Liquid Kiss

     A fellow Google plus user is issuing several "Done to Death" writing prompts throughout the month of December.  Every other day, he will be posting a writing prompt for a theme that has been done to death.  The first of these prompts was issued a few days ago, so I am a little late, but better late than never.  In response to the "Kissing in the Rain" done to death prompt,  here is my story:

     Miranda looks up at the clock for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.  Time seems to have slowed down and she is finding it difficult to concentrate on anything the teacher is saying.  While she is physically sitting in the middle of her social studies class, her mind is a million miles away.

     Mentally cataloging every item of clothing she owns, Miranda mixes and matches outfits.  She has to find the perfect one for her date with Brian tonight.  It is their first date and she wants to make a lasting impression.  Her thoughts are interrupted by the bell.  Grabbing her things, she flies from the room, heading straight for her locker.

     "So, are you ready for the big date?" Stacy asks, falling into step beside her best friend on the way to catch the bus.

     "I've never been so nervous in my life," Miranda confesses.  "My stomach is in knots right now.  Will you come to my house and help me pick out something to wear."

     "Where else did you think I'd be this afternoon?"  Stacy nudges Miranda with her shoulder.  They get on the bus and slide into their usual seats.

     "I have nothing to wear," Miranda flops down onto her bed which is covered in discarded clothing after rummaging in her closet for the last two hours.

     Stacy is still searching through Miranda's closet.  "Why are you stressing so much?  He clearly already likes you or he wouldn't have asked you out.  Here," she hands Miranda a casual jersey knit dress.

     "That's so plain."

     "Yeah, but it's also comfortable so you won't be stressing over a wardrobe malfunction.  And we can dress it up with accessories."

     Resigned to the belief that she has nothing better to wear, Miranda changes into the dress that Stacy has chosen for her.  Stacy moves on to selecting accessories, looking through Miranda's shoes and belts before digging through her stash of jewelry.  Once the girls are satisfied with Stacy's selections, they get to work styling Miranda's hair.

     "So where is he taking you?"

     "We're meeting at the theater.  I'm not sure…"

     "Whoa, you're meeting him there?  He's not picking you up?" Stacy interrupts.

     "Yeah, is that a bad thing?  I knew it.  I'm not going.  It's probably just some Carrie type setup anyway."  Miranda gets up and starts taking off her jewelry.

     Stacy grabs her by the arms and looks Miranda in the eye.  "Slow down there.  I'm sure there is a good reason he can't pick you up.  Let's not get too hasty."  Miranda takes a deep, calming breath and sits back down on her bed so that Stacy can finish doing her makeup.  "What time are you supposed to meet him?"

     "He told me to meet him at 7:30."

     "Good.  That means that you have another hour to get ready before you have to head out.  You're gonna look so good that even if he thought about playing some kind of prank on you, he'll change his mind when he sees you."

     Finally, the time has come for Miranda to head out.  She is walking to the theater and wants to make sure that she has enough time to get there without working up a sweat from having to rush.  A block from the theater, it begins to drizzle.  Oh great, Miranda thinks picking up speed.  She doesn't have an umbrella and the rain will wreck havoc on her hair if she doesn't hurry up and get inside the theater.

     Out of nowhere, she is caught in a sudden downpour.  There's no way I can let Brian see me like this.  Miranda slips under the awning of a nearby shop that is closed.  Across the street, she can see several of her classmates, but there is no sign of Brian anywhere.  Slipping out from under the awning, Miranda turns back, hoping to get home before anyone sees her looking like a wet mop.  She'll just call Brian later and tell him she wasn't feeling well or something.

     Up ahead, she sees Brian heading in her direction, but he doesn't seem to be alone.  Miranda doesn't recognize the girl that is chatting away with him, under her bubble umbrella, completely dry and looking gorgeous.  The knot that has been in the pit of Miranda's stomach all day tightens and she thinks she might vomit.  Turning down the nearby alley, she leans against the brick building, breathing heavily, trying to make her world stop spinning.  She can hear their voices getting louder as they get closer.

     Moving further along the alley, Miranda slips into the shadow, hoping to remain hidden. To her dismay, Brian and the mysterious female turn into the alley instead of walking past.  The girl is giggling and the sound is like nails racking across a chalkboard, in Miranda's ears.  She wants no part of whatever is about to go down, but she is stuck where she is if she doesn't want to bring any attention to herself.

     Brian leans down towards the girl and Miranda squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see her date locking lips with another girl.  When she opens her eyes again, she sees the girl  has dropped her umbrella and is all over Brian, kissing on his neck, probably giving him a hickey, Miranda thinks in disgust.    She tries to move deeper into the alley, but bumps into a trash can, sending the lid clattering to the ground.  Looking behind her, she sees the lid spiraling in place.

     Worrying that the sound has drawn the attention of her unwanted guests, Miranda tries to slip out the other end of the alley without making any more noise.  She isn't fast enough and feels a hand clamp around her wrist.

     "Miranda?"  She doesn't want to look at him, but something about Brian's voice seems off.

     "Just let me go, Brian."  She tries to pull her wrist free, but it is no use.

     "Miranda," Brian says again, but this time, her name comes out in a choked gasp.

     "Oh my god, Brian," Miranda manages to free her wrist from Brian's loosened grip.  Instead of the cocky, self assured smirk she was expecting, Miranda finds Brian's wide, frightened gaze staring back at her.  His left hand is pressed against the right side of his neck.  Along with the rain dripping from his fingers, is something red.  Pulling Brian's hand away from his neck, Miranda sees two small puncture wounds that are dribbling blood.

     She looks down the alley, but there is no sign of the strange girl that was there just moments ago.  Miranda slowly begins to realize that what she mistook for a kiss in the rain was something far worse.

Back in the Saddle

Image courtesy of talliesin \ morguefile

     I reached a point a little over a week ago, where I just couldn't write anymore.  It wasn't writer's block or anything like that.  I still had plenty to write about.  But between work, NaNoWriMo and normal life stuff, I was wiped out.  When I'd sit down at my computer to write, I'd just sort of zone out; eye glazing over, mind shutting down, words dripping out so slowly that it would take hours just to get around a hundred words.  Even my body was screaming at me to slow down and take a beat.  So that's exactly what I did.

