Anti-Collaboration and a Mess of Epiphanies

So I'm guessing no one cares to ask me anything, or at least, come forward and ask.  That's alright anyway, I'm extremely shy and very protective of my work.  However, I'm ready to begin coming out of my shell. 

It is bugging me that I still have so far to go in my writing journey.  I just sat reading a book written by John Flanagan (The Brotherband Chronicles, book 2: The Invaders), and then I took a break and read some of my short stories.  This included one that was written when I was in a very different place in my life.  I read two or three of them, all the time amazed that not only had I written them, but that I was enjoying them just as thoroughly as when I was reading John Flanagan's words.

Why am I not published yet?  Fear.  That's my answer to myself, and I know it to be true.  I also know that I am now angry at that answer.  I can do this.  I can write, and I've been given a gift to write.  Why am I not sharing it with the world?

I sit and watch Lindsey Stirling, the Piano Guys, Alex Boye, Pentatonix, those harp-playing twins, and all of these gifted people on youtube sharing their talents, their lives, and their happiness at having found their joy and their purpose in life, and I'm jealous.  I'm actually jealous!

I want that!  How come I can't have that?  Fear.  It's not to say that these people never felt that fear.  They most likely did, every one of them.  The difference, though, between them and me: they overcame that fear and put it out there anyway.

It's that saying that comes back to me: the worst they could say is "no."  The worst that anyone can tell me is that they don't like my writing.  Is that really so terrible?  Not really.  You can't please everyone, so you know someone is not going to like what you do. 

Just yesterday, I was listening to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on CD as I made my way home from work.  The article about Hagrid's half-giant status had just come out in the paper and Hagrid wanted to resign his post as Care of Magical Creatures teacher.  Dumbledore, ever the wise wizard, said, "Honestly, if you're holding out for  approval, I believe you will be in this cabin for a very long time."

I already know that people aren't going to like it.  However, that doesn't mean there won't be any who do like it.  Even more, there's a chance that people will love it!  So why not take the leap and see if I fly or if I fall? 

So now I just need to finish this book.  There's a simple statement that has a whole lot more weight than you could imagine.

It's all in my head.  I'm halfway there, I just need to keep trekking, or as Dori from Finding Nemo says, "Keep swimming, just keep swimming."

I have short stories that I can try and publish in the meantime.  They may not get me much money, but they might open that door a crack and allow people to see that I'm about to unleash the hounds.

And yes, I have been writing lately.  It's coming along.  I would say it is coming along well, but first drafts never seem to want to come as easily as you think they will.  That is why editing is wonderful, and should never be forgotten.

There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.  ~Ernest Hemingway

Presenting the Q&A

There's nothing like the internal struggle of creativity, real life, and being physically and emotionally exhausted to put everything into perspective for you.  The perspective being that if you don't fight through it and do it anyway, despite all the issues, it won't get done.  And no one can do it for you.

So I'm listening to some Lindsey Stirling tunes, some Piano Guy tunes, and some other random tunes to inspire my mind so that before the evening is over and bed begins to call, there is an ample amount of words added to the existing in-the-works manuscript for my book.

I've often thought of revealing what it is I'm writing here because, see, it's easier to relate if you know more details.  However, I also learned early on that revealing too much also seems to give people the notion that it's okay to share or inevitably take and do with what they will.  It's a risky and sometimes crazy catwalk that authors tend to walk in sharing enough without giving too much.

Now I know that in all honesty, who cares about what I'm writing?  I'm not even published yet so is there any hype to my upcoming work going out to the masses?  No, but that doesn't make me any less protective of my work.

Not after first grade when my best friend at the time stole all my homework out of my folder when I was in my reading group and attempted to pass it off as her own.  What a surprise it was to come back to my desk and find all of my homework magically incomplete and unfinished!  Now how did that happen?

