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Or just a mind that thinks too much. |
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A place to practice my writing. Also where I will put my random thoughts, ideas, rants, and whatever else I have to say. ** Image ID #1901871 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1779494 Unavailable ** |
| Ever have one of those days when you can't recall most of your day? When your running around doing tons of things and the one thing on your mind is the chapter your working on? Yeah you know what I'm talking about. l hate editing. I abhor it. The good news is, I am getting better at it. At least I like to think I am. Starting the Comma Sense course tomorrow. Can't wait to learn thirty new ways to use comma's. I only know one way and I think after the first lesson, I am going to find out that I am way off base. I'll let you know. Back to my nightmare editing. Had to stop in and say hello. |
| Last night my slumber faced continuous disturbances brought on by a string of nightmares. Each dream set in the same place with the same characters, but played out a different scenario. I remember this one the most. My husband, children, and I walked into the same building and met with the same disgruntled woman in what was supposed to be a school library, but looked edmore like a backroom office for a funeral home. While my husband made arrangements to retrieve my sons christmas gifts, I walked into the storage area to survey our possesions. A young lanky woman with dirty blonde hair and pointy nose walked in holding a grey cell phone. She smiled and offered to help me, while warning of the trap we had walked into. Confused, I accepted her help and followed her around a large warehouse with my children close by my side. My husband followed holding my heavy purse and complained about me stuffing too much into it. I told him it could be used as a weapon and to be prepared. The thin blonde eagely guided us out and into safety. Or so I thought. My elated feeling vanished when her bony hand clamped onto my thigh and a sinister grin appeared under her thin pointed nose. I released my children and instructed them to run, then turned to the creepy blonde and began jabbing the side of her face with one hand. My other hand focused on freeing my thigh from her iron grip. Suddenly my husband rushed towards us swinging my heavy purse towards her head. At the last second, she moved out of the way. I woke up with the worst headache. |
| Real life gets in the way of my writing life. I feel like I live a double life sometimes. I imagine it is the same for other writers as well. Unless their life is writing twenty four seven, or they have figured out a way to merge the two, (If the latter is the case, PLEASE email me about it.) I am forced to put my writing life on hold most of the time to live my real life. Writing a novel when your a full time mom with two young ones, is not an easy task. At least it isn't for me. I know a few moms who are pumping out chapters every couple of days. Yes, I am jealous and also happy for them. In the last blog, I talked about my promise to write everyday. I talked about taking it one sentence at a time. Today, a year later, I am focusing on one paragraph at a time. Sometimes a chapter. I have made progress in small increments, working hard along the way and never giving up. Don't get me wrong, I have come close to calling it quits. On those quitting days, I deliberately put pen to paper and write anything. One random day, in a fit of exasperation, I threw down my recent "how to write" book, flipped open my lap top and searched the word writing. Like so many before me, Wdc popped up and my curious fingers clicked the link. A few months passed before I posted anything, and what I did post was experimental, testing the waters before I dove in. Soon after, my addiction with writing returned and with open arms I welcomed it. I discovered a blog to place my daily writings, and a handful of friends to help me along my journey.Fully immersed in this ocean of words, I remember the very day I put pen to paper and wrote the first line of my in progress novel, Earth Keeper. "The battle was over. Well almost..." I have many more in the works, along with other small ideas, short stories, poems, and tiny snippets of bigger things to come. The point I am trying to make here is, although I started small, I have grown in a big way. Still on track and no longer taking baby steps, I've advanced to baby leaps. My confidence is stronger, my writing is better, and my addiction to writing is rooted deep within my soul. Writing is a way of life. I live to write, and life exists so I can write about it. One chapter at a time. |
One more day of winter break before the kids return to school and I resort back to my normal daily rituals. Now that my son is excited about preschool, all my worries are gone, and the blanket of stress has been lifted. I never make resolutions. I plan and execute in small increments until I reach my goal. When I shoot for the big goal I usually fail miserably. Not only do I feel like a failure, the fact that I dove in head first instead of testing the waters disappoints me. Last year I promised myself to write everyday no matter what, even if it is a sentence. I kept my promise and slowly began my writing, one sentence at a time. It's hard to believe I can manage to keep a daily blog. Well, almost daily. Life gets in the way, and sometimes my blog has to wait. Life is getting in the way as I type this, which means I will continue this later.  |
| An out of the blue call from a distant relative surprised me today. Her urgency to confide in me and ask for advice flattered me. I hardly felt qualified to dish out advice and help her in her time of need, but I tried to be honest and comforting. In the end, I feel she walked away a better person. Situations like this are handled with care, love and the hope that said advice doesn't backfire and come back your way. People are funny in touchy situations and are quick to point the finger when things go awry. Yesterday, I talked about the crazy house wife, lying to herself and putting on a facade to impress others. I have always wondered why. Why bother? Why not simply be yourself and welcome happiness into life instead of embracing anger and bitterness? I found that I could not get a truthfull answer when I asked. Instead I was smothered with accusations and hate. Observation is the only research I have and I think that's all I will get. Time for imagination and the hope that I hit the nerve of truth somewhere down the line. On a positive note; those crazy women usually are the best cooks. Heres to bitter cooking and delicious meals. Wonder if Rachel Ray is as happy as she looks. :) |