     For one week, I didn't write (not even for the blog), I didn't read, I didn't even keep up with social media. What I did do was rest my brain as much as work allowed.  Fortunately for me, this break came at the most opportune time.  With Thanksgiving thrown into the mix, I was afforded a rare, but much needed, 5-day weekend.  Five whole days of no work, where I was free to do fun things like spend time with my family, go to the movies, or go shopping.

     And then something happened.  Not only was I ready to get back to writing, I was finally ready to focus on that edit that I had been putting off for months.  I didn't just want to edit it, I needed to.  I had abandoned my characters long enough and was actually starting to miss them.  A "visit" with them was definitely in order.  But I didn't immediately get started.  I allowed my mind and body the time needed to finish relaxing and restoring.  The headaches that were coming virtually everyday were gone, the lower back and hip pain that had me walking around like an old woman were also gone.

     Finally, on Sunday night, I booted up the Mac, opened Scrivener and got to work.  By the time I was heading out to work on Monday morning, I had actually managed to get through four whole chapters.  My goal is to get this edit done so that the novel is ready for either another beta read or posting to authonomy.com.  Once I get this novel sorted out, I can get back to focusing on the rest of the series that had to be put on hold so that it didn't get disjointed after all of the changes happening in book one.

     Sometimes, taking a break to get your mind right is more productive than soldering on to put words on a page.

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Bending the Rules

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     NaNoWriMo is about writing a novel in 30 days.  The rules state that you start writing a brand new novel on November 1st and after 50K words and/or 30 days, you should have a new novel.  But rules were made to be broken or at least bent.  Many participants use the NaNo challenge to finish a novel they have already started, because 50K words does not a novel make (at least not completely, for most genres).

     So if the rules can be bent to continue a novel already in progress, why can't they be bent even further (or in the other direction maybe)?  The point is to get the writing done, right?  Why force yourself to sit and focus on something that inspiration refuses to participate in?  If I am bored writing it, then the reader will get bored reading it.  It will feel as forced to the reader and it does to me, trying to pull the words from someplace they don't want to be found.

     More than 26K words in and I am still eking towards the real action in the story I am writing.  I'm actually only one scene away, but it's like there is a wall preventing me from seeing or going any further.  There is a lot of lead up and a good chunk, if not most of what has already been written, will likely not make the cut when it comes time to edit (which is not until after November of course.)  But the closer I get to the good bits, the harder I find it to focus and produce the words I need to get there.  And no, there is no jumping ahead and writing the good bits first, because I only know the feeling I'm going for and a portion of how it will be achieved.  Getting through the lead up helps shape the story as a whole and without it, it would be like building a house with no foundation.  At least, that's how it works for me.  Other writers will have different opinions and approaches.

     Yesterday, I was barely able to write over six hundreds words.  My mind and my heart just weren't in it anymore.  So why force myself to continue something when inspiration is pulling me in another direction?  Simply to stick to the rules?  But then doesn't that defeat the purpose of the challenge, to get me writing?  So as of this morning, I am going back to working on a short story I was writing before joining this year's NaNo.  Anything new I write will be counted towards my daily word count since I am still writing, just not the novel I intended.  If I finish that and I still don't reach the 50K word goal, then I will just go wherever inspiration leads me.

     It just doesn't make sense to fight with my muse because he/she/it isn't telling me what I want to hear and then later curse him/her/it out because they aren't telling me anything at all.  Unfortunately, as many writers can attest, we are slaves to our muses and not the other way around.  So we need to be open to listening when they are speaking and that's exactly what I'm choosing to do.

The Decline

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     It's starting.  The very thing that made me question whether or not I should participate in NaNoWriMo this year.  Gone is the lull in the project at work that had freed up my mind, giving me time to get swept up in the excitement of the NaNo prep that was going on all around me.

     I started off stronger than any of my previous attempts, averaging over two thousand words a day for the first week.  But then slowly but surely, that number began to dwindle in week two.  As the workload increased at my job, my motivation and energy began to drop.  Add to that the fact that I was starting to get bored with the novel and it was looking like a recipe for disaster.  The nice cushy lead I had given myself is gone and for the first time yesterday, I ended the day slightly behind the total word count.

     The problem I realized is that after a long exhausting day at work, I would come home and sit down to write, but I was bored with what I was writing.  I still have yet to get to the real meat and potatoes of the story.  And try as I might, I have trouble writing ahead and then finding ways to tie everything together, transitioning from one scene to the next.  For this reason, I find myself compelled to write the story chronologically and then go back and beef it up or revamp it.

     I was starting to drift and the story slowly veered off track.  Wondering how I was going to find my way back to the story I wanted to write from the detour the story had taken, I came up with a few ideas during my walk home tonight.  For the most part, the heart of the story will stay the same but a lot of the build up will change or disappear altogether (but not until after NaNo of course).

     So while I am almost a full day behind my word count at this very moment, I still have three hours to reduce that number and I'm hoping that the new ideas will give me the push I need to get me back into the groove of writing two thousand words a day.  After all, I need to build up a nice cushion again so that I can relax on Thanksgiving.

     While I may have fallen behind, I am still pleased with the progress I am making.  This is normally around the time when I've fallen so far behind that I get discourage and make less of an effort to catch up.  With a little over two weeks left, I am only about nine thousand words shy of my previous best and haven't even written the most intriguing part yet which should set my fingers flying across the keyboard once again.

     Well, gotta go!  I've got a word count to increase!  I hope your NaNo experience is going smoother than mine.

Flying By The Seat of My Pants

     As you most likely already know, I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year.  Although it is my fourth year participating, the entire experience feels different from previous years.  First, I was completely unprepared this time, no characters, no plot, nothing but a setting in mind.  Second, I have absolutely no notes on this newest novel, not a one.  Third, I'm trying something new with POV.  Fourth and most exciting, I have NaNo friends!

