I had something really insightful and awesome to share with you all today, but that was yesterday before the "Big Blogger Crash of 05/11." If it comes back to me, maybe you'll be able to read it next week.
Instead, you can read all about how I finally got my rewrite underway. I've been planning and hoping and outlining and hoping, and stressing and had a few false starts, but this time, it's really going. I've written close to 5000 words so far this week and that's amazing! It means I will be able to send things off to beta-readers soon. (Speaking of beta-readers, any volunteers?)
And really, that's all I've got today. How about you, friends? What did you do with your enforced blogger free time?
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, May 13, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Pulling the Weeds
Not too long ago, I blogged about how a shiny new idea is like a seed. This is kind of a corollary to that idea.
My family bought a house last October. The ground was hard and all the plants were mostly dead. We had no idea what we were going to get when the spring weather hit. We waited with anticipation to see what plants were going to come up in our flower garden. The snows died away. They ground started to get soft. The world started to turn green and plants sprang up all over the place.
Every night, we walked around the yard, looking for new signs of life. Beautiful things started happening. We discovered a clump of tulip bulbs. Then another. And another. Literally hundreds of tulips broke through the ground. Irises started to wake up. Grape Hyacinths and other Hyacinths started to peak out. Bushes and trees started to blossom. Rhubarb and Daffodils and Scilla and others we couldn't even name popped out of the ground.
Along with all these unexpected beauties, other plants came up, too. Weeds. Prickly plants. Grassy foxtail things. A type of mustard that just takes over everything. They came up right in the middle of all the flowers. The problem was that we couldn't know for sure what was plant and what was weed. We had to wait until the plants and weeds both grew into something recognizable. It wasn't until we could tell that the flowers were flowers and the weeds were really weeds that it became time to decide which to keep.
This is like our writing. We have an idea. We put time into it. We give it fertile ground and let it grow. We pour out the words until we see something amazing and new. And then, we have to revise it. But, just like with my flower garden, we don't know what to pull out and what to keep until it's had a chance to really grow, until we know what works and what doesn't. If we try to pull out things too soon, we may be getting rid of something beautiful without realizing it and leave the weeds behind.
This is why we have to take a break from our manuscripts before we prune them. We have to know which parts to prune and that only happens when we let them grow for a while.
So, friends, how are your stories going? Are you at the let it sit and grow point?
My family bought a house last October. The ground was hard and all the plants were mostly dead. We had no idea what we were going to get when the spring weather hit. We waited with anticipation to see what plants were going to come up in our flower garden. The snows died away. They ground started to get soft. The world started to turn green and plants sprang up all over the place.
Every night, we walked around the yard, looking for new signs of life. Beautiful things started happening. We discovered a clump of tulip bulbs. Then another. And another. Literally hundreds of tulips broke through the ground. Irises started to wake up. Grape Hyacinths and other Hyacinths started to peak out. Bushes and trees started to blossom. Rhubarb and Daffodils and Scilla and others we couldn't even name popped out of the ground.
Along with all these unexpected beauties, other plants came up, too. Weeds. Prickly plants. Grassy foxtail things. A type of mustard that just takes over everything. They came up right in the middle of all the flowers. The problem was that we couldn't know for sure what was plant and what was weed. We had to wait until the plants and weeds both grew into something recognizable. It wasn't until we could tell that the flowers were flowers and the weeds were really weeds that it became time to decide which to keep.
This is like our writing. We have an idea. We put time into it. We give it fertile ground and let it grow. We pour out the words until we see something amazing and new. And then, we have to revise it. But, just like with my flower garden, we don't know what to pull out and what to keep until it's had a chance to really grow, until we know what works and what doesn't. If we try to pull out things too soon, we may be getting rid of something beautiful without realizing it and leave the weeds behind.
This is why we have to take a break from our manuscripts before we prune them. We have to know which parts to prune and that only happens when we let them grow for a while.
So, friends, how are your stories going? Are you at the let it sit and grow point?
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Children and Writing
So, yesterday, we talked about children and the lessons we learn from them. Here's a few thoughts about what they can teach us as writers.
The world is full of wonder. My four year old thinks that scaring the robin in the front yard is the most exciting thing you can do with your day. One of the very first posts I wrote was about the joy my little boys found in spitting in a beam if sunlight and seeing the light glint of it. Everything is amazing. And everything is worth exploring. In writing, we have to have that sense of wonder. The desire to see what's just around the corner.
I love watching my boys play. They can turn a few, completely unrelated toys into a full afternoon of games. They chatter at each other and see the little world they have created all around them. They don't need anyone to entertain them or tell them what the rules are. They just make it up and have the best time ever. In our writing, we need the same imagination and abandon. No one can tell us the best way to write or what our stories should be about.
My kids just amaze me with their ability to make the most of their time. They squeeze in every last minute of the day from the time they wake up until we put them to bed. (And sometimes after we put them to bed.) Everything they do is the most important thing they could possibly do with that moment. "Mom, I can't eat lunch right now. I am jumping on the bed." (Yes, that actually happened today.) In our writing, it's really easy to wish we were doing something else. Instead of writing for that extra half hour, we wish we were watching that TV show we used to. Instead of getting the dishes done, we wish we were reading the next book on our TBR pile. Instead of enjoying quality family time, we wish we were writing. There's lots of things to do with a limited amount of time. And just like a little kid, we can make the most of our time and make the thing we are doing the most important for that moment.
