Bigger than myself...

I'm a huge dreamer. HUGE. I can't help but take anything I do and try to turn it into some sort of world-wide phenomenon. Maybe I'm a glory hog, maybe I'm some sort of megalomaniac, but I hope I'm just a mover and a shaker.

My son did NaNoWriMo last year with us via the Young Writers Program, and his teacher thought it was pretty cool. So, I talked to her today and she said she'd like it f I came and tried to recruit some more writers for this November!

I am SO excited! I've ordered the free Classroom noveling kit from YWP (the afore-mentioned Young Writers Program), and I am going to try an hold a writing night for every week in November, plus a finisher party at the end.

This could get so huge!! What if I put it in the paper? What if I got 20 kids to do it! What If I got 20 adults to also do it!!! What if it became an every-month writing club where adults and kids interact and inspire and get words down?

Feel free to watch me and my crazed ideas, as I try to make them happen.

This on top of the art class I'm taking, the possible band I might start singing back-up for, Preschool co-op, my enormous amount of required goofing-off, and, oh, yeah...parenting.

NaNoWriMo rumblings....

It's co-ming!!! Only weeks until the crazy rush of pouring out thousands of words on a daily basis. Will this be the year I do 100,000?

A better question is- what will I write about. Matt, my husband and fellow NaNo-fiend, believes I should start November 1st without a single idea.

That would be awesome....if I were a good writer.

I'm not yet. I don't write because I enjoy the sound of my writers "voice"- in fact, I feel I can barely craft a paragraph worthy of readership. I write because I have characters in my brain.

Like I've said before- I have about 3 or 4 stories I've carried through my life in one version or the other. Like the piece I blogged about a couple posts ago- the fantasy that started as a girl-hood daydream, then moved into Star Trek fan-fiction, then transitioned into what it is today.

As I get older, add more life experience and knowledge the stories already implanted in my head grow and get more complex. But I can't seem to come up with any new angles, any totally original plot lines.

This is why I will not try to write something entirely new. It sounds fun- and I will try sometime. But right now- it feels like I have a brain tumor that blocks any creativity that could realize a new story. Even the fantasy is back burner-ed because (takes deep breath and shrugs) Blood Freckles is not finished.

And I can't get over it. Every time I try to let my mind weave ideas, they come back to the same people, the same scenes, the same places. I have to "kill" this story. Not back-burner it. Not forget it.

I must finish it and write it for real. I'm sure I'll never be 100% happy with it, but I'd be content with 80% happy and 100% finished, as opposed to the 30% happy and 80% finished it is now. I will never be able to move on if I don't.

Everyone close to me is probably SO tired of this story. Of the characters, of the issues I have with the story. But, I HAVE to do this. I must finish it. Next month.

Linking the two worlds of my two blogs?

Eh...sort of. I guess. My outfit today on my Fashion blog features my NaNo shirt from 2007. Mostly because I've got a cold and didn't feel like wearing anything fussy! Maybe I drag over some writing-inspired reader over here. Or drag some writers over into the fashion-blogging world?

I can't imagine these two things mix well.

Check out my post on Backwoods Fashionista.

Getting ready for November!

Wow, I have neglected this blog as badly as I neglect my laundry!My apologies for those who may actually be checking on me.

I've been in a writing slump- feeling out of ideas and a little tired of my story. But, NaNoWriMo os coming, so I need to get thinking!

I'm trying to get inspiration going for my fantasy story- another re-hash of an older story I'd written before and never got right.

I wrote a bit this morning- just trying to get my mojo again. I will be more distracted this time, though as I'm taking an art class, and I started a blog about fashion, which keeps me sort of busy.

Here's what I wrote this morning:

In the cool morning, Ghere awoke to a whooshing sound that he assumed was a dream. He lifted his head from the pillow, and pulled his blanket around him to shield himself from the cold. He tiptoed through the hall to the opening where he could view the great up sloping of the mountains. His eyes, still unfocused from heavy sleep couldn’t focus on the dark form as it swooped between the early light of the sky to the unlit granite expanse that stretched behind the castle. But it was there, as sure as his heart was beating- and it was no hawk. It was as big as any horse, as any house, he thought. He’d seen it before, but wrote it off as dreaming. He ran to an outcropping of rocks that rose above the castle walls, trying to see the bird more closely. It’d gone above the edge of the valley, high above the cliff into the high country he was forbidden to go to. He slumped a bit as his eyes searched the skies.
He could smell the smoke of morning fires and smell food beginning to cook. His own stomach growled as he stood frozen on the black and white speckled granite, waiting for one more glimpse of it.
Like most things in life, it didn’t appear until he’d nearly given up. He started to make his way down the rocks, his feet landing in places they knew from years of scrambling over this very place, when from behind him, a wind arose and made him duck down to protect himself. He looked up fast, though, and was rewarded with the closet look he’d ever gotten of it.
Feathers like gold, and wingspan as wide as the great court, and talons black like fine leather. On his back, he noticed something else- a girl. Her hands wound into the golden feathers like reigns, mahogany hair like a pennant in the wind behind her, clothed in soft colors that flowed in the wind as she swept up into the air in front of Ghere.
He watched it disappear over the great forest.

Writing real people.

This is a weird thing for me. This is not non-fiction, but it's inspired heavily by experiences in my own life. Most of the characters have a real-life equivalent.
It feels wrong in some ways, though- I think there are people who will fee hurt by the portrayal, but I have to let that go. It's not real, after all, the actual people have been dramatized to push along the plot.

The person that the love interest is based on barely resembles my character. I merely took a situation that happened with that person, and then cut him out and inserted Nathan, my love interest in the story. Nathan is different than..ahem...this other person in many ways. It's funny because I sort of made him more like the man I actually married, (Matt) since I cannot imagine a better man than him. Also, the main character, Dawn, who's loosely based on me is much, much riskier than I am, and more secure in some ways. And less conservative.

