My last post was pure adrenaline, inspiration, and fanciful imaginings. Its one of those rare moments when I actually feel the electricity flowing from my fingertips, words sliding down along my arms to imbed themselves as electronic soldiers on the virtual page. By the time I finished the post, I had this thrill of having really crafted decent. I was actually smiling and telling myself that this was really something good. This has been confirmed by many people who have read the snippet and come to tell me about it.
So the end result is that I may just have the beginnings of a new writing project. Maybe I'm switching genres here (I haven't attempted horror before), but I like the way the storyline has unfolded and I can definitely envision things moving onward to something grand from here. Since I've left the end as a cliffhanger, I'm going to keep everyone in suspense as to where I'll be taking it (I'm not quite sure myself). Keep checking though, because you never know when I will have the next burst of energy and craft another riveting section like that. It doesn't happen often for me, so when it does occur, I just try to ride the tide as long as it is there.
A to Z Challenge 2013
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Waking Alone
Jimmy woke quickly, sitting upright a little too fast and getting dizzy in the process. The darkness of the cabin's interior was a threat, some obscure but tiny sound setting his nerves on edge. He felt so scared, frozen and unable to figure out where he was or what was going on. His ten year old mind finally worked through the fog to recall their trip to the mountains, and his eyes now saw the rest of the family asleep in their own sleeping bags.
There wasn't much furniture here, so they all slept on the floor in the front room, the warmth of the slowly dying fire sending out its tendrils to stave off what would otherwise be a permanently cold slumber party. He pulled the sleeping bag tighter around his legs, cocking his head to find the source of the sound. There it was again. A lone cricket had found its way inside, probably to stay warm. In rhythmic time, it put out a slow symphony of chirps, and for some reason the tone set Jimmy's teeth to grinding.
He'd read in a book somewhere that crickets rub their back legs together or something to make the sound. Visions of the tiny insect flooded his mind, causing him to shudder. The picture he remembered seeing showed this cricket with long legs, claw-like barbs along their length. He never did like their faces, the way the eyes seemed capable of looking through you. Their mouths were disgustingly monstrous, as they chewed through whatever it was crickets ate.
He suddenly couldn't remember what it was that crickets ate, and the question left a dry taste in his mouth. The chirping became a drone, hitting his spine like a knife as he sat there trying to frantically remember what crickets liked. Creeping doom began to build within him, his imagination taking a simple idea and creating horrific visions in great detail. Maybe the reason they chirped was to lull everyone to sleep. Isn't that what everyone always said, that the sounds of crickets would make you sleep better?
His young mind couldn't remember anything for sure, and the anxiety was building to an almost maddening torrent of fear. The chirping seemed closer somehow. He reached down slowly with a hand, his little fingers searching for the flashlight his mother had set beside his makeshift bed. His smooth fingertips touched the wooden floor, feeling the grainy texture but not finding what he was expecting. Like excited spiderlegs, his fingers danced around trying to touch the plastic tube of the flashlight's casing. Still nothing. The chirping had stopped; the cabin was a grave, silent and still except for the resounding clamor of his own heart.
Finally Jimmy stretched his arm out, the pale skin luminescent in the darkness, and he felt something hard and cold. Tracing its shape carefully, he grabbed it and pulled the flashlight in close. His fingers searched for the button, finding it halfway up along the shaft. A lone chirp made him jump, his other hand leaping to cover his mouth as a scream threatened to escape. With careful pressure, he pressed the button, launching a shaft of light skyward and destroying his nightvision in the process.
His eyes were tightly closed now, his mind scrambling to gain control once more. Every nerve in his body was firing, as if a thousand ants were crawling just beneath the skin, their little feet touching everywhere. He pictured the cricket out there somewhere, waiting patiently for him to go back to sleep. The light was on, but he couldn't find any solace in that fact. Jimmy was terrified, sure that something was waiting for him in the darkness.
He opened his eyes slowly, one after the other. He gazed around, seeing the dim lumps on the floor nearby that should be his family. Something wasn't right though. Then it dawned on him. There was no sound, no breathing. His father wasn't snoring like usual, a comforting chainsaw tone. There was no movement whatsoever, and the resounding beat of his own heart was a fast paced rock concert, loud and echoing in his own ears.
"Mom", he whispered carefully, not really believing she would answer. There was no response, and the silence of the room was crushing him. "Mom.......Daddy.......", he cried pitifully. The enormity of possibly being all by himself was hitting him like a hammer, his fragile mind beginning to crack under the pressure. Tears began to well up in his eyes as fear tore him to shreds.
His dad said the mind sometimes played tricks on you, so he decided to shine the flashlight on someone - anyone - and wake them up. The beam moved down from the ceiling, showing the bare timber walls and empty room. Despite his terror, Jimmy took his time aiming the flashlight at the nearest sleeping bag, unsure what would be there and not really sure he wanted to find out. As the beam reached its target, he screamed without end, a wretched painful sound that ended abruptly as the flashlight fell to the floor with a clunk. The darkness enfolded the room once more like a blanket. Chirp. Silence.
There wasn't much furniture here, so they all slept on the floor in the front room, the warmth of the slowly dying fire sending out its tendrils to stave off what would otherwise be a permanently cold slumber party. He pulled the sleeping bag tighter around his legs, cocking his head to find the source of the sound. There it was again. A lone cricket had found its way inside, probably to stay warm. In rhythmic time, it put out a slow symphony of chirps, and for some reason the tone set Jimmy's teeth to grinding.
He'd read in a book somewhere that crickets rub their back legs together or something to make the sound. Visions of the tiny insect flooded his mind, causing him to shudder. The picture he remembered seeing showed this cricket with long legs, claw-like barbs along their length. He never did like their faces, the way the eyes seemed capable of looking through you. Their mouths were disgustingly monstrous, as they chewed through whatever it was crickets ate.
