JOY OF FALLING

Chuck Norris

2011-01-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

I missed you. I really, really do. I haven't written in this blog since last June. I figure that the only way I was going to get any real writing done was to completely unplug--and I did.

Then I had a baby. A beautiful baby girl that looks so much like her father it's scary.

And then right after that, my computer broke. I'm borrowing one right now, but I hope to be back online full time by the first week of February.

Life has thrown some major curve balls--still moving forward even when I'm not sure my legs are moving. Sometimes I hurt so bad from the act of growing that I feel numb from the waist down--trying to keep moving forward.

I 'ran' into a very old friend of mine very recently. I feel--I don't know...like I'm 23 again and everything is everything. Those old urges and feelings of restlessness seem to be coming back but this time, I won't repress them because I have to be a 'grown-up' now.

Funny thing about these words--this text is that they seem to be only that. You can make them be whatever you want, make them mean anything you want--sort of like an abstract painting. That's what words are to me.

I didn't make any new years resolutions. I really didn't. I hate the idea of being obligated to myself. Whatever happen will happen and all I can hope is that I make the best decision for that moment and pray it doesn't get me hit by a bus.

I don't know what this year is going to bring, but I pretty excited and freaked out by it at the same time.

Oh...yeah, the title is completely random, so don't even bother giving yourself a headache by trying to figure out what it has to do with anything I'm saying, save for this sentence.

In the immortal words of Arnold Swartzenegger(sp?) in Terminator: "I'll be back."

When it works!

2010-06-10T12:18:00.000-07:00

25,000 words and counting!
That's all I can say...amazing.

Instinct

2010-06-03T20:53:00.000-07:00

In one day I managed to write over 5000 words. Easily. As soon as I sat down at the computer and opened up my WIP I started writing. I'm now at 17334 words. In all my writing in all these years I've never written this far. Maybe...8000 at the most.

And when the flow stops...it just stops. I don't try to force it, I don't try to analyze it and I certainly don't plan it.

I don't work on a schedule.

My schedule is basically: "I feel like writing" and then I come out with thousands of words in about 4 hours. I stop to eat, deal with my daughter, take a piss...whatever and I write.

My biggest mistake in the past was trying to write on a schedule, trying to write outlines and all of those things. But it always ended up killing the thrill. Outlines are the death of my writing. It kills the instinct. And one of the most important tools I believe I writer has is their instinct.

When something says 'stop', I stop. And believe me, no matter how hard I try, nothing worth anything comes out. I'll go four days without writing and in that time span, I sit and read books.

I just finished reading Insomnia by Stephen King which is easily over 600 pages. It doesn't bother me or...take anything away strangely enough.
Before that I read a book called--crap---what was it? It was a medical thriller and now I'm reading something called Self Defense by Jonathan Kellerman. The story is interesting. I am starting to dig his writing style.

Last week I was completely in love with Eugene O'neil. See, I always pick up free books where ever I find them and I happened to run into a few treasures, Mr. O'neil being one of them. It was a collection of three different plays which were really just extraordinary. Why didn't we read him in school I wonder?

And even with all that being said, I managed to write a short story in less than two days and have some artwork to go with it. I actually made the picture first using Photoshop cs4. Halfway decent too.

The anxiety over everything is gone for the most part. I just write. I know what works now and I stick to it. Things that usually work for most folks just don't work for me. I thought I was being unmotivated or just...stupid. Truth was I was following someone else's perception of what my writing should be.

I I finally do see an end.

Sorry

2010-05-27T13:45:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the huge space between blog posts. My internet has gone on the fritz and it only works when it wants to. I don't have too much to tell today. The writing has been coming along beautifully. I'm FINALLY into the double digits. Strangely enough I'm not writing EVERYDAY but when I do, I'm usually writing over a couple thousand.

I have too much going on to write EVERYDAY. But, it's consistent when it happens.

So I guess that's it. Not the most informative post right now, but I just wanted to let you all know that I didn't disappear off the face of the planet. I do come back down to earth from time to time.

If You Gave A Whale A Waffle

2010-05-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

Doesn't that title sound like something that's already in bookstores?
So I went to my 8 year old niece's Art and Literature night at her school in Pennsylvania and I just got back.

My niece's book title was "If You Gave A Whale a Waffle" and it was extraordinarily good. Like...not even for an 8 year old either. The teacher went all out with actually getting these blank hard cover books and the kids wrote the story and did all the illustrations.

She didn't finish the pictures, but the story was just...amazing. I was really impressed, and not just in that indulgent way adults tend to be with their kids.

She couldn't take it home yet, but when she does, I am going to take pictures of it and her art work. It was just...good.

So you know my mother, my sister and I were all trying to take credit for her mad skillz!

Confidence

2010-05-19T13:41:00.000-07:00

It's not something I ever really had. Maybe occasionally when I was particularly sure of something. And even then, there was that niggling little doubt.

I couldn't at all imagine why something amazing or spectacular could happen to me when there were so many other better people it could happen to.

Thinking like that doesn't really get you far if anywhere. And even upon saying this, I'm sure that some part of me will always have that twinge in the back of my head.

I think the reason why I've had so much trouble with my writing isn't because it isn't good. I know it is. That's not being particularly vain or even confident. I know that because it's probably one of the few things I can do marginally well. It's more along the lines of feeling that somehow no matter how good you are, you somehow aren't as adequate as others.

Then you begin to read your work back to yourself with the eyes of someone who suddenly doesn't feel as confident and you end up second guessing yourself and quitting.

And somehow amidst that, you are foolishly able to convince yourself that you probably aren't that good anyhow. You pick up the pen or turn on your laptop and you keep writing, having no confidence in what you're writing and then you just...stop.

Well, not you so much as Me.

Then I realize that after stepping away for a day and a half and looking at it with new eyes--and a bit more objectively makes all the difference.

Then I can at least say "I'm no Hemingway, but it's actually pretty good."

Don't know how many times this will happen before I'm finished...but as long as their is a finish instead of an eternal pause...then maybe that's not so bad.

Colin Hay - I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

2010-05-17T21:58:00.000-07:00

Losing words

2010-05-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Lost thousands.
Thousands.
Almost said SCREW THIS.

Actually I said it. And then I started over.

Is just...really pissed off today. REALLY.

How long does this crap last? When do you finally just get THROUGH it? Is there a finish line?

Or is that just fiction?

Back to the drawing board..and farting.

2010-05-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

I have literally been avoidng my computer for days. "Aha, I knew it!" one might say. But the truth is, I've been writing long hand for so long that I reverted back to it. I'm not going to finish the whole book long hand, but I did end up starting over which was FOR my better judgement as opposed to against it. The fiance said something--profound last night and I was like "Oh my god...that's IT!" and he had a dumb, pleased look on his face which was incredibly cute.

So it's very late right now. It's about 11pm, my daughter's diaper is soaked because--well...long story and I really need to get her into and changed. I'll post the new word count by Wednesday for those interested.

Other than that, there's absolutely nothing interesting going on in my life. Unless you count pregnancy gas as one. Like..I seriously fart alot. I don't even notice anymore. I think the fiance has long since learned to ignore it.

Random people on the bus...not so much.

Mom, you ask stupid questions.

2010-05-05T10:39:00.000-07:00

I asked Israel what she was building with her legos, and being the clever momma that I am I said, 'oh, is that a castle?" and she gives me a look and said "No! It's a pancake Licia!"

Like...I can't figure out if my two year old was being sarcastic or not.

Stand by Me

2010-05-04T22:17:00.000-07:00

It's 1:17 am and I'm waiting for the fiance to return with my calzone. I only put Israel to bed an hour ago after coercing her with cold spaghetti and a back rub--two of her favorite things aside from watching Nim's Island and eating peanut butter and jelly.

While rocking her to sleep, I watched Stand by Me on Netflix and remembered why to me, it will always be my most favorite movies. I think it was brilliant in a simple ways that movies really aren't anymore. I think Stephen King's writing is phenomenal, I really do. It's what I aspire to. Books and works that span over decades--things that you will always remember even when you have grandchildren.

Who remembers the part when Gordy and Vern and Chris and Teddy were in the woods and they waded through that creek and when they came out, they had leeches all over them? Or the part when Gordy told the story of Lard Ass who got everyone back at the pie eating contest by making everyone throw up all over one another.

Classic. Perfect. I remember watching this movie when I was a little kid and I've never gotten tired of seeing it.

After everything is said and done, after all the querying and editing and rejections and staying up late staring at your screen--after all the writer's blocks and blogging and writing conventions--why is it that you write? Sometime all those things seem to take the fun out of it.

And then, you remember that you love it. That you get to tell a story the way YOU see it and it's yours. It's all yours. And...it makes you happy.

What I would give to be a 12 year old kid again, exploring the world and being full of ideas and my most pressing thought of the day being:

"If Mickey's a mouse, and Donald's a duck and Pluto's a dog...what the hell is Goofy?"

took off...

2010-05-02T11:20:00.001-07:00

Even us reclusive writers have to get out of the house once in a while, so I didn't do any writing yesterday, instead I enjoyed the day at the park with my two year old and my sister and her daughter.

'Enjoyed' meaning...getting eaten by bugs, chasing Israel into the woods and trying to keep her from jumping in the pond with the ducks. Oh and...she also tried to put this stick up some dog's butt yesterday too.

Oh yes...yes she did.

So after some pizza in about 20 minutes...back to work! -cracks whip-
I've also decided to post the word count at the end of the week. My internet is too spazzy to try and do it every day. But so far...so good. Keeping up with my own challenge though I desperately want to go back and start fixing things already.

-twitches-

WTF?

2010-04-29T10:20:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those days when you don't know what the f@#k you're writing, you just write? You get it out because if you go back...you'll keep going back.

All you can do is pray that when it's all said and done, you can make enough sense of it to fix it into what it's supposed to be...

God...I need a drink. But that won't happen for about 6 more months.
What in the hell did I get myself into?

I just realized...

2010-04-29T09:09:00.000-07:00

That me posting the word count might not be EVERY day only because my internet works sporadically. But, when I have a chance, I will definitely update it as soon as possible.

Not much to say today. I got to see my little peanut on the ultra sound yesterday, which was great. They had a little trouble finding the heartbeat on the doppler, so I had a quick ultra sound and everything was great.

I'm in a weird reflective mood today...not much for blogging today.

I'll make sure to keep updating The Countdown as daily as possible!

Time

2010-04-27T10:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could gather all the people that I love and take them to a place where time doesn't exist.
I wish that I never had to worry about losing them--about the grief that would come when they are no longer there. Some days I feel like I go crazy with the idea of loss...of not having the people I love so desperately not be there.

I had strange dreams last night. I always have strange dreams. I really do think I'm losing my mind sometimes. Or maybe it was already lost and I'm only now realizing it.

In books...no time exists aside from the time you create. Maybe after you finish the last page you can imagine what their lives were after. But there is no after. You can always start over and relive as many times as you desire.

But life goes on. Time moves forward. There are losses and times to say goodbye. I just don't like the idea of it very much all the time.

2500

2010-04-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

So...at this moment, less than a week after coming back to this blog, I have a bit of triumph today--the first in a very...very long time.

I wrote 2500 words like I promised myself I would do. And I figure, 2500 words at the end of 30 days means 75000 at the end of a month...which means...a novel. A finished manuscript.

So...I'm going to challenge myself. I know this is going to sound like NaNoWriMo...but I wasn't even remotely interested in doing that. There was way too much hub bub and hub bub makes me anxious.

I instead, plan on doing this with as little fan fare as possible. This is my own personal challenge to see if I can just STICK to this one thing for a month. I realized what was making this so difficult was me trying to revise as I went along and trying to get it perfect in one shot. Maybe that worked for Kurt Vonnegut--but it is driving me insane and I really am turning into a raging bitch because I can't get crap done.

I have to literally tune out my daughter and fiance to get any writing done. I literally told him to get away from me and do something with himself...and at 12 am this child is STILL awake and I had to threaten her to get her to lay down.

Like I mentioned on my facebook, if I keep letting distractions keep me from doing what I need to get done on this manuscript, then I will NEVER get anything done.

So here, for all you folks to see, I am stating that I am giving myself until May 27th to finish this. No more, no less. It HAS to be done by then. I let this sit for entirely too long. Even for the days when I think I have nothing, I'm going to give something.

So...as of today, I have 3855 words written. Yesterday I had only 1338. I added 2500 to that and came up with 3838 which I am over by seventeen. Everyday I'm going to add 2500 to that number and keep tally here. I won't write about my progress every day, but I will add a section here on Blogger with the word count and days left.

And...here goes nothin' folks!
Now, I'm going to reward myself with reading a book while I'm in the bathtub. Hey...I'm pregnant, so the wine it out of the question..unfortunately.

It's a bitch...

2010-04-26T12:07:00.000-07:00

Trying to write and get your sticky two year old to take a nap. Seriously...I've been on the same sentence for 20 minutes.

Me: "Izzy, LAY DOWN."
Izzy: "Whatever momma."

Yeah.

Good times.

Away

2010-04-26T09:32:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, a little seven year old girl got gang raped about ten minutes from where I live. She was sold out by her 15 year old step sister. It made national headlines and even the creator of Def Comedy Jam and ex husband to Kimora Lee, Russel Simmons came to this dump of a city we called Trenton to make something happen.

They ended up organizing a group called Peace Keepers or something. I'm not sure what it's supposed to do. The gang problem, the drug problem here is way out of hand--too much for a group of 50 well meaning guys to have much impact.

The difference from kids today and back when I was a kid--that there are no limits. There is nothing sacred to them. And I know I can't raise my children here in this place. There is a dark, dark shroud over this city in which light refuses to penetrate. I don't believe any good can come from this place. When I was a girl--my mother struggled to get us out of here...and she did. I was blessed that I got to go to a good school system and be raised in a very good neighborhood.

It's raining here today. It's gray and cold and wet, but my apartment is warm. Israel is watching Nemo, the boyfriend is getting ready to leave for work and errands...and I'm sitting here thinking about things too much.

I wrote--but I didn't mean to. I mean...I wasn't trying to. My neice came over this weekend to spend the night and she saw it on my lap top and she asked me to read it to her. So I read it...and explained the story to her...and she liked it. She told me she couldn't wait until I wrote some more. So I think my main purpose now is writing so I can tell her the whole story. She wants me to read it all to her when I'm finished--which I think is funny. She'd read it herself, but she's only 8 and some of the words, she says, are too big. And she likes how I explain things.

I told her the gist of the story in less than five minutes. And she told me that I was going to be famous and when I was, could I take her on a cruise.

I promised I would. So...there's some incentive.

Her Name Is Charlie...

2010-04-23T18:59:00.001-07:00

I always come back to her.

I've left her alone for nearly a year now. But I can't seem to write anything else because I can't forget about her.

It's supposed to be normal--this starting and stopping. Stephen King started Under The Dome in what...'76 and it came out in 2009. Granted, he had tons of other books written before that. But I honestly can't see myself doing anything else until I finish this. I don't know where to start...but I definitely feel like I'm wasting time.

I can't tell you how many books I've read since then. What's even more ridiculous is that I know the story from beginning to end. And yet...nothing.

I'm trying not to think about it so much so early in the morning--but I can't help it. That strange little depression is starting to descend on me. It's either hormones or that sneaking suspicion of being a failure.

What am I doing wrong? I miss Charlie. I don't want to lose her story.

Oh man...

2010-04-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

So it's like what? Almost the end of April now? Yeah, that's about right. I always have those 'it's been forever' type posts. One every few months when I get so caught up with life that I don't find the time to be here...or the desire. I guess that makes me a little horrible. My inspiration has been more than a little lacking. But it's mostly because I've been suffering from morning sickness for almost 14 weeks now, along with a bunch of other little unpleasant aspects of being pregnant.

No.

I haven't been writing. I've been thinking about writing. I can't tell you how many times I've sat with MS Word open and absolutely nothing has come out. I won't say it is as severe as me having lost my mojo. But I am so unbelievably distracted that I can't think.

So I am back. And I don't know what's going to happen. I kind of learned to stop trying to plan these things and just do what I have to do. Whatever that is. There's so much I need to catch up on. It's strange because like--I remember NOT having my own computer and finding a way to be here, and now that I do...I've been MIA.

I have this horrible flaw of not being able to stick to anything. My inspiration dries up faster than ice in the Sierra desert. Really. That's sad. I should be ashamed of myself.

So we'll see what happens this time around. Maybe reading some of your fantastic blogs will spark something to life.

But for now, I'm here.
And I think for me at least, it counts for something.

The Big Idea

2010-02-20T07:56:00.000-08:00

I got it.

Finally.

Yo Elana Johnson!

2010-02-13T19:39:00.000-08:00

Because I'm too lazy to scroll through the comments section of your contest bloggy thing...I'm giving you your own thread--yeah baby.

I think the prizes for the contests should be gift certificates to Taco Bell! Or Energy saving light bulbs...

What?
Those things are kinda cool looking.

I wonder if they come in purple.