The other characters are going to be close to real life. Which is why I may never ever show this to anyone, lest somebody get pissed off!! (no, I can't do that, can I?)

The real life events are only the jumping off point for bigger scenes in the story. One example was a trip down to southern california with our school choir. It wasn't that big of a deal, but in my story, it is.

I love writing, because you can play with all the "what if's" in life. My reality is so blessed, I feel the freedom to do this.

Sick of my own voice.

How does one prevent this? I struggle sentence to sentence to try to not sound so stupid.

I feel like it's all a bunch of "she made a pot of coffee. She turned on the radio. She felt sad."

I'm doing textbook WRONG things consistently. Telling not showing. No description. Characters lacking their own voices.

I need practice. Ok, off to crank out some more crap. :)

First Chapter finished.

And oy, it's thin. I really struggle with description. Dialogue I get...or at least I think I do. And as always, point of view and tense are a constant problem.

I started it with a wedding set in real place in my own life. Certain blog followers may find it familiar to them. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

So anyway, I slogged through it in my own way. 'Just thought I'd let you know.

Here's an excerpt of it:

"When the last bridesmaid walks, it is Dawns turn. She steps out into the church sanctuary. She stares up into the wood-paneled ceiling- the very same ceiling she spent years staring into every Sunday during church. The red carpet underfoot was the same and the walls were painted a very subtle “Baptist” green, just as it had been 20 years prior. The smell was the same. The piano, the organ, the choir loft, where she'd stood many times...that's where she had to walk to. She just had to get down the aisle and stand on the third level. Pastor was there, smiling broadly over the whole scene, as he had at almost every wedding she'd ever been to.
She didn't let herself look at the crowd. Her mother let out a muffled sob when she passed that caused an annoyance that dampened the terror a bit. She found herself somehow in place, watching the crowd stand as Ce-Ce stepped into the doorway.
The march began, and Dawn felt hot tears ripping through her painted face. It was over. This was the end of the silly times. The end of giggling and shopping and crying over Anne of Green Gables."

Editing. Lots and lots of editing will be needed. I've got years and years and years of re-writes. I may publish this in the year 2050.

A single song to drive my plot.

A friend of mine is a ruthless music pusher. That's ok, because I do it too.

She's been pushing Jeff Buckley on me for a few months now, and frankly, I was just sort of bored. I couldn't get it. She said she was sure at least one of his songs would suck me in and I felt bad, because, they weren't.

So, I made a new playlist tonight- a ritual of creativity for me whether I'm painting or writing. I choose a Jeff Buckley song for the list- just a random one.

And as is played through my computer, I found myself almost in tears!!!

"Thats IT!!!"

I know where to start now.

Here's the song lyrics:

"Lover, you should have come over" by Jeff Buckley

Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

When I'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage hes done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So Ill wait for you... and Ill burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
cause its not too late

Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

Its never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
Its never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
Its never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
Its never over, shes the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well maybe Im just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Oh... lover, you should've come over
cause its not too late

Well I feel too young to hold on
And Im much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage Ive done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
Oh, love well I'm waiting for you

Lover, you should've come over
cause its not too late

Absolutely perfect.

Trying to get focused again

With school ending and all the real-life obligations associate with that, I haven't had much time to be creative. But my mind doesn't stop.


A recent reunion with high school friends has inspired me to re-visit the screenplay I wrote for Script Frenzy '08. I think I'd like to attempt it in novel form. I thought perhaps the story was too thin, too cheesy to bring up again, but not now. After an amazing weekend with these old friends, I learned I was not alone in a lot of the feelings I had and still have about my high school years. And frankly, I heard a lot of great material that could be fictionalized, elaborated and made into something unique.

I'm one of those people who not only remembers High School, I'm probably a bit stuck. After High School came a lot of great things- a cross-country relocation,great friends, a wonderful husband (right away, almost), etc. But I also experienced a huge failure and a lot of depression. In some ways this left me stuck. I didn't take off and soar into adulthood- I stumbled around aimlessly and felt tremendously ineffective. Gone were the exciting, productive and pretty days of high school. I felt fat, directionless and un-talented.

Maybe I'll turn all of that into some believable writing.

I always think of Anne of Green Gables....or Anne of Avonlea...where Anne is trying to write this epic romance, but in the end writes what she knows. This would be a perfect example! I know this particular environment I grew up in (which is Conservative Christianity), and I have stepped out of it enough now to be able to observe it objectively, I believe.

This is what is taking up my brain space now. If I can focus on it.

I'm still crafting and re-crafting Blood Freckles- trying to get it to a point where I can do re-write #3. I may back-burner it, though, as I cannot seem to get good angle on it.

Then there's the matter of the Fantasy I want to write. I feel like I'm definitely in over my head with it. I know the characters, I know the basic (very basic) premise, I just can't figure out how to make it cohesive. And the factual info? There re elements of this that are actually Sci-Fi, and I do not feel qualified to write Sci-Fi in anyway. So, this will take time.

I'm also trying to paint like mad right now, which is another part of my brain.

Summer is coming...next week I'll be school-free and hopefully my brain will come alive and my fingers will be flying on this very keyboard.

My writing could be worse...and has been.

I was going through some old cd's to figure out what was on them and found one that contained my very very first attempt at noveling.

I didn't have a title, I just labeled the file "Rhonda", since that was my main characters name.

This story was the very beginning of Blood Freckles...several versions back, probably written in 2003.

Its...interesting.

Ok, I have to give myself credit for trying, and for the fact that it led me to think about it and re-write it. I was 6 months pregnant with my 2nd child, writing on my lunch hour when I worked for a chiropractor. I worked really hard on it! I even tried to edit it.

