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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 ** |
| It's been a long and grueling trip down my writing road. Most writers know how lonely it is. Trudging the dreary murky path is not easy, and having the encouraging hand of a friend is a relief. I am grateful to have found friends here on WDC. Without them I would be walking blindly forward, waiting for the light. Thank you to all who have helped me feel more confident, and encouraged me to keep writing. Your have a special place in my heart. |
| Breaking news. A serious case of writers block has overrun a small Chicago town. It is slowly spreading across state lines, and there have been talks of a possible quarantine. Thousands are seen fleeing their homes and all the major highways are backed up. Reverend Sal Arpton declared, “This is the end of days. The human race is coming to an end. God be with us all." Looters have hit the streets and business owners are in hysterics. Hundreds maybe thousands have flocked to the churches in hopes for a cure, an answer, a sign, anything. The pope has not made an official statement yet. However, he urges his people to pray and refrain from traveling. President Sirak Ojamma is meeting with the CDC in hopes to control the outbreak. Hilary Blinton has issued a no comment on the situation, but has confidence in the President. The Republicans released a statement officially blaming Ojamma. They are planning a Republican debate on the issue. The Tea Party will be making an appearance. However, they are not sure of the location and time. The BBC is urging everyone to stay indoors and hold tight to his or her pads and pens. They are currently planning a concert to raise money for a cure. Felton John and Saul McCartney will be headlining. The whole world watches as this tiny Midwest town crumbles. Prayers and donations are coming at an alarmingly fast rate and a cure will be underway soon. For now, please remain indoors and do not drink the water. I repeat, DO NOT drink the water. |
Its birthday week.    Birthdays are big occasions in my family. I mean BIG, like major holidays are in most families. This week the celebration centers on me. Friday, the official start day began at my mothers house. It was a small affair, with only a few family members and my children. My son went crazy and blew out the candles several times and we had to stop singing and start over. My sister video taped it and sent it to everybody. It has gone viral in our circle of friends and family. It looks like one of those videos you see on TV. Funny stuff. Yesterday the party continued at my mother in laws. They planned a nice dinner and cake affair. The night was going well, until the drunken cousin invited himself. He is the family alcoholic. Ha! I am talking as if every family has one like they do a cat or dog and I am sure that is not the case. My family has a variety of crazy characters and he is not the worst one. Because the party was for me, Crazy Cousin felt compelled to hug me a hundred times and breathe rancid alcoholic fumes my way. Imagine how special I felt. “This is every girls dream,” he said, “to be loved by me; Cousin ___.” How lovely.  When he finally decided to leave, (kicked out by good ol’ Gramma.) another set of drama walked through the door. Enter the older brother and his mistress.  This is when the fun began. My husband and I sat down and watched the action happen. This woman is the childhood mortal enemy of my mother in law and her sisters, who were all there. The look of horror on this woman’s face for the first three seconds was priceless. I pulled out my I pod touch and started taking notes. My husband laughed because he knew what I was doing. To the others I looked bored. When the older brother realized what was happening, he guided his woman through the hostile crowd and planted her next to me. He kissed me on the cheek and told me to keep her safe. All that went through my head were quick escape routes in case my mother in law attacked. The look of death she shot this woman scared my husband and me, and he motioned the kids to the other room. A few minutes later, the men moseyed on out of the living room and left all the women alone. Since I was the only one who did not hate the “mistress”, she decided to strike up a conversation. Talk about awkward. I was polite, friendly, and paranoid, because I noticed the cougar like positioning of the women around us. Ears open and claws out, they hung on every word and did not spare a dirty look. I have to give this woman some respect though. She had no clue what she was walking into when she arrived and she held her head high and I can only imagine how frightened she must have felt. Before she left, she hugged me and gave her man a big smooch, causing a big raucous. Someone threw a tissue box at her and my mother in law chased her out of the door cursing up a storm. I talked my mother in law out of breaking her car window and told her to respect her brother’s choice whether or not she agreed with it. And I always thought she was a sweet and kind woman. Huh. I guess that saying is right. How does it go again? When you think you know somebody…? Anyway, I never thought