He suddenly couldn't remember what it was that crickets ate, and the question left a dry taste in his mouth. The chirping became a drone, hitting his spine like a knife as he sat there trying to frantically remember what crickets liked. Creeping doom began to build within him, his imagination taking a simple idea and creating horrific visions in great detail. Maybe the reason they chirped was to lull everyone to sleep. Isn't that what everyone always said, that the sounds of crickets would make you sleep better?
His young mind couldn't remember anything for sure, and the anxiety was building to an almost maddening torrent of fear. The chirping seemed closer somehow. He reached down slowly with a hand, his little fingers searching for the flashlight his mother had set beside his makeshift bed. His smooth fingertips touched the wooden floor, feeling the grainy texture but not finding what he was expecting. Like excited spiderlegs, his fingers danced around trying to touch the plastic tube of the flashlight's casing. Still nothing. The chirping had stopped; the cabin was a grave, silent and still except for the resounding clamor of his own heart.
Finally Jimmy stretched his arm out, the pale skin luminescent in the darkness, and he felt something hard and cold. Tracing its shape carefully, he grabbed it and pulled the flashlight in close. His fingers searched for the button, finding it halfway up along the shaft. A lone chirp made him jump, his other hand leaping to cover his mouth as a scream threatened to escape. With careful pressure, he pressed the button, launching a shaft of light skyward and destroying his nightvision in the process.
His eyes were tightly closed now, his mind scrambling to gain control once more. Every nerve in his body was firing, as if a thousand ants were crawling just beneath the skin, their little feet touching everywhere. He pictured the cricket out there somewhere, waiting patiently for him to go back to sleep. The light was on, but he couldn't find any solace in that fact. Jimmy was terrified, sure that something was waiting for him in the darkness.
He opened his eyes slowly, one after the other. He gazed around, seeing the dim lumps on the floor nearby that should be his family. Something wasn't right though. Then it dawned on him. There was no sound, no breathing. His father wasn't snoring like usual, a comforting chainsaw tone. There was no movement whatsoever, and the resounding beat of his own heart was a fast paced rock concert, loud and echoing in his own ears.
"Mom", he whispered carefully, not really believing she would answer. There was no response, and the silence of the room was crushing him. "Mom.......Daddy.......", he cried pitifully. The enormity of possibly being all by himself was hitting him like a hammer, his fragile mind beginning to crack under the pressure. Tears began to well up in his eyes as fear tore him to shreds.
His dad said the mind sometimes played tricks on you, so he decided to shine the flashlight on someone - anyone - and wake them up. The beam moved down from the ceiling, showing the bare timber walls and empty room. Despite his terror, Jimmy took his time aiming the flashlight at the nearest sleeping bag, unsure what would be there and not really sure he wanted to find out. As the beam reached its target, he screamed without end, a wretched painful sound that ended abruptly as the flashlight fell to the floor with a clunk. The darkness enfolded the room once more like a blanket. Chirp. Silence.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Writing On A Sunday Evening
This has been a truly tumultuous weekend for me. My wife has been not feeling well for a very long time (long story, no time to tell here), but she recently got a bad infection that required her to go to the hospital.
I don't know about everyone else, but hospitals are a place I avoid at all costs. I started out life early - I was a premie - and unfortunately I needed surgery at two days old. I have a scar still, a really huge scar that will always be there. I have memories of having to go to the hospital for various things afterwards, and none of those memories are really pleasant. Its to the point where I almost have a physical reaction when I have to enter a hospital, an uneasiness that permeates my entire being. But I go when I have to.
So my weekend became an exercise in being in a hospital to help my wife feel better, though there really wasn't anything I could do other than just be by her side. I also had to run back and forth to home, because I have two boys who also need my attention. My youngest is 10, so while he somewhat understands whats going on, I don't think he really understands. He loves his mom, and in fact he's closer to her in alot of ways than he is to me. Distraction is a great tool, and I used it without regret to make sure he was occupied with other things and did not worry about his mom's health.
My oldest is 15, and he has a good bead on whats going on. Unlike his brother however, he doesn't worry as much about anything and instead relies on me to provide him with assurances. As long as I don't say he needs to worry, he really doesn't. Its kind of funny, because he sees the world in so much black and white. Its good and bad, depending on the situation. If I tell him the sky is blue, he believes it will always be that shade of color no matter what. Unfortunately, that means he sometimes doesn't question things, and thats not always good either. I'm working on it with him, but its a work in progress.
The hospital staff was planning on keeping my wife there until tomorrow, but she improved quicker than they expected, so thankfully she is out and home now. If you've never stayed in the hospital overnight, you really are lucky. Despite being a place of healing, I have never understood how they expect anyone to get better when they wake you up every 15 minutes at night to check vitals. So tonight she will be able to sleep without interruption, a welcome aspect of being in your own bed.
I was going to work on my book again, since I haven't had a chance to do any real writing all weekend. I have decided instead to just finish up this post, turn off the laptop, and just lay in bed next to my babe watching the tube. The book will see some updates tomorrow, and its a little more important right now that I spend some time with the love of my life. I hope everyone's weekend was better than mine, and I'll post something more creative tomorrow. For now, my priorities are elsewhere. Good night all.
I don't know about everyone else, but hospitals are a place I avoid at all costs. I started out life early - I was a premie - and unfortunately I needed surgery at two days old. I have a scar still, a really huge scar that will always be there. I have memories of having to go to the hospital for various things afterwards, and none of those memories are really pleasant. Its to the point where I almost have a physical reaction when I have to enter a hospital, an uneasiness that permeates my entire being. But I go when I have to.