     I've stated in the past that my first go at NaNo found me floundering for a novel idea until the very night before.  But once the idea struck, I had everything I needed; characters, plot, conflict, etc...  I scribbled it all down like a mad genius and went to be satisfied that I now had a solid foundation to build on.  When I woke up the next morning, more than 2k words poured out of me and I was off to a great start.  

A picture is worth a thousand words so 50 should help me reach my goal.
Image courtesy of Jetkasettakorn / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year however, the only thing I had to work with was the idea that I wanted to write a horror story, potentially dealing with a young couple moving into a haunted house.  But I had no idea who the couple was, what they looked like, why they were moving into the house or why the house was haunted.  Then another participant mentioned using photo prompts to help them create 30 short stories in 30 days and I thought, photo prompts, that's exactly what I need.  So I headed to Pinterest to create a board dedicated to my NaNoWriMo novel.  With each picture I found, the story began to take shape, morphing and evolving along the way.  While in its current state it is still a story about a haunting, it is no longer the story that I first thought up a little over a week ago.  For the first time, I can truly say that I am writing by the seat of my pants.

     In the past, I have had notebooks or Scrivener projects chock full of notes, character sketches and conversations that I've wanted to include in the novel.  I would use these to help keep me on track.  One year, I even attempted to do an actual outline in hopes that it would guide me on what to write next, keeping the words flowing freely.  

Swapped notes for photos
Image courtesy of pixbox77 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year, the closest thing I have to notes are my photo prompts.  I have no character sketches and no real idea of how the story will end.  Somehow, the story seems to be writing itself this time around.  I just set my fingers on the keyboard and they do the rest.  There is no over-thinking, no second guessing and no constant need to edit this time around.  I even noted inconsistencies with POV and tense and just kept going with the knowledge that it would get fixed during the initial edit.  And if it gets missed in the first edit, there is always the second or the third or however many it takes to get it ready to share with the world.  This is a huge step for me.  When I first started writing, noticing something like that would have caused me to obsess, feeling the need to fix it right then and there, setting me back on my word count and making me lose the momentum that I had built up.

     I always prefer to write in the first person, present tense.  I know a lot of authors and even readers find this approach a bit odd, some even calling it unnatural.  But to me, this is what feels right.  The main character drives the story, explaining what is happening along the way, taking us on a journey.  This time around, I am still using the first person, present tense, but instead of one main character telling the story, there are two.  The novel is being split into parts; the first telling the story over a span of six months, from one character's POV, the second telling it from the other character's POV over the same six month period and the third part will give us the outcome (not sure how the POV will be worked in this part).  I've never written a story from two different POVs, nor have I ever written one with parts.  I'm not sure if the final product will still be structured this way or if I will find some way to merge the first two parts and just do a normal chapter book.  Only time (and maybe beta readers) will tell.

     And for the most exciting change in this year's NaNoWriMo participation, I have other people that understand what it is to take on this beast that is NaNoWriMo.  In the past, I have always done this on my own and half way through, I would just start to fizzle out.  I'm hoping that this year, seeing all of my fellow participants soldier on, will be a motivating factor for me not to give up.  And when I feel my conviction start to waiver, I have people that I can turn to, who have been there and done that, to give me the metaphorical swift kick in the pants that I will need to keep going.

This time I'm not alone
Image courtesy of Ambro / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     So far, I am doing great, writing an average of about 1,700 words a day.  To find out what the novel is about and read an excerpt, click here.

Something in the Air

Image courtesy of digital art \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     I really don't know what it is about this time of the year that kicks my creativity into overdrive.  Maybe it is the four years of NaNoWriMo under my belt that make my brain associate fall weather with an increase in productivity.  Maybe it is the beauty of the changing leaves that inspires me.  Or maybe it is the coziness of being snuggled up under a warm blanket on a cold day that makes my heart want to warm the world with its creations.

     Whatever the cause, I embrace it.  It makes me want to take classes so that I can learn new skills that offer additional outlets.  My hands feel the need to create the things my mind can dream up; be it writing, baking, drawing, sewing, etc...  I'm not even good at all of those things, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to try.  I am proud to be a jack of all trades, even if I am a master of none.  What I do create often lacks polish, but it is an accomplishment nonetheless.  At the end of the day, I have made something where there once was nothing.  And with some things, the polish can be applied afterwards.  For other things, the lack of polish is what adds to its beauty.

     With that said, against my better judgement, knowing that I will not have the proper amount of time to dedicate to it, I have once again signed up for NaNoWriMo.  A story idea has come to mind, it is completely undeveloped and so I thought I could use NaNo to flesh out the story.  I don't even have character names right now and normally, the characters are the first detail I have worked out before I begin.  This time, I have an idea for a setting and a plot.  I'm hoping that by working on those, the characters will slowly begin to introduce themselves.

Strategy: Something I am sorely lacking
Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     Between my shortage of time and this scatterbrained approach, I'm not sure how far I will get this year, but maybe now that I have others that I can bounce ideas off of, I might actually be able to pull this off or at least end up with a great foundation for a new book.

     Once again, good luck to my fellow WriMos.  If you'd like to add me, my username is Ely64.

What Am I Waiting For?

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     For the last four years, I've been "trying my hand" at this writing thing.  I know that this is something I can truly see myself doing full time.  In the first month alone, I had amassed a collection of 7 short stories and poems.  Then just a few months later, I found NaNoWriMo and I actually created a novel, something I thought beyond my abilities.

     So, after four years, I should have a nice lengthy collection, right?  I should have short stories and poems coming out of the woodworks.  After participating in NaNoWriMo three years in a row, I should have three novels complete and simply needing polishing, right?  Wrong.  I didn't know just how wrong until I came across authonomy.com, a site created by HarperCollins Publishing that allows writers to share their work with readers, editors and publishers with the possibility of getting published by HarperCollins.  The site requires any work that you share to consist of a minimum of 10,000 words.

     My first novel was shared with fellow writers earlier this year and, after their helpful feedback, requires a lot more editing before I am ready to share it on authonomy.com.  The second novel is only about halfway written and the third is, well only a third written.  I couldn't finish the second and third because the more I wrote them, the more I found things that didn't work with the first or that didn't make sense.  So with the ever evolving first novel still incomplete, I chose to sideline the other novels and concentrate my efforts on the first novel.