she had and ounce of bitch in her. I was so wrong. Everyone calmed down when Grams came in the room and they kept their evil plotting down to whispers. She gave my kids bags of goodies and taught them a new song. Then she took them to her room to watch a movie. When the kids fell asleep, the liquor came out and the music started. After a while, my eyes blurred and my tongue slurred, but overall it was a fun night. Tomorrow, my cousins having me over her house and the side of my family that doesn’t get along with each other will all be in one small apartment. I am bringing my video camera. Wednesday, we will be back at my moms to see the out of towners driving up and Saturday my sister has something planned with my friends. They will not tell me where and they know I hate surprises, so this should be interesting. My husband volunteered to stay home with the kids. ???  I wonder how much they paid him. |
| When a life changing event occurs in a story, the main character is forced into a major overhaul. They no longer have the same views and are forced to approach life in a different manner. He/she react to events with more courage or a watchful eye. Their steps are taken with care, and always one step ahead. The innocence is replaced with insight and their soul is forever changed. I watched my daughters heart crumble today and her once uplifted spirit shatter in pieces. I held her tight while she wept and did my best to comfort her. For once, I knew how to handle this kind of situation. A broken promise is never an easy thing for a child to handle. They have an innocent and trusting nature, and at such a young age; it broke my heart to see her experience the cruel grip of reality. As much as I wanted to make up an excuse and tell her reasons why this person failed to honor their promise, I resolved to sticking with the truth. Getting your hopes up is unrealistic these days and you have to understand that some people don't have the same values and view life differently. A promise kept may be important to us, but may not seem like a big deal to another. Give that person a chance to explain and forgive them for making mistakes. I watched as pieces of her innocence dissipated, leaving behind a gaping hole of hurt and loss of trust. A transformation of her soul begins as corruption seeps through, adding pounds of experience, and a thin coat of armor around her fragile heart. She is forever changed. |
Taking a minute for a breather means lots of planning and surreptitiousness. I feel like a secret agent sneaking away so I can read or review. I have given up trying to write while my kids are awake. Today I reviewed a piece and I referenced a wrong character. Lucky for me I was corrected in an understanding manner. This was not my first mentally disoriented moment either. This morning I responded to a tweet that I read wrong and just noticed it a few minutes ago. There was no response so I assume they have deemed me a moron and will never talk to me again.  I am at least ten seconds behind in my thought process and I should be in bed catching up with Mrs. Sleep, but I have finally found a place to hide and my laptop is fully charged. So here I am and here I will stay. At least until I start having double vision. Or I pass out. WARNING: This blog is being operated by a overtired, hanging on by a thread, barely functioning mentally at the moment woman. Beware! I will use a lot of adverbs. OH NO! I met with my daughters teacher today. Report card pick up day is hectic and crowded as usual, but the kids are always excited because they get to pick out a book afterwards from the book fair. I love to watch them browse the sections repeatedly and finally choose one that interests them. Yes! Mini me's in training. I'm a proud mama.  After that I took the kids to see my parents and show off the good grades. My mom gave them a dollar each and made them something to eat. My father was tinkering with the old set of Christmas lights trying to get them to work again. I remember my mother buying those things when I was in high school and I told my dad that it was OK to throw them out because they have been long replaced with new ones. I shouldn't have bothered, but I was concerned for his safety. A couple hours later he finally gave up, but not before becoming extremely pissed off. He blamed me for breaking his concentration then stormed out of the room, leaving me at the kitchen table next to a tangled bunch of lights and my little sister giving me the evil eye for upsetting our father. I should have stayed home. At least my mom cooked for me. I never get sick of her yummy food. It's worth the abuse I get when I visit. Besides; it didn't bother me until ten seconds later. |