Then, of course,  the one incident where someone took my writing and passed it off as their own.  These occurrences both took place in elementary school, hardly a place that matters once you move on in life, but it was enough to teach me that giving out too much before its time is not a recommended thing.  Even more, leaving it out there also isn't a good idea.

It's something that I appreciate learning early on, so hopefully I don't make the mistakes that Stephanie Meyer made with her Twilight series, or any other author whose work was stolen and passed off as another's.  It's difficult to undo something like that once it's done.  So why take the chance?

At the end of the day, and at the end of all this rambling, I still want to share something with you.  But I'll leave it to you, all of you who are reading my blog, because I know I have readers.  I know because blogger rocks and tells me how many people look at my entries.  I even know your blood types, muahahaha!  Okay, not really, but it does tell me when people read my page and about how many of you do.

So I know you're out there.  Do you want to know anything?  Please ask, because it might help me share more with you about what I am doing. I'll start.

What genre are you writing?  I'm writing a science fiction series, with a basis in reality.  This means it's not fantastical science fiction.

A series?  Yes, it is going to be three novels long. 

Is there a name for the book or series yet?  There is a name for the first book and the series, but the other two books have yet to be named.  No, I don't feel like sharing quite yet, but I lovingly refer to it as "E" when my husband and I talk about it.  And yes, that is the first letter of the entire title.

How long are the books going to be?  It's too early to tell, but I believe a modest 300-400 pages is expected, at least for the first book.

So now I leave it to you, do you have any questions about the book?  If you are wondering where I got the idea for the novel, I'll remind you that I spoke about it in the previous entry, The Diner.  I had a very vivid dream and woke up and couldn't shake it from my mind.

The dream itself has nothing to do with the story, but it inspired me to think about the dream and how it made me feel, and the "What ifs"  started to whirl around in my head and suddenly, I had a story that over time has continued to evolve into what is now going to be an amazing series.  Or at least it better be.  I'm not putting out all this blood, sweat, and tears for nothing you know.

Go ahead, ask questions.  It's no fun if I'm only sitting here talking to myself anyway.  I can get rather annoying.

The Diner

So I re-wrote a publishable version of The Diner on Monday.  It's a short story based on a dream I had about a year or so ago.

You know, I always think of my creative writing classes that I took back in 2008 at California State University- Northridge.  I had a wonderful teacher that taught me to look at my writing from outside any and all parameters that I was used to.  It unlocked my mind and really turned me on my head when it came to writing, which, she said, was what her goal was.  To this day, I crave her crazy writing prompts, as they forced my mind to open old, lost doors and create all new ones.

One other thing that she taught her class was to never write dream sequences; to never write anything that came from a dream or resembled a dream because they never worked and were never conveyed properly.  They were always filler and never accomplished anything amazing. 

There is one of many things I've learned in life (not just in writing):  Don't always listen to your teachers. 

*gasp* Did I actually just say that?  Don't listen to the teacher?  Isn't that wrong?  Well, no. 

In my writing, I choose to utilize my dreams as inspiration, sometimes making it part of my stories because, well, that's where they came from.  Now, all of my stories change over time and by the final product, there is no true element of a dream sequence in them.  So technically, I'm following part of her advice.  However, that's how they begin.  And I'm not ashamed to keep it there until I'm ready to let it go, if I feel it's important to let go.

I feel, for me, that the best stories feel like dreams, though they aren't openly mentioned.  That's how I received my inspiration, so that's how I feel the delivery of the story should be.

If it doesn't work, I pray someone will tell me so that I can fix it, but until that day, I have found that sometimes what works for some people, particularly in creative fields, doesn't necessarily work for others.

This works for me. 

Almost every one of my greatest stories is based on a dream I've had at some point in my life.  My dreams are so vivid and so free of my own stresses and self-defeatings that my best ideas come from my subconscious.  I can't not write about them.

My current novel ultimately stems from a dream I had back in 2010 in which I explored galaxies and saw the birth of stars and planets and all manner of beauties that still make my gut tighten in that glorified terror of witnessing something that no one else will encounter unless I write about it.  Once I finish it, I'll give you more details. 