     Without an actual novel to share, or even a part of one that I was willing to share, I decided to compile most of my poems and short stories.  With the exception of a handful, I loaded them all, one by one, each representing a "chapter".  I watched the number climb; 7, 10, 13, until I had a total of 17 "chapters".  I was feeling pretty good about this.  17 poems and short stories, that's not a shabby number.  But the number that was shabby, the word count.  Somehow, all of those works only accounted for 6669 words.  All these years and all the writing I thought I had been doing and this was all I could scrape together?

     I already knew that I lacked focus and discipline.  I just didn't realize how bad it was.  If writing is truly what I want to do, then why aren't I doing it?  What am I waiting for?  These novels aren't going to write or edit themselves.  

     Time to step up my game and get serious...

Naming Your Book

Photo credit: unknown (obtained from Writers Write)

     Have you ever been drawn to a book simply by its title?  What you name your book is just as important as the content you fill it with.  It is the first chance you have to attract a reader and give them an idea what your book is about.  In a blog, written by Amanda Patterson, she offers 8 tips to consider when naming your book.

1. It should suit your genre

2.  It must have something to do with the plot

3.  It should be easy to remember

4.  It should appeal to the reader on an emotional and an intellectual level

5.  It should be easy to pronounce

6.  Short names are better (3-5 words)

7.  Visual titles work best

8.  The title should also reveal a bit about the soul of the book

     Look for successful books within your genre and find a common thread.  Can you see your book fitting in among these?  A reader should be able to tell just from the title alone, what genre your book falls under.  The title should give the reader an idea of what they will be reading.  What is your book about?  If you could describe the plot of your book in five words or less, what would it be?  

The title should be something simple, yet it should stand out.  You want to be sure that the title of your book is distinct enough that it will be instantly recognizable, yet simple enough to stick in the mind of a reader so that they can recommend it to other readers.  It should evoke powerful emotions or be so thought provoking that it intrigues the reader so much that they feel compelled to read the book.

     You want to be sure to make the title easy to pronounce for your target audience.  If you are writing a children's book, you wouldn't want to use a sophisticated phrase that would be beyond their comprehension.  Keep it short, sweet and to the point.  Offer readers a glimpse of the soul of your novel, giving just enough to attract their attention, but not so much that they don't feel like they need to read the book.

     We spend so much time writing the stories and painstakingly editing in an effort to get everything just right.  All of that hard work is for naught if the same care is not taken when choosing a title.  Think of naming your novel as naming your child, because in essence, that's what our novels are to us.

NaNo Prep 2013

Image courtesy of nanowrimo.org

     It is officially NaNoWriMo prep season and everyone is busy gearing up for November 1st.  Everywhere I look, there are status updates and blog posts all about the ways in which everyone is getting ready.  With each strategy, brainstorm, and novel idea I read about, I feel the longing grow stronger and stronger.  You see, since I discovered NaNoWriMo back in 2009, this will be the first year that I will not be participating.  It feels a bit like being grounded on the night of the biggest party of the year and having to listen to everyone else's excited chatter about what they will be wearing and who they will be going with.

     You might be asking why I don't just sign up and join if I'm already missing it before it has begun.  The answer is simple.  Every year, for the last four years, I signed up, jumped headlong into a new novel and burned out about halfway through the month.  And this is when I had time to dedicate to my writing.  I've continued to join, even though I have yet to win, because NaNo pushes me beyond my everyday limits and gets me writing more than I do virtually the entire rest of the year.  I have always counted this as a win even if I don't technically win the NaNo challenge of 50K words in a single month. 

Image courtesy of Ambro \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year however, I am halfway through one of the longest, most tedious projects I've ever been assigned at work.  It is physically, mentally and emotionally draining.  By the time I get home each night, my mind is numb and my body aches.  Ignoring these feelings, I still try to get in some writing whenever I can because there are stories within me that are still waiting to be told.  There are characters that wish to be introduced to the world, places that need to be charted and events that need to unfold and they are all relying on me.  

     Despite my desire to do the writing, my body is so worn that I am barely able to keep my eyes open when I finally have the time to sit down and write these days.  I am lucky if I am able to eek out anything more than 300 words in a single sitting.  With that in mind, how could I ever hope to meet the 1667 a day minimum I would need to reach the 50K goal?  The saddest part of all is that this would have been the first year that I would have participated with a vast network of fellow WriMos that understand the insane journey that is NaNoWriMo and might have been the difference between me burning out and actually winning the challenge this year.

     Who knows, over the next three weeks I might just end up giving in to longing and join after all.  But if not, then I wish all my fellow WriMos good luck as I live vicariously through your posts on your NaNo progress.  Not to worry though, next year, I will be back in line amongst the ranks of sleep deprived writers!

Dream Job Part II

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     Last week, I shared with you what my absolute dream job would be.  Since my dream of becoming a musician is unrealistic and unattainable, I thought long and hard about what I would love to be doing for a living, that I could actually do.  What would I like to spend my days doing that would make earning a living enjoyable?  

Living the Dream

     The answer, being a writer.  If I could spend my days creating stories, poems and novels that people can connect with, I would be a happy person.  I'd be free to always be me and people would chalk up any eccentricities to my being a writer, because writers are, by nature, quirky.  Or, at least, that is the general consensus.

     I imagine what my life would be like as a writer.  My mornings would be spent sending my kids off to school before I grabbed a cup of coffee and then sat down at my desk, surrounded by books, and set to work.  Hours would fly by as I wrote or researched or got lost catching up on my social media (because let's be honest, you can't ever just sign on for five minutes).  Then my kids would come home from school and I'd spend time making them snacks and finding out what they did that day.  I'd try to get in a few more hours of writing before it would be time to make dinner.  

     Some days, when the sun is shining and there is a nice warm breeze, I'd head outside to write while soaking up some sun.  I'd be able to chaperone school trips or catch all the recitals (both of my kids play violin) and plays that I currently miss out on due to my demanding work schedule.  I'd take walks to clear my head when I have a bout of writer's block, stopping to smell the roses and take pictures that I always intend to take but never have the chance to right now.  I'd finally get to travel to all the places I've wanted to see, but never had the time, as I travel to various book stores while doing a tour.