| Working on editing the chapter from hell. I wrote it months ago and let it sit while I kept on with the story. I recently worked up the courage to post and have been doing major renovations. What I hate most about this part, is deleting. Knowing that those words will be gone after working so hard to write them bothers me. I still have a copy of the original, and I know I can add them back in, but still, I become anxious. Wonder if I am the only one who feels this way. New years eve brought on a new story idea, starring my evil family member as the cruel vindictive house wife from hell. You know the type, perfect on the outside, jealous and competetive at heart. Never satified with what she has and pretends she is royalty who has to look down on everyone else. I've grown up around those types of women and it has always ended badly for them. They lose their husbands and children, family members stay away from them, and they end up bitter and hateful. I don't pity them. They got what they deserved. I do wonder though, if they really thought their life was so wonderful, why would they spend time making others feel worthless? My theory is, that their lives weren't great. In fact I think when they saw others happiness, they jumped at the chance to squash it so they didn't feel worthless. Bringing others down to your level is easier than working harder for your own happiness. My theory anyway. I have to mull over this love to hate character before I post anything. Good thing my family hates to read, because they would be pretty pissed off at some of my stories and blogs. Lol New year, new ideas, and a new found courage spring to life. Hope your year is off to a great start too. |
| Story comes first, editing later. I have read this many times, told myself over and over again to simply get the story on the page and then fix it up later. I recently added a story to my port that I had written months ago. I received one view and cringed at the horrible review that came along with it. I am grateful that the person left a comment but was left wondering what was so terrible about my story. There was no clear explanation except that one of the lines I wrote was awful and they couldn't stand to read it. I plucked the story out of my port and let it sit. I read it today and I still fail to see what was so terrible about it. Getting the story down is the most important thing. The raw undeveloped, imperfect story is a most exciting read in my opinion. Fresh emotion is poured into the story and underneath lies an untapped potential for possible expansion. A good friend of mine here on this site reminds me time and time again, that editing comes later and getting the story down is number one. I let the reviews get to me and lost sight of my writing goals. Her words reminded me of why I started writing in the first place. I have a story to tell. Not everyone will like it. One or two might love it and the rest might hate it, but I will never know unless I write it down. I am happy to have one reader and grateful that anyone took the time to check out my work. It is my job to tell my story, and as long as I love it, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Passion shows through your work. How many times have you read a story and got so caught up in it, the real world around you disappeared. When I write, the real world disappears and I enter my own world. Write for yourself and not for others. I read that line many times as well. Here is the story for all you interested folks. Let me know what you think. It's a pure, raw emotional story. Editing will come later.
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| The holidays have been so hectic, I have just now found the time to write. Each year we celebrate Christmas eve with my husbands family, and Christmas day with mine. Both families have different degrees of insanity and each year, there is a new type of drama that I find both entertaining and annoying. The new drama on my husbands side involves an uncle, his mistress, and angry family members. Add alcohol, and you have the beginning of an interesting soap opera. Christmas with my family was pretty tame except for my OCD sister, who followed me around most of the night complaining about my mother. My kids made out this year. My house is overfilled with toys and they have been busy for the past few days, giving me some time to recuperate. This afternoon, I received a text from a long time friend who happened to be in my area. She and her son spent most of the day with us and we had a blast catching up. In an hour or so, my sister is driving into town and I will be spending the next week with her and hopefully find time to squeeze in some writing. If I am MIA for a while, know that I have my worn out notebook with me at all times. |
| This week my sons Pre K anxiety vanished. Instead of gently shoving him through the door and running away, he did the running. Right through the doors and into the classroom without a backwards glance. I actually stood there with my mouth gaping open and the teacher laughed at me. Last year he ran up to his now Pre K teacher and introduced himself as her future student. Every day after that he would greet her on the way to picking up his sister. When the school year began, the first two weeks were smooth and lax. He stood in line and filed in with the kids walking to the classroom. Then a sudden change of heart and longing to be with me caused him to scream kick and cry all the way to school and fight the teacher on the way in. Once she literally peeled him off of me, then the door. Some of the mothers were supportive and encouraging. Soon they became my personal cheerleaders, giving me the courage to turn around and leave, especially if he was screaming or crying. Four long months later, my son loves going to school and no longer gives me a problem. Yesterday he thanked me for preschool. That's how he said it. "Mom, thank you for preschool." He gave me a big hug. My jaw dropped and this time he laughed at me. I am counting this as an early Christmas present.  |
| A much needed day out with an old friend put me in good spirits and I am now ready to brave the crowded stores for some last minute shopping. Yesterday, I purchased most of items on my tiny list, and today I am confident that I will finish the rest. Over a much needed cup of delicious peppermint mocha coffee, I discovered my friend missed spending time with me. Over the years our busy lives have prevented us from seeing each other and we spent the morning catching up. We spoke of the past and present and how good it is that we still share some common things. When we said our goodbyes, we promised to make time for each other. I hope those promises are kept. Life is too short to let good people get away. Instead of having regrets, I plan to make more memories. |
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