Writing can be like riding a horse on its off gait, the best solution is to loosen your grip and let go.Read more "Going Off-lead"
The View from Inspiration Point By Elizabeth Cutright © 2012 The Daily Creative Writer What was it Hemingway said? “There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it’s like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.” That’s certainly what writing’s felt like for me lately. For […]Read more "Sometimes the only trick is to just keep going…"
Where are you? By Elizabeth Cutright © 2012 The Daily Creative Writer Whenever my friends and I lose each other in a crowd or a super store, on of us will yell out “Marco” and wait for the answering “Polo!” It’s goofy, but it never fail to make me smile. It’s also reassuring – we’re […]Read more "“X” Marks the Spot"
Contrasts and Comparisons By Elizabeth Cutright (Excerpted from East Junction, a novel in progress) It was the sort of exhaustion that takes over your entire body – wrapping you up in a gossamer web of steely threads. Gillian felt paralyzed, and she knew it had more to do with emotional exertions than anything overtly physical. […]Read more "Let your character tell the story."
Felicidad’s Flight By Elizabeth Cutright (Excerpted from East Junction, a novel in progress) The chill snuck in through the sleeves of the hand-me-down raincoat that had been the sum total birthday gift to commemorate lucky 13. Faded red, with big yellow daisies, it was hip in the sixties, but woefully out of fashion by the […]Read more "The Quote as a Trigger"
The Fuse is Lit By Elizabeth Cutright (Excerpted from East Junction, a novel in progress) He never could get used to the relative quiet of the newsroom. Although he’d never actually worked at any of the “big time” newspapers, his first memories as a journalist always included the roar of the presses, not the hum of […]Read more "Character Introductions"
It (Doesn’t) Go Without Saying By Elizabeth Cutright (Excerpted from East Junction, a novel in progress) Richard Pale squinted out from under his Bruins baseball hat at the solitary figure of his only son, Danny Pale, intermittently pitching golf balls into the wasteland of the desert. Wasteful and rebellious as always, this strange son who belonged […]Read more "Narrative Dialogue"