Japanese Story

2010-02-13T18:46:00.000-08:00

So, I went on ahead and signed up for NetFlix, which is just all kinds of awesome might I add.

Anyhow, I've been wanting to see this movie for ages--literally. And the first movie I want sent is Japanese Story with Toni Colette and Gotero Lastnameican'tspell and I loved it. I cried...oh my goodness I cried. Eric is like, "You're weird' and I'm like "You have no soul!"

I was just marveling over the simplicity of the story--and how it was so moving at the same time. It took an absolutely ordinary situation--and made it extraordinary. Huge and epic plots are all good and well sometimes--but sometimes you just want a story. Sometimes you don't want the gimmick or the hype. Another perfect example is a book I mentioned before by Anita Shreve 'The Last Time They Met'. It's so detailed and not a whole lot of dialogue, but when it is, it's so human and real and seemingly not contrived that you are pulled into the story--even if books like that aren't your thing. It's like overhearing a conversation that wasn't meant for you, but you listen anyway.

I don't know, I just--I love that. I love reading about human emotion--and watching movies about it too.

Especially in a world where it seems like nothing is authentic anymore. Everything is computerized and 'There's an App for That!'

Strangely enough, I didn't dig The Notebook too much. It was...obvious and...I dunno--Hollywood? I don't know how to describe it. For Hollywood, it was deep--but then again, I'm biased. I'm more drawn to films like, The Hours or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which is weird, but the basis of it is really simple).

I am writing...I don't know what...but I am. It's just more of the act of putting something on paper--I'm not really worried about anything coming from it. I think what started to kill the passion for what I do was the fact that I was trying to write to make an agent happy, instead of myself. I have gained so much confidence, that worrying about being published doesn't phase me anymore. It'll happen if it's supposed to, you know?

Writing makes me happy. It's my happy place. And at the end of the day, that's all that matters. If I write a story worth sharing with the world--great. If not...that's fine.

As long as I do what I'm put here to do...

So...I've ranted long enough. Happy Valentine's Day.

Blood, Guts and Words

2010-02-03T19:00:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't been able to blog, and my urge to write has only come in sporadic, ephemeral spurts, I've been reading, trying to find inspiration. Okay, I wasn't exactly looking for it, but I found it. Manuscripts are still waiting for me even now, but it's not right yet. For one thing, it feels odd writing or rather typing a book on a computer when I'm used to writing on paper. I have like, a thousand notebooks. Secondly, I'm waiting to get to that point where I need to write so badly that it's going to burst out of me if I don't. And trust me folks, we don't want that to happen. Bloody guts and bloody words.

So, like I was saying--I've been reading right? I have all these books in my tiny apartment, many of which I hadn't read. I was tired of reading the same stuff so I picked up a book I had by Anita Shreve called The Last Time They Met. It was amazing and totally unexpected. The other book I found was called Smoke Jumper by Nicholas Evans. Reading both of those books made me feel like I stumbled across something great.

I don't have an elaborate description about the books. I'm not a book reviewer. But I will say that they made me feel good, and sad and worried. Desolate, hopeful...just from reading some words on paper.

And I like that.
It made me want to write again.
So I will.

She's baa-aack

2010-01-31T18:58:00.000-08:00

Well, she being me.
I'm back on a much more permanent basis. I got a nifty little lap for a really good deal. It was kind of hard and frusterating to blog randomly. It seemed to defeat the purpose. Liffe has been throwing me for and through some loops. But I'm still standing--a little wobbly, but I'm here.

Also, I get to internets when I'm doing number two.
No she didn't!

Oh yes I did honey chile!

Terrible Two's

2009-11-11T12:40:00.001-08:00

...I mean, she's actually been a terror before this...but tomorrow, she's officially two years old. Tomorrow won't be too much fanfare because I have to get the apartment in order for her birthday party on Friday. A house full of toddlers doesn't sound all that appealing, but on the upside, she'll be so tired out by the time that it's over that it'll have all seemed worth it.

I'm going to celebrate with a glass of wine tomorrow night when she's sleep with the knowledge that I kept her alive for a whole two years! Here's to many MANY more.

Be Bold

2009-11-03T09:08:00.001-08:00

I had the most amazing conversation with my best friend last night on the phone. We were discussing my recent break-up with Eric. I won't get into all of that right now because it's not important--and I won't give him the satisfaction of having his name fall off my lips.

But I was telling her that for the first time in a long time I felt free and happy. No limitations, no restrictions...I can just be myself. And so she asked me what I was going to do now and I said, 'Be Bold'.

Next summer I'm going to be thirty years old. I've spent too much of my life hiding who I am so it wouldn't offend people. I even stopped writing a few months back because he said fiction was 'stupid amd for people with their heads in the clouds' or some nonsense. And while I never believed that, I did believe that maybe I was too old to be chasing dreams I've had since I was a girl.

It seems silly in retrospect, to let someone have that much control over you, but I did. It was an abusive relationship that I allowed to go on way too long and effect my writing.

Next to my daughter, writing has to be one of the most important things in my life. It's never been a hobby for me. Sometimes I wish it was. Obsessions are tedious, time consuming things.

But I don't know what else to call it and I don't know how to feel any less intensely about it and I don't think I really want to.

I spend more time with my notebook and pen then I do networking. It distracts me. It really does. But I love this place. I love talking to new people and keeping up with what's going on in the writer's market. It keeps me grounded--but it's the sort of thing I have to take in doses. Too much information and I'll forget my purpose.

When I finish this book...I don't want it to be just 'good'. I want to blow people out of the water. I want to inspire and challenge and give hope...and...all of those things. I want to write something that you can't put down, and even when you do...it stays with you. You ever read a book SO good that you dream about the characters?

I want to be unforgettable. And it's a lofty aspiration for someone just starting out--but I hope for no less. And until I get there...I'm not going to stop.

So that's all...no more excuses.

and National Novel Writing Month is upon us...finally. So...I decided to just do the damned thing.

It's been a long time...

2009-10-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

Well, at least a little over a month since I last posted here.

Life has thrown some major curve balls and I've been doging some and hitting some out of the ball park--or something like that.

Mostly, I've been writing alot. I don't know how it's going to pan out. I'm just doing it because it's what I do. You get to create a world to live in for the time being--and the real world problems are gone for a couple of hours.

Life is...life. I'm trying to get mines back in some semblance of order and once I do, I'll be back full force.

There is a calmness in knowing that my pen still touches paper as often as possible and sometimes for hours on end. That hasn't stopped. That's the most important thing. Before blogging and networking and posting chapters...it's always been just the pen, the paper and the words.

On another note, I've signed up for NaNoWriMo. Whether or not I'll even wait or still participate remains to be seen. I'm a rebel. I always like to do things my own way (which is probably why it only works out for me 48% of the time)

I'm still keeping up on current events in the whole writer market thing. I'm still reading blogs and keeping up to date. Even though I'm not here every day or even every week...I'm here in spirit--or some junk.

Bubble Guts

2009-09-14T10:51:00.001-07:00

(I know, the title. Don't ask. You so don't want to know.)

Sleep has been elusive for the past two weeks. I fell asleep on the bus this morning on my way to class and nearly missed my stop. You don't know how badly I want to go home, pull the blankets over my head and go to sleep.

Then I remember, I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm a gal with a little gal and I'm just not going to get the sleep I want.

Oh...so her dad came home from jail Friday. Showed up at my door with his mother, and I made up a lie as to why they couldn't take her. I ended up taking her over there for a few hours last weekend, but I didn't leave her alone. His mother has yet another new boyfriend--with a hairy belly.

I think this weekend drained me. I have finals coming up this week and then the first mod is over and done with. I'm passing with flying colors though I haven't been particularly interested in writing. I'm really taking my friend Crystal's advice and writing when I have to...not because I have a deadline.

I'm in this weird place right now that when I get home and put on Peter Pan for Israel, I sit on the couch and basically zone out. Eventually I'll do the dishes or cook, but I zone for at least an hour. Trust me, I know I could be writing, but for me, it just doesn't happen like that. It's a mix of apathy and lethargy.

Then again, eating a honey bun and barbeque chips for breakfast doesn't really have the greatest effect on energy...or your stomach for that matter.

Back on Track

2009-09-10T10:09:00.000-07:00

I guess.

It's always hard to say with me. I haven't been writing as much because of school--or more correctly, because I have to make up some work missed at school.
Life has been...strange in the way it usually tends to be for me. I wish I could condense all the oddities in my life and make it into a story, but I don't think it would even begin to make sense.

But I think that's the problem--I'm trying to make sense of something that has no need for it.

It's beautiful today. It's breezy and cool and the sky looks like rain. I can't help but to look up from this computer from time to time and just look out side. I keep getting distracted by the trees. It's always been that way for me. I remember a few years ago before my daughter, I was at this park in Hamilton, New Jersey with my sister called Veterans' Park. It was July and the day was pleasantly warm. The sun was setting when we got there and it would have been completely dark within an hour or so.

I remember walking the path with my sister and her daughter and some other children we had taken with us, and I walked off the path with my niece Orion and we pretended to get lost in the woods. I remember pausing while she went on, and staring at the green canopies of the trees swaying slowly, rhythmically back and forth. I was in a trance. It almost seemed as if the trees were breathing in and out. It was beautiful. I swear, if it's a windy or breezy night and you stare at the trees, it's like your eyes are playing tricks on you.

In other news: One of the classes I'm taking for this course is Business English or Coder's English and OMG...you cannot believe how much it is improving my writing. It is so important to be able to punctuate correctly and know when to use prepositional phrases, conjunctions, past participles and...god...stuff I haven't thought about since grammar school. It's helped me alot and has definitely given me more confidence in writing. Granted, I haven't really written in a few days, but I've lost that urgency to write because I need to put something on paper for the sake of doing it. I've learned to write when I have the time and know that it's still just as important as it was all those weeks and months ago.

So...we'll chat soon!

Seppy: I hope you're feeling alot better! I miss you!

Daughters

2009-09-08T09:18:00.000-07:00

This blog entry has nothing to do with writing at all, but I think it's important for all mothers, caregivers of children, aunts, grandmothers etc, to read.

Last weekend, I allowed my daughter to see her paternal grandmother after nearly a month of keeping her away. For a while, her paternal grandmother was baby sitting her while I was interning. For many reasons, I chose not to have my child associate with her father or his family. Maybe I should be nice and politically correct, but I'm not going to and I'm sure some of you know that about me by now.

His family...is disgusting. I think they're horrible people. They've been horrible to me and my daughter. But because I felt the need to include them in her life and because I often allowed myself to be bullied by them, I would let them see her. There were times when they would turn up at my apartment unannounced demanding to see my daughter. Thankfully, my boyfriend successfully nipped that in the bud.

But that's not what this post is about.

This past weekend, I allowed my daughter to stay the night with her paternal grandmother. Since I never gave her my cell number, she'd been calling MY mother non stop asking me why I haven't brough Israel over to see her. Not only that, but I had people from her family stopping me on the street asking me about it. Giving in, I allowed her to go over there.

When I picked her up on Sunday, I found out some news that solidified my resolve that she will never go over there for as long as I am alive.

When I arrived at her house, my daughter was on the shoulders of her ex-boyfriend Tommy (whom I don't have a problem with. I've known him forever and he's known israel since she was a new born). I walked into the house and I asked 'Where's Darrell' which was her current boyfriend that was living with her. Part of the reason why I stopped bringing my daughter there was because Darrell was a drug addict, and a pervert and he hit on me a few times. I never trusted him.

My daughter's grandmother informed me that she had left a little girl alone with Darrell, a girl she was responsible for, that she was getting paid to take care of while her mother was at work. Tammy had to go to the doctor's and she left this 7 year old girl alone with him, and he molested her.

I know the little girl VERY well. Often times her mother and stepdad would bring the little girl and her brother to my apartment when they went out and they'd end up spending the night with my daughter. The girl has spent the night with me numerous times when my niece comes over because they are good friends and the same age.

My anger isn't simply from what this creature of a man did to a child, but it was also directed towards Tammy.

Reciting these words even now make me seethe with anger I haven't felt in a long time. When I asked her about it, she said, and I quote:

"Well, at first I didn't believe her. You know *name witheld* is a little hot ass anyways."

This...is the mother of five children. The grandmother of three. I shouldn't be surprised as one of her sons was recently in prison for similar charges and her other son, my daughter's sorry excuse for a father is currently in jail for domestic violence. Her other children are completely inept and incapable of doing anything for themselves but blaming the world for their problems.

The little girl in question is an uncommonly beautiful little girl, even moreso because she has such a sweet personality. She's very intelligent, and happy and just a good girl. She's very affectionate, loves hugging and just being herself. Just last night she called me from my kitchen window and waved--like nothing happened. And my heart just hurt for her.

I feel lax as a parent because I allowed my daughter to be taken care of by her when I was working for the State of New Jersey. Granted, this man wasn't around then, but I am sure she had countless other degenerates around my child. Because my daughter can't really talk yet, I am praying to God nothing happened to her when I was gone

I'm sure I don't have to tell any of you this, but I'm saying it because we all need to be reminded sometimes. Just...ask your kids questions, be aware.

I am so grateful this little girl spoke up because if she hadn't, who knows how much further it could have went. She told her parents, not Tammy, because she was afraid and the man was still there.

He's currently in jail with a 50,000.00 bail and I don't see him getting out any time soon.

Be good folks.

!@#$!

2009-08-29T13:46:00.001-07:00

Man.

I don't even know where to start with this one. I really don't. I waited too long. Maybe I knew this was coming. I couldn't flesh out 'Charlie' the way I wanted, no matter how hard I tried and I've hit a brick wall.

Shit...I don't like her. I just don't fecking like her. At all. She's flat. Uninteresting...I don't like her. I can't feel her.

And she's the center of the story. I don't know how many thousands of words I wrote. But I stopped.

I flat out...stopped. I cannot--I will not waste any more time with this story. I never came up with a title that I liked. I've been writing this story for almost six months (which is way too long) and I'm not in love with it anymore.

I'm not even sad. I actually pissed off. Really, fundamentally pissed off. I'm not saying that I'll never pick this up again. But I'm putting it in the drawer until it wants to cooperate. I'm sick of looking at it. I'm sick of thinking about it. The idea is solid. It's sound, but for some reason it's not just coming together. When I send out the manuscript, I want whoever I send it to, to be floored by it.

But I'm not floored with it. I'm BORED with it.

Now Jane...I like Jane. I love Jane. Jane is fecking fantabulous. Man, I just started writing about this mousey little screw-up of a woman who cannot use a public bathroom when there's other people in there (she'll actually stop in mid-piss when she hears someone comes in), who owns this horrifically ugly pink t-shirt with dancing kittens across the front of it and sits on her computer at home playing nerdy video games.

I fecking (like my new word?) LOVE her. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with her...but it's going to be something.

I don't care about genres or queries or agents or agent blogs or anything. I worried about that shit way too much with this last project and it totally killed me.

Chronicles of Jane. Not changing it. Not fixing it. Not thinking about it. It's there.

I suck. I really REALLY do.

Have you ever...?

2009-08-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

Gotten an absolutely brilliant (story) idea while you're still wrestling with your WIP, and then STOP writing it to write the Other Brilliant Idea down?

I did.

I thought it'd be sacriligious to stop writing one thing to jot down something else. But I think you'd be doing yourself a huge disservice if you didn't do it. I can't tell you how many times I've had this really good concept and decided to work it out in my head later only to forget it when the time came.

It's really retarded if you ask me. And I'm speaking from personal experience. I've had a few da-dee-da-dee moments and more than likely I'm going to have quite a few more before this is all said and done with.

My advice is...don't feel guilty. Put it down. Hell, bang out (that sounds dirty) a few paragraphs if it helps. I'm disciplined enough to know that I really can't work on two things at once, no matter how tempted I might be to do so. Besides, who's to say that when I finish this manuscript that super awesome ideas are going to come out of the Realm of Super Awesome Ideas?

In other news, one of my classes here at school is Coder's English and I didn't realize until...oh...let's say Moday, August 17th 2009, how much I have completely fudged up the English language.

I'm probably doing it right now.

That One Hot Guy

2009-08-19T07:55:00.000-07:00

So school...yeah...it's pretty awesome and I'm actually sitting here in class wondering why I didn't pay attention in high school.

Then I'm like 'Oh yeah, boys.'

There's no boys in our class. All women. 25 women.

Most people in this school ARE women actually. But there is this one particular hottie who I can't help but to stare at. And what makes it worse is that he speaks to me and he snuck up behind me earlier this morning and we spoke for a few minutes.

So I've started this little chant "I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend." *Lol* Not that serious of course. I wouldn't stray in a million years. Besides, Eric is all kinds of beautiful. But I kind of miss that old feeling of coming to school to see that ONE hot guy. In high school, that guy was Garrett. Hot Guy From High School, maa-an, he was something else. And every girl was in love with him. He was "deep" and he wrote awesome poetry, he could paint beautifully and he played the guitar. Not to mention, he dressed like a Calvin Klein ad. However unlike in high school--Hot Guy From Business School actually knows I exist!

