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Author Archives: Nancy Pinard
How “Daring Greatly” Truly Feels
I find myself quite astonished to see my current emotional state appearing on the page through what my characters are saying—and this without intentionality. I’m not journaling my feelings then transferring them to the characters, though I advocate that method … Continue reading
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The Art of Infection
Recently, my son described a poignant regret: “It was like that day,” he said, “when you discover playing in a swimming pool isn’t as much fun as it once was.” My sadness joined with his—remembering when some childhood pleasure, quite … Continue reading
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The My Writing Process Blog Tour
First I’d like to send gratitude to my friend, the poet and novelist Ed Davis, for inviting me to participate in the My Writing Process Blog Tour, a project conceived by James Tate Hill at North Caroline A&T State University. … Continue reading
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The Power of Words, Part IV: Temperature
In a manuscript workshop I recently conducted, a participant submitted a story in which the antagonist chose the dark side after being forced by his government captors to watch his daughter’s burning at the stake. The scene had lots of … Continue reading
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The Power of Words, Part III: Sound
I have two close friends who are super tasters. They have more taste buds than Harry, Sally, or Nancy. They taste–I don’t know what–flavors I don’t dream are there. Last night, one said she liked the pasta I served at … Continue reading
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The Power of Words, Part II: Things
–Say it, no ideas but in things– nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident– split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained– secret–into the body of the light! from Paterson: Book I That’s … Continue reading
The Power of Words, Part I
Words are keeping me awake–the words of a friend I last saw when I was eighteen. From the sky into my inbox, the words exploded in a world I hadn’t conjured in a long, long time. We played remember when, … Continue reading
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On Longing, Unfulfilled
My mother, Phyllis Carson Johnson Troth, wrote travelogues, loose-leaf notebooks fat with descriptions of the trips she’d taken with my father. She read them to us sometimes. “Read me from your journal,” Dad would say, after dinner, and so, instead … Continue reading
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Where to Go When You Don’t Know Where to Go
You don’t know what happens next. You believe you need to know. Not knowing makes you feel out of control, and you’re the author, after all. If you don’t know, who will? That’s another question you can’t answer. You stop … Continue reading
Posted in making art, mystery, reading, writing
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How Does One Begin Again?
I’ve been silent for awhile. I’m not dead. I’ve changed course. The Einstein material is on hold while I return to the novel I wrote about Darwin’s family, set in the year prior to the publication of On the Origin … Continue reading
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