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