I've posted previously about some of the things my kids have taught me. You can check it out here.
So, friends, what have children taught you about writing?
The world is full of wonder. My four year old thinks that scaring the robin in the front yard is the most exciting thing you can do with your day. One of the very first posts I wrote was about the joy my little boys found in spitting in a beam if sunlight and seeing the light glint of it. Everything is amazing. And everything is worth exploring. In writing, we have to have that sense of wonder. The desire to see what's just around the corner.
I love watching my boys play. They can turn a few, completely unrelated toys into a full afternoon of games. They chatter at each other and see the little world they have created all around them. They don't need anyone to entertain them or tell them what the rules are. They just make it up and have the best time ever. In our writing, we need the same imagination and abandon. No one can tell us the best way to write or what our stories should be about.
My kids just amaze me with their ability to make the most of their time. They squeeze in every last minute of the day from the time they wake up until we put them to bed. (And sometimes after we put them to bed.) Everything they do is the most important thing they could possibly do with that moment. "Mom, I can't eat lunch right now. I am jumping on the bed." (Yes, that actually happened today.) In our writing, it's really easy to wish we were doing something else. Instead of writing for that extra half hour, we wish we were watching that TV show we used to. Instead of getting the dishes done, we wish we were reading the next book on our TBR pile. Instead of enjoying quality family time, we wish we were writing. There's lots of things to do with a limited amount of time. And just like a little kid, we can make the most of our time and make the thing we are doing the most important for that moment.
I've posted previously about some of the things my kids have taught me. You can check it out here.
So, friends, what have children taught you about writing?
Friday, April 8, 2011
A Flight of Fancy
So, it turns out that having an infant is a really great thing. Not just because of all the inherent joys. (She just learned to roll over! She's 4 months old today and huge!) But also, I am apparently my most creative in the middle of the night. I don't really want to be writing at 3:00 or 5:00, or whenever she happens to wake up for her eating time, but I am having some of the greatest ideas in those awake moments.
Just this morning, while every one else was asleep, I finally solved a pacing/POV problem that has been plaguing this revision. And I'm finally, finally, finally excited about the possibilities presented by redrafting something that hasn't been working. I can't believe I'm excited to start over, almost from scratch (again), but there you have it. And hopefully, this makes the story much stronger, more character driven, and fun to read.
In a completely separate, unrelated note: thoughts on comments. I love to have comments on my blog. I love to make comments on blogs. I love to connect to people. I want to have discussion with the people who come to the blog. I know for myself, I don't generally come back to a blog to check if someone has responded to what I commented unless I'm really interested in the idea. I try to reply by email to anyone who has an email attached to their profile, but that doesn't include every one. Thoughts on this subject, friends?
To recap, inspiration strikes in the strangest times and places. I like comments. How about you? Ready, discuss!
Just this morning, while every one else was asleep, I finally solved a pacing/POV problem that has been plaguing this revision. And I'm finally, finally, finally excited about the possibilities presented by redrafting something that hasn't been working. I can't believe I'm excited to start over, almost from scratch (again), but there you have it. And hopefully, this makes the story much stronger, more character driven, and fun to read.
In a completely separate, unrelated note: thoughts on comments. I love to have comments on my blog. I love to make comments on blogs. I love to connect to people. I want to have discussion with the people who come to the blog. I know for myself, I don't generally come back to a blog to check if someone has responded to what I commented unless I'm really interested in the idea. I try to reply by email to anyone who has an email attached to their profile, but that doesn't include every one. Thoughts on this subject, friends?
To recap, inspiration strikes in the strangest times and places. I like comments. How about you? Ready, discuss!
Monday, April 4, 2011
That one contest thing I did
I wrote a short *very short* work of fiction for a small online magazine contest. Not a really big deal and not a ton of entries, but the first time I've ever submitted to anything with a cash prize. (I have entered various blog contests, of course.) It was super to write and now, my entry is posted here .http://convozine.com/zine/mar-challenge/c/11239 It's not the best thing I will ever write, but I'm pretty proud of it. I should find out this week if it won anything.
So, Friends, how was your weekend? How's the writing going?
So, Friends, how was your weekend? How's the writing going?
Friday, April 1, 2011
Friday Melee
I was going to say Friday Free for All, but that was a little too alliterative. Just a few things to mention before the weekend.
1. It's not too late to sign up for the Mormon Writer Blogfest. We're all blogging on April 12th and would love to have you join us. If you are interested, drop me a line.
2. I wrote a short story for a contest and actually submitted it. It's the first time, ever, that I have followed through and submitted something. I have no idea how it will go over, but it will hopefully be the first of many things submitted to many people. (Especially if I ever intend to query in the near future.)
3. I hit 50 followers. I never imagined something like that happening when I first started my blog. I remember celebrating every new face that showed up. (Okay. I still do.) Thanks to every one who has shown an interest in what I have to say and come around occasionally. I sure like you all. (There may be some kind of awesomeness next week. I have to think about it.)
3.5 Check out an awesome (and quick) contest at PJ Hoover's blog as part of the Fool For A Book Hop. For that matter, check out all the blogs in the linky list on her page. You could win books. And it's cool.