After re-reading my 2008 version, though, it really isn't terrible. The old version is almost autobiographical. Like the story happened to me in particular. My life, only with the storyline of having witnessed the suicide in my backyard (which didn't happen to me). This was good in some ways, as there was a lot more description and development of the character (since I happen to know ME). But, the story was thin.

There was no supernatural aspects to the story and the outcome was completely improbable.

Here's an excerpt from the beginning:

"It was turning cooler finally and I sat in the line of trees behind my house, out of sight from my mom in the kitchen window. This was my place- where I went to visit the places in my mind where I couldn't go in the closed spaces of my house or school. Here, I could speak aloud to those who knew me best- to the people and things that really interested me more than my flesh and blood friends. And I dreamed of love. My first ideas about romantic things were sculpted in that time of life. I would spy on my neighbor- climbing a tree to see him doing what I was doing- wandering, dreaming. He was older, and I didn't know how much. He had red hair and he wore funny clothes and I dreamed that he would meet me in the trees and we would walk and dream together and maybe he would kiss me. Until one day I spied him and he wasn't alone, but with another boy- messy haired and shorter, but the same age I guessed. They rode their bikes in the field and threw rocks and did all sorts of other boy things that were a mystery to me. But I realized I no longer loved my neighbor, but his friend. In my daydreams I called him Adam because I liked that name and it seemed to me he looked like an Adam. "

Not too bad. And certainly sounds like the same story.

Heres the opener of the second version:

"I was always a weird kid. The kind people were always worried about, but unsure of how to approach it with the parent. It started when I was young, when I'd shown that it was going to be hard for me to do simple things like get my own shoes on or remember to wear underwear. Then it progressed into the school years, with notes home from teachers about my absent mind and constant doodling. I learned to read, escalating the problem to such a level that book became a privilege that got taken away and movies forced upon me as punishment."

Boy, this is fairly autobiographical as well. This second beginning leads into several pages of boring character development that leads the reader into an awkward first 100 pages. Too much backstory.

At least the first version jumps right in.

The third version was what I already posted here- the bar scene where I try to create some excitement and throw the big surprise in right at the beginning instead of waiting until the end.

Now, as I prepare to take this story...again...in version 4.0, I am looking for where to start. I look back at the books I've read and loved and I'm hoping to find inspiration to jump in again. I'm losing my resolve with it, a bit. And if the next version takes a backseat to another story for a while, as it did before- that could be a good thing. I'll let you know.

Lets talk about something else, for once.

I'm driven creatively by music. I love, love to make playlists and just absorb all the emotion from the songs.

Like I said in the last post, there are other stories I can write. And yesterday my brain started cranking on one.

When I was probably 12 or 13 I started staying up late and watching Star Trek. I was in love with it. I taped every episode I could find on tv and eventually ended up with over a dozen video tapes full of hours of the Original series.

It just lit my brain on fire! I know the special effects were horrible. Some the storylines were terrible. William Shatner certainly has been made fun of for years for his acting style.

But there were ideas in the show that stretched my brain from its usual daydreams to something entirley different.

Of course most of my stories are romance driven. Sad, but true. And I...may have begun to write what I now realize was Star Trek fan-fiction.

I'll wait until you're done laughing.

Ok?

Good.

Anyway. As I got older, the story was filed away in my head in favor of things like a social life, then college, marriage, etc.

When the Lord of the Rings movies came out- I was pregnant with my first child and could care less. I never read those books, and I really wasn't interested in the movies. But when Matt brought Fellowship of the Ring home- I was totally hooked.

I couldn't believe I hadn't read these! So, I immediatly went out, bought the books and tore through them.

Now my mind stirred up an idea from my past...my story! The one...the Star Trek thing...what if it wasn't Star Trek? What if I took this character I'd thought up and NOT injected her into Gene Rodenberry's series, and rather put her on her in her own world?

This was my first NaNoWriMo novel. I never was able to title it, and after a few years of re-reading it, I see how much weakness is in it. I've put it aside in favor of Blood Freckles, this current story you're all sick of hearing about.

Theres this Muse song- Knights of Cydonia? It's freaking awesome. And theres something about it that just conjures up images. Images of this other story! Like it's the theme song! I keep playing it.

I saw a special on the history channel last night that seemed oddly ironic- it was about what would happen to the earth if humans just dissappeared. How the animals would change and adapt, what would happen to man made structures, etc.

Now I'm stoked. I know what to do and where to start researching. I'm not sure if it'd be Sci Fi or Fantasy, but I have two characters and an idea I love.

(after I re-write this other story, of course...)

100 pages. Ready to REALLY write, now.

I wrote the big part. The big, swoon worthy part I always dreamt of.

And I think it's pretty .....

flat.

Like someone lets all the air out of the story. And not in a relieving, sigh-of-release way. It was just done. Over. All the ends tied up.

I'm a little irked- but then I consider the format. Pure dialog- no view into thoughts, just visual images that I have no experience in delivering. I think if I was an actual director I could make it work. But I'm not.

I think it's time to step back, and write this thing for real. I have a good feel for the structure. I have a better sense of the pacing now. I just need to write it. Maybe even make the dreaded outline.

I think I've also resolved not to do my normal write-a-thon style writing. I want someone to read this someday. It's not going to just be about writing it down for myself. I've lived in this story for a long time now, and the only way to be truly done is to put in the effort it deserves.

I have a couple other stories I want to write or re-write- one is fantasy, one is unfortunately chick-lit or something. And someday I hope to write Historical fiction based on the California Gold rush (since I live in the setting, amongst all the history).

So, I'm ready to really do this. I may proof read and edit my Screenplay a bit since I will print it out. I would like it to be decent, at least.

Off to pull out all my writing books and get my mind prepared to deliver this story for real.