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     Sometimes, I even go so far as to imagine myself in a smoking jacket and ascot (weird since I'm a woman) with a tumbler of scotch or brandy in my hand, sitting or standing in front of a fireplace, mulling over a few ideas for my next book.  Or perhaps hobnobbing with other writers at various book release parties, discussing the trials and tribulations of life as a writer.  I think that perhaps this might be my alter ego and if I can come up with a name for this stuffy, upper crust, male version of myself, then I would have found my pen name.

     Maybe the reality of being a writer will be nothing at all like I imagine it, but simply doing something that I enjoy would make it far better than any other career options I currently have available to me.  Being able to set my own schedule and create a routine would offer me the flexibility to enjoy life before it passes me by while helping me focus more on my writing.  

     Right now, it seems that my ideas come to me at the most inopportune times, while in the middle of program testing for our new accounting system or reviewing financial statements and I can't stop to jot down the notes because, well, that would be frowned upon.  By the time I have some "free time" to actually do my writing, I am physically and mentally drained.  Even writing this blog takes longer than it used to because in the middle of writing it, I start dozing off.  And yet, I haven't stopped trying, haven't put down my pen or shut off my computer because writing has become a part of me and without it, I'd be lost.

     Writing is like therapy for me.  Through all of the stresses of life, whatever crazy roller coaster ride of emotions I am on, I become grounded through my writing.  I purge my emotions onto the page, into the characters and the story or poem, giving them a depth that would otherwise be lacking.  I know that it will not always feel like a joy, there are times when it can feel like work, but if I could escape to a world of my imagining for hours on end and get paid for it, that would truly be a dream come true.  

Dream Job Part I

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     I've often been asked what my dream job would be.  Apparently my varying interests (music, writing, baking, etc...) confuse people.  But the repeated question has gotten me thinking about what I would like to be doing with my life if I didn't have the oppression of paying the bills weighing me down and keeping me from chasing my dreams.  After all, when you are a single mom trying to raise two kids, your dreams take a backseat to the needs of your kids.  And when you have kids at a young age like I did, during the period where most young people are busy finding themselves, you tend to lose sight of yourself altogether until one day you look around and realize you're stuck in a job you hate because someone needs to pay the bills and keep a roof over your heads.  At least, this is what happened in my case.

     Several ideas of what my dream job would be have come to mind, some are nothing more than a dream at this point in my life and others are still actually attainable.  Narrowing down the list, my top two choices fall at opposite ends of that spectrum.  So to answer anyone who's asked and to offer an insight into who I am, or rather, who I might have been, here is a glimpse of what I would like to have been "when I grow up":

In Another Life

     I've stated many times before how big a part music plays in my life.  Sadly, I have no musical ability of my own to speak of.  I wouldn't necessarily say that I am tone deaf, because when I listen to music, I can hear the changes in pitch (even American Idol and other Karaoke type video games tell me that I am "pitch perfect").  I can actually even feel the music, like it reaches down into my soul and changes me with every beat, thump and thrum.  The problem, is that I hear myself differently; that is until I record my voice and play it back, then I hear the way I sound to the rest of the world and I cringe.

     If things were different, if I didn't sound like a wounded animal or as though my jaw was wired shut and the world could hear me the way I hear myself, well, then I would have loved to be a musician.  A well rounded musician, with talent and melody oozing out of every orifice.  I envy the talent of musicians like Melanie Fiona whose voice and ear for music work together to create magic.  Seriously, if you don't believe me, you should check out her cover of Wale's Bad or Biggie's One More Chance.  She doesn't just mimic what she hears and regurgitate it.  With her amazing talent and voice, she completely reinvents it in a way that only she can, giving it a distinct sound this is her signature.  I don't care what song she is singing, you can always tell that it is Melanie and hear her unique tone.

     That's what my true "dream" job would be.  To be able to affect the lives of others, while doing something that I truly love and enjoy.  Music has a way of making people feel like they are not alone in this world, like there is someone else out there that understands exactly what they are going through and through music, they were able to connect.  It is like a friend or a warm blanket on a cold winter day, comforting and familiar.  Music is there for you through the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, the joy and the pain.

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     When I was younger, I attempted to write a song.  I thought it was the best thing ever and kept it in my wallet for weeks until I lost it.  Afraid that I had lost it somewhere that it would be found by a particular person who I shall not name, I was completely embarrassed.  I started to think that maybe it was really cheesy and this person had found it, giving them a good laugh at my expense.  With that fear and humiliation came doubt and I stopped trying to write songs.  Who was I kidding, even if I wrote great songs, it's not like they would have ever made it into the right hands, right?

     Recently, after embracing novel writing, I started thinking about how music influences my writing.  The combination of the writing and the music inspired me.  In an attempt to start writing songs again, I seem to have found a knack for poetry.  I was told by someone who read my poem Craving, that it would make a good song.  So maybe my dream of working in music isn't completely unattainable after all.

     Are you working in your dream job?  If not, what would you rather be doing?  Check back next week for part II, where I offer insight into the dream job that I'm still striving towards.   

Scrap That

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     Every writer can attest to the fact that we are our own biggest critic.  No story we write will ever be perfect, the characters will never be quite as real on the page as they are to us and there will always be more to add.  Sometimes, a story will feel as though it is beyond salvaging and so it is set aside for something new.  This can be due to boredom, frustration or just plain lack of potential.  How do you know if a project is truly beyond saving or if it just needs a bit of TLC?

     One way that I can tell that a project is worth reworking is when I set it aside and weeks or even months later, it starts to permeate my thoughts again.  Much like when the story first came to fruition, its voice grows louder and louder until it can no longer be ignored.  A project that refuses to be ignored is one that must surely be worth sharing.  It may require minor changes, or it may require a complete rewrite, scrapping entire paragraphs or even chapters.

     Eventually, we must reach a point where we say that the story is good enough; good enough to be shared with others, even if we still have changes to "perfect" it.  Beta readers, friends or family are the perfect starting point.  Sharing your work with another person is the first step to completing it.