4. My husband and I started a schedule together. I had previously tried to do something with a more regular daily regimen, but it didn't stick, since I was doing it by myself. Now that hubby is on board, we're making good progress. (I am exceptionally tired, though. Baby girl is not really a schedule girl and likes to stay up until much too late, even though mommy is still getting up in the morning on time.) I get a great start to the day and have the house mostly clean by the time mid-morning rolls around, leaving me with lots of time to do things of blogging and writing natures. It's great!
5. In reference to the above, here is the great lesson of the day. Trying to do some things by yourself doesn't really get you any where. We need someone to keep us accountable. We need someone to report to. We need someone who will help us when it's really, really hard. We need someone to remind us that the long-term goal is more important than the short-term reward. (Although that extra half of sleep is sooooo appealing.) This is the same idea, no matter where we apply it. Schedules, writing, housekeeping. As much as it's a solitary thing, we're never really alone.
That's all from me this week. Hope you all have plans for a great weekend. I know I do. Until Monday, friends!
1. It's not too late to sign up for the Mormon Writer Blogfest. We're all blogging on April 12th and would love to have you join us. If you are interested, drop me a line.
2. I wrote a short story for a contest and actually submitted it. It's the first time, ever, that I have followed through and submitted something. I have no idea how it will go over, but it will hopefully be the first of many things submitted to many people. (Especially if I ever intend to query in the near future.)
3. I hit 50 followers. I never imagined something like that happening when I first started my blog. I remember celebrating every new face that showed up. (Okay. I still do.) Thanks to every one who has shown an interest in what I have to say and come around occasionally. I sure like you all. (There may be some kind of awesomeness next week. I have to think about it.)
3.5 Check out an awesome (and quick) contest at PJ Hoover's blog as part of the Fool For A Book Hop. For that matter, check out all the blogs in the linky list on her page. You could win books. And it's cool.
4. My husband and I started a schedule together. I had previously tried to do something with a more regular daily regimen, but it didn't stick, since I was doing it by myself. Now that hubby is on board, we're making good progress. (I am exceptionally tired, though. Baby girl is not really a schedule girl and likes to stay up until much too late, even though mommy is still getting up in the morning on time.) I get a great start to the day and have the house mostly clean by the time mid-morning rolls around, leaving me with lots of time to do things of blogging and writing natures. It's great!
5. In reference to the above, here is the great lesson of the day. Trying to do some things by yourself doesn't really get you any where. We need someone to keep us accountable. We need someone to report to. We need someone who will help us when it's really, really hard. We need someone to remind us that the long-term goal is more important than the short-term reward. (Although that extra half of sleep is sooooo appealing.) This is the same idea, no matter where we apply it. Schedules, writing, housekeeping. As much as it's a solitary thing, we're never really alone.
That's all from me this week. Hope you all have plans for a great weekend. I know I do. Until Monday, friends!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
A Place of Pain
I was going through some old notes and critiques on the first draft of the book I'm revising. I had asked a friend of my husband's to read through it and give me some pointers. He has been trying to write the great American Novel for the last decade. He has lots of life experience that I can't really relate to. His writing style is very different from mine. I respect his ability.
This is one of the things he had to say. "There is no fire and there is no tortured contention lying beyond and below the words on the page. To put it another way, this is the work of someone that has no clear problems. I might be biased in assuming that all writing comes from a place of pain, but to clarify that contention it is more that no writing can come from any place but strong emotion. And this piece doesn't know what it is angry about. It doesn't know what it is trying to fix about the world."
I don't remember reading this particular critique two years ago when he first gave it to me. I would have been devastated at the time. Not only does he think my writing is shallow, but I'm shallow, too. Fortunately, time has leavened the lump and there is something of real value there. I wanted to share it with you.
Writing really does come from a place of strong emotion. It doesn't have to be pain, per se, but it does need to be an emotion. That is what makes it relatable. It's true that I don't have a checkered, angst filled past. I have still felt pain in my life. And love. And fear. And loneliness. And a bunch of other things. Just like everyone else. If I write from that very human part of myself, others will connect to my writing.
So, friends, how does your own experience and emotion surface in your writing?
This is one of the things he had to say. "There is no fire and there is no tortured contention lying beyond and below the words on the page. To put it another way, this is the work of someone that has no clear problems. I might be biased in assuming that all writing comes from a place of pain, but to clarify that contention it is more that no writing can come from any place but strong emotion. And this piece doesn't know what it is angry about. It doesn't know what it is trying to fix about the world."
I don't remember reading this particular critique two years ago when he first gave it to me. I would have been devastated at the time. Not only does he think my writing is shallow, but I'm shallow, too. Fortunately, time has leavened the lump and there is something of real value there. I wanted to share it with you.
Writing really does come from a place of strong emotion. It doesn't have to be pain, per se, but it does need to be an emotion. That is what makes it relatable. It's true that I don't have a checkered, angst filled past. I have still felt pain in my life. And love. And fear. And loneliness. And a bunch of other things. Just like everyone else. If I write from that very human part of myself, others will connect to my writing.
So, friends, how does your own experience and emotion surface in your writing?
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Progress report, sir
Well, here it is. Midweek, first week of April. I'm setting a personal goal to be in the query pool by the end of the month. I'm just waiting on the critique from one of my readers to see if I need to change anything else. Then it's write the query and synopsis. I don't know how long those things are going to take.