Charging in, writing the good part!

The next part of the screenplay I have to write is the scariest part!

Not scary as far as whats happening in the story- just scary for me to write. This is the climax, the top, the part that made me write this story.

I've pictured it a million times. I've written in it novel form at least twice. And now, I'm structuring it in script form.

As I've mentioned before, thinking of the story in film version has made me cut off a lot of fat that I now know is not needed in this story at all.

The thing about the script that I don't like is the loss of detail, the loss of thoughts and textures. I didn't think I had any of that until I did this! That's very encouraging to me.

I'm getting excited about noveling this again. With the boring parts gone, it frees me up to spend lots of time working on the beautiful parts.

I'm charging in, taking on a scene that changes everytime I re-write this story. I don't know how it will play out, even now, but I know how it ends!

Page 83...and getting ready to actually start noveling again.

I checked my page count late last night after a random typing spree and was suprised I got as far as I did. There's no way this script will be just 100 pages- I'm thinking it will be more like 125.

I doesn't matter too much.

I am learning about pacing, at least. I was taking this story way too slow. The novel version has pages and pages of backstory. It's terribly boring. I refuse to bury this story in a hundred pages of stuff nobody wants to read.

I picked up an out Writers Digest special issue we got last year. It's called The Writers Guide to Fiction. It has some great articles in it.

One is about setting the pace "6 Ways to get your Story's timing right". He are those 6 things:

1. Imagine you are directing a movie and need to step on the accelerator and speed up the pace.

This is what I'm essentially doing through Script Frenzy. No, it's EXACTLY what I'm doing.

2. Now, continuing your imaginery role as director, "iris in" for close ups.

Meaning- what about this scene do you want the reader, or in this case, audience, to see? This has been a tremendous help.

3. Practice tailoring your descriptive pace with some fast action.

This one is sort of tough. My story doesn't include much real action. But I found places to inject for real forward motion.

4. Find the right time to plug in details.

It's talking about fitting in character descriptions. Showing, not telling for sure. Giving details in passing that show an aspect of the character.

5. Make sure your details are essential.

Only tell the reader if it matters to the story. I included a lot of details about Nina, my main character, that I thought were funny and interesting. They had nothing to do with what was going on. I will cut those out in the re-write, for sure.

6. Don't make grocery lists with your details.

(sort of a re-statement, really) So, if you are better off working in details as you move the story along. The example they gave was, rather than saying a woman is wearing a plumed hat and white gloves, have the wind blow off her plumed hat, or have her remove the white gloves to shake a hand. That's huge for me.

So, some good advice for me, I think. I'm not very instinctive with pacing, or, anything else besides the characters themselves.

Contemplation of my entitlement complex.

I had this thought yesterday.

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon, and I was sitting at this computer, obsessing over a detail in the story. Researching, posting on forums to get opinions.

"What am I doing?"

The kids were hungry. There was a pile of junk by the back door I'd just dragged in the house from the car. The chicks needed food and water. The big chickens were probably wandering in the road.

But I was trying to figure out how you could find a person who's been admitted to a hospital in upstate New York. This was my priority.

It all came crashing into my head that I am not an author. No one's waiting for this story. No one even really believes that I'm writing it! What am I doing?

I'm a quitter.

Let me tell you about singing. Why? Because it's something I love. I have a good voice. Not great- but good. I went to college and tried out for the music department and made it, but spent the next year and a half wallowing at how much better everyone around me was. So, did I head to annex and practice for hours, honing my voice into the leagues of my fellow voice students?

No. I slept. I took sleeping pills. I was crushed that I couldn't do what I loved. My voice teacher was exasperated with me. I knew I was wasting her time. My friends chided me for not practicing. I was failing most of my classes.

Eventually, I just dropped out. An utter failure.

I know you shouldn't have regrets...but I regret not trying. It was all right in my lap, I just had to try. There were girls who weren't as strong as I was who worked really hard and finished and have the careers to prove it. But me? I just quit.

I never even tried art school- God forbid I run into a project that poses a challenge, I'd have to work! If I had been unable to do a project well, I would have holed up in my shell and turned on some music and cried.

So, should I stop writing? I'm clearly NOT a very strong writer. But why do I love it so much?

Growing up means different things to different people. Perhaps for me, with my interests and history, it means learning to work. I am not a genius. I am not a prodigy. Maybe the fact that I love writing so much is a sign that I need to put in some serious work to become what I want to be.

With all honesty, I am first and foremost an artist. That is probably my strongest talent.

I will probably take some classes for painting in the next couple years. My clearly untrained style is holding me back, a bit, though I do make some income with it. Perhaps a few writing classes could benefit me as well?

I have to learn to take criticism and be willing to keep going.

Now that I've been honest even to reveal myself as a big 'ole princess, I'm going to get a cup of coffee and keep writing. Even if it's years and years before it goes anywhere.

And maybe I'll join a band...

In love with my characters...

And on page 76 of the screenplay.

I couldn't have gotten this far without my love of them.

I love Nina. The screenplay Nina is sort of just sucked through the story. I worry that I need to do something to bring more of her out through the dialogue. But, eh, I'm not really writing a movie here. It's just a really long writing exercise for me anyway.

I love, love John. I love his tortured head. I love his sad life and the good that's to come for him. I love writing the details that have made him who he is. I love revealing him through the other minor characters. He's not in the dialogue too much. Mostly in flashbacks. I may have to add more of him, though- I really like writing him.

The other characters are fun too. I like most of them. I'm not sure how to balance them all in the story- jut like when I wrote the novel version. I'm still riding with training wheels here, folks.

Anyway, I just wanted to express the joy of writing. I just love thinking as other people.

56 pages.

