I dreaded annual events and these questions to which I had no good answers. But...