I both hate and love revisions. It's fascinating to see the book take a different turn than I originally anticipated. To be richer, deeper, more meaningful. And it's great to feel that falling in love again feeling when everything is coming together and the light is glowing at the end of the tunnel. And then, when that love is just blooming all over, I'll have to start all over. It's just hard work. And dreary work to cut out or add to or rephrase or any of the dozens of other things that seem to happen.
At least I'm losing that newbie writing thing where I think my first draft is the epitome of amazing and every one should agree with me. It's because I've done revisions and the revisions kick butt. A revised draft is way better than a first draft.
How's every one else doing?
I both hate and love revisions. It's fascinating to see the book take a different turn than I originally anticipated. To be richer, deeper, more meaningful. And it's great to feel that falling in love again feeling when everything is coming together and the light is glowing at the end of the tunnel. And then, when that love is just blooming all over, I'll have to start all over. It's just hard work. And dreary work to cut out or add to or rephrase or any of the dozens of other things that seem to happen.
At least I'm losing that newbie writing thing where I think my first draft is the epitome of amazing and every one should agree with me. It's because I've done revisions and the revisions kick butt. A revised draft is way better than a first draft.
How's every one else doing?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Process, or How I Write
I'm a planner. Always have been. It's hard sometimes to be a planner, especially when life can be so... unpredictable. I like to know what is going to happen and when it's going to happen and how it's going happen. This shows up pretty much every where. If we go on vacation, I've made lists of the things to bring, the things to do, sometimes, even a daily schedule. (I don't share that with any one. It's mostly just for me.) Being a planner means that I can find order out of chaos. I feel confident when I know where I am going with things.
In some ways, it's annoying to have such a desire for order because we never end up having things exactly the way I planned. Like on our vacation last summer. I got sick. We had to spend an entire day with me sick in the car. You can't plan that. The biggest downfall of being a planner is that there is a certain amount of expectation that comes when you have a plan. If things don't match up to those expectations, disappointment is almost inevitable.
With this in mind, I've tried two different approaches to my writing, one for each of the first drafts I've written. When I wrote Ella, I had a very vague idea of what I was doing. I didn't really do more than write down a couple of notes for the characters and maybe the first few chapters to get it going. Other than that, I didn't really plan. I would get to a point in the story where I had no idea what was going to happen next, so I'd talk to my husband a little, get a glimpse of something, then start pounding away again on the keyboard. It worked. The story is good. It's really short for a novel. (Only about 40,000 words, but editing will fix that.) I love the story, though, and the spontaneity of creating it.
My second story, Beauty, was extensively planned. I had notes for every chapter. I had notes for every character. I had everything lined up from start to finish and I followed the outline almost completely. With that kind of direction, I poured out a novel (50,000+ words) in just over a month. It is cohesive, well-plotted, and kind of predictable. I think I went the easy route with it.
I can't say that one way is better than the other. I haven't started editing Ella really, and I will probably want to go through and plan better where it ends up. with Beauty, I'm editing and not planning where it goes so that it gets some of that spontaneity. So, it turns out, I'm only sort of a planner. I have to plan enough to get direction, but not enough to prevent new ideas from happening. I think the fun part of this process is finding the balance.
So, what works for you? Do you plan? Do you wing it?
In some ways, it's annoying to have such a desire for order because we never end up having things exactly the way I planned. Like on our vacation last summer. I got sick. We had to spend an entire day with me sick in the car. You can't plan that. The biggest downfall of being a planner is that there is a certain amount of expectation that comes when you have a plan. If things don't match up to those expectations, disappointment is almost inevitable.
With this in mind, I've tried two different approaches to my writing, one for each of the first drafts I've written. When I wrote Ella, I had a very vague idea of what I was doing. I didn't really do more than write down a couple of notes for the characters and maybe the first few chapters to get it going. Other than that, I didn't really plan. I would get to a point in the story where I had no idea what was going to happen next, so I'd talk to my husband a little, get a glimpse of something, then start pounding away again on the keyboard. It worked. The story is good. It's really short for a novel. (Only about 40,000 words, but editing will fix that.) I love the story, though, and the spontaneity of creating it.
My second story, Beauty, was extensively planned. I had notes for every chapter. I had notes for every character. I had everything lined up from start to finish and I followed the outline almost completely. With that kind of direction, I poured out a novel (50,000+ words) in just over a month. It is cohesive, well-plotted, and kind of predictable. I think I went the easy route with it.
I can't say that one way is better than the other. I haven't started editing Ella really, and I will probably want to go through and plan better where it ends up. with Beauty, I'm editing and not planning where it goes so that it gets some of that spontaneity. So, it turns out, I'm only sort of a planner. I have to plan enough to get direction, but not enough to prevent new ideas from happening. I think the fun part of this process is finding the balance.
So, what works for you? Do you plan? Do you wing it?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Status Report, Sir
Well, this week has been a mixed bag. In my personal life, I've had some struggles. My husband has been on a business trip all week so I've been a single mommy. It's been mostly fun and better than I expected, but still tough when I have to wake up in the night without a tag team to take care of the 15 month old. He wakes up at least once a night. (We're slowly getting him to sleep through the night. He used to wake up every other hour, like clockwork, for a year.) I'm looking forward to having my sweetheart home again this afternoon. I've even baked lemon bars. (Well, sort of. I used orange juice instead of lemon juice.)