I had a good day. I got my house clean (clean enough), and successfully entertained family with well cooked food, and general hospitality. You have no idea what a challenge normal things like this are for me. I'm sort of a hermit, socially. I love people, but as far as bringing them here, into my fortress of solitude- thats no easy feat.

Mostly because I value my space- I like to be able to talk to myself at will, or sit down and draw a picture when inspiration strikes. I like to lose myself in music. This is what I do with my time.

It's late right now and I'm pooped. So, I should keep this short before I say something weird.

I'm sitting here typing the screenplay- trudging through some dreadfully lame material that sort of has to happen.

But, I just checked and I'm at 56 pages! Thats good!

So, my hair is braided (so I can fake curliness for Easter church tommorow) and my coffee is almost gone. I think I'll call it a night and dream of the next section of the story. The dreaded MIDDLE. Ugh.

I'm not posting.

Nope. Because I'm cleaning my house. Family is coming. I'm not thinking about writing, I'm not even going to listen to music so I can focus.

Because I'm not addicted to this story, I swear.

I'm capable of getting this house done.

So, I'm off to clean. I'm turning the computer off. Or at least closing it.

I think.

50 pages...then 22...now 43...

I made some real headway the night before last. I was a typing fiend! I got into a scene and was just cranking out material. All these ideas and words came flooding into my head- it was glorious.

Later that night I fell victim to a horrendous coughing fit. That sounds very dramatic, but it was more frustrating than anything. I couldn't stop for anything.

It was about 2:30 am- I was drinking copious amounts of hot water with honey and lemon, waiting for cough syrup to kick in. True misery. Especially if you consider that fact that after having three children naturally, incontinence is an issue for me.

So, I'm coughing, sitting on a towel at 2:30 in the morning. I decide to go online and mess around on Facebook or something.

In my coughing stupor, I pushed something on the laptop- the screen went black. I panicked! I held down the power button until I heard it shut down.

I restarted it and re-opened all my programs. I use Celtx for screenwriting and I always keep it open in it's own window.

Always open...so I never close it and....OH NO! I never saved it!!

Sure enough, I lost pages 22-50.

Lesson learned. Celtx doesn't auto-save like Scrivener (a writing program I use for noveling).

I wrote last night, though, and got up to page 43. And I'm glad, actually, that I re-wrote it. I think theres some quality material in this section.

Off to reality for now. Relatives are coming to visit. My immersion into imaginary world tends to compound my real life problems of laundry and grime. Even without thinking about a story, I have a hard time doing normal things like closing drawers or putting the milk away. I'm not much better at the practical things in life than my children.

Ok, I'm going! Off to launder stuff!

33 pages. Going strong!

It may actually be more, now. I hope I'm pacing it right!

It's spring break this week, and all the kids are home. It's raining, too- so they are all right here. All day. I'm lucky if I get to sit for more than five minutes without someone crying.

I'm feeling that "on-a-roll" feeling for sure.

I'm spouting out all kinds of things, moving the plot forward, skipping over the normal stuff I add in there because I think it sounds cool. I'm just trying to keep it moving. I'm excited about writing some of the scenes that are coming up!

That's what writing is all about- writing those moments that made you think of the story in the first place. It's kind of exciting to get to write them in film-form. I get to see it from all angles- lighting, music, etc. I'm stoked. I can't believe I never thought of getting into the film industry when I was young and fresh and full of options. I never considered it. Heck, I've wanted to be a fashion designer, an Opera singer, a police officer- never a director, producer, screenwriter, etc. Dangit.

Anyway, the part I'm writing right now is the part in the novel that is SUPER, super boring. Its not the beginning, it's the dreary early-middle before the next real plot-moving event happens. I usually (since I've technically written this story 3 times) go into a bunch of detail about my main characters job and the enviroment and relationships there. But I realized- who cares? It doens't really matter. She works there. The job helps her find John and provides an antagonist of sorts as well. Thats it- we don't need to know any more.

Ready for the soundtrack?

Available for purchase when pigs fly and this story becomes a real film.

I have to have music to write. In fact, my stories are sort of written by music. The songs spur storylines, so I must hear them to write.

Here's my "soundtrack" for this story:

Mimizan- Beirut

Memory Gospel- Moby

Endlessly- Muse

Resurrection Fern- Iron and Wine

Hey Jupiter- Tori Amos

In this world- Moby

Early Morning Rain- Peter, Paul and Mary

Your Protector- Fleet Foxes

The one I love- REM

This land is Mine- Dido

Such Great Heights- Iron and Wine

Hide and Seek- Imogen Heap

I need you tonight- INXS

Fade into you- Mazzy Star

Wish you were here- Pink Floyd

And one last one that deserves some qualification. I heard this song and fell in love with it when I first bought the album last year. I love Iron and Wine, and this song fit this story so well, I was captivated by it. This was last summer.

Then, in the fall, Twilight came out and when I heard Flightless Bird, American Mouth was to be on the soundtrack, I was actually so mad, I sort of cried. It was like the rape of my beautiful song- forever plastered over as the dumb song Bella and Edward danced to at prom. Great.

But I will still claim it as John and Nina's song. I will pretend that millions of tweens don't have it as a ring tone.

(I should mention I am a closet Twilight fan despite the stupid movie) (which I own.) (there, I'm outed)

The benefits of screenwriting my novel.

23 pages and counting....only 77 to go!

This is getting good! OK, not the screen play, per se, but my story!

The difference between noveling and writing a movie is (I'm finding), the story has to be delivered largely through dialogue.

Instead of trying to weave the story into sentences and paragraphs of exposition, you have to sort of lay it out there. The action sections of the script are more like summary of what the viewer sees.

I'm not having to worry about wording everything and trying to craft language in a way that evokes the feel I want.

I'm just plopping it out there. And I'm having to make some quick decisions about plot- cutting here and adding there to make it more succinct. This is a very good thing for me.