     But sometimes, a project truly is not worth saving.  Maybe it made sense while it was in your head, but once it was put on paper, you found it really just didn't work.  Maybe the characters were too flat or not real enough and no matter what you tried, you just couldn't bring them to life.  There are some cases where a project is just beyond repair and despite our best efforts, we must choose to scrap the whole thing and move on to the next one.

     How can you tell if a project is doomed for the scrap pile?

Did That Really Happen?

     A little over a year ago, I wrote a blog called Write What You Know, exploring the meaning behind the sage advice that many writers are given.  Delving a bit deeper into the topic, I've been thinking about just how this can be accomplished.  

     Great writing contains the perfect mix of truth and creativity.  This mix can be different for each writer and it is up to us to find the mix that works best.  I have said many times in the past that most of my writing is based in reality but there are always creative elements mixed in.  For other writers, their writing may be based on creativity with elements of reality mixed in, but there is always a mix of the two, even when it may not be evident to the reader.

     While working on my new short story compilation, a lot of the work is based on truths in my life or the lives of those around me.  Many things have been changed, left out, embellished or just plain made up.  Anyone who knows me well enough will be able to see some of the similarities between the stories and my life.  But even the people that know me best would not be able to tell without a shadow of a doubt, exactly what is true and what I created for the story.

     After sharing one of my earliest short stories with a friend, his response was, "Wow, that's pretty personal, don't you think?"  He was right of course, there was a lot in there that was highly personal to me, but that is what made the story work.  My pain and confusion was easily felt by the reader because it was something that I understood whole-heartedly and could convey to the reader quite clearly.

     While, at times, I quite literally write what I know (variations of experiences that I have had in my life), I get to change the experiences to suit my needs.  Have you ever had an argument with someone and later thought of things that you wished you had said?  Why not include that argument in your work and change it so that the argument goes the way you wish it had?

     Now that you get the picture of how writing based in reality is infused with creative elements, you might be asking how creative works are infused with reality.  Sci-fi and fantasy stories are perfect examples.  Think about Star Wars.  The places, people and in some cases, even the languages were completely invented leaving little doubt that the events in the story never took place in the real world.  So where is the reality in this, you might be asking.  It is infused in the emotion of the characters and even how they interact with one another.

     When creating a completely fictional scenario, an author can make it real by having the characters react and behave the same way the author or someone they know would behave in a similar situation.  Emotions are the realest, truest experience that can be the difference between a reader connecting to a character and being indifferent towards them.

     What mix of reality and creativity works for you?

Going on an Epic Adventure

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     Other than my love of supernatural stories, I've also always had a proclivity towards epic fantasy adventures (think The Princess Bride and Legend).  I always wished that I had the type of imagination it takes to create such an adventure, but my stories were always grounded in reality.  The idea of creating nonexistent cities and creatures was a foreign concept to me; anything I couldn't fact check and verify was beyond my comprehension.

     Recently, I was watching The Three Musketeers and I was visually intrigued; the costumes alone were worth the watch.  The movie got me to thinking, I can't recall ever seeing or reading an epic fantasy story where a female was anything more than the love interest of the hero or the double crossing vixen that tries to take him down.  In an age where women are proving on a daily basis that they can do anything a man can do, why aren't there more female leads in fantasy stories.  And just like that, words started forming in my mind, my hands began to type and a story slowly started to fill my screen.  For the first time ever, I was truly writing by the seat of my pants.  My main character was named in the first few sentences, a minor character introduced in the beginning of the second paragraph and a city was erected  just a few paragraphs later.

     I haven't fully worked out the story or even truly met my characters yet, but I'm excited by the prospect of creating something that I used to think was beyond my capabilities.  Equally exciting, is the prospect of offering my daughter and other young women a heroine they can call their own.  Why can't a princess slay a dragon or rescue her prince from peril?  Why must the damsel always be the one in distress? 

     With NaNoWriMo just around the corner, this would be the perfect time to flesh out an outline, or at the very least, the character sketches so that I know who I am writing about and what they wish to accomplish.  Unfortunately, with the way my schedule is at work recently, I had no intention of joining NaNo this year.  If I get enough background work done to feel like I can make some real progress on this story during NaNo, then I might have to change my mind and join after all.  Oh what a grand adventure that will be.

Environmentally Correct

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     Last night, my goal was to get home from work, set my laptop up in my office away from distractions and sit down to write.  Despite my determination to get a significant amount of writing done, I didn't get a single word written.  I know you probably think I got distracted by the internet, but that's not the case at all.  Instead, I got brain freeze, literally.  My apartment was so cold that I couldn't focus on anything but how cold I was, my mind (and limbs) were numb.  With no control over the air conditioning, I opened the windows to try to let in some warmth, but to my dismay, it was the same temperature outside as it was inside offering no relief.

     I tried to push through and got so far as to setting up the laptop and changing into sweats, a long sleeved shirt and long slipper socks to try to thaw out.  That still didn't do the trick.  So I then had to climb into bed and curl up under the covers.  I kept glancing over to my office, longing to be able to sit in there and write, but it was just so cold.  I even made an attempt to use my Nook and stylus to do some writing, but didn't get very far.

     This got me to thinking, how big of a role does our environment play in our ability to write and how much of it is just another excuse?  Personally, other than situations like last night, where the conditions are to the extreme, I don't have a "perfect" writing environment, one in which I cannot write unless everything is just so.  Sure, I would love it if I could do my writing in some tropical paradise while soaking up the sun on a beach or at a desk in front of a wide open window where the warm breeze carries the sounds and scents of the beautiful blue ocean just outside.  But let's get real, the bills need to get paid, which means I need to be at work earning a paycheck so I don't have time to be lounging on beautiful beaches.  And unless I marry rich, that is not a scenario that is likely to happen anytime in my near future.  In the meantime, I just need to suck it up and get my writing done anywhere I can.