I've had some minor scuffles with family. Being the oldest sibling in a large family, I'm pretty opinionated and nosy sometimes. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time and hurt feelings happen on both sides. I don't know how to fix that, so I'm taking a break with the family for a while to let things smooth out. I hate how things can go so wrong sometimes with the people who are the most important to me.
In my writing, things are finally really taking off. I've been gathering the ideas and sorting through what I want to change for a while now. I've made one or two starts and gotten to a point where I just don't want to keep going several times. This time, though, I'm actually making headway. I even put in 1500 words yesterday, which is a pretty good run. If I keep that up, I could be done with my newest draft in a month or so. We'll see what happens. It's nice to be feeling productive with my writing. I need that creative outlet.
Other than that, things are pretty normal, humdrum. I clean house, I cook food, I shower occasionally. All in all, life is pretty good. Hope your week was as good as, if not better than mine.
I've had some minor scuffles with family. Being the oldest sibling in a large family, I'm pretty opinionated and nosy sometimes. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time and hurt feelings happen on both sides. I don't know how to fix that, so I'm taking a break with the family for a while to let things smooth out. I hate how things can go so wrong sometimes with the people who are the most important to me.
In my writing, things are finally really taking off. I've been gathering the ideas and sorting through what I want to change for a while now. I've made one or two starts and gotten to a point where I just don't want to keep going several times. This time, though, I'm actually making headway. I even put in 1500 words yesterday, which is a pretty good run. If I keep that up, I could be done with my newest draft in a month or so. We'll see what happens. It's nice to be feeling productive with my writing. I need that creative outlet.
Other than that, things are pretty normal, humdrum. I clean house, I cook food, I shower occasionally. All in all, life is pretty good. Hope your week was as good as, if not better than mine.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Still working
Yesterday, I sat down and outlined the changes I want to make to the current manuscript. At least for the first couple of chapters. I'm starting to feel really excited, with a new direction and new ideas popping into my head. I don't want to go much further than the chapters I've outlined right now because I want to keep myself open to something unexpected.
In the meantime, I jotted down the first scene of a new idea. I don't have any idea where it's going to go, but I wanted to put it out there. So here it is. Happy reading!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve lost track of the days. They all blur together. I sit here on this bed, with the stiff, white linen sheets, and stare at the small, barred window in the wall of this little room. I used to make marks on the wall, but they found the knife I slipped into my pocket in the dining room. They said I could hurt myself with it and they took it away. Now, I only see when the sun rises and sets, so I know that days are happening somewhere, even if they aren’t happening for me.
Once, I asked one of the staff members what day it was. Before he could answer, I started to think, “You obnoxious little waste. You don’t need to figure that out.” And I knew I was right. As soon as I thought it, I didn’t need to know any more. I told the man that and he seemed relieved. I felt relieved too. Glad that I hadn’t upset him by asking awkward questions. Of course, after he left, I wanted to know again. That always happens. They leave and I’m back to myself. I never realize what happened until they are gone.
I remember the day they brought me here. I couldn’t stop crying. Mom sat next to me on the back seat of the car while Dad drove. She stroked my hair and tried to hide the tears that poured down her own cheeks by burying my face in her shoulder. I kept hearing the words running through my mind, “Please let them help her. Please figure this out.” And I felt immensely sad, discouraged almost to the point of hopelessness.
They walked with me to the front door where Mr. Carmichael waited. The building seemed so oppressive, all gray like the wall of clouds that hovered in the sky. Everything looked gray and the tears washed over my face. I didn’t think it would ever stop. Mr. Carmichael took my hand gently and said, “We’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” Before I could even think about it, the tears dried up and I felt calm again. Mom and Dad walked quickly away without looking back at me, as if the sight might bring them pain. Their shoulders hunched over and they clung to each other like two puzzle pieces, fingers intertwined and steps matching rhythm. “You’ll never see them again,” I thought and knew it was true, just as I knew everything I thought was true, at least for that moment. I still hope I will see them again, but I can’t live on hope.
In the meantime, I jotted down the first scene of a new idea. I don't have any idea where it's going to go, but I wanted to put it out there. So here it is. Happy reading!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve lost track of the days. They all blur together. I sit here on this bed, with the stiff, white linen sheets, and stare at the small, barred window in the wall of this little room. I used to make marks on the wall, but they found the knife I slipped into my pocket in the dining room. They said I could hurt myself with it and they took it away. Now, I only see when the sun rises and sets, so I know that days are happening somewhere, even if they aren’t happening for me.
Once, I asked one of the staff members what day it was. Before he could answer, I started to think, “You obnoxious little waste. You don’t need to figure that out.” And I knew I was right. As soon as I thought it, I didn’t need to know any more. I told the man that and he seemed relieved. I felt relieved too. Glad that I hadn’t upset him by asking awkward questions. Of course, after he left, I wanted to know again. That always happens. They leave and I’m back to myself. I never realize what happened until they are gone.