So my weekend became an exercise in being in a hospital to help my wife feel better, though there really wasn't anything I could do other than just be by her side. I also had to run back and forth to home, because I have two boys who also need my attention. My youngest is 10, so while he somewhat understands whats going on, I don't think he really understands. He loves his mom, and in fact he's closer to her in alot of ways than he is to me. Distraction is a great tool, and I used it without regret to make sure he was occupied with other things and did not worry about his mom's health.
My oldest is 15, and he has a good bead on whats going on. Unlike his brother however, he doesn't worry as much about anything and instead relies on me to provide him with assurances. As long as I don't say he needs to worry, he really doesn't. Its kind of funny, because he sees the world in so much black and white. Its good and bad, depending on the situation. If I tell him the sky is blue, he believes it will always be that shade of color no matter what. Unfortunately, that means he sometimes doesn't question things, and thats not always good either. I'm working on it with him, but its a work in progress.
The hospital staff was planning on keeping my wife there until tomorrow, but she improved quicker than they expected, so thankfully she is out and home now. If you've never stayed in the hospital overnight, you really are lucky. Despite being a place of healing, I have never understood how they expect anyone to get better when they wake you up every 15 minutes at night to check vitals. So tonight she will be able to sleep without interruption, a welcome aspect of being in your own bed.
I was going to work on my book again, since I haven't had a chance to do any real writing all weekend. I have decided instead to just finish up this post, turn off the laptop, and just lay in bed next to my babe watching the tube. The book will see some updates tomorrow, and its a little more important right now that I spend some time with the love of my life. I hope everyone's weekend was better than mine, and I'll post something more creative tomorrow. For now, my priorities are elsewhere. Good night all.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Without Further Ado...
The following is a snippet from my book-in-progress, A Moment To Breathe.
The windows on the Metro were covered with a thick layer of ice and snow when Jonathon raised his head up. Looking around, he saw his mom asleep in the front seat and his sister was lying across the back seat. Something had made him wake up, though he wasn’t sure what. He heard some sirens somewhere up ahead getting closer, so he waited and listened. Soon enough they passed by, maybe a street or two over, so he lay back down and snuggled into the warmer blankets. He pulled his feet away from the cold of the back window, shivering for a moment. He wished they could go to one of those beach places he saw on the magazine, where it was all sunshiny and warm. Since it was still early, he fell back asleep after a moment, dreaming of playing in the sand and building castles.
Rosalie heard him moving around back there somewhere in her subconscious, but since he quieted down she tried to adjust her position and get a little more sleep. The shelter wouldn’t have space available until the afternoon anyway, and she had no more money for breakfast. She knew she should get up and stand on her usual corner, hope that somebody would hand her a dollar or two. But she couldn’t leave the children alone here and couldn’t take them with her either. She reached down under the seat for her bottle, but she could tell when she grabbed it that it was most likely empty. She had drank it all last night, trying to keep herself warm until she passed out.
She drifted back down, dreaming of days long ago. She hadn’t always been so cold and hungry. Her mother used to wake them up to the smell of coffee, home-cooked tortillas and sausage. Ramona Sanchez would get up sometimes before the sun and peel some potatoes too. Then she’d make the tortillas just like her mother had taught her. Someday she’d be able to start teaching her little Rosalie too. Emilio would be sipping his coffee and slowly reading the paper. They both were proud that they had managed to teach themselves English. Sometimes they both had a little difficulty, but they got by. They had a warm little house, Emilio worked hard every day, and soon they might even be able to get a bigger house, have a couple more children. Life here was much better than it could have ever been for them in Juarez.
“Rosalie “she called, “Tiempo de levantarse dormilón.” She turned back to her cooking, but soon enough she was walking into the other room to shake Rosalie awake. “Get up you silly girl,” she said. “You’re gonna be late for school again”. Rosalie slowly would crawl out of bed, rubbing her eyes and staggering into the kitchen to give her papa a kiss on the cheek. Emilio doted on her sometimes, but after all she was his only baby girl. After a breakfast of tortillas, some beans, potatoes and sausage, Emilio would walk her to the school bus and head off to work.
The windows on the Metro were covered with a thick layer of ice and snow when Jonathon raised his head up. Looking around, he saw his mom asleep in the front seat and his sister was lying across the back seat. Something had made him wake up, though he wasn’t sure what. He heard some sirens somewhere up ahead getting closer, so he waited and listened. Soon enough they passed by, maybe a street or two over, so he lay back down and snuggled into the warmer blankets. He pulled his feet away from the cold of the back window, shivering for a moment. He wished they could go to one of those beach places he saw on the magazine, where it was all sunshiny and warm. Since it was still early, he fell back asleep after a moment, dreaming of playing in the sand and building castles.
Rosalie heard him moving around back there somewhere in her subconscious, but since he quieted down she tried to adjust her position and get a little more sleep. The shelter wouldn’t have space available until the afternoon anyway, and she had no more money for breakfast. She knew she should get up and stand on her usual corner, hope that somebody would hand her a dollar or two. But she couldn’t leave the children alone here and couldn’t take them with her either. She reached down under the seat for her bottle, but she could tell when she grabbed it that it was most likely empty. She had drank it all last night, trying to keep herself warm until she passed out.
She drifted back down, dreaming of days long ago. She hadn’t always been so cold and hungry. Her mother used to wake them up to the smell of coffee, home-cooked tortillas and sausage. Ramona Sanchez would get up sometimes before the sun and peel some potatoes too. Then she’d make the tortillas just like her mother had taught her. Someday she’d be able to start teaching her little Rosalie too. Emilio would be sipping his coffee and slowly reading the paper. They both were proud that they had managed to teach themselves English. Sometimes they both had a little difficulty, but they got by. They had a warm little house, Emilio worked hard every day, and soon they might even be able to get a bigger house, have a couple more children. Life here was much better than it could have ever been for them in Juarez.