In other news, my writing hasn't suffered terribly. This week I've been really busy and just thrown off of schedule. But since I get out of school at 2pm and my daughter is out of day care at 5:30 pm, I get a chance to grab a late lunch and write for a couple of hours. So instead of writing at night when she's asleep, I write after school and all day on Friday.

Oh yeah...

wow...I totally just turned 29 on Saturday! Is it indicative of senility that I can't remember turning 29?

...the hot guy totally wants me (in my head at least)

Talk about random blogging today.

Back to school...

2009-08-18T08:38:00.000-07:00

After ten years...

Yeah, I graduated in June of 1999 and I just started school again...yesterday actually. I'm taking a course to become a Health Claims Specialist. Because I am my mother's daughter, I always have to have a back up plan.

I like it so far...I get to wear scrubs! I love those things! It was strange being back in the classroom again...along with 25 other women.

It oddly enough, hasn't effected my writing either, not in the way I thought it would.

Sorry for the long pause in between posts. But you guys should know how I am already.
*lol*

Who knows, by this time next year I may actually be able to afford to go to a writer's conference.

Temper Tantrums

2009-08-06T06:36:00.000-07:00

Man, this doesn't really have too much to do with writing. I think I had a 'bad mom' moment. I'm not sure yet. Maybe some of you other parents out there can tell me.

Israel started preschool about two weeks ago now. The first day she was great--paid me no mind whatsoever when I left. For the past week or so now, she's been screaming when I leave, not to mention, her teacher told me she bit someone and that she kind of bullies the other kids and she's always taking someone's cup or bottle. I'm trying to work with her on that--slowly.

But that doesn't begin to touch on what she did yesterday. So I pick her up a little early from school and she was fine. They said she was pretty good save for playing a little rough (I swear she's a boy sometimes).

We get outside, and I'm walking with my friend Anna (she works at the day care as well) and I give Israel her sippy cup which she calls 'cuppie' and suddenly, out of the blue, she flings it and begans shrieking like a banshee! I'm just like 'Holy crap girl, wth?' It was so random that I'm still reeling from it! So Anna tries to give her a lollipop and she throws it. She throws the cup, she kicks off her shoes...she's just SCREAMING and leaning out of her stroller and you'd think that someone was torturing her. People are staring at us and I can just hear them thinking 'Get that brat under control.' But like...I couldn't. She complete lost her mind. Anna and I get to the bus stop and I take her out of her stroller and she's twisting and arching and throwing herself back. She's flinging her arms and she scratched me dangerously close to my eye.

And seriously--I wanted to hand her off to someone and walk away for a moment. I don't remember being so frusterated, embarassed and angry with my daughter. It was so bad that I was nearly in tears. She was like this on the bus..just screaming and I still have no idea what the hell happened.

She calmed down once we got in the house and I was so angry with her that I just took off her clothes, wiped her down, gave her some cold water and put her in her high chair. I didn't want to look at her, speak to her, hold her...NOTHING. I couldn't believe she did that to me. She's supposed to be my best friend and I never imagined that my kid would be THAT kid. I'm sitting here wondering if anything is wrong with her. Most of the time she's a good girl. A little hard-headed and willful and she's always getting into things... but this whole..biting, and hitting is just...wow.

I'm thinking this HAS to be her dad's side of the family because most of them are freaking psychotic. I started noticing a pattern in her behavior when she spent time with them, so I took her away, hoping that Eric and myself and MY family would be a better influence.

I was so drained yesterday that I couldn't write and I got a headache from hell.

It wasn't her first tantrum, but it was her first public one. I don't think a could survive a secound round.

P.S.

I even emailed my mom like "Mom...she's horrible...what do I do!!"

'Murder Your Darlings'

2009-08-05T06:44:00.000-07:00

This post isn't going to be long because I'm annoyed and the more I think about it, the more annoyed I get.

I just tore out 30 pages of work because...well...I had to. It was painful. Not in a melodramatic sense, but more like "Goddamnit!!!! !@#!@#!@@#$!@#$%$#^%" But I did it because if I didn't, then the story would have gone in a direction completely unfamiliar.

I'm glad I did it, I just hate that I had to destroy all that work. Though in all honesty, I really didn't lose that much work or time.

There is a quote in my writer's 'Bible' On Writing by Mr. King in which he mentions 'murder your darlings' a term coined by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch I believe. William Faulkner also said something along those lines as well.

And I slayed them last night.
It was a bloody...bloody scene. There's yellow crime tape wrapped around my notebook and they took my pen in for questioning.

That's a complete lie of course. But it was almost true.

Because it needs to be said again.

2009-07-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

Totally ripped this off of Nathan and Elana's blogs.

I read two really good blogs today by Elana and Nathan Bransford

Basically dealing respectively with whether or not writing was worth it and how fellow writer's deal with the whole "Am I crazy for doing this?" that I think we all feel at one point.

I was reading the comments in Elana's blog and while alot of them said some really amazing things, there were a few that really stood out to me.

Michelle Mclean said:

"It isn't the writing that brings me stress. It's the querying, the submissions, the constant and never-ending edits and revisions, striving to get the ms as perfect as I can get it. THAT is what drives me to the ledge and leaves me hanging."

I thought that was profound in a really simplistic way. When it boils down to it--THAT'S what I stress about. Even though I have gotten writer's block, when it's gone...a floodgate of creativity rushes through and the writing is the easiest part.

It's the querying and re-writing and edits and synopsis and all of that which has me wigging out in the middle of the night. It's worrying about if I have the ms formatted in the right way, and if I worded my query exactly right, oh and--how exactly should I do a synopsis. And the fear, the absolute dreading fear that even if I DO do all of that right...agencies STILL might hate it.

And as much as I love writing, just for the writing it would really hurt to feel like all that work was for nothing.

It's just shitty is what it is. But we do it..because we ARE crazy. Every last one of us. And if you say you aren't..you're in serious denial and I'm calling you out right here and right now. I'm from the ghetto. That's how we do!

Another one that stood out to me was by Suzanne (I don't know her, but I love looking at her blog!)

She said:

"Because right about now, I don't friggen know.

So I am trying to figure it out as well. Sometimes I wish I'd never started. Sometimes I can't believe it took me so long.

There is that quote right? I can't remember who said it: "I write because I must."

That is it right now. Just like breathing. Only right now I have writers pneumonia and each breath feels like knives in my chest. (overly dramatic?)"

No, not overly dramatic. Just true.
I've been there...probably get there again before everything is said and done.

Sometimes this hurts.
Somethings this feels hard.
Sometimes it seems pointless.

But we do it because we're crazy. Because we're artists. Because we love this.

It makes sense, even if we don't.

Truth (it's a long one folks)

2009-07-29T06:55:00.000-07:00

On the internet, it is so easy to paint yourself into anything that you want to be and most times, no one would be the wiser. But truth of the matter is that eventually, whether you want to or not...you have to go back out into reality.

For a while now, I've stopped using this place as an escape. Why would I want to escape something for a little while, only to return to the same stuff I was so desperately trying to get away from?

Starting this blog really wasn't my idea. It was my friend Crys's idea.

I had been writing and I wanted to really pursue getting published--like seriously and she suggested this. Really, I would have never thought of it on my own because I was content to posting various short stories on the internet and keeping my work and my stuggle locked in my top drawer.

I had gotten so excited about it and really--blogging became a very important extension of me because it allowed me to really branch out and put myself out there with the big dogs so to speak.

It has allowed me to approach my writing in a way that I never thought possible and for that I am eternally grateful.

Having a blog opens you up to people and a world that you may never have had access to before. You let people into your life because of this need of someone allowing you into theirs.

After a few short months, I surprisingly have a decent amount of followers and I follow LOTS of people. I never expected that. And with that...with the people who read this blog regularly, though I've never met them and maybe never will, I have this profound need to just...let people REALLY know who I am. Or at the very least, give them a bit more insight into my life.

I think that it'll give people a better understanding as to why I write what I write and what I draw from.

I got pregnant in 2007 by a man that really doesn't have the capacity to be anyone's father. But I was in a strange state of mind that even now I can't understand. I remember the events leading up to meeting him, and life was so...horrible at that point that he seemed a means to an end. No more running.

I've never been on drugs. I've never committed any real crime. I only have drinks on my birthday.

But I was a perpetual runner. Life got hard...I ran. That simple. I didn't want to deal--I ran. I'd pack my things in the middle of the night and by morning I'd be gone without so much as a 'by your leave'.

That pregnancy was...horrible. He was horrible. The only light was my daughter and for that alone, I'd do it all over again. My mom likes to tell me that she was the reason for...everything. I couldn't really appreciate life until I had one growing inside of me.

The relationship with him was volatile at best and after a year and a half, I walked away. I took my daughter, packed what little I had and I walked away. I didn't run.

It was difficult. But I got on with my life and I'm still making so many mistakes.

Currently, her father is in jail for domestic violence towards his current girlfriend. I remember picking my daughter up from his mother's house and they would be fighting, and I literally had to pry his hands from around that woman's neck. He even tried to hit her in the face with my daughter's scooter thingie. And I grabbed it in barely a fraction of a second.

I never thought I'd be a 'baby momma' or that woman who's 'baby daddy' was in jail. That's not me.

I never thought I'd be broke and struggling. But it's true. I am. It could be worse. I could be completely content in not doing anything with my life and becoming a statistic.

But c'mon folks--I'm a Leo. And women in my family, we just don't go out like that.

I could be a complete idiot.
I could have no aspirations or dreams.

But I'm not...and I do. And I'm prideful to the point that it's probably a hinderance. There are certain things I won't accept even if it's 'alright for now'.

I could go on for days about my life...but we all have a story. It's what we do with that story and what ending we chose that counts. But I draw from my life experiences because they are so rich, so painful, so beautiful, so ugly...so...everything.

In the first chapter excerpt when Charlie is on the bus...I've BEEN on a hot bus after being gone from home for ages at a time and wanting nothing else but to be home.

Like Charlie, I know what it is to have secrets so painful that they stifle you and to love someone so much that you think you'll die from it.

But in order for me to do this...to make her come alive, I've got to be honest with myself. I've got to be honest with you folks because I want you to know me. Because I want people to like me...love me...respect me even though I can be a seriously fucked up individual sometimes.

I'm wishy-washy, I procrastinate, I'm too sensative and I'm a little selfish when I want to be.

Yeah...I'm writing my manuscript with a notebook and pen. I don't have a stylist laptop and time to go off on my own and write. I write my manuscript while cooking dinner, making sure my daughter doesn't climb out the window, and listening to my boyfriend when he's talking to me.

For the past few days I've been feeling guilty because I've been so wrapped up in writing that I haven't spent as much time with my daugter as I like. I've been barely present in conversations with Eric and I've been moody trying to get this thing done.

Sometimes, to write in quiet...I go into the bathroom and sit on edge of the toilet and use my hamper as a 'desk'. Mr. King wrote about the importance of being able to close the door. It's hard...but it's important.

I write because I have something to prove. I write because it's the one thing I'm really good at. I'd say I'm a great mom...but hell..who really knows that? I'm learning... and most times I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm learning. I write because one day it's really going to get a few people's goats that I actually made something of my self...and believe me I will.

I write because I can tell the truth without stumbling over my words or making apologies.

I write because there really is nothing else out here for a girl like me.

I sincerely appreciate you all for reading this, for taking the time to comment...for just being present. It means SO much...so incredibly much to me. I could never express.

But thank you. Each and every last one of you.

Here we go.

2009-07-27T09:48:00.003-07:00

So...I figured after a few months it'd be alright for me to post an excerpt of the book I'm writing. Don't worry, it's pretty short. I know I don't like to read long excerpts--my attention span isn't all that impressive really. So, I've erred on theside of caution.

This is the first chapter of Halo. Constructive criticism, advice, feedback are very welcome.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1
Louisiana 1943

There was nothing like a Louisiana summer.
The air on that cramped bus was so stifling that one could scarcely breathe without feeling as if they were inhaling pure fire.
Clothes clung to bodies and old women fanned hot air around the bus, adding to the general feeling of irritability and discomfort.
Charlie was as hot as the rest of them; her flower print dress felt like a second skin against her flesh and her carefully applied make up had all but melted down the side of her face. Tendrils of dark hair stuck to the side of her neck and she could have sworn that she could smell herself cooking.
But to her, it was a small thing to bare. She could have stood in the mouth of Hell with Lucifer himself driving that damned bus and her joy wouldn't have faded one little bit. And nothing could take that from her. Not the heat, not the fact that she had been standing up on that bus for nearly an hour, not even the fact that she lost her last five dollars two stops back.

She was going home.

Three days ago exactly, she'd stood in the dark interior of the Negro Dance Troupe studio and claimed her independence from a life and a love that no longer suited her. It had taken less than two sentences for her to realize that she had fallen out of love with him and the life she thought she was destined to have. She wasn't sure when it began to feel foreign to her. Perhaps when the letter had come to her from Mema stating that Elliot returned home from the war in a 'terrible state'. Perhaps it had just been plain old women's intuition letting her know that it was time to go home.
Charlie ignored it for as long as she could, not wanting her Mema's parting words to have any other meaning aside from the usual superstitious nonsense she grew up with. She was a grown woman now, more than capable of making her own decisions--and yet, she was grown enough to know that if she used the good sense God gave her, she would have listened.
"The city ain't no place for a colored girl from the country, Charlemagne. Everything moves too fast and pretty soon you forget which way you intended to go." The old woman had whispered it against her ear in that final embrace right before her train left some six years ago now.
Charlie couldn't remember what her response had been to her grandmother then, but she was certain it was full of youthful naivety that came with being eighteen years old.

"Maybe dancing isn't for you anymore." Michel told her three nights ago in that studio as she iced a sore ankle. Oh for a moment how she hated him and his words! But she didn't say anything. She never said anything. It was his look of bored indifference that solidified the decision that she had been wrestling with for weeks.
"I'm going home Michel." Charlie had said into the silence. A feeling of utter relief spread through her like a cool glass of Mema's sun tea on a hot day. He didn't say anything. She didn't imagine that he would.

Oh, a year ago, his coldness would have hurt. A year ago she was still in love with the idea of being with a French painter--she was still in love with the idea of being his muse. And hell, if nothing else, he had been fun. His sort usually was. There were endless rounds of parties after her dance recitals or after one of his or a friend's successful showing at a local art gallery. Those nights were filled with drinking, dancing and laughter. And at the height of it, Charlie couldn't imagine a more fulfilling existence. She was far away from home and the pain that waited for her there. She was far away from that damned war that seemed to want to put a damper on her happiness and her good times.

But eventually, reality asserted itself into her life. With the sacrifices that everyone was forced to make, the parties became less frequent because things like art and music became less necessary. And soon enough, she and Michel ran out of things to talk about.

He'd said, "I thought you said there was nothing left for you there, cherie." It was spoken as if by some sense of requirement, not because he was particularly concerned that she was leaving.
" There's even less for me here."
" Maybe." And then, almost as an after thought he said, "I think I shall miss you Charlie."
"Oh, but you won't. Not you Michel. You aren't that sort. No regrets, remember? No, you'll miss going to those ridiculous parties we used to drag each other to. You'll miss getting drunk on cheap wine at three in the morning with me. But I think that stopped being enough for us a long time ago."

He had laughed then. Not a her words, but of the memories that her words conjured. Those were easier times for the both of them. They had both been full of youthful optimism and while neither of them had been older than twenty-five, the city had a way of hardening even the most benign of saints. And Charlie needed to leave before it was too late--before she no longer recognized herself.

In the end, they had parted as friends and Michel understood without her having to explain. There were promises made to visit...to stay in touch. But that was all.

And three days later, here she was--sweating in the back of some bus wanting nothing more in the whole world than to see home again.

Flat Characters

2009-07-24T08:56:00.000-07:00

Last night I couldn't get much writing done. I was unbelievably tired, but that was no reason to at least not review my work. I'm reading it...and I'm absolutely in love with this Mable character. She jumps out. Immediately, you know where she stands--you know she's not going to take your shit and you just...KNOW her.

But she isn't the main character. Charlie is. And she has absolutely no dimensions. I can admit that because if I can't admit it then I better not expect to get any positive response once I send this out to agents like Janet, or Nathan or a few others I have on my list.

I asked myself "What's her personality like?". And I was like...stuck. It was like "So..um...okay...Charlie--she's...uh...well...you know?"

Man...for real?

So because I know alot of other writers read this, I'm interested in your ideas of how to give life to a character that actually feels like it's made of paper.

Let me see what you got!

Today.

2009-07-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

Today it was not hot.
It was rainy--very rainy.

I did not have an umbrella.

In attempts to get my daughter in school by Monday, I had her with me.

We were walking to meet mom for lunch, and to check out the school she'll be going to on Monday...and it began to rain.

Hard.

Really hard.

Realy freakin' unbelievably hard.

Izzy had a little jacket with a hood.

Mommy had nothing.

Mommy's shirt is now see through.

Mommy's bra has a hole in it.