I've been stressing so badly about the words I'm choosing, the sentence structure (or my lack of structure, that is), I've been short-changing my story itself.

So, this is good. I'm glad I'm playing around with this Script Frenzy thing!

Script Frenzy: Page five...

I started the screenplay last night. I forgot how fast it goes when you use the Screen writing program. I use Celtx- it's great.

It's interesting re-writing the first scene of my story in script-form. The five pages were essentially the scene I posted a few weeks ago- Nina, at the bar, leaving with John.

It felt so thin- so weird. I think this whole conversion to screenplay could be a good excersise for the book itself. I believe it's going to force me to make this story more succinct, and really focus on the scenes that matter.

I'm not sure the opening is as strong as it could be. I'm trying to figure out an inciting event that will launch this story.

So, in case you are wondering, no, I'm not writing this screenplay with any serious intent to make a film- it's just a great way to keep brain cranking on the story that I love.

Day One of Script Frenzy: ZERO PAGES

That's right- not even a word to start it out.

I had a drawing project to finish and it was my sons birthday, yada-yada-yada...nothing got typed.

BUT...I got my S-Frenzy t-shirt, that counts for something, right?

To stay on track you need 3.3 pages a day, so, tomorrow I will be doing 6 and a half to catch up. No problem.

(drum roll please) My first cohesive synopisis!!! (I think)

I have tried over and over to simply describe this story in as few words as possible.

I end up with a rambling, scramble mess of weak storylines and trite characters.

I stumbled on a thread on the Script Frenzy Forum titled "Your Plot". People where just sort of dumping their plots on there- I'm sure they were just gabbing. I couldn't let myself butcher the sound of my story, so I took about 20 minutes and hammered out a little synopsis.

Ok, it may be too long for a synopsis, but its the most accurate abridged description I could come up with in 20 minutes. I think I like it.

"Nina is obsessed. She thinks she's in love with John, an 11 year boy and has been since the last time she saw him. She was 7, and now, she's 21.
She thinks she's seeing ghosts, too. Everyone told her she was making it up, but now, she's an adult and she isn't making anything up.

She can't even make a life for herself.

When the house she grew up in becomes vacant, she convinces her father to lease it too her and she moves back to the east coast to find some answers about her life.

And, she secretly hopes to find John.

When she gets back home, the details of her childhood become crystal clear- she never made any of it up- all the people she talked to to are still there. And theres one more- Jeremy.

The last time Nina saw John was the day Jeremy shot himself. It was also the only time she ever really talked to him, as she dragged John away from the scene and into her house while her mother called 911. And now Jeremy is in her house, trying to talk to her, trying to tell her to find John before he dies, too.

So, Nina gets a little help from her crew at her new job as a police dispatcher.

An affair with one of the officers makes Nina wonder if she should give up on John, but she can't- she's obsessed. Especially when she finds out John's obsessed as well."

Being sick sucks the soul out of my writing

I usually "write" in the car. In my head at least. I talk my characters through scenes, trying to feel out what one would say to another in certain situations. I works through how they got to that scene, what they want to do next, etc. It's really quite amazing I get anywhere safely at all.

I also "write" at night, laying in bed. Again, not actually typing. My actually typing happens at odd times throughout the day.

None of this has been happening this week.

Since Sunday night, though, I've been sick with some sort of cold/flu garbage. My brain has been reduced to a swirling grey sludge focused on breathing and getting my next dose of Advil.

It's Tuesday, and I'm trying to get back in gear. But I'm still achy and dull. I want my brain back so I can get back into the story.

Iwas just starting to gain some real ground and now I'm too lame to get it down. (of course, I'm well enough to write this boring post)

Sick sucks. Do I look like I'm capable of creativity?

Scripting my story

I'm stoked for Script Frenzy this year! I did it last year for the first time, and it was so much fun. I was really worried about how to format a script, but learned that a computer program does it for you. Thats awesome!

Script Frenzy has been dubbed "the Worst Screenwriting Contest" because there is no prize except for the actual finishing of your very own screenplay. No one has to read it, you don't have to stress, you just have fun and do it. The goal is to write a 100 page script, which can be a movie, a play, even a tv-show.

This comes along at a time when I am feeling like I'm just no good at writing, yet this story will not go away. Since I tend to come up with stories visually, Script writing could a good fit for me. I still really, really want to write novels, though.

But anyway, last year was great, I wrote a love story (surprised?) about two people who found each other again in a chance meeting at the airport, then spend a week together. I know, SOOO played, but I loved it! I got to 100 pages five minutes before midnight on the last day of April.

I'm working on some plot variations, since writing a screen play means a story has to be more succinct, more driven than in a novel. I'm hoping what I come up with could shape the novel for the better.

Some good criticism and a knock in the right direction- I think.

In addition to starting this blog, I also got active on Mothering.com's Mothers Writing Club forum. The forum is great, with lots of other moms doing the same thing I am (but with more experience, it seems).

I threw myself out there and posted a chapter in a thread, hoping someone, ANYONE would read it and tell me what sucks and what I can do about it.

I posted the section I posted on here (except I selected the entire chapter), and got some great feedback.

This re-write for me was about keeping some info back while throwing out the things I'd hoped would hook someone. It sort of worked.

It seems I created some elements of allure, but left people in dark with others. Good to know!

The worst part is my use of the English language. My grammar is terrible, my dialogue choppy and probably annoying (though no one actually said that).

I think I'll spend some quality time with the book Elements of Style, as per my college English teacher.

I'm doing Script Frenzy this year again, as it was awesome last year. I'm converting this very story to a screenplay, since I'm obsessed with it and wouldn't be able to get into any new characters right now. This has caused me to really solidify the structure of this story- it has to have some of the elements I wanted to cut out.