     Naturally, I hit the internet in search of answers.  Do some people find certain environments more conducive to their writing?  If so, am I missing out on something that could potentially increase my word count each time I set out to write?  Or am I already doing what I can by just jotting things down anytime inspiration strikes, whether it be a five minute session or five hours?  There really weren't too many articles out there on the subject as many dealt more with software related environments rather than actual physical environments.  But I did come across two blogs, with two very different opinions, each of which I can relate to for different reasons.

     The first is a blog by Chris Brogan, that debunks the "myth" of the perfect writing environment.  In his blog, Chris advises that writing can be done anywhere.  If you are truly serious about being a writer, you won't let things like your surroundings or the tools at your disposal become an excuse for why you can or cannot write.  Much like the advice you find anywhere you look, Chris says, just write!  I know that from time to time, I personally fall into that trap, "I want to write, but I would get more done on my laptop, blah, blah, blah..."  There is a very real distinction between not wanting to write and not being able to write.

     The other is a blog by The Writing Whisperer, M. Shannon Hernandez (no relation), that describes how you can transform your ordinary writing space/office into your ideal writing environment.  She invites you to think about where you would feel most productive and visual that space, transporting yourself to that very place.  That shouldn't be too difficult for a fiction writer, right?  I mean, that's what we do.  We visualize people we've never met and create worlds and/or experiences that we have never had (or variations of ones we have) and put these visions together to create our stories.  So why not use that same power of imagination and creativity to envision ourselves in our perfect writing environment no matter where we actually are?

Can you picture yourself writing at a Parisian bistro?
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Or maybe in a secluded cabin on the snow covered mountains?
Image courtesy of Michal Marcol \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

   
      Do you have a specific environment that you find particularly conducive to your writing?  Do you agree with Chris that a perfect writing environment is nothing more than an excuse for why we don't write rather than why we can't?  Do you think The Writing Whisperer's advice would help put you in the right mindset to write more?  Or do you have tricks of your own that help you overcome the distractions of your writing environment?

Don't Stop Believing

     Yes, that's right, this week's blog is named after a Journey song.  It was inspired by an article I read offering writing advice from Ira Glass.  

     In the Writer's Circle article, the author advises that, "As writers, we set the bar high. It may seem that our best writing is always just out of reach. We're debilitated by writer's block, plagued by self-doubt, crushed by criticism from others. There's a lot standing in the way between the story sketch in our heads and the polished, final draft we know we've got inside us.  Yet we push onward." 

     Mr. Glass reassures that this happens to all writers.  The difference between good writing and great writing?  Perseverance and "persistence".  If writing is truly your passion and you can't imagine what your life would be like if you couldn't write, then despite whatever roadblocks hinder you, don't give up.  

     Like with anything else, practice makes perfect.  You can't expect to be born a "great" writer or to become one overnight.  The more you write, the better your writing will become.  I know from experience, that sometimes an idea will sound brilliant in your head, but as soon as it is written out, it fails to read brilliantly.  If this happens enough times, it can be discouraging, causing you to question whether or not you possess the talent needed.

     Do you think your favorite authors woke up one morning and thought, "I'm going to write a book today" and did so in one go on their first try?  Writing a novel is a long and painstaking process.  It takes drafts and edits and rewrites before it is even fit for sharing, let alone publishing.  And once it has been shared with another person (family, friend, editor, etc...), it is inevitable that they will point out mistakes that you failed to see.  This doesn't mean that you are a failure.  It simply means that you are human.

     As the article points out, "That feeling of inadequacy that gnaws at you after completing a first draft-- it's normal. It's part of your growth process as a writer, and it proves you have something Glass likes to call 'taste.' In other words, you have high standards for the work you produce, and you're unwilling to settle for less. Hold onto that feeling, and let it drive you to create more."

     As we continue to learn and grow in the craft, we continue to strive to be better, to do better than before.  It is this drive that bridges the gap between good and great.  With persistence and perseverance, you will not only be able to build that bridge, but to cross it as well.  So, despite the nagging self doubt, the cringing inner editor or whatever else makes you want to throw in the towel, don't stop believing that you have what it takes to create that polished novel you have been dreaming of.

Journey - Journey - Don't Stop Believing

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The Story Formerly Known as Big Red

     Last week was Teaser Tuesday and I shared a snippet of a short story WIP that was titled Big Red.  I have since completed the story and thought I would share it with you for this week's blog post.  For those of you that were good and teased last week, here is the full story with its new title.

The Clearing

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    By the waning light of the moon and instinct alone, I make my way through the thick woods until I reach my favorite clearing.  It is my haven from the helter skelter, transporting me to another time and place where the hustle and bustle of the chaotic world melts away.  A thin veil of mist shrouds the clearing as the cool rain dances across the sun baked earth.  No longer sheltered by the intertwined branches and lush summer leaves, I tilt my head back, relishing the feel of the rain against my face.

  Away from prying eyes, I slowly peel off the shorts and t-shirt that cling to my clammy body.  Once I am down to nothing more than my bra and panties, I move into the center of the clearing.  The rain glistens in the moonlight like hundreds of microscopic sprites floating down from the sky.  I close my eyes and stand with outstretched arms, welcoming the tiny rivers that run down my body.  Laughing gaily, I throw my hands over my head and begin to twirl and dance in the rain.  Lost in my own world, I don’t hear the approaching footsteps or see the figure lurking at the edge of the clearing, watching me.

    It’s not until I feel a hand slide across my throat and an arm wrap around my waist that I realize I am no longer alone.  Unable to move, my body tenses and my heart begins to pound in my ears.  A panicked cry gets lost in my throat, beneath his grip, and nary a sound passes my lips.  I can feel my uninvited guest’s breath caress my earlobe before his lips glide across my cheek.  The heady aroma of his aftershave travels along the warm breeze and instantly puts me at ease.  I reach behind me, grabbing a handful of curly hair and sink into my captor’s embrace.

    “How did you know where I was?”

    “I followed my heart.  It always leads me to you.”  His cinnamon scented breath tingles my nostrils, while his silky smooth voice reverberates through my core.

    “So you thought you’d give me a good scare?”  I give his curls a playful tug before lowering my arm so that it traces down the curve of his neck.

