Snowflake

I have a friend who is writing an epic novel. It is a novel of such breadth and complexity that he has been struggling with it for a few years now. Where to start? How to pull it together? Trying to tame this behemoth has nearly stymied his creativity. But recently he's started to get a handle on it. And he credits 'The Snowflake' method as the key.

It's an interesting idea - originator of the concept, Randy Ingermanson, explains - "For a number of years, I was a software architect designing large software projects. I write novels the same way I write software, using the "snowflake metaphor" 

It's all about building your novel up, brick by brick by brick, before you even put a word of the actual novel down. For example, Step One is to "write a one-sentence summary of your novel." Step Two is "expand that sentence to a full paragraph describing the story setup, major disasters, and ending of the novel." And so on.

I was horrified when my friend told me about it. Because there are ten steps. By step eight you are writing a scene by scene spreadsheet of the entire novel. Ingermanson claims that most of his step eights run to 100 lines on his spreadsheet... All this before you write a word of your story.

It felt to me like you'd have practically written two novels by the time you were finished. But I guess the results will speak for themselves. And my friend is now on chapter five and making good progress.

As for me, I decided to try my own interpretation and spent a little time writing up a detailed chapter summary. And I'm delighted I did it - it given me a great road map for the novel and it makes it easier to sit down and get to the writing, I always know where I'm at and where I'm going.

Anyway, here is the guy's website, it's worth a read.  Snowflake

Some Advice

 When I'm feeling discouraged, when the novel just feels like too much, it's nice to know I'm not alone.

For more wonderful quotes, check out Writing Advice From Famous Authors

Goodness it's been manic around here lately. The laptop has been scowling at me lately, it's keys surly.

But I've been busy, out there, in the real world

Sweet and Sour Christening

April 10th!!! I last posted April 10th!!! Christ! It just gets worse.

I am still alive!

I am not a number.

Etc.

Everyone, check your blog comments, cause I finally got to look at them and have a read. And yes, I am blogging at ten to one in the morning. I was falling asleep at 7pm, but obviously someone mixed up the caff with the decaff again, so here I am!

I just wrote half a poem about breastfeeding, but it seems rather graphic and inappropriate, so I won't post that.

Lets see, what else? Hmm..

Well, I won a competition today. Sure there were only two of us in the hat and it required no skill on my part at all, but hey, a wins a win!

Any other news?


Oh yes, we finally got around to christening Baby Oub on Sunday. It was all fun in the church - but then we got back to the house and I suddenly turned into the personal servant of my thirty closet family members. I cooked, from scratch I might add, a meal of fried rice and sweet and sour chicken (I made the sauce even!) hotdogs for the kids (ok, I didn't make them from scratch. urgh, the very thought.) provided drinks, tea, five different desserts, fun, laughter, joy! Bah. I'm fecking shattered! And they didn't even have the decency not to finish everything, so I had no leftovers to feed the D'Oub babes for the rest of the week. Feckers.

But it was a special day. Unfortunately Baby Oub got her Christening mixed up with her Confirmation - ie confirmation making you an adult in the eyes of the church -so she'd been refusing to go to bed until after 10pm the last two nights. Or maybe the devil was exhausting her, and now he's gone she's a lot less tired...

Speaking of tired, I'm going to go off to sleep now.

Hopefully.

Gardens and poetry

I've posted four times this year. How useless is that? Every time I have posted, I've enjoyed myself so much I've promised that this time, really, this time I will post again in a few days. But life is just nuts around here. And maybe the sooner I accept that, the sooner I'll get to more regular posting. Maybe the realisation that my life is chaos, will stay chaotic, the sooner I will just seize the day and guerrilla post - blogging suddenly and without warning...

So, here is a smorgasbord of what's been going on Chez D'Oub - 

The garden got done! The stress nearly killed me. Here's a cool time lapse video of it -

What else?

Well, 

[post edited. poem that was here will be back soon!]

And lastly a picture of the baby to finish. 