“Rosalie “she called, “Tiempo de levantarse dormilón.” She turned back to her cooking, but soon enough she was walking into the other room to shake Rosalie awake. “Get up you silly girl,” she said. “You’re gonna be late for school again”. Rosalie slowly would crawl out of bed, rubbing her eyes and staggering into the kitchen to give her papa a kiss on the cheek. Emilio doted on her sometimes, but after all she was his only baby girl. After a breakfast of tortillas, some beans, potatoes and sausage, Emilio would walk her to the school bus and head off to work.
Keeping A Level Head
First off, I'd like to thank everyone who stops by to peruse these posts. While I've always been hoping that I'd garner a following of some sort, I did not have any grand illusions that it would be anytime soon.
One difficulty I have encountered however, is that everyone is so nice and encouraging. That may sound like something one would love to have, but I keep asking myself when I'm going to get a truly critical poster who rips my writing to shreds. I guess I keep expecting to hit the virtual wall with writing on it that says, "Hey Idiot, you're not really that good." Understand that I'm being slightly facetious of course, since I really do enjoy the fact that people are reading my writing and finding it to be of good quality. Its just that I am bracing myself to handle the first person who says, "Dude, you really need to take a second look at your writing. You have mistakes here, here, and here." Until that happens though, I guess I'm just going to glide along on the wave of good feelings I get when I hear comments from all of you.
On another note (something I have failed to mention), I have actually been able to write consistently for the last three days or so on my book. I can't say that its been thousands of words, but I have found time and impetus to sit down, break out the laptop, and continue my story. As I'm typing this, I have come up with an idea and I'd really like everyone's opinion on it. I am considering posting a small snippet of the book I'm working on. My reasons for doing so however would be: #1 - give you all a view into the story I am crafting, #2 - get opinions and more importantly, good critiques of how good or bad my writing is. There are a few followers here who are extremely good writers themselves, so their input would be really appreciated. Let me know what you think, and don't hold back. If ever there were a time I need honest feedback, this would be it.
One difficulty I have encountered however, is that everyone is so nice and encouraging. That may sound like something one would love to have, but I keep asking myself when I'm going to get a truly critical poster who rips my writing to shreds. I guess I keep expecting to hit the virtual wall with writing on it that says, "Hey Idiot, you're not really that good." Understand that I'm being slightly facetious of course, since I really do enjoy the fact that people are reading my writing and finding it to be of good quality. Its just that I am bracing myself to handle the first person who says, "Dude, you really need to take a second look at your writing. You have mistakes here, here, and here." Until that happens though, I guess I'm just going to glide along on the wave of good feelings I get when I hear comments from all of you.
On another note (something I have failed to mention), I have actually been able to write consistently for the last three days or so on my book. I can't say that its been thousands of words, but I have found time and impetus to sit down, break out the laptop, and continue my story. As I'm typing this, I have come up with an idea and I'd really like everyone's opinion on it. I am considering posting a small snippet of the book I'm working on. My reasons for doing so however would be: #1 - give you all a view into the story I am crafting, #2 - get opinions and more importantly, good critiques of how good or bad my writing is. There are a few followers here who are extremely good writers themselves, so their input would be really appreciated. Let me know what you think, and don't hold back. If ever there were a time I need honest feedback, this would be it.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Walking Through The Past
I recently had to move from one place to another (an extremely hectic affair), and in the process I tried to go through some of the boxes in my garage. I did manage to prune down a little bit of the junk, but the interesting thing I found was an old memory book my parents had bought me when I was in high school. Unfortunately, I did not at the time go through it and fill out all the questions they ask, such as "What's your favorite food, your favorite color, etc". But there were a few things I did answer, and I thought I should mention one here. One of the questions in the book was "Who do you look up to most?"
To understand the whole situation, you have to understand that in high school I was an extremely withdrawn and reserved person. My wife looks at who I am now and she has a hard time believing I was ever quiet and unassuming (she's told me plenty of times I'm slightly arrogant, loud, and an in-your-face type of person, meant in the best way of course, heh heh). Back then though, I walked through high school watching everyone else around me be so sure of themselves (an illusion, probably), and I always felt very small and insignificant. I was the perfect example of no close friends, no self confidence, and massive insecurity. As I get older, I think everyone probably has a shade of this during that period of time. But I sometimes wonder how many people experience it to the degree that I did. In fact looking back, I wonder how I didn't get so depressed as to contemplate suicide. But I can honestly say, that was never in my thoughts, despite all my own self-inflicted worries and doubts.
Anyway, to get back on course here, there was a guy I was friends with during high school that must have made a significant impact on me. I know this because in my memory book, I wrote down that he was the person I looked up to the most.
I remember vividly one time where he wanted to fight me for some reason, and I managed to keep that from happening somehow. He wasn't usually a hot-tempered guy, and we usually got along well enough, so I just chalk that particular instance up to him having a bad day.
One thing that has stuck in my mind about that day though are the things that were going on in my head. I remember being appalled at the idea of fighting this guy, primarily because I thought so highly of him. He hadn't done anything specifically (that I remember) for me that was extraordinary. He was just a really great guy. As far as I remember, he was nice, intelligent, and an incredible soccer player. We played on the same team, and I remember wishing I had half his talent on the field. He was also a really good looking guy, and of course I knew I really wasn't. So part of my admiration most likely included a bit of envy too.
I've since grown up of course and learned to leave regrets behind me, for the most part. But I'm glad at one point I took the time to at least write down a couple entries in that memory book. Even given the bad memories I have for my high school years, there are still enough points of light that make it okay. At one point he started following this blog, but I don't know if he still reads it or anything.
Joe, if you're still checking things out here, take a bow. Whether you realized it at the time or not, you were a friend of mine that I held in high esteem.