Izzy was cranky because mommy wouldn't let easy play in the mud. Izzy was also angry and confused as to why mommy wouldn't let her frolick through traffic.

Mommy is drenched.
Mommy is not happy.
Mommy is hungry.

Sexy times on a Thursday afternoon.

Dude, seriously

2009-07-22T12:12:00.000-07:00

Today was hot.
I had to take Israel with me on errands and she was was really obnoxious. She kept throwing grapes at the birds. Not cool.

She had one moment of cute baby'ness when she made friends with this pudgy little spanish baby around her age. They kept copying one another and then when it was time to leave, they hugged and kiss like they were old friends.

But that was not my 'dude, seriously' moment. That moment came when I was sitting on the bus with my daughter trying to get her settled and this man made a really rude, vulgar comment to me. I was already agitated because I was hot, my bra strap was sliding down, my jeans were too tight and I was thirsty.

I'm not going to repeat what he said, but he thought it was flattering and cute. And I couldn't believe he spoke to me like that in front of my child.

And I said, "Dude (like the title) are you freakin' serious? In front of my kid though?"

Granted, she's 20 months and unless you're shiney, have food, or you make funny noises she isn't going to pay you much attention.

I've had a few "Dude...seriously?" moments in the past few days that ranged from little "boys" walking downtown literally while one hand was latched to their crotches. (Dude...is it going to fall off? Seriously)

These little "girls" screaming 'bitch' this and 'bitch' that and being as vulgar as those little boys. Like...my mom would have strangled me and my sister if we acted like that in public.

Then there was this pregnant girl that got on the bus and there was no where to sit, and this man takes the last seat and he wouldn't let her sit down. And I felt her pain because when I was pregnant with Israel people were generally inconsiderate, so I gave her my seat.

I dunno. Today was JUST one of those days you know?

Uncovering the Fossil

2009-07-21T07:19:00.000-07:00

"The writer's job is to use the tools in his or her toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible. Sometimes the fossil you uncover is small; a seashell. Sometimes it's enormous, a Tyrannosaurus Rex with all those gigantic ribs and grinning teeth. Either way, short story or thousand page whopper of a novel, the techniques of excavation remain basically the same."

--Stephen King 'On Writing' pg 164

I don't plot. I'm not saying I never will in the future, but I don't think it'd pan out too well for me. Everyone who has ever loved my writing has always told me that my best stuff comes when it just...comes. Stephen King mentions that he leans more towards intuition than anything else when it comes to writing.

He and I are completely different genre's of writing (and he still, to date one of my favorite authors)and yet I think any serious writer could benefit from his advice.
I don't like sounding artificial and contrived and trust me, I know when I do even if someone else doesn't pick up on it.

When I pick up my pen and paper every evening I absolutely have NO idea what's going to happen. I have a general feeling for the story as to where I want it to go and even the voice that I'm writing in--but there is a profound beauty in discovering things as your character does.

When you do that, you're uncovering a fossil. Maybe only a little bit at a time, but yeah...there's definitely something under there.

Moments.

2009-07-20T08:41:00.001-07:00

We're all allowed them right? I felt this moment building up until--until I just had to do something to get rid of it.

I was working on Halo and I got stuck. I didn't want to admit that I had gotten stuck. I didn't want to admit of after MONTHS of working on this that I had reached the point of...nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Maybe it's because I let the work sit after I lost the baby and up to the weeks of losing the pregnancy and I lost the immediacy of the work. I don't know. Whatever it was, I just plain old LOST it.

I sat there at the table writing and then tearing out the page and starting again. I couldn't concentrate. I was thinking about the huge argument I had with Eric and how I will still stinging from that. I was thinking about how much I couldn't stand this city. I was getting annoyed because my daughter kept taking off her diaper. I was annoyed that it was hot and I had gotten my period and... I just cried.

I kept saying "I can't do this. I can't freaking do this." And I took all that work and I tore it to shreds because it was crap...utter crap and I knew it was. The magic was gone. It felt like work. I was writing because I 'had' to...not because I had to. Crystal's advice was ringing in my ears and...I had a moment.

I had a moment of just wanting to give up and just...quit. I had to sit on the couch with my face covered and just..cry. And Israel, bless her heart, thought I wanted to play peek-a-boo. I got it together in under five minutes. I took a breath. Closed my eyes--and I started over.

I realized that I was so bent on writing it a certain way that I DIDN'T realize it wasn't working for me anymore.

I was angry because I did ALL that work...only to start over. I was angry because really, my future and my daughter's future is riding on this. Not JUST this...but it's a big part of it. I was angry because it feels like it comes so EASY to everyone else.

I was angry because I read a seriously BADLY written book and it got published, but I'm just not willing to lower my standards.

I was angry because the only thing that I am a perfectionist about is my writing and...and...and I was just angry.

I had to *breaaaaaaatttheeeee* and let it go.

So I think I'm alright now. The writing gods have smiled upon me, because within a half hour of my outburst, it came back. I'm cautiously optimistic.

In other news, last night I dreamt that I went to Nathan Bransford's office in Cali...IN my pajamas and manuscript to ask him some really DUMB question like "Do you prefer email submissions or snail mail" and my daughter was with me--and she took off her diaper and peed on his floor.

Then I told him "Happy Birthday" and he was like "Okay."

Look, it's way too random for me to make up.

Begin.

2009-07-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

A simple two syllable word.

To begin means...action, movement, motion and it's all reaching towards an end. You begin so that you can end.

And as simple as that concept should be, it is a profoundly difficult thing for me.

How many days has my very unfinished manuscript sat on the dining room table amidst my boyfriend's books, and dictionaries and DVDs and cups and whatever else he has there?

I dunno. Four. Fourteen.

I walk past it, you know? I'll have a cup of water in my hand and some grapes and I'll look at it, and it'll look at me. And I'll pretend that I didn't see it--and it'll pretend that it didn't see me just looking at it.

Maybe I do need some direction with that. But God, I feel...so guilty sometimes--all the time when I do that. Last night was a free night for me. Izz was with her dad's family and I was home. And when I got home yesterday, instead of taking a shower and writing...I took a shower and fell asleep. And then Eric came home and made dinner...and I ate...and then I went back to bed again...frusterated, bored and...you guessed it...guilty.

It was sitting right there. And I did nothing. And I'm thinking 'oh here we go with this again.'

I don't know how I imagine a writer's life to be. But I know how this one's life is. I get distracted very easily sometimes. And it's not like the ideas aren't there. It's not like I don't have anything to write. I do. I just don't see an end in sight.

I'm not eternally optimistic.
I know how to write a good query letter.
I know how to write a good book.

After the miscarriage...my steps forward have been minimal even though every waking moment has been...filled with thoughts of writing--hoping I can pull some inspiration from somewhere--hoping to kick this feeliing of apathy into the bucket once and for all.

This is reality folks. It isn't always an image of some dedicated writer pounding the keys late into the night--dedicating nights and nights and hours and hours to the craft. Sometimes the writer is doing absolutely nothing...

...like eating grapes and dripping water down your shirt while staring at nothing out the livingroom window.

Friends

2009-07-13T10:01:00.000-07:00

After being away for about a week, maybe not even that, I opened up my email and I got a message from someone I've known for years. She and I worked together at this store called Sally's Beauty Supply and she was the assistant manager. But more than that, we used to go to school together, but we stayed in our own seperate worlds because I was a grade or two ahead of her. The first time I took notice of her was back in 2001 I think. I was standing at the bus stop waiting for the 601 to take me to The College of New Jersey because my house was on the other side of the campus. And I knew she lived near and she was waiting for the bus too. I was fascinated because she was the black girl, wearing some rock band t-shirt, some sort of punk rock studded, collar thing and these huge skateboard pants. And I was thinking 'wow, she looks cool.' There weren't...hell...maybe aren't too many other black girls like that. I never spoke to her that day, but I thought it'd be nice to be her friend.

Fast Forward to five years later. February. Sally's Beauty Supply. God how I HATED working there. My boss was Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde and she frequently admitted that she was a little crazy. I could tell so many stories about that place, but this entry would be disgustingly long. Me and Stephy (that's her name by the way) ended up becoming best friends. We both hated that job, we mutually loathed the two other chicks that worked there and when the store was slow, we'd walk up and down the aisles picking out what we'd buy when we got paid next.

Sometimes we'd lean against the door frame staring at the rest of the strip mall area, eating lunch from the sub shop next door wishing that something would happen for us. The only fun in the day was flirting with the boys that worked at the sub shop next door. They'd give us free food and just hang out with us. Very unprofessional--but that's how it was.

It made working there bearable. She made working there bearable. Stephy is one of the two people in the world that you're kind of half in love with be you girl or guy because of who they are. She's put up with so much of my shit over the years and when I think that it'd be best if she'd just cut me off she'll laugh and say something like "I still love you honey bee."

She's amazing really.

The other person and in no way less important is my friend Seppy. I got an amazing comment from her that just made me grin like an idiot. I remember the first time I spoke to her on the phone. I was with my other friend Wendy (who's also pretty darned amazing in her own right) and we talked for hours.

I don't how we even got in contact with one another again, but we did. I could and still to this day tell her EVERYTHING. She's the sort of girl who doesn't make any sense and tries to...not realizing that it's a part of her charm. She'll be like "Oh, Alicia...I'm going to bake you a cake and send it to you." and I'll be like "No...don't do that..." and she will...because that's just how it is.

Or...when she knows you're going through a really hard time because you're pregnant(2007) and the father and his family is a living nightmare...she'll send you a card, twenty bucks (even when you told her not to) and a picture of a saint.

I'm always telling her not to do something and she's always doing it and going out of her way for me and I never get it. With both her and Stephany, I cannot for the life understand why they love me so much...and I feel humbled and awed and undeserving of them. But I love them and that's how it is really.

I've never been a girl to have a gaggle of friends...especially females. There's this line in this song that says "I don't run with many girls 'cause they talk too much." and that's been my motto for a long time.

But then there's a few womanly type that are so much more than 'girl' friends. There's an unspoken bond between us that time and miles can't touch...and I'm really thankful for that because I gotta wonder where I'd be if it weren't for them.

And I really thank those two for giving me a little of their light.

Here We Go Again

2009-07-08T11:36:00.000-07:00

I feel like I have to start from scratch with everything since I've been gone so long. Well, a month really isn't all that long, but it felt like that for me.

After the miscarriage, I had a change of heart with the book I'm writing. One day, I just read over everything and then--I tossed it.

It was time to start over. No discs, no computer, no air conditioned office to write in. I sat down at the dining room table with my boyfriend's stuff all over it (cd's, books, papers,) I grabbed a yellow writing pad, one of the pens I had to confiscate from my daughter's mouth and I just started over.

I didn't think about it or even worry about it. Something said 'start over' and I did. It goes beyond just the writing though--I needed to revamp my entire lifestyle it seems. The way things were going just wasn't working for me anymore. I finally took my partner's advice and I stopped eating meat--completely. Of course he's thrilled. And really, it just isn't that big of a deal. I feel better. And after this whole thing with he and I losing the pregnancy, I feel alot closer to him.

Life is no where near perfect. There's still never enough money and there was this huge spectacle with my daughter's biological father who showed up unannounced at my doorstep announcing that after months, he wanted to see his daughter. But that's another story for another day and I'll promise that I'll get around to telling it.

Writing seems the most important epiphany because now I'm back to the stage where I don't have to try and it just becomes what it's supposed to become.

Not entirely sure if this entry made any real sense. It's one of those days where your mind is all over the place and you're scrambling to find some sort of...center.

I think I'm slowly starting to get there.

It's Been Forever

2009-07-01T10:57:00.000-07:00

This is probably one of the harder things that I have to write...and I have to write it fast because my daughter is currently running around being impossible.

3 week ago, I lost the baby. I needed to be rushed to the emergency room and I had never saw so much blood or experienced a pain more excrutiating than anything I am likely to feel again. I actually needed surgery. I had an incomplete miscarriage. Eric came after the surgery. He had to stay home with my daughter whom I had to leave in the middle of the night. And he was great. Got her dressed, changed her diaper and even combed her hair. By the time my mom came and picked her up...she was ready to go. When I saw him while I was in recovery, he cried and I think that hurt more than anything.

But, eventually life has gotten back to normal and I'm fine. No problems since then and I've dealt with the loss. It still hurts a little to think about. But one of the EMS guys told me that one woman had lost her baby in her eighth month and she had to deliver a stillborn--and while this was devastating, it was better it happened now than later--and I agreed emphatically.

I have been so busy with life and getting things back into order. I'm writing again, which frankly, I was too depressed to even attempt it. But it came back and I feel myself again.

I have been thinking about you all constantly, feeling guilty I couldn't get back to you all sooner. I have so many stories to tell and experiences to share since everything happened.

Seppy, I know..I'm horrible with keeping people updated. Not sure I'll get better at it, but for you I'll try. *grins*

I hope to be back more regularly in the next week or so. So keep a look out for me.

Much love...

me.

It's been Forever (at least it feels like it)

2009-06-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

This is going to be one of my shorter posts. I usually don't like to go so long without writing in this blog, but I've had some pregnancy complications and I'm still having them, so stress alone is keeping me from even being motivated to write. More than likely it's nothing--but I won't be sure until I go see a doctor, which will be sometime today. I'll keep you folks updated and I'd severely appreciate some prayers, good thoughts and things like that for my little fetus. Seems to be giving me a hard time...or I'm giving 'him' a hard time.

Other than that, I received an email that made me smile for the first time in days.

I wrote submission to Six Sentences and it was accepted.
You can check it out here.

http://sixsentences.blogspot.com/2009/06/other-sister.html

Anyhow...I miss you guys and I'll be back as soon as I can!

Love love!

Needful Things

2009-06-01T11:22:00.001-07:00

No, not the book. Great (but strange) book...but this isn't about the book.

One of the most common questions that I get about writing and being a writer is 'why do you want to write?' or 'Why do you like to write?'

And my answer is usually "I don't know."

I don't think it's a matter of 'wanting' or 'liking' because sometimes I just absolutely hate it and the headaches and stress and sore fingers that come with it. Sometimes, I write things that make me cringe inwardly and not in a good way. True--it's usually easy for me to spot after I re-read it and it takes maybe two minutes to come up with something better...but...well...

truth is...it's about needing to do it.

When I first got pregnant with my first child Israel and decided to keep it--it wasn't so much because I thought her father was fan-freaking-tabulous...or that I was in love with him or anything like that. I mean, pretty early on I realized that I didn't like him all that much. Hey, we're being honest right?

I decided to keep her, because at that point in my life (and sometimes even now) I needed to feel that unconditional love. I needed to be the most important thing in someone's life--I needed to be loved and to love with out question, guilt or regret. I needed her. The moment I realized that I was pregnant, there was never a doubt that I was going to keep her. I needed her. So the times when I feel like there is nothing, that I want to...stop holding on for whatever reason...there she is and I'm renewed.

Writing in a way--in a big way...is like that for me. And I don't even write every day like people are always telling you should do if you're a writer.

"If you're a true writer...write at least something every day. Even if it's just a page."

I call...shenanigans.

Sometimes--at least for a person like me--I get so overwhelmed with writing...I get so over whelmed with ideas and thoughts and words...words in Times New Roman, font size point 12, indenting the margin 1.5' on all sides, headers, footers, page numbers, spacing--that I dream about it. Everything I see is a potential story...a potential chapter...everyone is a character or potential character. You stop seeing life as a thing you live. You see it as a thing you are supposed to write--and somedays you have to stop yourself because you'll lose yourself completely. You forget that--someone needs you. You forget that maybe you don't have the luxury to be even more self-involved than you already are (I know I am!).

But you are a writer and you don't simply write because you 'like' it. How can you form a love affair built on mere 'like'?

You...well...I can't. I need to pour everything I have at that moment into it because I need to know that I'm telling a story that needs to be told. That's why literary fiction chose me. I've tried to write other genres before and it just wasn't going down.

My wind came back. I expect the manuscript to be done by August and later on this week I'll post an excerpt. I don't imagine there will be alot of re-writing because I do that for days at a time on single chapters. I told you...Henry Rollins. And if I second guess myself and try to sound the way I think people want me to sound...it's going to be stupid. And one thing I hate is looking stupid.

Oh so...in other news: Eric went to go see his mom yesterday because she wasn't feeling well and after having Izzy run me ragged yesterday, I finally managed to put her to bed at about 8pm. I decided to clean my living room because it was filthy. Izzy got chicken and rice all over the rug. So, I'm cleaning and the hugest freaking mosquito EVER flew into the apartment--and it CHASED me. I chased it back with a broom and a bottle of bleach spray. I screamed...alot. I threw a pillow at it, sprayed copious amounts of bleach on it, hit it with a broom and it didn't die. I knew my neighbors thought I was loosing my mind. But I threw a pillow on it and then jumped on the pillow saying 'die! die! die!' and it did...finally. And then I left it there for Eric to clean up.

Wow..I got a little winded just recapping that.