Until then, I figured I should leave you with a little something, so here are the first three paragraphs of The Diner:

             

              The diner was quite welcoming in its own way.  The linoleum was years old and well worn, the lighting was yellow and old-fashioned, but the air was warm and smelled of fresh baked bread and pie, the booths were comfortable without the plastic crinkle sound you usually heard, and the menus were those red plastic covered bi-folds that reminded me of the first time I ever recalled going out to a restaurant with my family. 

               All those years ago and all I could recall about the experience was the comfort, the peace, and looking at the plastic covered bi-fold menus while my feet swung back and forth, dangling from the booth.

               Something felt so familiar about this place, though I knew I had never been here before.  This was just a stop off to my final destination.  It takes a long time to travel across country, let alone the journey I was making today. 

I wish I could leave you with more, but I feel that my bed is calling me.  That, and I want to bask in a little more of The Piano Guys before bed.  I went to their concert tonight.  It was fabulous, and I cannot wait to go to another and bring my girls.  Seriously, if you don't know them, go find them on youtube.com.  They are so inspiring to me.

That's two things I can check off my bucket list: riding a camel and going to see The Piano Guys in concert.

 

The Dream of the Violin

So what's with the lack of posts?  Am I writing?  Am I avoiding writing?  What is going on here?

Well, truth is, I've been writing off and on.  I've been raising two little girls and working, and cooking, and paying bills, and cleaning when I have the time, and thinking ever so much about my book and when I will have time to finish it.

The good news is that I've been able to write a good portion more of my book this last month when I took time off work, dropped the children at Grammy and Grandpapa's house, and spent a week in Northern Michigan writing and relaxing and reading.

When I first went up North, I had 37 MS Word document pages completed of my novel.  After 5 days up North, in which one day I spent out on the water fishing with my husband and father-in-law, I had 57 pages completed.  

The sad part is that since I've been back, I've gotten nothing done, other than within my head.  It sucks, but that's life with two children under three and a job that you come home to only to find that it's all about to change.

One thing I still haven't learned is how to write when I'm truly stressed.  I stress easily, but these last four weeks since the trip have been truly stressful.  It is only now that I find that I can finally shake off most of this stress and open my mind to creativity and originality.

I spent this last week reading here and there when I can, looking up ideas for Christmas programs for my church, and making Halloween decorations and putting them all together.  I've even been sitting down to the piano and plunked out some tunes and dreamed of getting out my violin, dusting it off and playing.  That's how I know:

I'm ready to sit down and write again.

When I want nothing more than to pull all my creativity out of myself, I am ready to write.  At least, that's when the best of my writing comes out.

So what am I going to do this week while I await news on the job front?  I'm going to write.  I'm going to add as many pages as I can to my manuscript before I am called back to the office.  I have to.  I don't know how much time I'll be given, and even more, if I don't hear back from the office soon, I will just have to start looking elsewhere, which becomes it's own stressful animal; one I may have to learn to tame and write as I go.

Anyhow, so that is what the world is like for me at the moment. 

If I want to do this, for real (which I've been realizing more and more for myself is what I indeed want desperately), I must do it now.  And leave no breath wasted, no moment unrealized and un-utilized.  Not to go fast, but to slow down and let the words come.  Let them flow through my body and into my fingertips, spilling out onto the keyboard so that a mass of story in its raw and naked form appears before me on the screen.

I cannot wait to see what these last three years have gestated.  My final goal of the year is to finish it by the year's end.

To see it complete, before I tear it apart and re-sew it together.

The Frailty of Life

It has been a difficult two weeks or so for my family.  My husband's grandmother passed away on Easter Sunday following a difficult stay in the hospital wrought with the demand of the family making difficult decisions about her care.  This week has been hard in many ways as it always is.  But on this side of the funeral, though we still grieve, we feel the light of the day and we're embracing it as much as we can.