To understand the whole situation, you have to understand that in high school I was an extremely withdrawn and reserved person. My wife looks at who I am now and she has a hard time believing I was ever quiet and unassuming (she's told me plenty of times I'm slightly arrogant, loud, and an in-your-face type of person, meant in the best way of course, heh heh). Back then though, I walked through high school watching everyone else around me be so sure of themselves (an illusion, probably), and I always felt very small and insignificant. I was the perfect example of no close friends, no self confidence, and massive insecurity. As I get older, I think everyone probably has a shade of this during that period of time. But I sometimes wonder how many people experience it to the degree that I did. In fact looking back, I wonder how I didn't get so depressed as to contemplate suicide. But I can honestly say, that was never in my thoughts, despite all my own self-inflicted worries and doubts.
Anyway, to get back on course here, there was a guy I was friends with during high school that must have made a significant impact on me. I know this because in my memory book, I wrote down that he was the person I looked up to the most.
I remember vividly one time where he wanted to fight me for some reason, and I managed to keep that from happening somehow. He wasn't usually a hot-tempered guy, and we usually got along well enough, so I just chalk that particular instance up to him having a bad day.
One thing that has stuck in my mind about that day though are the things that were going on in my head. I remember being appalled at the idea of fighting this guy, primarily because I thought so highly of him. He hadn't done anything specifically (that I remember) for me that was extraordinary. He was just a really great guy. As far as I remember, he was nice, intelligent, and an incredible soccer player. We played on the same team, and I remember wishing I had half his talent on the field. He was also a really good looking guy, and of course I knew I really wasn't. So part of my admiration most likely included a bit of envy too.
I've since grown up of course and learned to leave regrets behind me, for the most part. But I'm glad at one point I took the time to at least write down a couple entries in that memory book. Even given the bad memories I have for my high school years, there are still enough points of light that make it okay. At one point he started following this blog, but I don't know if he still reads it or anything.
Joe, if you're still checking things out here, take a bow. Whether you realized it at the time or not, you were a friend of mine that I held in high esteem.
Fluff Writing
Last night I had an article to write, and it was truly the hardest one I've ever had to do. It wasn't that the subject matter was difficult (it was on an aspect of console gaming). The problem was that the topic was what I would call "fluff", something I truly despise having to write. Initially I had taken the assignment just because we can use money right now, so I figured every little bit helps. But after the torture of trying to wring out words that have no real impact on the reader, I have decided that I just am not going to do that type of work again. I lay blame at the site that provides the contracts, not my inability to write anything worthwhile. Unfortunately, they have some rather stringent rules on what is acceptable for their articles and what is not. And in my opinion, all it does is lead to poorly designed articles filled with fluff rather than something useful that a reader would enjoy reading. I thought I could knuckle under and bear the pain, but I have decided I just can't deal with poor writing. That might be a a bit arrogant for me to say, I guess. But I pride myself on at least attempting to put out material that people would enjoy reading, because I don't like reading fluff articles myself. If I'm going to take the time to sit down and read an article, book, or whatever, the author ought to have taken the time to make it worth my time. Okay, enough of my soapboax speeches. Go back to your lives, nothing to see here.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Time to Write
Okay, I've been spending the morning going over all my fellow author's blogs. I put in comments where appropriate, but more than that, I like to get a sense from others what they're doing, how things are going within their own struggles towards publishing. One blogger I have just started reading has a goal of writing 1k words a day and even has two other authors also striving towards that goal. That number astounds me, but I'm sure that given time I could reach that goal as well. Good job Casey, keep it up. You're an inspiration to me, so don't stop.
So this afternoon I'm going to be working at getting a few pages down on virtual paper. If anyone has any good ideas on how they conform to a writing schedule, I'm all ears. Usually when I get started, I don't stop until the juices stop flowing. Its the whole getting started thing that still gives me a problem. But much like climbing the rock wall, I'm not going to let go just yet. Hmm, how come my posts keep sounding like a broken record. Damn that saying about teaching old dogs new tricks!
So this afternoon I'm going to be working at getting a few pages down on virtual paper. If anyone has any good ideas on how they conform to a writing schedule, I'm all ears. Usually when I get started, I don't stop until the juices stop flowing. Its the whole getting started thing that still gives me a problem. But much like climbing the rock wall, I'm not going to let go just yet. Hmm, how come my posts keep sounding like a broken record. Damn that saying about teaching old dogs new tricks!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Meetings and Research
Yesterday I had a meeting scheduled with an old friend of mine who is going to help me with research for my book. I was supposed to meet this person at a pricey coffee shop downtown, which was okay despite the fact that I don't usually frequent this particular coffee shop chain. Unfortunately, his assistant failed to tell me that there are TWO pricey coffee shops in that same one block radius, and in fact that they are part of the SAME coffee shop chain. So I went to one, and of course my friend was at the other.
After spending over an hour waiting (I had assumed I was early and had remembered the wrong time), I got ahold of the assistant once more to see what was going on. He had the nerve to act like it was my fault, that I should have read his mind and known which particular coffee shop the meeting would be at.
In any event, I was able to reschedule it for this afternoon and hopefully things will go much smoother. It just irritates me that I have to save face for this idiot assistant, swallow my pride, and not rant about how inept my friend's assistant is. Just keep in mind that the research is the important part, not the irritating habits of ignorant people. Hopefully I will get alot of good information this afternoon so that I can continue with my book.
Update: Looks like my friend has been called to a meeting by a very important person (I'm keeping all of this very general and non-specific, because the guy is a rather important person himself), so I had to reschedule for the 25th. So looks like that portion of my book will need to wait a bit longer.
After spending over an hour waiting (I had assumed I was early and had remembered the wrong time), I got ahold of the assistant once more to see what was going on. He had the nerve to act like it was my fault, that I should have read his mind and known which particular coffee shop the meeting would be at.