Dead Frog

2009-05-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

A few years ago--five to be exact, I used to work for this company near where my parents live (My mother works there now, but she wasn't there when I was) and it was at least two miles from home. I can't remember why I walked home from work that night, but I did.

I got to this 7-11 on the corner of Ewingville and Pennington road and out of the corner of my eye, I see this frog hopping every few seconds, trying to cross the street. And as I'm watching it I'm thinking 'you're going to get run over you stupid frog, you aren't hopping fast enough!'. Cars are zipping by and I'm standing there because I'm both terrified and fascinated by frogs...and death apparently. The poor, stupid animal gets into the middle of the street and it pauses between hops and I'm trying to flag this car down, but it was late and he didn't see me (besides, what was I going to say? "Kermit here is trying to cross the street. Would you mind holding for about forty-five seconds?" I would have though.) and just when it's about to jump, the car runs over it and you here a faint 'squish'. I was...heartbroken. It was the saddest thing ever--at least I thought so at the time.

Lots of sad things happened before that. My grandmother's death, 9/11...things like that. I wasn't there for those things. I was there for the death of a frog just trying to cross the street.

It makes that game Frogger very morbid to me now. I just wish that stupid frog wasn't so stupid and single mindedly determined to get across the street.

Gosh, I can't even remember how long I stood there staring at that spot. Too long for some 'black' girl to be standing on the side of the road in the suburbs no doubt.

Yeah, I don't even know what this post means. Not much to do with writing. Hell, NOTHING to do with writing. I haven't written anything in regards to the book for six days. I know that's sacrilegious--I'm supposed to be talking about the glory of chapter titles or how swell of a time I'm having of editing things. But really...I haven't done anything. I'm not NOT writing--but I needed to get my head back to the place it needed to be...and it's there mostly. But there are so many other things I wanted to get situated so I can devote my whole mind to what I'm doing. I can't write distracted.

Some people would assume that I'm still not completely in love with Halo the way that I was before. But I am. Absense makes the heart grow fonder as they say, right? I'm in love with it in that way where you know you need to spend some time apart before you get sick of one another and find that there's nothing left to say.

So the time I spent away, I thought of a million new things to say and write. But I admit, in the beginning, I used my daughter as an excuse not to write anything. It was wrong of me, but I wasn't sure I wanted that sort of committment me.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you view things, it had me at "Chapter One".

Stewie Griffin

2009-05-19T13:16:00.000-07:00

Because he's awesome, that's why!

Lois Griffin: Come on Stewie, don't be afraid. It's just water, it's not gonna bite. Stewie Griffin: Shut up! I know it's not going to bite, stupid! What a stupid thing to say. You drown in it you moron! It doesn't have to bite you!

Meg Griffin: Can I be in the play, Mom?Stewie Griffin: Oh yes, you can be the dumpy teenage girl who cries backstage because no one finds her attractive.

[watching cheerleaders changing in a locker room] It appears my wee-wee's been stricken with rigor-mortis.

Meg Griffin: Everybody! Guess what I am?Stewie Griffin: Hm, the end result of a drunken back-seat grope-fest and a broken prophylactic?

Stewie Griffin: [hitting on some co-eds] I must say, the most recent campus sporting event was quite spectacular.Co-ed: Aw. Are you in a fraternity, little boy?Stewie Griffin: Not yet, but I'm thinking of joining I Felta Thigh.

Lois Griffin: I'm gonna go get some oranges Stewie. Here, hold the rest of these bags for mommy.Stewie Griffin: Oh, what brilliant parenting Lois. Leave a tiny infant with a plastic bag. You know I might asphyxiate myself just to teach you a lesson. Here I go. Just like that boy from INXS…[Stewie tries to put bag over top of his head.] I'm going to do it! [Tries to put bag over left side of his head then climbs into it and tries pulling it over his head.] BLAST! Good Lord Lois, either I was a c-section, or you're Wonder Woman!

Lois Griffin [finding note in Chris's pocket]: Huh, what's this? You know Stewie, Mommy doesn't usually read things out of Chris's pocket. She's more respectful than that.Stewie Griffin: Whatever helps you sleep at night, bitch.

Lois Griffin: Oh, I haven't been on a college campus in years. Everything seems so different.Stewie Griffin: Really? Perhaps if you laid on your back with your ankles behind your ears that would ring a few bells.

Stewie Griffin: Lois! Lois! Lois! Lois! Lois! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Momma! Momma! Momma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mommy! Momma! Momma! Momma!Lois Griffin: WHAT!?Stewie Griffin: Hi. [runs off giggling]

Oh I feel so delightfully white trash. Mommy, I want a mullet.

Lois Griffin: What's going on down here? Stewie Griffin: Oh, we're playing house. Lois Griffin: That boy's all tied up. Stewie Griffin: Roman Polanski's house.

Free books.

2009-05-19T11:58:00.000-07:00

If you're a book nerd like me, that title probably made you just a little happy in the pants. My next sentence will make you angry in the pants.

I am not giving away free books. (However, if I know of any sites or places giving away books I'll be sure to let you all know)

There is this computer lab that I use every so often that has this little back room filled with books. Alot of it is stuff that I'd never read, but sometimes I find little gems like Ernest Hemingway and very recently, Jane Austen. Now I've seen Sense and Sensibility about 345,876,098 times but I've never read the book. I'm reading it right now (and I would have been done, but I'm always sleepy) and it's strange to read it. I expected more dialogue between the characters--though when there is dialogue, it is extremely well written. One thing that I'm annoyed about however, is how the movie cut out some really good lines! In some parts of the book, it is a steady barrage of words--and I'm like 'whew...when are they going to start talking?" But I get it. I get the way that Jane Austen writes...or rather...wrote.

It's like, she's telling the story as if you were sitting there and listening to her tell the story. Like..."Anne walked with Theresa to the store the other day and she was very upset about something, but Anne could not figure it out. After keeping quiet on it for some time, she finally decided to ask her." And you would think that the dialogue would come in. But no...it goes on like "When Anne was told the reason why Theresa was upset, they made plans to travel to Boston. When they arrived, Theresa decided to confront---" you get the picture.

It was...different for me. I'm not used to reading books written like that, but I like how it helps the story move along. I think my sister would like Jane Austen if she were into that sort of writing. I've often heard her complain that she doesn't much care for Dean Koontz because he goes into too much detail (I happen to love him) and doesn't tell enough of the story.

I like being caught up by detail though--if it's well written. I hate reading stuff that is used to fill up space. I think it's kind of insulting. If I buy your book, I want to read a story...not some fluffy prose that means absolutely nothing.

I love how the Theme of Sense and Sensibility doesn't seem apparent, but it's always there--like..it's not obvious. I know so many people are focused on 'Theme' and 'moral' and trying to make sure that they incorporate that into what they are writing. I think if the theme is going to be any good, that you shouldn't even be aware of it until the very end. You shouldn't have to struggle to identify the theme in your own writing.

In 'Halo' I wasn't even aware of 'theme' until I started reading up on it. And it took me all of five seconds to realize what the theme was in my book and you know, it made me feel good that I didn't have to go back and figure out what it was.

I like to tell a story--and I also like dialogue, but I don't want one to over shadow the other which is why I'm constantly going back, re-reading and fixing AND THEN go on to the next part. I confuse easily...more to the point...I confuse myself easily and the only way to keep myself organized with writing is to do things the long way. But it works for me.

So...my bra-strap is burrowing into my skin and I've lost all ability to continue blogging right now. Talk about an abrupt ending.

On May 15th

2009-05-18T09:56:00.000-07:00

..I was a bitch.

I can admit it. I was angry, hormonal, not quite over the thing with my sister and I was being a bitch.

I don't have much to say today because the migraines or whatever the hell they are have come back full force x2 and I am going to the ER when I get off of work.

Yesterday, I drove down with my parents, my boyfriend and my daughter to see my grandfather in the nursing home. I was so glad Eric went because he's so anti social, but he's comfortable enough with my parents to let go of that. He even helped my grandfather around in his wheel chair. My mom took a picture of Izzy sleeping on my grandfather which I'll share with you all once I get it uploaded.

But during the ride there, the migraine came back so hard and so violently, that I was reduced to tears in the back of my stepfather's cramped jeep. Israel is squirming and wiggling around like a mad woman, and ceaselessly badgering. My mother is scolding me for not wearing glasses and Eric is chiming in being equally as annoying. I was in pain and I wanted everyone to either shut up or someone to kindly shoot me in my head and end it. Sounds dramatic, but the pain is worse than labor--trust me...I'd know.

It came back about 30 minutes ago and I'm just done with the whole migraine thing. I'm done with it. It makes me nauseated and tired and weak and sore. And if it came when I became pregnant, it'd be one thing, but this has been going on since before that and has gradually gotten worse.

Good news though, I ran into my BEST friend from elementary school today. We've been talking on the phone for a little while...maybe a week. Her aunt works at the place where I got my pregnancy test done and she gave me her number. This morning when I was heading to the bus stop with my daughter, this huge blue SUV skids to a halt in front of me and I was like "wtf?!" and she looks at me and I look at her...and we both start screaming and hugging and looking at eachother and screaming and hugging again. I know people thought we were insane. But seriously, me and her were like sisters since we were ten years old. That's 18 years. So seeing her just made my day. It was one of those signs that let me know that things are going to be alright.

So...now I'm going to try to get some work done. Writing...it's coming along great..but I'm too sore to talk about it.

Oh Henry!

2009-05-15T10:37:00.000-07:00

Yeah, Henry Rollins is pretty freaking awesome for alot of different reasons, that picture is just one of them.

So, I was writing, sort of and I was thinking about how ridiculously long it takes for me to finish a chapter of this novel. Mostly, it's because I don't have a home computer and I write from work usually, and then I print out what I write, read it and continue from where I left off and THEN I type the newest stuff into the manuscript. Anyhow, I remember back when I was reading 'On Writing' by Mr. King, he mentioned that Rollins was the sort of author to keep writing the same chapter over and over until he gets it right. It takes ages to finish a book, but when it's done, it needs little to no editing.

And that's exactly what I do...which is why I'm only on chapter three. I keep trying to stop myself from doing it. Like, I'll write and then I'll put it away and not look at it--and then I end up looking at it anyhow because I have absolutely no self control when it comes to things like this. I can't help it. I like to torture myself and I think there is something seriously wrong with me. I'm not a perfectionist in too much of anything in life, but when it comes to writing, I have to get as close to it as possible. I think I'm the sort of person it's going to end up killing in the long run.

The funny part about it is, that for years--hell for most of my life no one has really understood how important writing is to me. Like, if I wasn't writing, I would be completely screwed up right now. Some in my family like to brush it off as a hobby that I happen to be particularly good at, but a hobby all the same. And I've let it poison me a little at times. I wasn't being realistic. Realistic is...praying and struggling to get a job with a place that I'm interning at, even though I don't really want to be there. God, those things are SO not me...and the sooner people stop trying to pin those expectations on me, the less disappointed they'll be with my choice of how I chose to live my life.

Really...this isn't meant to be a downer though. I'm not down...I'm just rigidly resolute right now and fully prepared to tell someone to kiss my ass.

The last few days have been rough and I'm still in a bit of a funk. I'll come out of it eventually--but instead of trying to force cheerfulness I don't feel...I'll go scribble words that don't make sense in a dark corner somewhere.

Henry Rollins is in my head and I can't get him out. That picture of him is how I feel on the inside right now. I'm an angry white man.

I love...

2009-05-13T12:05:00.001-07:00

Historical romance.

Yeah. I said it. I love historical romance. It has to be good though. I remember one about this young woman, passably pretty and everything, who recently graduated from some sort of Governess training school. For some reason I cannot at all remember, she decided to pass herself off as this elderly woman--probably so she can be taken seriously as a governess.

Upon meeting her love interest, he finds that he is secretly attracted to this 'hag' and he cannot understand why. She has wrinkles and dry, cracked skin, stringy hair and not to mention a very surly, no nonsense disposition. I was so excited to read this book, turning the page and watching the very unlikely attraction grow between them. The love interest was a bit of a 'rake' (yeah, they use that word alot in regency era romances) and a 'libertine' (another one used quite a bit) and he tried to use his charms to make this 'old' woman like him. At the same time, he couldn't figure out why he wanted her to like him.

He finally found out that she was actually young and pretty hot when it rained and some her 'face' started to peel off. By this time, he is desperately attracted to her and he thinks there is something wrong with him for wanting this 'old' woman the way that he does.

I haven't read this book in YEARS but it's one that stands out in my mind. I have read some seriously crappy 'bodice ripping' 'throbbing manhood' type stuff too...but I can't get enough of it, I don't know why.

At one point, I seriously considered writing historical romance. I even found a few African American Historical Romances fairly recently, and it blew my mind away. But historical romances and even contemporary onces follow a very strict formula that if you stray away from it too much, it couldn't be considered 'romance'.

The novel I'm writing now, while there is a 'romance' going on between two characters, Charlie(yeah, it's a girl) and Lucas--because of Charlie's mother's shadey past, they find out that they may actually be brother and sister, which obviously...isn't really sexy at all. *laughing*

I like to create unconventional conflict and yeah, I kind of do like shocking people and wrenching out emotions and as much as I absolutely ADORE historical romance...that's never happened to me. I've laughed and really rooted for the characters and have been excited to curl up with a really good HR when I got home...I've never read anything that moved me to that point.

But I love it, and I don't think I'll ever get enough of it.

The other day...

2009-05-13T09:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday...or was it the day before? I can't even remember...but it was a horrible day in the way that it just sits with you, preventing you from doing anything but sitting there staring off into space.

I got into this really bad argument with my sister. Not going to go into details into what it entailed, but needless to say, it's weighing heavy on my mind. I know it's going to be one of those things that are going to prevent us from talking for a few weeks. Thinking about it right now hurts because I don't want to think about it...because I remember how unbelievable close we used to be...because I had to be the one to tell her that I needed to step away from her for a while.

I sat at the computer yesterday, staring at Chapter 3 and I only wrote a few lines, unable to concentrate, and then I closed it out. I found myself becoming angry with life...angry at myself...angry because it seems like every step forward I take, someone makes sure to try and knock me back, just to remind me that...'You're Alicia. You're a push over and silly and too nice and you have too many dreams that are stupid...and you're getting way too ahead of yourself right now...so let me say something to shatter you for a while."

And it works. It always does and I hate myself a little for it. It's not as bad as it used to be. Give it about four days and I'll shake it off. And that feeling will be replaced by this need to make sure that my daughter, and the baby in my belly will never be made to feel the way I have been. I don't want them to grow up seeing anyone treat their mama like she's second class--especially people who claim to 'look out for her best interests.'

I know this blog is about my writing and my pursuit of the dream we all have, and maybe no one wants to read this junk...but it's a part of it. Every day isn't some glorious new discovery. Some days just plain old suck. I am very aware that this may be my hormones getting the best of me, I'm aware that while I'm happy about this pregnancy, that I'm scared to death, Eric tries to help me not worry or stress, or let people's words get the best of me...and let me know that he loves me, but some days, it just doesn't matter.

This morning before I left for the day, I was really withdrawn and he tried to make me laugh. He told me he liked making me laugh...and I wanted to, but I couldn't. I was too caught up by my sister's words...too caught up by the fact that her approval means ALOT to me.

It's stupid. Ridiculous. Silly. Dumb. Four adjectives that seriously describe me to a 'T' sometimes.

So I'm venting. And saying this stuff is like getting rid of one of those headaches I constantly have. Sometimes the pressure in my head hurts so badly that I have to sit on the edge of the toilet or the tub, and feel the pressure fade into nothing. So saying this, knowing that people read it and knowing that I probably made a complete ass of myself in front of all you people...actually makes me feel alot better.

I love my family very much. They are the most important things in my life...but I'm pretty important to me too...and sometimes it's okay to step away for a while.

So I'll pick up the pen today, and I'll start writing and I'll try to forget about this. I'll just write because some days, aside from breathing, it's all I know how to do.

I want muh pie!

2009-05-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

Mother's day was absolutely terrific. My parents went out of town for the weekend, so I went to my ex's mother's house (it sounds weird, but she and I are really close, and she's my daughter's grandmother, so it isn't that weird) and we ate and laughed and watched movies. We really had a houseful. There was Eric, the baby, myself, my girl Chaney and her boyfriend Zane and Tammy (the grandmother) and her friend Darrel. We really had a ball and I ate so much that I'm STILL full.

The only downside is that the headaches are coming back and Eric is asking me every five minutes if I'm alright. And I promised him that I would go to the doctor's again today, but they aren't going to do anything because I'm pregnant and I really don't want to waste my time.

Sitting here right now, I can't believe I've been someone's mother for almost 18 months. Sometimes I look at Israel and I'm like "I kept my kid alive for a year and a half, I must be doing something right." I can't believe that 18 months ago I had a little tiny, wrinkly baby girl that didn't cry much but loved to kick. I can't believe that, that tiny 6 lb baby now constantly yells, "A-mommee, I wahn muh PIE!" (come to find out that Tammy promised her pie, so she's been saying "pie" at random intervals)

I was walking up and down the hallway last evening to walk the headaches away and Izzy came with me, and she's so unbelievably tiny and adorable. I'm watching her toddle in front of me and looking behind her every so often to make sure I was there. Sometimes I'd hide behind the wall and jump out at her and she'd crack up every time even though she knew I was there.