Seeing those who were her family, her children, was particularly difficult and now having two of my own children, I understand so much more.  At least, it feels that way.  There are always a number of things that pass through your mind when something like this happens in life; one being the realization that barring something tragic happening to me, I will face the same day when I will have to say goodbye to my mother. And I know now that I'm not ready at all for that. 

But death is as much a part of life as anything else.  It happens to all of us at some point, but that makes it all the more precious and wonderful.  Realizing this and remembering this (which is part of the key), allows us to move forward and make life as sweet and beautiful as it can be.  Following this path is part of the beauty I want to partake in, so I've been trying to set aside time in particular for writing and reading these last few days. 

I've written more this week and I've read more this week.  I'm so excited to do this more and more.  It's my "me" time in many ways, and I can't think of a better way to indulge myself.  While most women indulge in chocolate (I've done that on occasion) or shopping or something of the sort, I'm a bookworm through and through.  That is where my heart and soul truly lie, within the written word. 

So forgive me for the shortness of this entry, but there is much I must do. 

I leave you with another untitled poem from long ago.  This one was written on January 8, 2008:

here i discover
spinning colors
combining
                 separating
a breathless carousel
twirling
            unfurling
a kaleidoscope of stained glass
and delicate wings

Making the Time

My goal for reading at least a little bit everyday is most definitely being achieved.  However, when it comes to writing, I'm finding at times that access to my computer is severely limited.  Because my computer is in a separate room from the rest of the house (originally planned for quiet writing time), I'm never in there unless I'm looking for paperwork.  So I guess I have two options: write in a regular notebook or journal again or move my computer somewhere more open and make the conscious effort to write even if my little ones are running around behind me.

Fortunately for me, we're turning what is now the office into a guest room so this computer will be moved out of this room in a very short period of time anyhow.  Unfortunately for me, this means that my television will now be my monitor and this computer will be the family computer.  So this means if someone wants to watch a movie or a show, I can't write.  At least, I can't write on my computer.

It's beneficial that I really love to write in notebooks and journals.  But it's not as beneficial when it takes longer to write out a thought which sometimes leads me to forget "strokes of genius" wordplay, or rather, my thoughts in general.  Has that ever happened to you?  For myself, I tend to find these wonderful words coming into my head and many times my brain goes faster than my hand and I just can't seem to keep up which always seems to frustrate me when I can't remember a thought that occurred just seconds ago.  And most times it is because my brain has already moved on to the next thought.

I'm at a crossroads of sorts, it seems.  There are pros and cons to both situations, and my choice of options is more than likely going to have to be both.  I'm going to write on the computer when I can and get as much in as I can, but having that notebook around is going to help when I can't be on or near a computer.  Honestly, I've realized that as a writer, it's foolish of me to not have a notebook handy for those times when I get an idea or a stream of story and I don't record it.  If I could count the stories and ideas that are lost into the oblivion of my subconscious, I know I would be appalled. 

I guess I've found a new sub-goal: to carry around a journal and writing utensil (which for a writer should always be a permanent ink of some sort) when out and about and have one close at hand at home.  The trick is going to be keeping my almost two year old from becoming overly interested in it.  That is going to be a fun challenge.

As for my reading, I'm currently reading book 2 of The Brotherband Chronicles: The Invaders.  John Flanagan is a writer I discovered probably about 2 years ago, which is a shame I took so long to discover him.  I was always intrigued by his first series called The Ranger's Apprentice, and finally, while in Borders one day, I picked up the first book and read the first few chapters.  That was all it took.  I was hooked.  I now own the entire RA series and all three of the current published books of his new series: The Brotherband Chronicles.

I believe I may have mentioned in an early blog entry that I am attracted to young adult, teen, and children's books.  I've tried reading adult fiction and though some of the books are indeed wonderful, I find more misses than hits in the adult section and the exact opposite in fiction meant for a younger audience.  It helps that this is what I tend to write as well.  And one of the best ways to hone your writing is to read in the venue of what you write and learn from those who have walked the publishing roads before you.

