Out of The Silent Planet

Life for this writer, as I suspect for many others has been a roller coaster as of late. Some of the dips have been to some amazing depths. But there have been rises and peaks, promises of more thrills to be had.

Do I still write?

Are you kidding? Yes, I do. I haven't written short stories or posted as often as I like, but I continue to write my novel and hit goals.

Tonight, I submitted to my writing group the first 20K+ words of my work in progress. I would never have felt it was ready if I chose to be casual so I'm grateful for a deadline, for me they are necessary. As much as I want perfection in my execution, I get lost in my quest to reach it. As I reviewed the copies I later passed to the group, I saw flaws that made me flinch and want to scream, "I know better than that!" or "I should have caught this!" etc. Yet there are other parts that I feel are fantastic and interesting. Fun.

So here I am countering attacks by switchblade-bearing butterflies, dodging waves of anxiety, and running from storms of doubt. What keeps me standing in the eye of all of these forces? My belief:

My stories are written for the joy and need to write. I want to question, explore, provoke and have fun. They are meant to be shared and enjoyed with others.

So, if I don't give them to respected individuals to review and share constructive feedback as they develop, how will my stories ever become as great as I believe they can be? How will I ever grow and improve?

So that's it. Now there's nothing more for me to do except to wait and see.

And keep writing, of course.

I'm not dead and I'm not for sale...

Well...my writing may be for sale at some point but not me, per say.

I am alive and mostly well. Time away from the blog and website has allowed me to focus on my final semester toward my first degree(s) to be awarded in just a week and a half (gah!), focus on my health (which I had neglected) and generally making life more relaxing and fun again by managing the stress of budgets and cash in this recession ready economic climate. I have been working, going to classes and writing when I can - though I readily confess my writing got the short end of the stick overall.

The good part is that I haven't stopped completely though my frequency has been less and I have been VERY slow. The other good part is that the tedium of work allowed my mind to travel enough to work out and expand my story further. On one blessed day during the last month and a half (and just in time as I was feeling particularly guilty and frustrated about the writing situation) I actually sat and banged out 3,000 quality words that moved the story, scene, character development and plot in one session. This did much to improve my sagging confidence and ego. The story lives in me as does my desire yet "writing out" my stresses can only go so far with me I've discovered. Or better to say certain types of stress do not lend themselves well to my writing. Perhaps as I continue to mature and develop as a writer this will change.

Now things appear to be on an upswing and this summer promises me GREAT opportunities to complete my book and possibly start my second one (YAY!!). I do also want to write a few short pieces and submit them with a full understanding that I can probably collect at least nine more rejections before the summer is out (I've got one rejection under my belt currently).

So in about two weeks the blog and website should be alive again with content and thoughts on a regular basis.

Today is Mother's Day and we celebrated this morning with our moms who we are so fortunate to have as they are among the best in the universe. I hope you were able to do the same or appreciate the memories of your mom on this day with smiles and laughter. I know, that was sappy. Snark makes a return in 2 weeks too.

BTW: Quote in subject line is from song Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart by Stone Temple Pilots

Three Big Things I've Learned About Myself and/or Writing: February 2008

When I say things I've learned, I mean things that have finally sunk into my somewhat thick skull and I now believe.

1) I am a perfectionist. Sometimes my desire to write instantly perfect prose has made me freeze and creatively flatline, writing nothing for what feels like ages. But I've determined this is just B.S. stress I put on myself. A scene through rework can became stronger, better. Not perfect perhaps, but even better than perfect it becomes right. Something I enjoy and am proud to have created.

2) I am learning to love the writing process more and more. "If the Muse arrives late for work, you begin without them." Peter S. Beagle. This is at times painful. I can create some super-cliched craptastic stuff. But then, somewhere in between grinding my teeth and contemplating harm to my computer or pencil, in blusters one of my muses (they're always late) with stale doughnuts, Odwalla OJ and apologies yammering about this great idea that happened while dodging traffic and thankfully, we're off.

3) I don't ever need to feel "guilty" for my writing time, my commitment to it or my ever growing passion about it. In the past, I would often write and take so much joy in it...I kinda felt bad. I'd think I should be doing work, college homework, spending time with the Hot Clever Man, family, friends, cleaning the house, saving the world...something else. I'd sneak writing time for myself like I was sneaking around town with a secret lover and I'd still try to do all those other things too. And if I did, I'd pat myself on the back for being such a good multi-tasker and not disappointing anyone. Funny thing though, progress on my writing? Ebbed to near nil while my joy became fleeting at best and I disappointed myself. So these days I'm feeling differently. I respect my desire, enjoyment and time to write. Stuff still gets accomplished. Quality time is joyfully spent. But I don't let my writing take the backseat to them. So with that...there's nothing to get hung up about.

I don't want to forget any of this process. This is all just too much fun to let these moments fade away.

I Am NOT Just A Nice Girl...

I would be a liar if I didn't say that I don't care what people think of me to some degree. I was raised to reflect the home I came from and myself in way that commands respect. And I get it. And I'm nice about it quite often. I'm described by others as a nice girl. I'm sweet. I'm intelligent and well-spoken. Sometimes I'm called funny or witty. And I appreciate all of that. I'm grateful for it because it means overall I'm showing the world who I am. Without wanting to sound prideful I can acknowledge I am all of these things.