With this pregnancy, I found myself wondering if I can possibly love another child as much as I love Izzy. I know it seems like a silly question and automatically you want to say 'of course you will'...but it's hard to believe because I love Izzy...beyond description.

In other news, I really didn't write that much this weekend, but I did finish the next chapter, so I gave myself a few days break. If I write with no pause in between, my stuff sounds contrived and false. I need to get myself inspired, and once I do...everything comes naturally. It was how I came up with the Great Idea for the plot. I am still pretty pleased with myself...I know that it'll be pretty controversial...but I think I angled it in such a way that people will be able to relate to.

Anyhow, I don't much want to talk about writing right now.

But I would like some pie.

Baked Squirrel

2009-05-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

So I actually found a picture of a skinned squirrel in a frying pan, but there was no way I was posting it.

Anyhow, I was sitting on the bus the other with my daughter to take her to her sitter's. This guy gets in and sits in the seat behind me and starts talking about snapper turtle soup, eating raccoon and eating squirrel. Five weeks ago, I could have listened to this without wanting to vomit, today I actually had to turn around and explain to him, 'look, I'm pregnant and you're really about to induce some very unsexy morning sickness'. He laughed and apologized. It was the 'baked squirrel' that got me. He said you could see the little eyes and-- you know what, I'm going to stop. Apparently, I get off on torturing myself.

I honestly haven't written in about two days. The whole pregnancy thing kind of jumped on me and my boyfriend out of no where and we're still getting our bearings together. He's excited and I'm just like "Oh crap, my ankles are going to swell again and I'm going to be pregnant once again, during the freaking summer!"

But I'm ready to start up again. I came up with this utterly fricken BRILLIANT plot for the story. I was struggling with it a little...not too much, but I didn't want to go in circles about what I was trying to convey, and then the idea snuck up on me. My daughter is staying with her Auntie for the weekend, so it's just me and Eric and my writing.

My goal now, is to have this manuscript done by the end of the summer, possibly sooner, because pretty soon it's going to be a bitch for me to get on the bus everyday and go all the way out to Ewing to this computer lab and write, especially with a toddler, so I want to finish as much as I can now.

In other news, I was thinking about my brother alot lately. He's four years younger than me and his name is Kenny. He's a big, gentle, quiet teddy bear and I miss him terribly. He stays not too far from me in a rooming house and a friend of mine knows him and he was telling me how quiet my brother is and how he keeps to himself mostly. He was pretty sick with sleep apnea and diabetes and his heart actually stopped at one point a few months ago.

I really need to see him and let him know that his family still loves him and that I'm thinking about him. Maybe I can coerce him to come stay the weekend with me.

My mind is all over the place this morning--I'll try to write something that makes more sense later.

Wow

2009-05-06T15:27:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from a cell phone, so excuse the errors in advance. I finally found the mysterious source of my headaches...Apparently i'm 5 weeks pregnant. I had a hunch but it was still a huge surprise. Eric, needless to say, is thrilled. I don't think it has hit me yet. I knew i was hungrier than usual... Any how, i'm dead tired and this phone is making my eyes hurt. I'll write more tomorrow folks.

Case of the Mondays

2009-05-04T08:08:00.001-07:00

I'm not really feeling much like blogging today. I have a serious case of the Mondays, coupled with nausea that has me freaking out right now for obvious reasons.

So today, there's nothing to say. It's raining, my stomach is cramping, I'm a few days late and this office is always inexplicably cold!

And...I didn't write more than maybe five sentences this weekend. I usually get a 'mommy' day to myself, which I didn't get, and i had to take care of another toddler this weekend along with my own 18 month old and they were relentless. I realized that Izzy really doesn't like to share and it's something I'm going to have to break her out of--and she's kind of a bully. She shoved a three year old boy into a wall, and she herself weighs only about 24lbs--so she spent like 20 minutes in time out--not that it made much of a difference. But by the time his mom came and got him and by the time I was able to put her to bed, I was beat.

I don't think I've recovered yet.

I'm feeling very...bleh today. I want to lay down and hide under the covers for the rest of the day.

I did it

2009-04-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

I submitted to QueryShark, and while I think my query was decent, I am fully prepared to have a new hole ripped somewhere undesireable. (Not that there ever IS a desireable hole to have ripped in a place where there isn't one already. Actually, let's just stop talking about ripping flesh period.)

Guess what I'm doing

2009-04-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'm writing my manuscript ON AN ACTUAL COMPUTER (whispering) while I'm at work, pretending to work. But it's okay.

I'm just an intern.

I'm working as hard as they pay me to work--which is nothing. You do the math.

Querying and How Come There Are No Reality Shows About Aspiring Writers?

2009-04-29T08:58:00.001-07:00

So last night I took a small break from the manuscript to work on my query letter. I figured that I'd start it by the time I finished the manuscript--in other words, I was avoiding doing it at any cost.

For a writer aspiring to be published, you can't NOT see 'Query Query QUEREEEH!' everywhere you turn. It's a daunting task, but necessary because that's your BEST shot at snagging a good agent. It's not like you can be discovered in the mall or anything. No agent is going to come up to you randomly in the street and say "Hey, you look like you're an awesome writer! Let's do lunch" unless they are REALLY intuitive--or just plain out of their minds.

We'll save stuff like that for America's Next Top Model.

Out of my fabulous skills of deduction (and being able to surf the intarw3bs) I figure that there are three main components to the query letter.

1. The Hook
2. A condensed synopsis
3.Writer's biography

I've got 1 and 3 down. It was pretty easy to get the hook down pat--took me maybe five minutes because I knew what the book is about.

Biography...simple. I haven't won any awards, but I've been writing all my life and when I was in the 12th grade, kids would go late to their classes to find me in the computer lab to get the next chapter of this vampire story I was writing. That was possibly one of the coolest experiences in my life. Of course I don't think I'll be mentioning that...but you get the idea.

Everyone bemoans how difficult the Ebil Query Letter is, but I figure if I approach it honestly, respectfully and with some knowledge of who I am and what I'm doing, I'll be alright.

So I've been practicing writing Query letters and I'm considering sending it query shark so I can totally get my arse pwned on the intarw3bs.

Alright, so the other thing that made the title of this blog, and this sentence really long:

Why hasn't someone come up with a reality show for writers? America's got Writers? American Writer, America's Next Top Author, The Writer, The Writette (yeah, not a word. I know) or Real Writer's of Orange County--you get the picture.

That'd be awesome. Well...for me it'd be awesome and they'd have weird competitions that have nothing to do with writing like, eating 'book worms' or swimming through a pile of books, or seeing how many times you can take getting stabbed with a pen or freshly sharpened pencil...oh yeah, I got a million of 'em!

I don't think America on a whole would be interested in that unless the writer's were some really hot girls with big boobs and the obligatory black framed glasses--mixed in with just enough 'angst' to keep them 'real'. They'd say things like : "In miasma of my cluttered soul" (whatever the HELL that means) just to sound credible and for someone to say "Oh..she's so deep".

Or if it were a guy, he'd were pants from Abercrombie & Fitch and have that little faux mowhawk thing on his head with some faded jeans, just loose enough not to be weird, but fitting enough to say "I will not conform!", he'll also wear those dark framed glasses to look smart AND trendy and he'll write things like "The blackbird dies and there is nothing but a puddle of miasmatic relief." And no one will know what it means, but in the fear of appearing stupid they'll just say "oh that was deep. He's so hot and sensitive." And then big boobed weird chick and Abercrombie & Fitch dude will hook up and...

wow...see what I meant about going off on a tangent?

Man, I'm already hating this imaginary show.

Pitching

2009-04-28T11:21:00.002-07:00

So I was sitting here reading Nathan Bransford's blog about 'pitching' http://nathanbransford.blogspot.com/2009/04/how-to-maximize-pitch-sessions.html

Pretty interesting stuff, but I wonder if I'd actually be the sort to walk up to a potential stranger and start talking about my novel trying to sell the idea.

Actually, I don't have to wonder. I know I'm not the sort--at least to speak to a person with a definite plan in mind.

If I had to pitch my book to an agent, I'd probably rather NOT know that he or she is an agent, and is just some random schmuck like myself wandering around a writing conference pretending to look 'with it'. We start talking about random things like potatoes, kids and traffic lights and somehow we end up on the subject of writing--and more importantly, what I'm writing. *cheeky grin*

It's easy for me to 'pitch' if I know you and I'm just telling you about my book the way I'd tell my mother or a friend or something. It's really sad how my mouth says stupid things when I meet new people, and yet I'm really great on job interviews.

I don't think I'd do a pitch session...ever. I'm not completely ruling it out. I'd rather just do the old fashioned query and establish a connection with an agent and let my work speak for itself.

If you've ever had a conversation with me, you know that I tend to go off on tangents and I can talk about three different things in the span of less than fifteen seconds--and that's not including when I get worked up about something.

Not to mention, I Google'd a few writer's conferences with pitch sessions and the prices to attend a conference are...for me at least...staggering. I don't have a few hundred or thousand dollars just lying around. Hell, if I'm blogging from work and writing a book...in an actual book--that should tell you something right there. *lol* (Okay, it's a notebook...but still a 'book'...technically. Okay, well, maybe a note pad--same difference!)

Note:
I keep scrolling down to my blog post from yesterday to look at Michael Ealy. He makes my pen quiver. (If that sounded dirty...I really didn't mean it to. :( )

Literary Fiction

2009-04-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

I’m finally back at work after almost two weeks being gone due to the—yes, you guessed it—Ebil Headaches.
So I was on my lunch break and reading some of the blogs that I stal—er…follow and I realized they had one thing in common—it was clear of the genre that they wrote for. And I haven’t made myself clear in that aspect whatsoever. I’ve gotten a couple of emails from people asking what genre do I like, and what sort am I currently writing. I probably mentioned it before somewhere, but I’ve decided to state it again—Literary Fiction.

I think it is possibly one of the more difficult genre’s to write for because it can appear extremely vague. And there is this assumption that just because literary fiction is more focused on ‘character’ than ‘plot’ that there absolutely is no plot—and it ends up being some pontifical piece that leads into nothing at all. Unfortunately, that’s what ends up happening with a lot of new writers attempting to write literary fiction.

When I think of Literary Fiction, I think of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ (which I first read in high school and I loved it), Of Mice and Men and one of my more recent favorites: Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston. Admittedly, I saw the movie before reading the novel. But to my credit, I had never even HEARD of the novel before seeing the movie. And since then, I can’t count how many times I read it. And remember that video for that song called Halo? Well that seriously gorgeous man in the video, Michael Ealy, played Tea Cake in the film adaptation of the book.

Seriously...he's gorgeous.

This is one of those rare instances where I didn’t regret at all watching the movie because I think it did the book justice. Some may disagree, but that’s the way I feel. The setting was absolutely perfect, from the setting and imagery to the characters and the story itself. When I first watched the film, I fell in love with it—even moreso when I read the book. Another really beautiful and harsh book was The Color Purple. While the movie is just awesome and every black person and their mama has seen it, they are doing themselves a huge disservice by not reading the book. Granted, the book is long, but it was seriously worth it.
When I think of the way I’m trying to model my book, I think of The Color Purple, Beloved, Their Eyes Were Watching God. Those are the things that I like to read and I really couldn’t imagine writing anything other than literary fiction.

Beloved written by Pulitzer Prize winner Toni Morrison is a perfect example of where my head is at right now. I mentioned in a blog written a few days ago, that my head was in a strange, dark place. Beloved is literary fiction, but there’s just enough disturbing and spooky stuff in there to keep you on edge. Coupled with the fact that it is probably, hands down, one of the best books I’ve ever read—that book is just gold. I would love to meet Toni Morrison. I absolutely idolize that woman. If you’re unsure about reading the book, watch the movie—it’s amazing and horrifying and touching and…wow…not enough adjectives to describe it.
In a nutshell, that is what I write. That is what I love. I mentioned before that writing literary fiction is easier for me than it is for some. Personally, thinking out a long and thought out plot isn’t something I’ve ever been particularly good out. But if I can write a good plot with amazing characters—then I’m really happy. If I prove to be even a fraction as good as these writers—I’m happy and I’ll keep shooting to be just as good as—because honestly, I don’t think it gets better than Toni Morrison or Alice Walker.

On Being

2009-04-27T08:47:00.000-07:00

When I was in the second grade, I got beat up by the entire class because my teacher hated me.

It wasn't some imagined thing, my teacher actually hated me. That is one of two incidents that I remember because most people I meet like me...alot.

I'll never forget that day as long as I live. Before my mother remarried or even met my future stepfather, we lived in a small three bedroom house in North Trenton, a few miles down from Helene Fuld Hospital and Brunswick village where my grandmother lived--or used to live at the time.

I was the new kid (my sister and I, though she was in Kindergarten at the time) at Jefferson Elementary School (which has now been closed down for a few years).

I'll never forget my teacher, this horrible man named Mr. Fernandez (real name witheld). I don't know why he didn't like me, but he didn't. I was in a class filled with mostly ill-behaved little black kids and the last thing he wanted was another one--ill-behaved or not. (I most definitely was not)

He made me feel stupid and afraid of him on a daily basis. I remember my second week in school he was writing a word on the chalkboard: gnat. He was saying how certain letters are silent in certain words and he kept telling us to repeat it "nat! nat! nat!" and I'm repeating it along with the rest of the class. And suddenly out of the blue he points to me and goes 'what's that word Alicia?"

And me, at the time being naturally shy AND not to mention new, became very nervous and made the fatal error of saying "ga-nat."

The whole class started laughing and he stared at me with a mixture of disgust and something else I can't quite name. Maybe seething disappointment. I don't know.

Ever since that moment, I went out of my way to stay under his radar, but he would always find a way to pick on me...my own teacher...and the kids didn't make things any better. I remember being made to stand in the corner because I dropped some ice cream accidentally on the floor when we had this class party for whatever reason.

One day, out of anger, in these little notebooks we were given to write out daily sentences in--I wrote "I hate Mr. Fernandez" and he happened to walk by as I was writing it and whispered, "I hate you too."

Again, this is too random for me to make up. But the end all came the day when my class was being particularly bad. People kept talking out of turn, the whole class was obnoxious and rowdy for some in explicable reason. And Mr. Fernandez had had enough and said "Put your heads down, and if one of you so much as make a peep, the whole class has to stay after for fifteen minutes."

Unfortunately for me, I had come to school that day with a cold.

Right after he said that, I sneezed and he said "Thanks to Alicia, you all have 15 minute detention."

I hadn't even said a single word to anyone that entire day ( I never did. Those kids were evil...really). So we stay after, and then we can finally leave so I'm walking across the playground feeling miserable and my spirit a little broken. I was eight years old and I thought my life was just miserable. So I'm walking and the next thing I know, I'm suddenly being pushed to the ground and slapped and pushed and kicked by my entire class. I don't remember seeing faces or who exactly did it. I just wanted it to stop and I curled into a ball. The teacher finally came out and hauled me to my feet and ushered me back to the class, imploring me to tell him who did it--as if he actually cared.

I never told from fear of getting beat up again. It was the one and only time something like that had ever happened. And I don't think I've ever told my mother. She just wanted to know why I took so long to get to the card and I just said 'we had detention' and left it at that.

It's weird remembering that. Some of those old feelings come back. But even at that early age, I used to invent stories in my head because existing in the 'real world' had been extremely hard for me to do. My confidence in myself from that point on had never really recovered (not until about two years ago actually), but I used the same coping mechanism, which was writing.

I don't know where Mr. Fernandez is now, or what he's doing, but after twenty years, I hope he's miserable and I hope that one day he realizes how miserable he made me. He's one of the few people in my life that enjoyed kicking me when I was down--and after this moment, I won't ever think about him again.

I don't know what prompted me to write this. But just writing this does something amazing for me. Because one day it is going to happen. I am going to be published and all that stuff won't matter anymore.

Being afraid to shine just because you're afraid of people noticing you, or people being offended by you is just....silly. It's silly, silly, silly, SILLY! Letting that effect you for nearly 20 years is even worse.

But my mother told me fairly recently, "Alicia, if someone doesn't like you--as a person, something must be seriously wrong with them."

And I was thinking, 'Oh, that's such a 'mom' thing to say'. Turns out, it was true. But the truth of the matter is, I don't really care if someone doesn't like me--not the way I used to care. I like me. My kid adores me...and I'm happy.

I get to write everyday. I get a chance to actually work towards a dream that will benefit not only me, but the people around me.

I get the chance to be the person I was too afraid to be for a long time--and you know what?

I think that's pretty freakin' awesome.