The orignal draft included a subplot of a depressed, disturbed ex-boyfriend who at the end tries to kill Nina. (cat's out of the bag, now, I guess) (but I'm not saying what happens...)

I took it out because it seemed like there was too much going on. Nina, seeing ghosts, obsessed over John, having an affair with a co-worker, then she also has this crazy person threatening her?

Well, I think, for the screenplay version at least, the action stays- since, frankly, it's the only real action in the story.

Supposedly I am an artist, and have a project that HAS to get done, so I have to force myself NOT to write today. Ugh. So, I'm on my porch drawing. I swear. I'm a responsible person getting my work done and not obsessing over fictional people. I took a picture to prove it.

Translation from my head to the keyboard

I love this freaking story. (even my big 'ole chunk of a first draft that my 2 year old scribbled all over.)

I'm finding this so hard. I have this story all laid out in my head visually. I know every facial expression, every smell and scene as though it happened to me yesterday. The problem is...I'm just not that good at writing!

So, I'm learning sentence by sentence. I've written and re-written this story in so many forms over the last 6 years. The first version was very, very cheesy. It lacked reality and didn't include the paranormal aspects that I now find to be at the heart of the story. The next version was the huge chunk I wrote for NaNoWriMo last November. Like I said before, I felt so confident that I was tempted to print it and pass it out to friends. (I get all swept up in my own delusions)

Luckily, I held off- distracted by the holidays. Then I picked up a red pen and began reading it.

I was painfully aware of the boring back-story, the unlikely events, and the horrible sentence structure that I'm always hoping will be chocked up as my "style". I was pretty discouraged.

Then I re-wrote a beginning and had Matt (my husband) read it.

I thought it was strong, but I started it a a totally random place, thinking it could propel the story better than a logical place to start. It was not good.

That's when I read a book about strong beginnings that inspired me to find that inciting event that sets the pace, and the scope of the story. It was a big risk, I thought, introducing someone into the story in the first paragraph that I hadn't planned to show until much, much later.

I'm glad I did, though. Now I just need to figure out how to use words in a way that doesn't bury these characters in a pile of language that does nothing for them.

I'm not sure if I should just be writing or reading to get better at this. I hope to re-write the section I posted below or to continue on in the story and just get the words down. For the 4th time.

This is all on top of the fact that I have 3 children, work at a preschool co-op and have a huge drawing project to complete for a client. I hate to admit it, but my obsession with this story has got to take a back seat- at least until today's to-do list is complete. Then I can thrust myself back into Nina's head and try to figure out what she would say is going on.

A new beginning to my current novel

Sheesh that sounds presumptious. It assumes I'm a writer.

Just because I've completed National Novel Writing Month's 50,000 word challenge twice (shameless bragging), doens't make me an AUTHOR.

Does it? Eh...I'm not going to worry about that right now.

This year I wrote a novel called Blood Freckles. It is a compilation of several stories I have written before or wanted to write, which suddenly came together for me last November.

The synopsis is this: Nina Frey grows up with an obsessive crush on a boy. They both witness the suicide of Jeremy, Nina's neighbor. This only makes Nina more fixated on this boy, who's name she doens't even know. As Nina becomes an adult, she never grows out of the obsession, and realizes there is more to it. She returns to her childhood home, where she realizes her love of "Adam" is not her only oddity. She see's through time, and Jeremy never really left.

(that synopsis is a work in progress)

At around 65,000 words, I thought it was perfect. Then I re-read it in January. It was much, much less than perfect.

Now, I re-write it. In first person, a point of view I don't think I understand.

Here is my very first publicly exposed excerpt: (be gentle, please)

It must be an old bar, because I can see people all over the place that aren’t here now, which usually happens in establishments that are old. These are the things my brain strays towards- which has helped keep me out of normal situations all my life. I can always retreat to the secret knowledge of what has been in a place over whats happening now.
I’m trying to live in that “now”. It’s sort of awful.

The thing about rum is that your fingers go numb before your mind does and then you just look like a fool, trying to open your purse or pick up a napkin. This is what he’s seeing, from across the bar- my clumsy fingers fidgeting while pretending to listen to a friends story. He looks inebriated also, but not in the embarrassing way I do. I keep thinking I’ll look up and he will have looked away, or worse, started talking to someone else. He is alone, doesn’t interact with anyone around him, drinking something brown over ice and smoking a cigarette every few minutes. He scares me to death.

I can’t look away from him because the fact is, I’m overwhelmingly attracted to him.
I have no understanding of what it means to be a woman in a bar, talking to a man. Until now, I’ve never been in a bar. I’ve only been with one man. (Man is questionable, I think boy, or maybe guy is a better label) I’ve only had alcohol a few times, and in very small amounts in the privacy of my own residence. This is all too adult for me, I’m sure. I’m just waiting for someone to walk up to me and revoke my license to adulthood or something. Surely I’m not old enough to be considering what would happen if this man comes and talks to me.

Erica is chattering on about something hilarious because both of my other friends are in stitches over it. I can’t really hear them. They are used to going to bars, they are used to reality in way that will never happen for me, I’m quite sure. For some reason, they either like me or tolerate me and my weirdness.

“Nina, just go talk to him.” Erica stops her own story short and poked my arm.

“No, I think he’s just drunk.” I shrug and pretend to sip my rum and Coke. I can’t bear to lose anymore function than I have already, but I feel stupid just sitting here.

“So? He’s fine, and he’s looking at you like you’re edible.” Erica says, swigging the rest of her beer. My other friends were eyeing me, waiting for me to act.

I’m numb from rum, but I get up. I grab my coat from the stool and make my way around the u-shaped bar. There is no crowd to negotiate, as least, not in everyone else’s eyes.