But...

...this philosophy can only go so far. I am not just a nice girl. Like just about everyone else on the planet I have my angles, edges and dark, twisted, scary places. I have my less "attractive" qualities. I have an emo place and a freaky place and an off kilter place. I have snark and a really, really dirty mind. I can be an ass. I have thoughts of anger and more. I can be thoughtless. Selfish. Calculating. Manipulative. I can curse and be rude. I can be cruel and laugh about it. There's dark and light inside me.

This is good and it's important. Because I've also been raised and come to believe that there is a time and place for everything. And while these other facets generally show only in certain situations in my life, as a writer I cannot and will not constrain them from my stories or creative mind. To breathe the life into my characters and worlds I cannot permit myself to be constrained by a need to be perceived as "a nice girl".

For the longest time, I have had the tendency not to write when I'm in certain states of mind or moods because I thought "Oh.. I'll ruin the story somehow,"or "No one wants to read about *this* feeling/emotion it wouldn't be...interesting."
I've been committing a horrible crime I realize, I've been writing safe. And that is really some BS because while safe topics can work I'm often intrigued by that which is not always safe.
As a wise fellow writer has advised me "Why *not* use it? Purge it on the page. Make it work for you, the story."

This was reinforced when I read Steven King's "On Writing" (Excellent book!), I found out an interesting fact about one of my favorite stories, "The Tommyknockers," (also a great book - not so much the mini-series). When I read that story, something in me responded to the passion in it, a certain intensity, circling darkness. I had a feeling that what I was reading went deeper than the page even if I couldn't quite name it and it intrigued me. Turns out, he was using his feelings and struggle with addiction to fuel the story. And now I can see how those dark places meshed.

I generally realize "nice" is not why most read stories. Most read for the conflict, the plot. The ride. To wonder how there will be resolution or solution. To come to care care about the character in a state. To take the journey and see what will happen or who the character becomes by the end of it. And while I am someone who can write to inspiration, I can make or take my own inspiration as well. If I'm only going to be a "nice" writer...hell I might as well put down my pen and only write poetry about fluffy clouds, pretty dresses and candy. That's needed in the world too. But that's not all I've got to offer.

So, I'm not a nice girl at all when it comes down to it. When you look at all these qualities within me - I'm a woman (I know; womyn, roar, etc., I know, I know...). I own my places within, light and dark. And I'm a writer; so every scrap of emotion or situation, twisted or straight in my life is mine to take, plunder and make my own as I see fit. To gift them in some shade to my stories and characters. See all these facets exposed to your naked eyes and vivid imaginations.

So, that's it. I'm going to use everything. And I won't think twice about it or how it may be received except as it is relative or pertains to telling a great story.

I'm getting free. Feels damn good.

The Language of Movement

These are some of the words of movement, moving on, going forward.

...dust yourself off and try again
...have to get on the horse
...can't just sit at home and mope all day
...things to do, places to go
...miles to go before I sleep

...You get the idea. These are very good words (sentiments) and can be physically executed if you've the tools to do it. But the question is how to make these words reverberate and act on them when the movement you are pushing toward is emotional? Saying, "I'm moving forward," then actually moving forward are two different things.

It's not writer's block. It's not a lack of thoughts. It's just me standing in a sinkhole, dropping slow inches while I peer into some dense foliage concerned that I can't see the beast waiting for me. If there is one at all. There could also be a parade, behind the curtain of leaves. How will I know? But meanwhile, here I am sinking because at least I can see the sinkhole! It does read sorta stupid of me once I put it out there, doesn't it? At least being eaten by a beast would be interesting. Sinking in a sinkhole? That's just a slow, boring demise. Who needs that?

In writing, it's the scene stuck in my head that I'm emotionally invested in because I either love it, hate it, need it, or I'm confused by it, etc. The first step to getting around this I suppose is to recognize why it's preventing my movement, my progression. Why it (or that I allow it to) holds me back? Lack of understanding? Fear? Pride? Fatigue? Stubbornness? Ooo, how about an unwillingness to let go? Of what? Of this sense of frustration because at least it is something, it's familiar. Beyond it I have nothing waiting or planned. Taking steps into the yonder without an idea of where I'm going (I can't read compasses!), what awaits me (A parade of monsters!?) even while carefully treading. I've only this vague sense of where I want to end up.

Wow. That feels very naked... so this must be my truth! :) Afraid of the risk, dammit I hate that! I believe majority of the time that I like risks. I have taken many quite blithely. They quicken the blood and make the taste of things, sweeter. So why now? Maybe it's because I sense a change in my forest - it's different. Then, I took risks in the comfort of a known setting even with unknown results, I still felt safe...the treehouse was in sight or easy to find (Hmm how much risk is that actually - eh I'll save it for another post. :)). Now, everything here is new and I have no treehouse. It's exciting..but it makes for a bit of a pause.

Well hell, for me the only thing to do is something fun, something drastic to get my blood pumping lose myself in the journey for a while. Get over myself, get out of this sinkhole and step into my unknown prepared for my monster but hoping to join in a parade. On my own or with friends I can't stay here, I've got to keep on moving.

So...wanna go? I'm going to go write something. What will you do?