In any event, I was able to reschedule it for this afternoon and hopefully things will go much smoother. It just irritates me that I have to save face for this idiot assistant, swallow my pride, and not rant about how inept my friend's assistant is. Just keep in mind that the research is the important part, not the irritating habits of ignorant people. Hopefully I will get alot of good information this afternoon so that I can continue with my book.
Update: Looks like my friend has been called to a meeting by a very important person (I'm keeping all of this very general and non-specific, because the guy is a rather important person himself), so I had to reschedule for the 25th. So looks like that portion of my book will need to wait a bit longer.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Deadlines
One thing I've always dreaded - and enjoyed - is deadlines. They are great in that they force me to get cranking and finish a project. They're bad though because sometimes I let myself slack off and wait until the last minute, scrambling like mad to get a project done on time.
Well today, my usual habits may have bit me in the butt. I had a writing project due on the 15th (today), but evidently the editor was assuming I would have it ready some time earlier today. I, as usual, was planning on finishing it up this evening. I guess I need to change my processes, learn new habits, and be a much more proactive writer. This is one of those occasions where I need to learn from my own mistakes.
At this point, I am going to cut this post short because despite the possibility that my entry will not be accepted, I am still going to turn in a decent article as soon as possible. Here's hoping that my editor won't have to tweak it much, and here's hoping that he'll accept it at the last possible minute. Sorry sir, I'll do better from now on.
Well today, my usual habits may have bit me in the butt. I had a writing project due on the 15th (today), but evidently the editor was assuming I would have it ready some time earlier today. I, as usual, was planning on finishing it up this evening. I guess I need to change my processes, learn new habits, and be a much more proactive writer. This is one of those occasions where I need to learn from my own mistakes.
At this point, I am going to cut this post short because despite the possibility that my entry will not be accepted, I am still going to turn in a decent article as soon as possible. Here's hoping that my editor won't have to tweak it much, and here's hoping that he'll accept it at the last possible minute. Sorry sir, I'll do better from now on.
Friday, March 13, 2009
I Conquered It...At Least So Far
I did it!! I finally got off my duff and was able to get a few pages cranked out on my book. I can't say it was an all day affair, but at least I did get the juices flowing, and it felt great. I also have an appointment on Monday with an old friend who will be helping me with some research, in politics no less. This is definitely an area where I lack any real experience, and since I want my book to be as close to reality as possible (while still being fiction of course), this help will be incredibly useful. Now that I have the momentum going, I plan on riding the wave and getting at least one page done a day, but hopefully more than that of course. Thats my goal for now though. One page is a good start, and soon enough I'll be aiming for five pages a day.
On another note, I just got done banging my way through Rock Band 2 with the kids. If you're a parent in your late 30's and you haven't played this game, you're really missing out. Its really fun, and since its with your kids, its a great way to spend time together too. The music available is for the most part really good stuff, and you might learn some new songs from interesting artists you haven't heard of before. I know I did. Anyway, I hope someone else in the world had as great a Friday as I have. It may be time to call it a night, but I have a smile on my face, a tune in my heart, and pages building in my mind. Night all.
On another note, I just got done banging my way through Rock Band 2 with the kids. If you're a parent in your late 30's and you haven't played this game, you're really missing out. Its really fun, and since its with your kids, its a great way to spend time together too. The music available is for the most part really good stuff, and you might learn some new songs from interesting artists you haven't heard of before. I know I did. Anyway, I hope someone else in the world had as great a Friday as I have. It may be time to call it a night, but I have a smile on my face, a tune in my heart, and pages building in my mind. Night all.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Getting a Cold
Nothing bugs me more than getting a stupid cough or the sniffles. I think stress has caused this latest one however, since life hasn't exactly been peachy keen for the past year or so. My attempts at writing have suffered as well, because every time I feel like writing, something else pops in to disturb my muse. Go figure.
In any event, I submitted the first 1000 words of my book to a contest at http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.com/ where hopefully I will get some really good criticism and evaluation. My book will be post #20, so if anyone is out there watching, keep your eyes out for it and feel free to add your thoughts. I have to admit a great deal of trepidation at having other authors (or potential authors) read and comment on my book, but I know I really could use some input, so I hit the send button anyway. Now I just have to wait the few days until mine appears on the site, and then I have to give it a bit of time so that potential critics can add their thoughts. Its going to be a long week.
I have an article due (actually a couple articles due), but I have been procrastinating big time. I don't know why, but I have just not been in the mood to do anything productive lately. I have really got to figure out some way to get past my own bad habits. Note to self - kick your own butt and get the fingers to typing.
In any event, I submitted the first 1000 words of my book to a contest at http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.com/ where hopefully I will get some really good criticism and evaluation. My book will be post #20, so if anyone is out there watching, keep your eyes out for it and feel free to add your thoughts. I have to admit a great deal of trepidation at having other authors (or potential authors) read and comment on my book, but I know I really could use some input, so I hit the send button anyway. Now I just have to wait the few days until mine appears on the site, and then I have to give it a bit of time so that potential critics can add their thoughts. Its going to be a long week.
I have an article due (actually a couple articles due), but I have been procrastinating big time. I don't know why, but I have just not been in the mood to do anything productive lately. I have really got to figure out some way to get past my own bad habits. Note to self - kick your own butt and get the fingers to typing.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sources of Muse
Often enough we as writers find our inspiration in so many places. For me, it can be a song I hear or a movie I watch or a book I read. One thing I've noticed is how much I enjoy a narrated movie, because it reflects how I talk to myself while I put the words to a page. The similarity of this voice resonates with my own, and often enough it forces me to sit down and write a bit. This of course can't be too bad.