Bowl of Oranges

2009-04-24T10:03:00.000-07:00

So if you haven't already figured it out, I have this other blog called 'Bowl Of Oranges'. Though I wouldn't really classify it as a blog. It's just a place where I dump random writings and things unfinished into. I'd be a liar if I said this was my best stuff. It isn't. It's basically a place where I can just write randomly, and it doesn't have to make sense because they're all these extra things and ideas that crowd my mind sometimes. And in order for me to be focused, sometimes I'll just 'dump' things there.

It's strange. I'll lay down at night (or early early in the morning, depending on what time I manage to get the kiddo to sleep and I'll have the weirdest, most insane ideas for a little story. Most of them are pretty creepy actually, and I never put them on paper. I just figure that these ideas come about when my brain is in that weird place of being half asleep and half awake. I just know that I've had this weird propensity of late, to write disturbing things. Well maybe not all that disturbing. I'm not writing about blood and guts and bogeymen and banshees or anything. Just...there's this little dark corner of my mind that's slowly opening up. I'm not sure whether to close it and lock it and forget about it, or let it seep into my writing.

I'm curious, so it'll probably be the latter.

Not much else to report. The kiddo is doing fine after her little accident, the headaches are there..but not nearly as bad (though by the time I get settled in this evening, I'll be holding my head in one hand, and my pen in the other pissed off that I missed another night of writing.)

We'll see I guess.

(P.S. Bowl of Oranges was based off of this weird little story I wrote once if you're curious. If not--then that was just some pointless information you're stuck with)

A Mother's Nightmare

2009-04-20T11:08:00.001-07:00

This is hard to write. Even though the incident is a few days old...I get sick to my stomach recalling this.

My daughter Israel (or Izzy as everyone calls her) is 17 months old. She's a very happy, bright and mischievious little girl. She loves her stuffed monkey Saint George, she loves throwing things into the tub and she occasionally likes to snack on toilet paper.

I love her with an intensity that I didn't think humanly possible. I have always been a free spirit as so many people remember me. I was the sort of girl to take the next train out of town to chase love half way across the country, and once, to another continent. I didn't think twice about leaving in the middle of the night with a note and maybe a stray sock left in my wake.

Everything I ever looked for, I found in this beautiful little girl who loves me...and choses me before anything else. When she's hurt--she wants mommy. When she's happy--she wants mommy. The first thing she wants to see when she wakes up is mommy. And the last thing she wants to see when she goes to sleep is...you guessed it...mommy.

Saturday was a warm, beautiful day. I felt like dressing her in all pink and take her outside to enjoy the weather. We walked downtown with her kicking her feet happily in her stroller. We passed a few people that knew her and she got a free bag of potato chips from a friend (she's always getting free stuff from sheer cuteness alone). She's eating her chips happily and we arrive at this church that serves lunch and has little things for the children the last two Saturdays of every mont.

So we get there and it's not yet open and a few people are hanging around back. I take Izzy out of her stroller and she's running around greeting everyone with either "Hi!" or "Baby?".

It happened in a split second.

Her uncle picked her up and began tossing her in the air and she's just cracking up. But something didn't feel right so I said "You know Gotti (his nickname) that's enough. I don't want you to drop her."

"Oh stop worrying so much...I'm not going to drop her."

He dropped her.

She landed on her forehead, smacking against the concrete. My 1 year old little baby girl.

I screamed. The crowd gasped and everyone rushed to her. I scooped her up but I don't remember moving. I don't remember walking. I don't remember anything but my baby screaming.

I'm calm.

I don't know how I'm calm. I don't know how I'm breathing. I don't know how I'm able to rock her and kiss her and tell her it's okay...but I do. She screamed "Mommy! Mommy."

I'm crying as I write this. I'm crying even though she is PERFECTLY fine and all she had from it was a nice sized little lump and a few scratches.

We call 9-1-1 and she's still screaming...but mostly because they won't let me hold her. They have to strap her in and check her. She was afraid, in pain and angry. She slapped the EMS dude, yanked supplies from the shelf. She screamed so hard that she nearly drowned out the sirens.

Gotti, meanwhile is on the steps crying like a baby (so I was told). Before I left, he begged me to let him hold her. I wanted to kill him. I knew it was an accident but I wanted to kill him. But I was calm and just walked away cradling my daughter.

In the end...she was fine. We weren't there at the ER for more than an hour. She slept. Woke up as the doctor examined her...we read a book...she started laughing and walking through the halls. She was fine. By the time we got back to her grandmother's house, save for the lump on her head, you couldn't tell anything was wrong with her. She was still throwing things into the toilet, knocking things over, yelling at people and being a general nuisance.

I don't say it was a mother's WORST nightmare--because she's alive. She's happy and vibrant. She's still eating paper and running around. I still have my little girl.

But it was a nightmare--and as much as I'd like to get that image from my head...I can't. I've had numerous nightmares about it then...and despite my own headaches, I would have sold my soul to make her stop hurting.

When the doctor came in to see her, she said,

"Your first?"
"Yeah. She's my life."
"I can tell that you love her alot."
I was silent, just watching her look at the pages on a childrens book.
"You're a good mother."

God...I didn't feel like it then and I said, "I definitely had a bad mom moment."
"Hardly. Kids get bruised and hurt all the time. I've seen women with children worse off than yours that showed little to no emotion. Maybe when she's older you'd think about teaching at some parenting classes. You could speak from the heart you know?"

And that made me feel really good.

This doesn't really tie into writing, only to say that I know without a shadow of a doubt, if it wasn't for Israel, if it wasn't for the need to give her a better life...I'd just keep writing and keepmy stuff in a drawer somewhere. It wouldn't matter if anyone read it. But I do this for her, to inspire her the way that she inspires me. I do this with the intense hope that she'll look at me one day and say "You're a good mom."

Thanks for reading this guys. Really.

Writing Though The Pain?

2009-04-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

Before you folks start to get worried, no this isn't some emo-angst post. I'm talking about pain...literal pain.

So, for the past few weeks, I've been suffering (and trust me, that's not a word I'd use lightly) from intensely violent headaches. I went to the ER last night because I was tired of not being able to sleep and ultimately, not being able to write.

I had a CT scan done yesterday, but they didn't find anything. It wasn't even classified as migraines or cluster headaches. Truth is, they don't know what it is. But they ended up giving me some Percoset and I got the first 8 hour sleep I've had since sometime in late February. Right now, I'm still kind of...high from the Percs, but the sad and funny thing is, is that it didn't kill the pain completely. It just dulled it enough so I could actually sleep.

All that being said, my writing as of late has been extremely minimal. I was lucky if I could write a few paragraphs. And it's not like the ideas aren't there sitting in my head. But I'll sit there and write and I'm so focused on the pain that I find myself writing utter tripe. I threw a few pages away yesterday (and yes, I mean THREW. I still write with pen and paper since I don't have a home computer) and I'm sitting on the edge of my bed thinking about the characters and realizing that I'm trying to write through the pain and it's coming out horrible.

I folded the book away and just sat there, meanwhile, there's this hot, pulsating pain in my right temple that's shooting from my neck, to my chest to my freaking teeth! I'm talking outloud to myself saying what this or that scene won't work...why it felt stilted...and I'm trying to think through this haze of excrutiating pain--and I just couldn't do it.

One night, I actually broke down and sobbed and my boyfriend (who I happen to be thoroughly pissed off with right now) came into the bedroom and massaged my temples and the pain subsided for maybe 40 minutes--just long enough for nature to play its cruel trick of having me believe I was going to actually sleep, only to be waken up by the sensation of someone beating you mercilessly in the head.

Sounds exaggerated?

Well, it's not. I have a seriously high threshold for pain. It comes with growing up being told to 'suck it up' and 'it's not that bad'. Believe me, when you have an obnoxious little sister that pushes you down the steps while you're on crutches (oh yeah Tameka, I remember that. Oh yes I do. lol) you can pretty much take anything. But I went and I feel substantially better, though there is pain beginning to creep back. And I figure I need to start writing while the gettin's good right?

I have learned NOT to write through the pain--because for me it comes out disturbingly bad (at least to my standards). I just want to get this manuscript finished so I can find something else to obsess over (like getting an agent and starting another novel)

I haven't added anything new on Bowl Of Oranges (http://fallintothepages.blogspot.com) yet, but I'll have something possibly by tomorrow. Maybe I'll even take the time to explain why I titled it Bowl of Oranges.

I'm sure I'll be adding more before the day is out. As always, thanks for reading.

Finished

2009-04-14T11:46:00.000-07:00

Alright, I did all 50 queries for Agent For A Day--and now my brain feels like it's going to melt out of my ears.

It just proved my point that I don't think I'd ever become an agent. I'll stick to the writing thank you very much. I had alot of respect for them...I do even moreso now.

Peace and Hair Grease.

Agent for a Day

2009-04-14T09:03:00.000-07:00

Considering the migraine that I've been having for the past few days, I was suprised that I actually got through about twenty of the fifty queries sent in.

Am I an agent? Hell to the no. But I am participating in the Agent for A Day hosted by http://nathanbransford.blogspot.com/ . So far it's been really interesting and I can see how being an agent can be seriously frusterating. My eyes already are starting to hurt.

Quite a few people are playing at being an agent for the day, and I have to say, I'm kind of suprised how rude some of the replies are...and how vague.

If something was off to me about the query, or I didn't get what they were trying to sell, then I'd tell them and explain why I felt that way.

Most of the queries so far weren't really that bad though.

I finished 'On Writing' and I was seriously pleased with it. But my headache kept me from being able to read it in one sitting like I intended on doing initially. I've written like...maybe a page this weekend. I've been in too much pain to do much else than that. So I'm going to take my ass to the ER and see if they can give me something. I don't think I've slept more than six hours in about four days.

This blog is thoroughly uninteresting today...I know. Maybe I'll come up with something snazzy to say tomorrow. Right now, I'm too tired to be bothered.

Gone Fishing

2009-04-09T13:20:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be gone until Monday. Weekend is filled with brightly colored eggs, Easter plays and egg hunts--and of course reading and writing until my brain hurts.

I expect something brilliant to happen this weekend. I'm not sure what--but something.

Happy Easter Everyone.

How Children See

2009-04-09T08:18:00.000-07:00

(My cute but evil Izzy...even though she looks fairly innocent in that picture.)

Sleep was elusive. My brain was working double time and I couldn't get comfortable last night even though my body was tired.

The baby decided she didn't want to go to bed until about 1am, Eric was doing his best to drive me crazy--and it seemed all of this happened because the universe knew I was dying to devour On Writing by Stephen King.

Despite the numerous interruptions of cooking dinner, changing poopy diapers, keeping a baby from eating her barrettes, trying not to ignore my boyfriend while he was talking to me, I managed to gobble up 129 glorious pages. I wanted to stay up all night and finish the book, but I knew I had to get up early to get the baby to her nana's and myself off to work.

My headache came back the way it always does when the Excedrin wears off (Eric keeps telling me that I need to go to the doctor's, but he knows I won't. It took me being unable to swallow and having a fever of 102º to finally go to the ER when I had strep a week and a half ago).

I'm laying back in bed, trying to find a comfortable position while Mr. King's words are rolling through my head. I'm having epiphany after epiphany, I'm playing his words over and over in my head, I'm mentally revising whole scenes and my head hurts so bad from these migraines that I don't get to sleep until around three.

But I'm thrilled, I'm happy, I'm excited. I kept saying out loud, "I'm so in love with this man right now."--meaning Mr. King of course. And I am...in the fickle way that I fall in love with things that amaze and inspire me. I'm always falling in love with someone or something. I've since stopped trying to reign that thing in. That's the whole reason why I'm even a writer. I need to fall in love with an idea to the point where I have to get it out of me--or it'll fester and it'll make me unhappy because I'm not doing anything with this love.

I finished the whole section about his growing up and meeting Tabitha and falling in love with her. Hell, how can you not fall in love with a person who laughs loudly and freely, wears skirts that are too short and writes amazing poems like 'A Gradual Canticle for Augustine'. I really want to sit down and hang out with her and tell vulgar jokes.

So anyhow, I'm laying there in my messy bed, toys strewn all over the floor, clothes falling out of the tiny closet--and for once I'm not feeling guilty that my apartment is a mess (I'm giving it a good cleaning on Friday). I'm blissfully unaware of everything but words and meaning.

Before the munchkin went to sleep, I was reading on the couch and she was playing quietly with a pen, trying to put the top back on (kept her quiet for like 30 minutes, seriously. The girl has tons of toys and bright things that make noises and light up...but she's thrilled with this pen...much like her eclectic mama) and I'm watching her play with this pen.

And I get this idea 'see how a child sees'. I was thinking about adjectives and adverbs and description and not being caught up with trying to 'sound' like a writer. So I think, when Israel looks at this pen, what does she see? If she could talk, how would she describe it?

How would she describe an old car rumbling down the street?
If Izzy could tell me, she'd say;
"Box on wheels making loud sounds that scare me. It smells funny and the color isn't bright. I'm looking at it because it's loud."

And that's what she does. Loud things always get her attention and she'll follow it with her eyes, committing it to memory. She remembers that the bus is loud and big and makes a 'shhhhh' sound when the door opens and so every big vehicle she sees, she calls 'buh'. She'll point to a car and go 'buh?'

I sit on the floor with her, playing with the things that fascinate her like aluminum foil or Vaseline or an empty cell phone box and I try to picture how she pictures it. It's incredibly dorky sounding, but it's fun.

God, this blog is a rambling mess and I am totally aware of it. But man, I don't care how I sound right now. I don't care if I don't sound professional or if my sentences are running on. I'll worry about that when I'm writing the 'Thing'...I probably won't even worry about then. I'm just so incredibly, stupidly HAPPY. I'm happy because I found this book. I'm happy because there is a method to my madness because King says so. I'm happy that I actually found advice that seems to have been written specifically for me.

I guess everyone says shit like that. Well I'm saying shit like that. I am perfectly content in my own delusion that King knew that I was going to be born and that he had written this specifically for Alicia Marie Evans to find 12 years after he wrote it and 9 years after it was published. He did! Honest.

sweet, I spelled 'eclectic' right.

I got it!!!

2009-04-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

I got it! I got it!

What do I have you may be asking?

On Writing by Stephen King. And you don't want to know the awful things I had to do to get it. Okay, maybe you do want to know, but my mom reads this, so I'm not saying.

I am so excited!

Random bits

2009-04-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

I don’t have much to blog about today. I’ve been twittering and doing the face book thing all morning. I’m slightly annoyed that I left my disk at home—so now I’m writing on the yellow notepad I ‘borrowed’ from work. Nothing wrong with going back to the basics though. Oh, and I found a quote by Mr. King concerning outlines that totally makes me feel good about refusing to do them—I can’t find it, but when I do…I’m going to post it here.

Outlines may work for some people, but that’s entirely too structured to be helpful for a person like me.

Oh, so I passed on ‘Bayou’ to my mother and sister who are avid readers like I am, and they read it and absolutely loved it (if it sucked, they’d tell me in very colorful ways—ESPECIALLY my sister. She’s sadistic). My mom passed it on to some lady at work who wants to read more. So yeah, my fan base consists of about three people…but it made my day. It also furthered my resolve into making ‘Bayou’ into a book length piece of work. I knew there was more to that story that needed to be told. So far, the people I’ve pitched the story to has loved it.

I’m going to get that book today too…Stephen King’s On Writing. A few fellow writing bloggers gave it great reviews, so I’m going to go pick it up today.
That’s it, nothing left to see here folks.

I'm going to go back to stalking people on Facebook and Twitter...mostly agents. But it's not really stalking--I'm just following you while you aren't aware.

'Fall Into the Hole in the pages'

2009-04-07T08:58:00.001-07:00

This isn't my term...though I wish it were because it describes something so amazing to anyone who finds that reading and writing are an integral part of their lives.
There's is this book called Lisey's Story by Stephen King--and this book is possibly one of the best books I've read in a long time. It was so unexpected and...random and amazing and I got it. Although I always knew that it was my destiny to become a writer, when I read that book about a year ago--writing had suddenly meant so much to me.

If you're a fan of Stephen King and you've read Lisey's Story, you'll see that he made some connections to his other previous works; for example: The Shining, Dreamcatcher, Bag of Bones, Needful Things, among a few more--and that alone, I thought was pretty brilliant.
The novel is full of these references from songs, books and poems that ended up having meaning to one of the central characters (who happens to be dead, the story is told by his widow, Lisey) and it makes the story magnificent.

However, this blog entry isn't to speak about the book--I'll probably go into detail about it some other day.

The reason why I brought up this particular piece of work is because it is the entire reason I began writing again.

I'm trying to think about how to describe what I mean, and it's difficult because I have so many different thoughts going on in my head about this.
There is this song called Halo sung by Beyonce (and I'm not a huge pop fan) and while I'm not her biggest fan, I heard this song--and immediately I thought of the book I'm finishing. Now, initially, when I started this book, it was going to be an entry for a short story contest. But as I'm continuing to chop this story up to make it meet the 4000 max word requirment, I realized that I couldn't do it--that there was too much of this story left to be told--too many aspects of life that needed to be discovered.