| It's raid time. For the next few days I will be knee deep in poems, short stories, and novels. I LOVE to read. If I could, I would do it all day and night. I also get to review them and that makes me nervous. When I first started reviewing I was afraid to tell someone their piece needed editing. I worried that it would discourage them and they would not want to write anymore. But as someone who craved feedback and writing advice, I offered suggestions in the most positive way I could. Being honest is best. Not everyone is going to like my work and I won't like everything I read, so I have developed some rules that I try to follow. First I will say, that I rarely come across a piece that is terrible. I did find one with the worst spelling, but I think English is her second language. Many of the stories or poems I come across on this site are upstanding and beautiful. Many of them put my stuff to shame. I don't mind or take it to heart. There is always something to learn from another person. When I review a piece I am as honest as possible. Also I am as encouraging as I can be. I remember posting something that I thought funny, but someone thought horrible. They let me have it, with a page long list of things to fix or take out. I was so excited and happy, I must have thanked her six times in the reply email. Around here, I am the only one who writes or reads. Trying to get my husband to read one of my poems or stories is like trying to get him off the couch when football is on. Impossible. Sometimes and this is rare, he will read something I wrote and his critique will go like this: "It's alright." or " I don't get it." or " This is too long. I'll do it later." That's all the feedback I can squeeze out of him. So when I get a long, in-depth and honest review, I couldn't be happier. Anyway, I am not that hard to please . Any feedback is good enough for me. Oh yeah, rules. OK I hate rules, so loose guidelines is what I'll call them.  Treat others the way you would like to be treated. (If your the type who likes to be verbally abused, please go get help. I can't do nothin' for ya! And don't treat someone else like that, it's just not nice.) Honesty is really the best policy. If I told someone I loved their story when I see plenty of grammatical errors and misspellings, that would make me a liar and would not help them get better. Consider your fellow writers here on WDC as friends OR even pen pals. Would you lie to your friend or would you tell your friend snot is falling out of his nose so he doesn't walk around like an idiot all day? (If your a practical joker, once is OK. Twice, is not cool!) Offer suggestions to the best of your knowledge. I am not that great with grammar so I let them know first off. Tell them what the first impression is and how the piece made you feel. For poetry I have a checklist, and that is a great help since I am not completely familiar with all forms of the craft. I usually try to feel the poem and interpret it in my own way, then try and see if it is close to what the author is trying to communicate. Reading a poem aloud is a must. Thank them for sharing their piece and leave them with an encouraging statement.That's about it. If I think of anything else, I'll add it in another entry. If you have any suggestions, feel free to drop in and say so. Everyone is welcome here. On another note, I entered my first contest on this site. It was the writers cramp and no I did not win. The prompt was to use five or six given words and incorporate them into a story in a twenty for hour time frame. I had three hours, so I wrote a story for my kids. My daughter loved it, so I am going to develop it into a mini series for her. This will give her something to do when she says she's bored. I'm planning to enter more contests soon Anyone have any suggestions? |
| Last week, there was a segment on the news focusing on Mc Donalds. Once a year they "bring the Mc Rib back" and the city goes crazy. My mother loves this sandwich, and everyday her Facebook is flooded with messages reminding her to get one. The news segment focused on the ingredients it takes to make up this popular sandwich. If you ever had a Mc Rib, you know that the only vegetables it comes with is onion and pickle which is thrown on top of a BBQ covered slab of meat and placed in between two pieces of bread. I'm not going to tell you what the meat is made of and whether or not it is a real piece of rib or not. I am not going to tell what goes into the sauce and how terrible it is for you. What I am going to tell you about is about the bread. It's not really bread. It's a science experiment. There are so many ingredients that in the end it left me wondering, "Is this even bread anymore? Why does it have to be so complicated?" That got me thinking about the story I started writing a couple days ago. I am barely five pages in, and I am over complicating things and going into stress mode. Usually this happens to me after I am ten or eleven chapters in, and I have made a mess of things. There are a list of ingredients that should be applied to a story. Elements necessary to make the story work. (Don't worry, this list is not as long as the one for the bread.) How do you do that Lana? You ask. I'm not exactly sure. Here is what I think, put in not so sophisticated terms. You have your main character. Something has to happen to him/her that is life changing. They have to want, need or desire something. There has to be crisis. He or she has to do something about it. Some thing has to get in the way or another bigger crisis has to happen. The main character solves the problem and is changed. I think these are the basics. The foundation as Mr. Percy puts it. This is the science of