One source that has started to positively effect my writing though is blogs I follow. There are a few really good ones (I'm sure there are much more) that I enjoy reading, and when I read what these people are doing, it motivates me to get off my butt and write more myself. I still haven't found the pure source of my muse yet, and by that I mean I still am not constantly motivated to write. But I have a small flicker of a flame glowing within me that whispers to my soul, telling me I will find what I seek in time. Its difficult sometimes to deal with the lack of motivation I feel, but I try to keep my chin up and keep my eyes on that glow on the horizon. I know eventually I will reach my goal of being published, of having a book out there to be proud of. Until then, I will keep banging away at the keyboard, hoping I can overcome my own personal setbacks and habits.
One source that has started to positively effect my writing though is blogs I follow. There are a few really good ones (I'm sure there are much more) that I enjoy reading, and when I read what these people are doing, it motivates me to get off my butt and write more myself. I still haven't found the pure source of my muse yet, and by that I mean I still am not constantly motivated to write. But I have a small flicker of a flame glowing within me that whispers to my soul, telling me I will find what I seek in time. Its difficult sometimes to deal with the lack of motivation I feel, but I try to keep my chin up and keep my eyes on that glow on the horizon. I know eventually I will reach my goal of being published, of having a book out there to be proud of. Until then, I will keep banging away at the keyboard, hoping I can overcome my own personal setbacks and habits.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Reticent Leaves
The small broom was light in his hands as he climbed into the back of the truck. A lazy afternoon light filtered down through the tree branches overhead from the warm sun above, promising an end to the bitter cold of winter's grasp. The man glanced at the pile of leaves stacked haphazardly in the front of the truckbed, noting how dry and dead these remnants of last fall were. Putting his broom behind the stacks, he began to pull and cajole the leaves down the plastic liner, hoping to finally clean up the majority of them. They stubbornly refused to come quietly, clawing their way back up with the help of a strong gust before breaking apart into smaller pieces.
He shook his head slightly, his sigh acknowledging that nature was just not going to help him with this one. The wind at his back seemed determined to fight against his efforts, returning three leaves for every four he managed to drag to the end of the tailgate. He didn't have a plastic bag to throw them into, so he was quietly trying to just dump the leaves in the gutter and hope that his new neighbors wouldn't object. After all, he reasoned, the wind was going to spread them everywhere anyway.
Quickening his pace, he fought a losing battle with the wind as he continued to drag these unwilling leafy victims out of his truckbed. The wind was not constant, he noticed. It stopped blowing the instant he stopped moving his broom, as if in some perverse way Mother Nature was punishing him for not picking up the leaves like he should have back in October. After some time though, he figured he had swept out as much as he would be able to. He glanced around quickly, making sure that no neighbors had taken notice of his futile struggle, and then he jumped down to the pavement below, his boots making a solid thump upon impact with the asphalt.
The tailgate was shut, the last few particles of leaves and dust falling between the crack of the bed and the tailgate to gather in front of his license plate. He absently tried to sweep them away as well, but the head of the broom was too large to be truly effective, and honestly he just didn't care that much. They'd fall off when he drove later, so gathering up his broom and once more looking around, he trudged off in the direction of his garage, trying not to think of all the work he still had to get done. The leaves lay in piles of broken shards and bits of dust, until once more the wind began to blow, scattering the pile a bit and sending some up into the air to be deposited elsewhere. The man didn't even look back at what remained, shame battling with defiance for leaving what equated to a mess. Let his neighbors come bark at him about it; he was just too tired to care today.
What started out as a post about one thing evolved into something quite different here. I had a different name initially, but I had to change it because the focus of the post changed drastically. I've had this happen to me before of course, where my writing meanders into areas I had not intended. But it makes me laugh a little when I re-read what I've written sometimes. Writing is funny that way for me, and I suppose for alot of other writers as well. I guess as there's still "fun" in it, its worthwhile.
He shook his head slightly, his sigh acknowledging that nature was just not going to help him with this one. The wind at his back seemed determined to fight against his efforts, returning three leaves for every four he managed to drag to the end of the tailgate. He didn't have a plastic bag to throw them into, so he was quietly trying to just dump the leaves in the gutter and hope that his new neighbors wouldn't object. After all, he reasoned, the wind was going to spread them everywhere anyway.
Quickening his pace, he fought a losing battle with the wind as he continued to drag these unwilling leafy victims out of his truckbed. The wind was not constant, he noticed. It stopped blowing the instant he stopped moving his broom, as if in some perverse way Mother Nature was punishing him for not picking up the leaves like he should have back in October. After some time though, he figured he had swept out as much as he would be able to. He glanced around quickly, making sure that no neighbors had taken notice of his futile struggle, and then he jumped down to the pavement below, his boots making a solid thump upon impact with the asphalt.
The tailgate was shut, the last few particles of leaves and dust falling between the crack of the bed and the tailgate to gather in front of his license plate. He absently tried to sweep them away as well, but the head of the broom was too large to be truly effective, and honestly he just didn't care that much. They'd fall off when he drove later, so gathering up his broom and once more looking around, he trudged off in the direction of his garage, trying not to think of all the work he still had to get done. The leaves lay in piles of broken shards and bits of dust, until once more the wind began to blow, scattering the pile a bit and sending some up into the air to be deposited elsewhere. The man didn't even look back at what remained, shame battling with defiance for leaving what equated to a mess. Let his neighbors come bark at him about it; he was just too tired to care today.
What started out as a post about one thing evolved into something quite different here. I had a different name initially, but I had to change it because the focus of the post changed drastically. I've had this happen to me before of course, where my writing meanders into areas I had not intended. But it makes me laugh a little when I re-read what I've written sometimes. Writing is funny that way for me, and I suppose for alot of other writers as well. I guess as there's still "fun" in it, its worthwhile.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Listen To Your Own Advice, Dummy!