    “Not at all.  But who can resist joining a forest nymph when they find one dancing in the rain?”  He turns me around so that we are face to face and I gaze up into his green eyes.  “God, you’re beautiful.”  The words are barely out of his mouth before his lips are on mine.  What I expect to be a quick, sweet peck, turns out to be a toe-curling, heart-racing, lip lock.  His kiss tastes like the Big Red that he is always chewing; the residual flavor numbing my lips ever so slightly, enhancing the sensations coursing through my body.  When he pulls away, it takes a moment for me to catch my breath and I rest my hand against his chest to steady myself.

    “And you have on far too many clothes to be dancing in the rain.  Not to worry, my devious little dryad, that can easily be remedied.”  I glide my fingers over the buttons on his shirt and along his throat until my hand comes to rest at the nape of his neck.

    A devilish grin spreads across his face.  “You don’t say.”  I watch as a drop of water beads and drips from the tip of his nose.  With a gentle plop, it lands on my cheek and he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe it away.  Despite the humidity in the air, the caress causes a chill to run down my spine and the flesh on my arms erupts in goose bumps.

    “Come dance with me, Derrick,” I shout, swinging my arms out and backing away from him, hoping the distance will be enough to stop my heart from pounding so profusely.  With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttons his shirt and I freeze, watching him through rain soaked lashes.  My breathing is ragged as I inhale deeply.  He doesn’t have six pack abs or rippling biceps, but his body is lean and defined and I can’t help but admire its beauty.  Stripping down to his boxers, he pulls himself up to his full height, casting a shadow over me.

    Like a predator after his prey, he takes a determined step forward.  Instinct kicks in and I take off running towards the opposite edge of the clearing.  Knowing that he can easily cover the distance between us anytime he wants, I dance around the perimeter of the clearing, just out of reach.  I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.  Little puddles have begun to form on the ground and I splash through them, sending water flying everywhere.  He makes a few half-hearted attempts to grab me, but I slip through his fingers time and again, all the while laughing and enjoying the chase.  Our game of cat and mouse comes to an end when he makes his move and swoops me off my feet.

    The rain has slowed to a mere mist, but we are both already drenched.  He carries me over to a semi-dry patch of grass, laying me down under the cover of the trees.  His sandy brown curls drip water on me as he leans in for a kiss.  I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, he is so tantalizingly close.  Craving the feel of his skin against mine, I arch my back, lifting myself towards him.

    “Alexandria...”  His tongue caresses my name, while his hands caress my body; the combination overwhelms my senses.  I reach out to pull him closer to me, unable to stand even the smallest of spaces between us.  “I’m caught in your gravitational pull; drawn to you by some unseen force.  I couldn’t resist you even if I wanted to.”  He covers me in kisses between words.

    “I hope you never want to.”  The words come out in a breathless whisper and I’m not sure he hears me.

    “Never.  I love you, Alexandria.”

    I cling tighter to him, wishing it was possible for our bodies to meld, for our souls to become one.  “I love you too, babes.”  I almost forget that we are lying on the forest floor.  The world around us falls away and nothing exists but us two, me and the man of my dreams.  And therein lies the problem.

    A loud, obnoxious buzzing sound pulls me from a deep sleep.  Reluctantly, I open one eye, taking in my surroundings.  With a grumble, I hit the snooze button and turn my back towards the clock, bringing me face to face with an empty pillow on the other side of the queen-sized bed.  Unconsciously, my hand reaches out to the empty space beside me, searching for something and finding nothing.

    The alarm goes off again and I fight the urge to hit the snooze button once more.  Instead, I shut it off completely and throw back the blanket, dragging myself out of bed and down to the kitchen to get the coffee started.  While it is brewing, I head into the bathroom for a quick shower.  Standing under the steady stream of hot water, I try to recall my dream, but as usual, I don’t remember anything specific.  There is only a lingering sense of the overwhelming feelings that it has stirred.

    An hour later, I am heading out the door, on my way to work.  My nose is buried in the latest e-book I’m reading and I navigate down the block using my peripherals to guide me along my routine path.  The further I get, the more foot traffic I encounter, but my nose remains glued to the story I am reading.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure walking towards me.  I pay him no mind until I catch a whiff of his aftershave.  There is something strangely familiar about it, but I can’t place where I might have smelled it before.  I lift my head slightly to sneak a peek and find a pair of stunning green eyes looking me over.  They are breathtaking and I audibly gasp.  His gaze has me squirming until I note the way he is looking at me.  Just before he passes me by, he stops and I lift my head the rest of the way to look him square in the eye.

    “I know this is going to sound like a bad pick up line, but, have we met before?”

    “No.  At least, I don’t think so.”  The more I look at him, the less certain I am, although I have no clue where I might know him from.

    He runs a hand through his thick crop of sandy brown hair.  I find myself mesmerized by the way his curls bounce back into place and I fight the urge to run my own fingers through them.  

    “I really can’t put my finger on it, but I swear I’ve seen you before.  But that can’t be right.  I don’t see how I could possibly forget someone so beautiful.”

    Normally, I would roll my eyes at such a cheap and blatant attempt to charm me, but instead, I feel my cheeks warm as I blush at the compliment.  “Thank you.  That’s very sweet of you.”  

    “Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit?”  I shake my head, close the case on my ereader and put it in my purse.  There is a sense of hesitancy about him, but he tries not to let it show.  He fumbles around in his pocket as though he is looking for something.

    “Would you like a piece?”  Taking his hand out of his pocket, he extends it towards me, opening it to reveal a pack of gum.

    My heart begins to pound and I get an overwhelming feeling that I have forgotten something important.  I stop walking and turn to take a really good look at my companion.  Noticing that I am no longer walking beside him, he stops to watch me, while removing a thin red strip of gum from its foil wrapping.  My lips begin to tingle and I could swear they have gone slightly numb.

    Bits and pieces of my dream start coming back to me.  I can practically smell the nonexistent rain, feel the dampness in the air.  And that’s when I know.  I know why this stranger has gotten under my skin.

    “You know, I don’t think I introduced myself.  My name is...”

    “Derrick...”  

    

    The sound of the traffic dies away, the air stills and nothing exists but us two, me and the man of my dreams.