writing. Doesn't sound so hard right? Mr. Percy talks about these points pretty much everyday in his blog. He said that you have to repeat something three times before a person soaks it in. Well his father used to tell him that, but you get the point. It takes about five or six times for me, but don't tell him that. He might not let me in his class. What's your point Lana? I thought you were talking about food. I was talking about the ingredients it takes to make something. Compare the famous Mc Donalds sandwich loaded with so many things. It is not what is seems. Then you have these easy six ingredients I listed to write a great story. There will be some added ingredient but that's the art superseding the science, the creativity part. Put these elements together and you have everything you need to write a great story. Why I haven't done this yet is beyond me. I did tell you it takes five or six times for something to soak in my brain. I'll get it eventually. *In case you are a curious little monkey, I've listed the ingredients that go into the bread below. McRib Bun: Enriched flour (bleached wheat flour, malted barley flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamin mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), water, yeast, high fructose corn syrup, contains 2% or less of the following: salt, corn meal, wheat gluten, soybean oil, partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oils, dextrose, sugar, malted barley flour, cultured wheat flour, calcium sulfate, ammonium sulfate, soy flour, dough conditioners (sodium stearoyl lactylate, datem, ascorbic acid, azodicarbonamide, mono- and diglycerides, ethoxylated mono- and diglycerides, monocalcium phosphate, enzymes, guar gum, calcium peroxide), calcium propionate (preservative), soy lecithin. What's A McRib Made Of? By Ben Popken on November 2, 2011 12:00 PM http://consumerist.com/2011/11/whats-a-mcrib-made-of.html |
| A surprising white flurry of fluffy white flakes descended upon the rooftops and gently landed onto the sidewalk as my children and I watched through our picture window. The classic song “Let it snow” by Dean Martin came to mind and I belted it out at the top of my lungs. Much to my children’s amusement, they swayed from side to side in unison and sang along with their tiny voices. It was a picture perfect moment. On the recliner to right of us, my husband stared at us with a raised eyebrow and a silly smirk spread across his face. A look that means he is about to make a smart-ass comment. Probably about my amazing and beautiful singing voice. I forgot to warm up and I was a bit off key, but I sounded good. I shot him that please do not ruin this moment stare, hoping he would let me enjoy the few seconds of snow before it melted. By some miracle, he did. Until the kids left the room, then it was a back and forth wisecrack-a-thon. We have been maintaining a fun atmosphere around the house this week. It’s been too serious lately, and we haven’t been smiling enough. I plan to take the kids out on the trampoline one last time before the weather becomes intolerable and we settle in for the winter. I have been working on a character sketch for one of the characters in my novels. I am having trouble with this because, I am used to writing the story and letting the characters personalities and quirks and everything else unfold onto the page. I have no idea how to put it into an outline. I mean I know how to write an outline, I am not an idiot, it’s just my mind goes all over the place when I try. I write things down and then I think of something better so I scratch that and write the new idea down. Then the next part doesn’t fit anymore and I go back to the first idea or start over again. I’ll do some research later and see if there are any examples online. I’ll let this outline linger in my mind for a while and tackle it in the next few days. The strange man came to visit me again. This time, he stood in the background and watched me fight my evil cousin and save her son. His eyes were not as frightening as before, and I thought there was a hint of pride in them. I am not sure what he wants yet, and I haven’t had time to think what his presence might symbolize. I have to admit, as scary as he is, I find a certain twisted comfort with him there. In a way, I feel safe. Not safe from him; he is oozing with danger, but safe from everything else. Maybe he is protecting me, ensuring I am in one piece so he can tear me apart himself. Of course, I am not positive of his motives, but he scares the crap out of me and I assume my death is his goal. If he comes back tonight, I am going to write a book about him. |