I remember the day they brought me here. I couldn’t stop crying. Mom sat next to me on the back seat of the car while Dad drove. She stroked my hair and tried to hide the tears that poured down her own cheeks by burying my face in her shoulder. I kept hearing the words running through my mind, “Please let them help her. Please figure this out.” And I felt immensely sad, discouraged almost to the point of hopelessness.
They walked with me to the front door where Mr. Carmichael waited. The building seemed so oppressive, all gray like the wall of clouds that hovered in the sky. Everything looked gray and the tears washed over my face. I didn’t think it would ever stop. Mr. Carmichael took my hand gently and said, “We’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” Before I could even think about it, the tears dried up and I felt calm again. Mom and Dad walked quickly away without looking back at me, as if the sight might bring them pain. Their shoulders hunched over and they clung to each other like two puzzle pieces, fingers intertwined and steps matching rhythm. “You’ll never see them again,” I thought and knew it was true, just as I knew everything I thought was true, at least for that moment. I still hope I will see them again, but I can’t live on hope.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
When Inspiration Strikes
I read on Kiersten White's blog that she gets inspiration when she's wet. Washing the dishes, in the shower, or something like that. It got me to thinking about when I get the most inspiration for my stories. And the answer surprised me.
I get the most ideas just before I fall asleep. Last night, I was drifting in that lovely land between awake and asleep when I had an apostrophe. Lightning struck my brain. (Insert classic movie reference here.) It's like the sprites come in the window on their moonbeams and drip something cool into my mind. And almost all of my current ideas have come in those hazy hours.
It makes me wonder how good my ideas are. I guess there are two schools of thought I could adopt. The first is that I could be completely off my rocker because I'm only half awake. The second is that in those half awake moments, my subconscious is free to assert itself and be creative. I think I'll choose option number two. Finding ideas is great, no matter how it happens.
I get the most ideas just before I fall asleep. Last night, I was drifting in that lovely land between awake and asleep when I had an apostrophe. Lightning struck my brain. (Insert classic movie reference here.) It's like the sprites come in the window on their moonbeams and drip something cool into my mind. And almost all of my current ideas have come in those hazy hours.
It makes me wonder how good my ideas are. I guess there are two schools of thought I could adopt. The first is that I could be completely off my rocker because I'm only half awake. The second is that in those half awake moments, my subconscious is free to assert itself and be creative. I think I'll choose option number two. Finding ideas is great, no matter how it happens.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Things I'm learning
I'm a fan of reality TV. I admit it. Maybe it's the psychology degree. Maybe it's how utterly ridiculous most of the shows are. I don't know. I just love it. I'm a discerning soul, though. Not just any show. (Ok. Most shows. At least, the network ones. Cable is something that doesn't happen at my house.)
I'm currently watching the Bachelor, Kitchen Nightmares, and the Biggest Loser. There is so much DRAMA! But I keep coming back. I love it when the preview for the next episode says: "You will not believe what happens next!" Like it's some kind of never-heard-of, completely off-the-wall thing. I can almost always tell that something out of the ordinary is going on and a little of what it is going to be, but I still tune in for the next episode.
I think there is something to be learned for my writing. It might not matter if I have the most predictable turn of events, as long as I package it in an unexpected way. A friend of mine told me that every story has been written. All romances are essentially Romeo and Juliet. All adventure stories are really a Greek play. The thing that makes my story different is how I package it. I have to find a way to make it seem fresh and exciting. Just like the Bachelor can make a cheating girlfriend "unbelievable" and "unexpected."
Watch for more things I learn from the TV. It's actually very informative for a writer. ("What's that honey? Why do I have to watch the Bachelor? I'm getting ideas for my next big novel!")
I'm currently watching the Bachelor, Kitchen Nightmares, and the Biggest Loser. There is so much DRAMA! But I keep coming back. I love it when the preview for the next episode says: "You will not believe what happens next!" Like it's some kind of never-heard-of, completely off-the-wall thing. I can almost always tell that something out of the ordinary is going on and a little of what it is going to be, but I still tune in for the next episode.
I think there is something to be learned for my writing. It might not matter if I have the most predictable turn of events, as long as I package it in an unexpected way. A friend of mine told me that every story has been written. All romances are essentially Romeo and Juliet. All adventure stories are really a Greek play. The thing that makes my story different is how I package it. I have to find a way to make it seem fresh and exciting. Just like the Bachelor can make a cheating girlfriend "unbelievable" and "unexpected."
Watch for more things I learn from the TV. It's actually very informative for a writer. ("What's that honey? Why do I have to watch the Bachelor? I'm getting ideas for my next big novel!")
Monday, February 1, 2010
An excerpt
Well, here's some of the work I've been doing. This scene is somewhere in the early chapters of the current manuscript. I am still trying to decide if it should be the opening scene or not.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her hand rested against the rough, lumpy bark of one of the tall trees in front of her. In the quiet guise of the neighboring forest, the gateway to forbidden adventure beckoned only a few steps away. Trying to muster the courage to push forward, She stared hard at the shadowy undergrowth. She glanced back over her shoulder for the fifth time. He’s still asleep. Now’s my chance. I’ve got to go now, or he’ll stop me. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and put one foot forward, crossing the line between the known and the unknown.
A breeze wafted through the shade and chilled her bare arms. Her eyes opened, expecting to see some kind of miraculous transformation, but it looked exactly as it had when she stood on the other side of the tree. Her shoulders slumped. Silence pounded at her ears. The crack of a branch as she stepped on it seemed deafening.