My last post was incredibly wise, though of course at the time I was too busy ranting to understand. One of the topics I talked about was patience, something I obviously need more practice at. The writer I talked about is an "opportunity" for me, and I should have recognized it as such before flying off the handle. Thankfully, I have a really good boss who is able to point out these things to me. He places alot of trust in my ability to help guide this person to better writing, something I now look forward to. I've heard it said that part of being an Aries is the fiery emotional state, and I am definitely here to tell you that this is true. I constantly have to keep an eye on my temper and not allow my emotions to get the best of me. I'm not out of control or anything, but sometimes I let little unimportant things irritate me when they shouldn't. As I try to tell myself often, things happen for a reason and I need to remember that.
As for writing, I sat down last night to draft some articles but unfortunately it was already so late that I decided not to write anything. I haven't moved my computer yet, so I only have my laptop and unfortunately that doesn't have my book on it. Note to self - keep book sync'd with both laptop and desktop. I am actually quite anxious to get back into my book, because I now have ideas floating amongst the grey matter that need to put be to paper.
The book I'm writing is about a homeless woman and a man who decides to help her. Sorry, thats all the hints I'm putting out there. But hopefully all my research into the subject will bear fruit eventually. I still have alot of story to tell, but at least I have a good idea of where generally it needs to go. Maybe later I'll post a section of the book in here, see if anyone is actually reading this stuff, and get some intro feedback. In any event, this adventure is interesting and I hope at the end to find that writing is something I can succeed at, because so far I like it alot.
As for writing, I sat down last night to draft some articles but unfortunately it was already so late that I decided not to write anything. I haven't moved my computer yet, so I only have my laptop and unfortunately that doesn't have my book on it. Note to self - keep book sync'd with both laptop and desktop. I am actually quite anxious to get back into my book, because I now have ideas floating amongst the grey matter that need to put be to paper.
The book I'm writing is about a homeless woman and a man who decides to help her. Sorry, thats all the hints I'm putting out there. But hopefully all my research into the subject will bear fruit eventually. I still have alot of story to tell, but at least I have a good idea of where generally it needs to go. Maybe later I'll post a section of the book in here, see if anyone is actually reading this stuff, and get some intro feedback. In any event, this adventure is interesting and I hope at the end to find that writing is something I can succeed at, because so far I like it alot.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Moving, Editing, Learning Patience...
One of the most fun things we can do in life is move from one place to another. It becomes especially interesting if you've lived in a house for eleven years, because then you have eleven years of "stuff" that you get to pack up. This is the latest adventure I have had to embark on, and it has been quite trying. Thankfully, I have had the time to go through things and toss out some of the "stuff" that is no longer necessary. But even sifting through old boxes and deciding what goes doesn't really cut down very much on what has to be moved. We really need to call ourselves packrats, because more often than not, we accumulate way more things than we can possibly need or use at any given moment in time.
In any event, the majority of moving is complete thankfully, and now I will be able to get back to the serious (and sometimes not so serious) task of writing again. My internet access is scheduled to be back up this afternoon (I am typing this quick post at work....SHHHHH), so this evening I can break out the laptop and work the muse once more. This of course brings me to the next topic for discussion.
If you cannot write, you should really refrain from doing so. Hopefully you get someone courageous enough to tell you that you do not have the skill (and if there is anyone out there that feels that way about my writing, please tell me immediately). I am an editor for a website called Brighthub.com, and this past month I had the "pleasure" of editing articles written by someone who appears to be "writing-challenged". Now a decent part of this may be that English is possibly not their native tongue. Okay, I can understand a few errors here and there because of a language barrier. If you are going to write for an English-speaking website however, that particular excuse really doesn't hold much water. I won't beat this dead horse too long, but its sufficient to say that having to take up a half hour to edit a single article that is only 300-700 words in length is almost too much to ask. Shoot me, stab me, poke me with hot needles in uncomfortable places; just don't force me to edit anything that poorly written ever again. This is my plea to the editing gods, wherever they may be.
Which brings me to the last topic, that of patience. This is something I have tried to dedicate myself to. In today's world, everything is rush rush rush. But as I've always believed, things happen in their own time and we just have to remember that when everything doesn't work out to our liking. We rarely know exactly what will happen with our lives, and we have to trust in God (or evolution, or chaos, or whatever other deity/focus you believe in) that things will work out as they are supposed to. Patience is definitely a virtue, even if its one of the hardest virtues to believe in.
In any event, the majority of moving is complete thankfully, and now I will be able to get back to the serious (and sometimes not so serious) task of writing again. My internet access is scheduled to be back up this afternoon (I am typing this quick post at work....SHHHHH), so this evening I can break out the laptop and work the muse once more. This of course brings me to the next topic for discussion.
If you cannot write, you should really refrain from doing so. Hopefully you get someone courageous enough to tell you that you do not have the skill (and if there is anyone out there that feels that way about my writing, please tell me immediately). I am an editor for a website called Brighthub.com, and this past month I had the "pleasure" of editing articles written by someone who appears to be "writing-challenged". Now a decent part of this may be that English is possibly not their native tongue. Okay, I can understand a few errors here and there because of a language barrier. If you are going to write for an English-speaking website however, that particular excuse really doesn't hold much water. I won't beat this dead horse too long, but its sufficient to say that having to take up a half hour to edit a single article that is only 300-700 words in length is almost too much to ask. Shoot me, stab me, poke me with hot needles in uncomfortable places; just don't force me to edit anything that poorly written ever again. This is my plea to the editing gods, wherever they may be.
Which brings me to the last topic, that of patience. This is something I have tried to dedicate myself to. In today's world, everything is rush rush rush. But as I've always believed, things happen in their own time and we just have to remember that when everything doesn't work out to our liking. We rarely know exactly what will happen with our lives, and we have to trust in God (or evolution, or chaos, or whatever other deity/focus you believe in) that things will work out as they are supposed to. Patience is definitely a virtue, even if its one of the hardest virtues to believe in.
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