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.

Musically Delicious

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     I'm going to steer a bit off topic with this week's blog because, well, it's my blog and I can do that.  

     I come from a family of creatives, each in our own different way.  My daughter just turned 13 yesterday and we are having a party for her this coming Saturday.  The theme she chose for her party is music.  Like me, music is a huge part of her life and our radios, mp3 players, laptops, nooks, tvs, or phones are constantly blaring out something.

     My mother, The Crazy Craft Lady, as she has been dubbed, took on the task of coming up with the invitations, decorations, cake and goodie bags.  As always, she thought outside of the box and came up with some unique ideas that my daughter was extremely happy with.

Image courtesy of Simon Howden \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     Now, the rest is up to me.  You would think coming up with a menu wouldn't be too difficult, but I hate doing the same old tired thing.  Sure it is a bbq party, but does that mean I have to stick to the usual stuff.  I'm going to do the burgers and hotdogs for the start of the party, but I'm not satisfied with the usual chicken, ribs, steak, kebobs, potato salad and macaroni salad that we have every year at some bbq or another.

     For some reason, dessert ideas come quite naturally to me and we have come up with a few musically inspired ideas for the snacks, but I need to feed people.  Looking for inspiration, I did what I always do; I took to the internet.  What I found, a big fat NOTHING!  Thanks, but I don't want to feed people Elvis' fatty sandwiches and clog up their arteries.  Has no one ever before done a music themed party?  And if they have, have they never thought to carry the theme to the menu?

     I LOVE theme parties!  And a big part of throwing a themed party is to have fun and unique food.  For instance, take my Halloween party last year.  Dinner consisted of Mummy meatloaves, Swamp creature mac and cheese and bone shaped bread sticks.  The snack spread: ghost shaped cream cheese covered toast, pretzel and fruit by the foot witches' broom sticks, brain shaped pink tembleque, frozen fluff covered banana ghosts on a stick, eyeball cake pops and candy corn infused caramel popcorn balls.  I had a few other ideas, but not enough time to execute them so I still have a few tricks up my sleeve for my next Halloween party, whenever that might be.

I need a few!
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles \ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     So here I am, trying to put together a grocery list so that I can have everything delivered tomorrow and prepared by Friday and I still have no clue what I'm doing.  I think my next step will be to go through my daughter's favorite songs and see if any of them can offer some inspiration.  There's nothing like a little time crunch to get the creative juices flowing.  Hmm, speaking of juice...