Each step stirred up the musty aroma of decaying leaves on the perpetually damp ground. The hem of her skirts clung damply to her legs as she pushed her way further into the deepening shadows, passing bushes and roots that grabbed at her hands and feet. A skittering sound in the bushes made her stop in her tracks. A small gray squirrel broke from the cover, surprised to no longer be alone in the woods. She heaved a sigh of relief at the retreating back of the little animal and laughed at herself before setting off into the gloom again.
Her footsteps echoed against the gnarled trunks of the enormous oak trees as she weaved between them. She kept her eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over the roots and deadfall that hid beneath the bushes. She was so intent on her own progress that the sound of her passage masked the approaching footfalls behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around, and she stifled a scream.
“Dawn! What are you doing in here? Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in if I tell your parents?” Her eyes met the glowering face of her tutor, Master Thaddeus. His grip on her shoulder relaxed slightly. “What in heaven’s name made you sneak off like that?”
“Oh, Master Thaddeus. It’s you.” Her features betrayed the disappointment she felt at being caught out in the woods. “I was just doing some exploring.”
“Running away is more likely the case. What were hoping to accomplish?” Thaddeus asked.
“I thought I might meet the fairy,” Beauty said. She folded her arms across her chest, instantly defiant at his protective grasp on her shoulder. “Why does it matter to you?”
“You know I would be devastated if you left. Who would listen to the lessons I so painstakingly prepare? And your parents would be absolutely furious with me if I didn’t stop you. Let’s go back to the house now. I just can’t trust you out of my sight.”
“But, the fairy! I know I could have met her if you hadn’t stopped me just now. She’s just around the corner and I could finally know how to break this curse!” She pushed against the firm grip of his hand as he steered her back toward the open field she had walked through.
“Dawn, the fairy has been gone for years now. Every since that monster showed up in the woods.”
“Monster? What monster? There’s a monster in here?” A sudden, delicious fear filled her. “Do you think I would have seen him instead?”
“I forgot that your parents have forbidden us from talking about that. Forgive me. Let’s go, Dawn.” He dropped his hand to her waist and pushed her in front of him. “We need to go back to the study and finish your lessons for the day.”
“Do you have to call me Dawn? Nana calls me Beauty and I love it.”
“Your name is Dawn. That is what your parents call you. I will continue to call you Dawn, as well. Now, go!”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her hand rested against the rough, lumpy bark of one of the tall trees in front of her. In the quiet guise of the neighboring forest, the gateway to forbidden adventure beckoned only a few steps away. Trying to muster the courage to push forward, She stared hard at the shadowy undergrowth. She glanced back over her shoulder for the fifth time. He’s still asleep. Now’s my chance. I’ve got to go now, or he’ll stop me. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and put one foot forward, crossing the line between the known and the unknown.
A breeze wafted through the shade and chilled her bare arms. Her eyes opened, expecting to see some kind of miraculous transformation, but it looked exactly as it had when she stood on the other side of the tree. Her shoulders slumped. Silence pounded at her ears. The crack of a branch as she stepped on it seemed deafening.
Each step stirred up the musty aroma of decaying leaves on the perpetually damp ground. The hem of her skirts clung damply to her legs as she pushed her way further into the deepening shadows, passing bushes and roots that grabbed at her hands and feet. A skittering sound in the bushes made her stop in her tracks. A small gray squirrel broke from the cover, surprised to no longer be alone in the woods. She heaved a sigh of relief at the retreating back of the little animal and laughed at herself before setting off into the gloom again.
Her footsteps echoed against the gnarled trunks of the enormous oak trees as she weaved between them. She kept her eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over the roots and deadfall that hid beneath the bushes. She was so intent on her own progress that the sound of her passage masked the approaching footfalls behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around, and she stifled a scream.
“Dawn! What are you doing in here? Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in if I tell your parents?” Her eyes met the glowering face of her tutor, Master Thaddeus. His grip on her shoulder relaxed slightly. “What in heaven’s name made you sneak off like that?”
“Oh, Master Thaddeus. It’s you.” Her features betrayed the disappointment she felt at being caught out in the woods. “I was just doing some exploring.”
“Running away is more likely the case. What were hoping to accomplish?” Thaddeus asked.
“I thought I might meet the fairy,” Beauty said. She folded her arms across her chest, instantly defiant at his protective grasp on her shoulder. “Why does it matter to you?”
“You know I would be devastated if you left. Who would listen to the lessons I so painstakingly prepare? And your parents would be absolutely furious with me if I didn’t stop you. Let’s go back to the house now. I just can’t trust you out of my sight.”
“But, the fairy! I know I could have met her if you hadn’t stopped me just now. She’s just around the corner and I could finally know how to break this curse!” She pushed against the firm grip of his hand as he steered her back toward the open field she had walked through.
“Dawn, the fairy has been gone for years now. Every since that monster showed up in the woods.”
“Monster? What monster? There’s a monster in here?” A sudden, delicious fear filled her. “Do you think I would have seen him instead?”
“I forgot that your parents have forbidden us from talking about that. Forgive me. Let’s go, Dawn.” He dropped his hand to her waist and pushed her in front of him. “We need to go back to the study and finish your lessons for the day.”