| Nightmare I woke up in a sudden frenzy this morning. I was jolted from my dream world so fast; it took me a few seconds to realize I was in bed. In this dream, a man approached me. He was of medium build with golden brown hair perfectly arranged on his head, and dressed in an expensive suit. He was and older man with a handsome features, and a sinister smile. In the last three or four dreams, he made cameo appearances in between scenes but never approached me. Last night he asked me for something. His voice was deep, heavily accented and dangerous. I asked him what he wanted and he did not answer. I waited for him but he just stood there, so I started to walk away. I did not like him; and I felt an urgent desire to leave. Before I could get away, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into him. He told me if I did not give him what he wanted he would kill my family, and the lights flashed on around us. I did not realize we were in the dark or that we were alone, until my family appeared. Only they weren’t my family, just strangers representing them. Frightened I would be the cause of a loved ones demise, I agreed to give him what he wanted as soon as he set them free. An eerie smile spread across his face and he agreed. I was on the other side of the room, which was more like an empty space. It reminded me of the old cartoons when they incorporated the artist, who would mess with the characters by erasing the road in front of them or completely wiping out the scene leaving them on an empty page. I glared at him from across the room, and one by one, my family disappeared vanishing off the blank page. With outstretched arms, he summoned me. Desire and greed oozed through his deep voice and I thought I spied drool forming in the corner of his mouth. I trudged towards him, scared and pissed off. He received me with such vigor; I almost thought I was safe. Then his smooth hand glided up my back and latched onto the back of my head, pulling my head back so my neck was visible. Before his lips touched my skin, I sunk a long blade into his back and ran like hell when released me. “You really thought it was going to be that easy?” I said to him before jumping off the blank page and out of my dream. |
| I dream in stories. I have done so since I was a young child. Each morning I would wake up with a new and exciting tale or a continuation of a previous dream. As I grew older, I would tell my dreams to anyone who would listen. I grew up in the same home for the first 16 years of my life and next door was an older woman who was very kind to me. She was the total opposite of the grumpy old police officer on the other side. I have fond memories of this woman as any child would when someone is very kind to them. Her name was Miss Maholy. I am not positive it was her true name but that’s what I called her and she never corrected me, so I am sticking with it. My sisters and I were the only kids on the block at the time and our ball would always roll on her lawn and into her flowerbed. My mother had warned us not to step on her flowers so we always rung her doorbell and asked if we could carefully retrieve our ball. Now that I look back on these events, I realize how patient and kind she was. I have little recollection of how she looked. I was eight or nine then, and all I remember about her is that she always wore a loose dress made of a flowery pattern and pink slippers. In the evening, she would sit in the middle of her top step with her cute fluffy dog on her lap and wait for me to talk to her before I went inside for dinner. One day she made me banana nut muffins and told me a story about her younger years while I sat besides her and devoured them. The next afternoon a woman stopped by my now favorite neighbor's house, and as nosy as I was for an eight or nine year old, I skipped over to say hello. I found out Miss Maholy had a daughter and she was as lovely as her mother was. I was so excited I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and talked to her for a very long time. I remember one thing about that day that has stayed with me ever since. She listened. She was into my story. Really she was. Kids have built in radar; they can tell when an adult is interested in what they have to say or just blowing them off. I’m not sure how long our conversation lasted, but to me, it seemed like forever. She listened and I talked, so I told her one of my dreams. I added to it as I went along and turned it into a fascinating tale. Well it was to me, and I recall her smiling and encouraging me to continue. I will never forget that moment. I think that day; I became a storyteller. My mother was not supportive of this. I would get in serious trouble if she heard me telling my sisters a story, so I would tell them in secret or when she wasn’t around. Eventually my sinister tales gave my cousins nightmares and kept my sister glued to me during the night. I read every book I could and when I came across a story I didn’t like, I would change it and make it better. It started that way until it morphed into a completely different story that had nothing to do with the original. Then I would try it out on my family. If they liked it, I would move on to friends and so on. It never occurred to me that I should write any of these stories down. I guess I was so scared my mother would find out, that anything she could use as evidence was out of the picture. I don’t know the exact day I decided to put pen to paper; but since then, I haven’t been able to stop. Question: When did you decide to become a writer? Have you always known you would be? Or were you compelled to write something one day that triggered the writing itch? I am interested to know when YOU became a storyteller. |
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