Come to think of it, I think I've given you a list of favorite authors of mine, but not favorite books or poems.  So perhaps that will be a future entry.  In fact, let me know if you have any requests or questions about me or even things you might want to see in this blog.  I always encourage outside thoughts and opinions, especially on blog entries.  It's definitely the most challenging part of blogging: coming up with things to address or discuss and keep it interesting at the same time.

Let's reiterate my goals for the month: read a little everyday, write a little everyday, and in the meantime, get in the habit of keeping a journal at hand for those times when I just can't get to my computer.  

Goals and Reminisces

I always find it amusing that when I write a great blog entry, I find myself perpetually thinking of what to blog about next.  That would be the main reason why I waited over a week to post something new.  And amusingly enough, I still am not sure what it is I really want to share with you all.

Every step in life seems to come with it's own share of insanities.  No matter what day, time of year, month, age, or hour it is, there is always something going on.  Some of it is good and some of it is bad, and oftentimes they teeter-totter back and forth on this sliding scale that seems to set its own rules about everything.  At the end of the day, with all that this does, I've simply come to that realization that life doesn't give out "optimal" times to do anything.  You have to create your own optimal time to do what it is you dream.  And a lot of times, that "optimal time" you have to fight for.

Of course, what dream is worth living if it doesn't require a little work and a little sacrifice? 

So this past week, even though I've been sick, I did some work and read when I could.  And so begins my daily goals for this next month.  Read at least a little everyday, and write a little at least everyday.  That sounds so easy, but not everyday is equal in its time, despite what we think.  And at the end of this month, we'll check back and see how I've done on this road and go from there.

It won't be easy.  At the moment, we are working on a move of my in-laws from this home to up-state, and a move around of everything in this home to our desired set-up.  Then, there's my daughter's second birthday in less than a month, Easter, and the normal everyday life of being a wife and mother.  Come to think of it, that's not even everything that needs to be done.  But I won't bore you with my laundry list of to-dos.  That doesn't sound enjoyable to me or you.

I will share an anecdotal story of discovery though.  Last week, as I began going through my old writings from months and years ago (I am a nostalgic person, I think.  I'm often doing this, but it's been a good while since I've looked back as far as I am now), I noticed that in several instances I was using my younger daughter's name, Megan, as a character in a number of stories.  And this dates back to even my high school years!  I find it quite ironic because it's never been a name that I was fighting to name a character or a child, though I do like the name (and now love because it's attached to my little jelly bean).  So somehow, subconsciously, this name has always been something important to me.  Either that, or I just have no imagination in character names.  I hope it's the former.

Finally, for your enjoyment, I'm going to share some old old writings of mine, just for fun.  This is an unnamed poem that I wrote on September 13, 1999, so I was sixteen at the time:

You see it, but it's far off away,
More numbers than you can count,
But never a realization comes,
Until you sit and watch.
Out in the country,
Where the wind blows sweet,
The faint smell of cropped grain, in bare autumn.
The house is pure darkness,
Only breathing escapes silence,
I sit in our hammock
                                 below,
With a view of all worlds above.
I curl in a ball on my hammock,
The chill touches my feet,
Through all my wool socks.
But I do not bother to notice.  I wonder,
If it's far off away, so far from my reach,
how can we see it above?
There is no horizon to hide this side,
But still, it can light all that way?
Does it know I am watching,
From far off away,
In the country,
Outside a small house?
Can it feel what I feel,
When I look up at it,
And I see its light flickering,
At 2:34 in the morning?  

I did not edit anything, though I'm always tempted to.  But this was a poem I read for a talent show shortly after and was told I needed to go into writing professionally.  It was one of my favorites at the time, but now I don't know what to think.  I still love it, but as an artist, I'm always trying to edit it.  And I won't go into the amounts of punctuation that I just want to slice right out of it.  But I keep it this way as a testament to that time in my life, as well as for numerous other reasons.