“Do you have to call me Dawn? Nana calls me Beauty and I love it.”
“Your name is Dawn. That is what your parents call you. I will continue to call you Dawn, as well. Now, go!”
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
About me
Contrary to what you might think, this isn't going to be some kind of rambling "get to know me" session.
I had a thought recently that I wanted to remember. I'm in the process of editing. It's really my first attempt at serious editing since I only have two completed first drafts and I'm learning a lot about the process as I go. The things that work for me and the things that don't. Mostly, right now, I'm trying to make sure that I have a good grasp of my characters.
The current project is focused around a girl who has been trapped by circumstances and has overprotective parents. She's willful, independent, and prone to rebel against the situation she finds herself in. It's been hard to portray those aspects of her without making her come off as a total brat. She's also kind and concerned about others, but in that teenage, what's it going to get me sort of way.
I didn't realize until last night that I was really writing about myself. If I tried to describe my young adult years, it might go like this: parents wouldn't let me date. Parents tried to help me be my best self (which I saw as being interfering.) I stayed out late with a boy (frequently) to show them I was old enough and smart enough to handle myself. When they tried to talk to me about my behavior, I didn't listen. I knew all the answers. I distinctly remember one particular discussion in which I stopped paying attention to them and eventually interrupted my mom with "I think I need a new yellow shirt." I walked out of the room and continued to do what I thought I wanted. It's not that I was trying to be a brat. Or that I didn't appreciate my parents. I just didn't have the same perspective that they did or that I do now.
That is the journey my character is taking. She's rebellious and independent, but only because she hasn't learned to appreciate that she doesn't know everything yet. Just like pretty much every other teen I have ever known. I don't know if every other writer puts a little of themselves into the characters they create, but they always say 'write what you know' (whoever they are.)
So, my story is about me, wrapped all up in fairy tale trappings. I hope somebody thinks I'm fascinating enough to want to get to know.
I had a thought recently that I wanted to remember. I'm in the process of editing. It's really my first attempt at serious editing since I only have two completed first drafts and I'm learning a lot about the process as I go. The things that work for me and the things that don't. Mostly, right now, I'm trying to make sure that I have a good grasp of my characters.
The current project is focused around a girl who has been trapped by circumstances and has overprotective parents. She's willful, independent, and prone to rebel against the situation she finds herself in. It's been hard to portray those aspects of her without making her come off as a total brat. She's also kind and concerned about others, but in that teenage, what's it going to get me sort of way.
I didn't realize until last night that I was really writing about myself. If I tried to describe my young adult years, it might go like this: parents wouldn't let me date. Parents tried to help me be my best self (which I saw as being interfering.) I stayed out late with a boy (frequently) to show them I was old enough and smart enough to handle myself. When they tried to talk to me about my behavior, I didn't listen. I knew all the answers. I distinctly remember one particular discussion in which I stopped paying attention to them and eventually interrupted my mom with "I think I need a new yellow shirt." I walked out of the room and continued to do what I thought I wanted. It's not that I was trying to be a brat. Or that I didn't appreciate my parents. I just didn't have the same perspective that they did or that I do now.
That is the journey my character is taking. She's rebellious and independent, but only because she hasn't learned to appreciate that she doesn't know everything yet. Just like pretty much every other teen I have ever known. I don't know if every other writer puts a little of themselves into the characters they create, but they always say 'write what you know' (whoever they are.)
So, my story is about me, wrapped all up in fairy tale trappings. I hope somebody thinks I'm fascinating enough to want to get to know.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Finding the balance
We got a kitchen scale for Christmas this year. I actually was really excited because it will help me with managing my weight, something that I dread on a regular basis. I pulled it out this morning to see how much I actually eat when I pour a bowlful of yummy cereal. The answer in a nutshell: too much. You read the back of the box and you think... hey! I'm doing pretty good. One serving is 210 calories. And then, you weigh it and find out that you eat 3 or 4 servings in a morning. Good job, every one. Honestly. Who decided that 52 Grams of my favorite cereal is a serving? It looks like I'll be teaching my body about portion control.
On a similar note, I'm having a hard time weighing what I put on the blog. (See how I tied that in? Weighing food... weighing content... Huh? Huh?) I read different opinions about putting personal information on a writing blog. And if I want this to be a writing blog, how much is too much? I mean, I can talk about my kids till the stars turn cold, but does any one really care that my 1 year old climbed up his dresser and got stuck at the top? It made me laugh, but it's not exactly noteworthy to any one else (unless I'm writing a book about how to be a mother without killing your kids and not die laughing first.)
So, how much of my life should I write about? And how professional do I want to be? I don't know. If any one comes across a scale that measures that, let me know?
On a similar note, I'm having a hard time weighing what I put on the blog. (See how I tied that in? Weighing food... weighing content... Huh? Huh?) I read different opinions about putting personal information on a writing blog. And if I want this to be a writing blog, how much is too much? I mean, I can talk about my kids till the stars turn cold, but does any one really care that my 1 year old climbed up his dresser and got stuck at the top? It made me laugh, but it's not exactly noteworthy to any one else (unless I'm writing a book about how to be a mother without killing your kids and not die laughing first.)
So, how much of my life should I write about? And how professional do I want to be? I don't know. If any one comes across a scale that measures that, let me know?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)