I don’t even look where I’m going, I just set myself down on the stool next to him and stare at the woodgrain of the bar top. Immobility seems to set in, perhaps for both of us. Maybe he wasn’t looking at me at all? Maybe we were all way off base? Maybe he thinks I’m dressed weird- which, is totally understandable if you know me.
He speaks.

“I was going to buy you a drink.”

His voice is close enough to my ear, I can feel the rush of air around the words. I manage to look at him, now at close range. His eyes aren’t dark, like I thought they were- they are grey.

“I don’t think I could take another drink.” I smirk.

“Me neither.” He says, setting his glass down and snuffing his cigarette. I notice he is wearing a Who t-shirt and jeans. I, in contrast am wearing a vintage black dress from the 40’s thats lined with red, with fishnet stockings and suede t-straps. I set my red hair in rollers and smoothed it into perfect waves, completing what now feels like a costume. I wish I could melt into the floor.

I watch him pull something out of his pocket, then turn my head away. I have no idea what to do or say. My friends moved to a small table in the corner where they are pretending not to watch me. They are laughing there asses off.

“I need to get out of here before I drink myself unconscious.” I hear him say in slurred speech. He is standing now, assisted by the wall behind him. His eyes are centered on me and filled with a look I recognize.

“Where are you going to go? Home?” I ask,innocent.

“Home is NY. I’m staying across the street.” He says, face unchanging.

“I drove myself here. I could…walk you there, I guess.” I say, tilting my head. I know better. I should be afraid. I should assume he’s going to kill me, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn in, and the bastard probably knows it.

He smiles and gestures to the door. I look back at my friends one more time, and Erica spits out her drink across Shelbys lap.

He steps outside and lights another cigarette. “Does this bother you?”

I clear my throat. “No, I mean, it’s cool, I just…I don’t know, maybe I’m assuming too much, I really just got out of a relationship, and it was my first relationship. I don’t really have much experience with these kinds of-”

“I meant the smoke.” He smiles, then inhales deeply.

“Oh.” I am such a loser. “No, it’s fine. I smoke sometimes.” I am the bumbling idiot I think I am.

He smiles, but winces and smooshes his forehead with his hand like his head hurts.
He takes me by the arm, loops his through mine and leads me across the street- a strangely familiar action for someone I’ve only known for 3 minutes. He smells good, not entirely like booze, but his brown hair is mussed in back like he hasn’t washed it or brushed it in a day or so. He’s wearing worn Converse sneakers that are barely tied.

The sun went down an hour ago, but light still remains. I breath in the city air and try to feel normal. There’s nothing about this that is normal for me. I’m a Pastors kid, for God’s sake. When we reach the hotel entrance, he opens the door for me. It’s an older hotel, privately owned, and well maintained. The lobby smells like old wood and carpet cleaner.

He leads me to a hallway while he rummages in his pocket for a room key. It is an actual key, in a time when most hotels are switching to cards.

He tries to get the key in the lock and drops it. I laugh a bit, thinking of plenty of bad omens I could tease him about if I knew him better. “Can I help you? I can still use my fingers.” I pick up the key and unlock the door myself. When I return the key to his hand, he leans in a plants his face on my neck, pushing me against the doorway. For a moment I can’t tell whether he intends to kiss my neck, or if he’s passed out. I put my arms around him and I’m relieved that he has not passed out.

Before the tomato-throwing commences, let explain that this goes on, but I'm not ready to post the rest of this scene. Mostly for reasons of embarrassment that my mom might read it and be made that I wrote something where two people had sex. For the record, mom, dad...people have sex. Even me. At least three times (I have the proof in my living room, watching Harry Potter and eating cookies).

I'm trying to write a beginning that hooks the reader by introducing the love interest immediately in a situation that, well, drives the reader onward.

I am the first to admit my writing is rough. I welcome your thoughts. I think. (I do, really)

Why another blog?

Because I need a place to dump my dreams.

"What are talking about now, Carolyn? Why can't you just be a normal adult and do some laundry like everyone else?"

Fine! I'll tell you. I've been trying the whole normal adult mom thing for a while, and I can't stop at that. I'm more than that!

"Oh, please!"

I'm serious...my brain can't handle regular life. I can't go through an entire day just thinking about getting gas in the van, making phone calls, cooking lunch or dealing with why my 2 year old keeps calling me a jerk.

My mind is elsewhere...

I have always had imaginary friends. I've always drawn pictures, usually of the same imaginary people and places. This was the product of having no other kids in the house, and perhaps some sort of chemical imbalance, the jury's still out on that one.

I've never been able to completely focus on the practical, though motherhood brought it all into focus at times. I'm simply too busy with visions of places and colors and conversations in my daydreams.

"You're such a weirdo."

I know! I think I'm done trying to pretend I'm some sort of productive adult. I love my kids. Though they may not always have socks on, or be able to boast of achievements for the PTA or my cooking- they know I adore them.

I have a great husband who's supportive of my never ending flighty tendencies.

I'm 31. I'm ready to tell the world I write, I paint, I draw and I love it all.

And I'm ready for criticism. (takes deep breath) I think.

I have a cruel inner critic. My art work is held under scrutiny at every stage, and my crippling fear of being lame sometimes prevents me from finishing anything at all.

As far as my writing, my inner critic is clueless. I'm fairly sure my writing sucks (for lack of a better word). I love my stories, and I can't stop thinking through the minds and eyes of my characters (who have become part of my brain for life). I have to keep writing, but I'm ready to (gulp) show people.

So, thats what this is. A loose dumping of my writing.

"Why would I want to read that?"

Alright, I'm not sure who let you in here. The answer is, I don't really care who reads it. But if you want to make a comment, do so because you think you can help me, or because you think I'm on to something cool. Don't be a jerk for jerks-sake.

Ok? So, here we go. You've been warned.