Here is a challenge for you.  Go through old work that you have.  Hopefully, someone has instilled in you the importance of NOT throwing any writing away (and always writing in ink or keeping hard copies of work).  Go through it and reminisce with yourself.  You'll be amazed at the memories, feelings, and emotions that they invoke.  Yet, you'll be even more amazed at the inspiration and the ideas that will start to grow in your mind.  And yes, even the horrible writing you come across does this.


When you go through it, what speaks to you from those pages?  What does your past self tell your current self?  And try to make it a point to have that conversation every little while or so because there will always be something new to glean.

A Long Time Coming

Greetings from this side of the new year.  Life has happened, both great and small, good and bad, so I hope you will all forgive me for my protracted unannounced sabbatical.  I have returned, and I most definitely hope to be around for awhile.

Okay, let's stop being so lyrical and wordy for a few minutes and I will give you an idea of my life in the past year I have been absent.  May 7, 2012 was my last entry, and since then, it's been a bit of a roller coaster of life. 

• My daughter had just celebrated her birthday in the month previous and once school ended at the beginning of May, I decided to take a bit of a break to spend with my family.
• At the very beginning of June, I found out I was pregnant.  This was both terrifying and exciting.
• On the morning of June 9, my mother suffered a massive ischemic stroke and for a while it was touch and go with no real sense of what her prognosis would be.  The only saving grace to this information was knowing that not one week before, I had told my mother the news (choosing not to wait) that I was pregnant. 
• In August, I was interviewed and hired for work study in the office of my college's athletics department.
• I began my final semester of community college taking 16 credit hours and continuing work study.  That was a hard semester for me not just with the work load while pregnant, but knowing how limited my time with my husband and daughter was.  
• In September, I was sent an email from the Norman Mailer Center about verifying my information for an award I had won from them.  At first I was convinced it was a prank or scam, but it turns out it was legitimate.  In that one writing contest I submitted to, I was a semi-finalist in the 2-year college fiction division.  And yes, that is the contest I mentioned entering in my previous entry. 
• My mom came home from the hospital in September but ended up back in for kidney problems in October.  She didn't come home until the day after Thanksgiving.
• In November, we were able to travel to see my family back in my hometown for Thanksgiving and I was able to see my mom for the first time since her stroke.  It was wonderful and difficult all at once.  But knowing I got her to smile and laugh a bit and that my daughter got to see her Nanny for a few days was priceless to me.  
•  I finished school and work study in mid-December and spent the holidays enjoying my family and excited for the new year.
• I won't lie, January was torturous to me.  By then, I was very pregnant and very uncomfortable with not much to do but wait.
• Finally, February 2, my second daughter was born at a whopping 10 pounds, 1.5 ounces.  For those who do not use our weighing system, she was 4.57 kilograms.
• Just two days after bringing her home, my youngest ended up back in the hospital due to severe jaundice and had to undergo 24 hours of photo therapy.  

Now, life is beginning to settle in again, though at the moment a severe cold has taken over our household and my two girls are definitely not feeling their best.

So you're probably wondering why it is I'm being so personal when I've specifically refrained from that for so long on this blog.  I've decided that the best way for me to be inspired and to write is to share.  Especially after this past year, I just don't think it helps me to be so sterile in my writing and blogging.  That won't get me as far as I want it to, and I think writing makes one the most vulnerable.  It's one's own thoughts, pure and unobstructed, laid out for all to see.

This is what I've battled for so long: sharing my thoughts, my writings openly.  And it's time that I just let myself be me and write.  It's time I share with you and with everyone, who I am and what exactly is going on in my mind and in my world. 

 So, welcome.  It's always nice to meet a friend and share the world with them.  And in this case, all the worlds you can possibly imagine, which I intend to do.