Ice Cream and Karma

How we all doing?

It's the usual craziness round the D'Oubby way.

But lots of good stuff!

I've started to write a new book! A crime thriller! (I felt that the two spare minutes I have left a day were just temptation for the Devil. )

What else... let me see. Oh, yes, we are getting our garden redesigned! Yes! No longer will we be able to rent out our back garden to film crews who want a waste land location. The children will be able to play outside without the worry of wolf attack. Sure the last remaining example of the Dublin lowland Tiger will be made extinct when we destroyed it's natural habitat, but what price my desire to bar-b-que???

They were are underwhlemed as we were

We had a pleasant St Patrick's Day. The boys were in the local parade. Which was pretty lame, truth be told. The parade, not the boys. Though, I must say, they weren't exactly giving it their all as they lumped by in their Cub Scout uniforms and green hats. Couldn't they have been tying some knots as they went? Lighting a mobile campfire? Even a bit of a dib dib dib chant would have been good. But we were just meant to be stunned by the majesty of their existence.

Next year we're going to into the town parade.

Lily was deeply bitter that this was her first St Patricks Day parade experience. It was rubbish.

But the very, very best news of all is that we have acquired an ice cream man! This is super news.

And useful.

Let me tell you a story....

(A bit of background first...) So, a number of years ago I heard of a mammy who came up with the rule of tirds for her kids communion money. One third to be saved. One third to be spent. And one third to charity. I thought this was a great idea. So, when son number one made his communion three years ago, he was informed that this was how things were going to happen. And last year, when son number two went through it all, he got the same lecture.

But, the D'Oubs being the D'oubs, the money got put in a savings account and we never quite got round to sorting it out. But Mr D'oub last week got a fit of organisation upon him and consolidated a few of the kids accounts credit union/bank etc... this seemed like a good time to talk to the chaps about giving some of their loot away. They looked a little pained. I worried that my amazing mothering had been ever so slightly too much for them, that they hadn't 'got it' and were in fact greedy selfish little heathens. But after a pause,  sweet and thoughtful son number one said 'Ok, I'll give (insert large amount of money here) to charity.' Son number two said 'Me two!'

And then it happened.

Jingle, jingle, jingle.

From outside, the sound more beautiful than a baby's laugh, came from our road. AN ICE CREAM VAN!!!!

You must understand. Ice cream vans don't come our way. We are surrounded by retirees where we live. Lovely OAP's each and everyone of them, but there is a reason ice cream vans don't have 'Mind That Pensioner' on the back.

I looked at each child.

I screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'

They screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'

We all screamed 'ICE CREAM VAN!'

I grabbed my purse, thrust five euros in their little hands and said 'Run! Run! Catch the ice cream man before he leaves and never comes back!'

And yay, they doth run and gather to them some 99s. And they were good.

And what did I get to do?

I got to say to them - look kiddies, you agree to give money to charity, and look, ice cream appears.

Now, if I can only find out what time he plans on coming every day, I could fleece those rich kids.

Mwwaaaaahahahahahhaahahahahhhahahahah!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I Ain't Counting Sheep...

As the great poet Cliff Richards once intoned - it's so funny, how we don't talk anymore.

It's true, I have been giving you the silent treatment. I've been quiet, uncommunicative. Sullen even.

But believe me, it's me. Not you.

But today is February 29th. The day women are traditionally allowed to propose.

So, I am going to propose something.

I am going to be a better blogger. I will talk to you when I am feeling cross, I won't bottle it all up and make you think it's you whose done something wrong. I won't shut myself off and make you guess what's up. We can get counselling if you want. If it makes you feel better. We gotta do this for the kids.

Mammy, blogosphere, don't you love us anymore?? Boo Hoooo.

(But in the meantime until I have something worth blogging about - check this site out - 9 Foreign Words The English Language Desperately Needs . Mr Oub says I am a Kaelling but I reckon he is most definitely a Pilkunnussija)