It's strange, because not that long ago, I was bitching on this blog about writing an outline for another project, and the outline killed that desire completely. When I began writing this story, it flowed so naturally and beautifully and I realized--THIS is the story that I want to write. So I see this video, and hear this song--and I play it continually in my head while I'm writing because the story is about finding light and hope...it's about conquering the dark and all of those things--things I have a very personal stake in. Hell, I'm still fighting...it's an everyday battle not to give into those shadows that can crowd your mind and pull you in.

The whole fucked up thing about...everything...is that I've been writing all my life--and I know that I'm good...but it's those dark things, that Slithering Thing in my head that has had me fooled for 15 or so years, telling me that I can't do this because I'm not good enough. And I've listened to it.

I've sat on my bed with papers and pens and pencils and all of those things surrounding me, wondering why the fuck I couldn't get a thing onto paper. Why the hell is this story (before I knew what it was) not coming even though I knew it was there.
I would be actually reduced to tears--throwing my stuff across the room (when I was alone of course) thinking about how unfair it all was.

The frusteration still comes...but I think I've found that hole and I lept into it knowing that I may never come out of it. And that's what I've always wanted. I go through my days and it's like, everything is built of words and metaphors. People become characters and I dream in words. It's a struggle not to give up...not to give into the Slithering Thing that's sole purpose is to make sure I have a mediocre, unimportant existance and have absolutely no impact on anyone's life.

It's been my dream...my desire, my foolish hope that I would write the next great American novel.

How far from it am I--I don't know. Maybe a few weeks...maybe a few months...maybe a year. But I fell...and beyond that--not much else matters.

Demise of the Book?

2009-04-06T08:01:00.000-07:00

I love books.
I love walking into an air conditioned library in the middle of summer, standing in it’s dim aisles, getting lost in all the stories surrounding me. I love that musty, dry smell of a book when you open it for the first time. I love how when a book is so good and it’s been read so many times that it’s falling apart and being held together by nothing more than some tape and a prayer.

When I was a kid, I grew up in a big family. There was myself being the oldest, my younger sister and my little brother and of course my mom and my step father. It was hard to get any privacy or a moment’s peace and I could never seem to just read in peace—and I would go into the bathroom and stay there for at least two hours, sitting on the floor reading.

I’d read when I was supposed to be having choir practice when I was in church, I’d read DURING church.

I loved books. I gobbled them up the way my mother and my grandmother did. My mother used to tell me that when she was pregnant with me, all she did was read and eat ice cream (I was a summer baby). And when I was pregnant with my daughter Israel all I did was read and eat ricotta cheese (it’s gross now when I think of it, but I couldn’t get enough of it when I was knocked up.)
It was inevitable that reading would become a huge part of my existence. My grandfather was a bit of a scholar, though he loved his political pursuits more than anything else. When I went to visit him at his house on the lake, he always had tons and tons and tons of books, and always encouraged reading. Me, my mom and my sister and my mother’s best friend Alice would swap books all the time. We were our own reading club.

And for the life of me, I can’t imagine going digital when it comes to book. I cannot imagine not feeling the paper between my fingers, or dragging my index finger over the text when I am particularly fascinated by something written in that book. I can’t imagine not having books lining my living room table, or my dresser at home. I can’t imagine not living in world where bookstores and libraries no longer exist.

Is Amazon Kindle and iPhone book application the beginning of the end? Will people come to prefer convenience over authenticity? I can’t imagine picking up a nifty little gadget passing itself off as a book and reading it with the same gusto I would with holding Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens paperback novel in my hand. It can’t be the same. Do I daresay that the book probably wouldn’t be as good? I don’t know.

I was reading the ‘BOOKS’ section of People Magazine, and the author Kim Hubbard said that Kindle’s charm sneaks up on you. But it’s an addition to books, not so much a replacement.

I don’t know. In this technologically savvy world we live in, for me, there is a definite fear that we could be entering a new trend of reading. To me, for me, it would be sacrilegious to even be seen holding a Kindle or reading a book from my iPhone (not that I could ever afford that phone). Unlike Miss Hubbard, I’ll gladly take the ‘pain’ of lugging books with me or carrying a newspaper under my arm—to me that’s a part of the ‘old charm’ of plain, falling-apart, good old-fashioned, non-trendy, books!

I...

2009-04-04T17:37:00.001-07:00

Facebooked myself.
Ohyesidid.
I gave in. I am a sheep.

'Just go, Alicia, go'

2009-04-04T15:29:00.000-07:00

"One time I read a quote by Chuck Berry. And he was basically laughing that he'd made so much money selling the music he'd written, that it just came to him so easy...Now to me, Chuck Berry invented rock and roll. And I cannot picture putting together words and chords in the way he did for the first time ever.And yet to him it was so easy he just laughed that people were gullible enough to pay him.You have something of that kind of talent in your writing, and in your telling to me of this story, I can feel the old you....."

That man...

I have no words. But when I feel as if I can't do this--that I'm not good enough...that my work isn't good enough--there's always him telling me to 'Go Alicia...go.'

I get frustrated too often. I forget that I am a good writer. I forget that I DO have a story to tell worth reading. I forget that this is what I was born to do.

I forget.
I hurt.
I doubt.
I wonder.

I recall conversations where he compared me to some of the greatest literary talents in the world and then told me I was better than them. Better? Me? And I think...gosh...I'm really no one. And maybe his word wouldn't carry so much weight if he didn't happen to be one of the most brilliant, clear-thinking individuals I have ever known. (The second person is Crystal--she's amazing and resilient and thinks the world of me...and coming from a person like that, it means ALOT.)

I got that in my email today and I read it 1000 times at least. I want to thank him for that. I needed that.

I needed to remember because I tend to forget way too much these days.

Thank you M. Thank you...

Downtown Trenton

2009-04-04T11:11:00.000-07:00

It started raining yesterday evening when I picked my daughter up from her grandmother's house. We stood across the street at the bus stop in front of this building that used to be the Bank of America. There's a roof and we stood under it when it started to drizzle.

So we're standing there and all of a sudden, the rain starts coming down really hard, and there's a woman and two little boys across the street playing in it. Izzy was absolutely fascinated and I kept letting her feel the rain with her hands.

It was late in the evening, so the city was pretty much deserted by that time of day. The rain had only lasted about ten minutes and then the sun had come out. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The sky was this electric blue color, and with the position of the sun, it cast this weird, almost surreal luminescence over the city. Everything looked bright and dark at the same time. The streets were shiny and the traffic lights and lights from the neon signs over the stores looked even brighter as if God had Adobe Photoshop and hit the Brightness/Contrast button and turned contrast all the way up. The sun was setting, the wind was blowing and it was just quiet and perfect.

I had never seen downtown Trenton look so beautiful in my entire life. I was wishing that I had a camera to have taken a picture because I cannot do it justice with just words.

That's all I really have for now. Don't forget to check out Bowl of Oranges for the short story or writing of the day. -------------->

FAIL!

2009-04-03T09:34:00.000-07:00

I love Fail Blog, I really, truly do! I make it an almost daily thing to stop by and read that site and some of it's juvenile, yet hilarious pictures.

So you can imagine that when I saw the whole shenanigans regarding #agentfail and #queryfail, I just knew it was going to be classic minus the whole funny picture thing.

But it wasn't funny and I'm sure it COULD have been if we put in a little effort.

Seriously though, if you're not privy to what went on, you can find it out here because I'm really not about to go through all of that--and I'm sure that this could explain it better than I can.
http://bookendslitagency.blogspot.com/2009/04/agentfail-right-here.html
and here http://search.twitter.com/search?q=%23queryfail

So assuming that you've read that and now have a general idea about what all of that entails, here's my take on it--and I'm not going to hide behind the anonymity of the internet.

I think this goes both ways.
I think writers in general would be alot less worked up over things like this if some of them actually took the time to:

1. Research the agent you're interested in
2.Have clear understanding of his/her guidelines and procedures about submitting a query
3.KNOW the audience and the book genre he/she is looking for and what you yourself has written.

I think people tend to go a little half-cocked with this whole query thing. You're so excited to have your manuscript completed FINALLY that you just want to get it sent out to everyone as quickly as possible. I think you need to take pride in your work and yourself and take the extra time to be a little professional.

I'm speaking from personal experience. I sent a query to an agent who I am just hell bent on getting to represent me. He rejected my first query because I don't think I went about it the right way, and really...the thing just plain sucked and thinking back on it now, I can laugh about it. And while the rejection was disappointing, his quick reply and kind words made it a bit easier to swallow.

That being said, I don't think that being agent gives a person free reign to be rude to people either. I have a very slim few people that I plan on giving my manuscript to. I've narrowed it down to about four or five. With the whole "no response means rejection" thing--I think it's unprofessional and extremely narcissistic. It comes off as "look at me, I am so FREAKING AWESOME and all these so NOT-AWESOME people are querying me with their even LESS AWESOME queries. I am a god among ants and I shall not respond!" *commence the smiting*

I really...hate that. I understand that a person gets HUNDRED of submissions and they get backed up with trying to read all of them--and while I sympathize and understand--that is an agent's job. So I'm going to assume that an agent entered that profession knowing full well of what it was going to entail.

I really don't even need a personalized note--just a simple, 'No, not what we're looking for, but thank you' would suffice. I'm not an overly sensative person (*cough*)...okay..I'm not an overly sensative person when it comes to my writing. I enjoy the critique because it's a challenge to me--a challenge for me to come even better than I did before. I know that I'm a good writer, and I know I am going to write a really great book...

but in the process of all of this, I'd like to be treated with the same courtesy and respect that I extend to a potential agent. I'm a grown woman, I'm a mother and I'm a person who really goes out of her way to be kind to people. It really gets my goat when people are just rude and mean and nasty for no reason.

That's just...people in general. I don't see agents as some sort of demi god. I see them as people who could benefit me greatly and I them.

Someone said on another blog about this, that it's like finding love. You can have all the criteria of what you're looking for, but once it happens...it happens. It's "booknerdlove" at first sight.

My dream agent would be a person like a man I know named Michael. He absolutely loves my writing and he has always saw it for what it was supposed to be--and I would love to have agent see that...and GET IT. I would love for them to read my manuscript and be wowed and fascinated and eager to call me--because let me tell you--that'd be almost up there with giving birth to my daughter and seeing this little person that's been growing inside of me for 10 months (she was late).

It'd be up there with locking eyes with that person--and knowing that you'd be with them for the rest of your life.

Writing is...beauty in words. It is an artform that not everyone can perfect. I'm not sure that it can be perfected. I have such a profound love for writing and it's something that I would hope would come through.

That whole queryfail thing was hurtful to those affected by it. I could see how it would be a slap in the face for someone. Integrity can go a long way.

I just say dot your i's and cross your t's--make sure YOURS isn't a queryfail--and even if it is, you can always start over.

That's the beautiful thing about being a writer--if you don't like the story--just change it.

Day after yesterday

2009-04-02T11:42:00.001-07:00

I really don't have much of anything to say today.

I spent most of the morning adding old writings to a new blog which you can check out 'Bowl of Oranges'. Entirely too lazy to do the whole link thing, but it's over on the right side of the blog, so pretty hard to miss it actually.

I'll be updating whenever I have something relevant that I want to write about. Today, there isn't mch. Not feeling very inspired at all. I keep thinking of all the things I need to do and what I haven't already done.

I know I'll be having more work up there...eventually. Sooner than later actually--

So really, I'm going to stop talking now. I'm tired and I want to eat something--or someone.

I'm game for either or really.

I'm alive...and waiting

2009-03-31T12:05:00.000-07:00

I really hate taking any sort of medication for...anything. Like I mentioned, I have strep throat and a bit of a fever so ... I gave in and got the meds the doctor prescribed and I feel almost like myself again.

I haven't written in like, two days though. I haven't thought once about the story I was doing the outline for. I keep thinking about this short story and--I don't know really. I think my brain doesn't stay on anything for any certain amount of time. I'm always falling in love with something different. I can tell you that I have about 100 different story ideas floating around in my head at any given time.

I've been saying over and over for the past few days now, that I seem more able to connect with literary fiction. I suppose this is why the short story was such and easy thing to write. And then I ended up going way over 4000 words--which I had to chop up.

The whole business of writing seems to be a very exact science and I've never been very good at being exact--or scientific.

I have to learn how to do all that other stuff that comes along with trying to get published. I wrote a query letter once, and it got Uber rejected--which is something I can laugh at now because I didn't even know what genre I was writing or the audience I was trying to reach.

I'm not going to lie, I am really used to just writing and blowing people away and resting on that. Now I have to do things like...be organized *cringe* re-read and re-analyze every single word to see if it's a better way to put something, make sure I don't sound repetitive, make sure my grammar is correct--and last but not least, make sure that whoever I'm querying thinks my story is as awesome as I think it is.

This is so...unbelievably frusterating. I sit and I read other blogs by authors or other writers and I try to figure out what I'm missing.

I still feel like I'm not doing enough. Or maybe I'm doing too much and wanting too much in too short of a time period.

This part of it...really isn't all that fun.

"...."

2009-03-31T10:51:00.000-07:00

Yeah...no title for this one.

I don't really have alot to say. I spent most of the morning in the ER with a fever and strep throat so I'm not operating at 100%

But I did get a good piece of news today from a woman who I happen to think is just awesome, amysuenathan.com

I told her this story about...well..'explaining the coins' and she wrote a blog about it today, which made me feel all kinds of good, strep throat be damned. It's good to know that my ramblings make sense to people sometimes...I'm not a complete lost cause. -lol-

I'm not sure how much writing or editing I'm going to get done today. All I want to do is sleep...seriously.

Six Sentences

2009-03-30T12:30:00.000-07:00

So I've been spending a good deal of my day suffering from a really horrible sore throat and 'stalking' other people's blogs. I ran into two really good ones. This one was really interesting to read. It challenges the reader to write story in no more than six sentences. And the ones I've read so far have been pretty good. Check it out and see if you're up for the challenge!

sixsentences.blogspot.com

So...a bit of randomness:

I wonder if it's possible to go senile at the age of 28...

I'm guessing...yes.

Definitely...maybe...yes.

What was I talking about again?

Happiness is...

2009-03-30T06:49:00.000-07:00

My weekend was great really. Mom came and picked up myself and Izzy, and Eric stayed home. We drove to PA to go get my sister and her daughter. It was strictly a 'girls' day out type of thing. (Left the men at home) We ended up going to Franklin Mills Mall and it took us like 10 minutes trying to figure out where to put the money to get these nifty little cart things (that cost three dollars!). I left Izzy's stroller at home so we had to push her around in the cart, which she HATED by the way.

She ran around like crazy, getting into everything (when we did let her get down) and then she proceeded to try and knock every one's lunch onto the floor.

It was just good to be around my own family again. I'm always dealing with my ex's people and most of the time, it's not the greatest experience.

And yesterday, after we put the baby to bed, Eric and I made a cake at like 11:30 at night. We didn't even have frosting. But, oh my GOODNESS it came out great. The kitchen light bulb AND the living room bulb blew out, and we didn't have any more, so we made cake using a flashlight and a candle. It was really funny--but fun.

I did my very best not to obsess about writing, but I would find myself mumbling to myself about plot lines and all that fun stuff and he'd ask 'Are you alright?'
I don't know how many times he asked me that--but I kept telling him that I'm not crazy.

At least not any more than anyone else.

Usually when I go out, I'm always thinking about writing--about how I can turn every little thing I see into words. I think in words and paragraphs and metaphors--it's like a game to me, trying to find out a way to describe something really simple. As much as I said I wouldn't think about writing, I did. I always do.

Oh, I got a reply back from two really awesome writing bloggers, one was Amy Sue Nathan who's link is on my page, and the other was the author of Task at Hand who is also linked on my page. I was inexplicably thrilled--especially when Amy wrote me back. She's a mother just like I am, so she knows all about balancing motherhood and trying to pursue your passion.

Tonight, I'll be editing the short story that I plan on entering into the contest. You know, as I was sitting there trying to get it down to the 4,000 word limit, I realized that there was so much more of the story that I wanted to tell. I automatically fell in love with the characters... and a part of me hated having to chop it off. There's this little thing nagging me in my ear saying 'you should write this all the way out'. And I feel a bit guilty about that as well because I already had an 'outline' for another--

I don't know. I'm just all over the place these days. I'll do what comes natural. I am in love with The Bayou. I didn't struggle with a moment about plot lines or anything. When I struggle with an idea, I end up hating it. It's like something inside of me telling me that I really don't need to write this.

Just like Amy Sue Nathan said--a light goes on. I realize that I may be more comfortable with literary mainstream--something very non-formulaic. It comes surprisingly easy to me and I'm still trying to figure out why that is. I also realized that I enjoy writing about the human experience. So those are definitely two things that I really need to consider when I begin writing.

Once I'm finished editing, I will post an excerpt from the story here. I don't know when it'll be, but it'll be sometime this month.

A hard decision...but a necessary one.

2009-03-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

Alright so, I removed the short story I had posted up here for all of maybe--two hours? While I love the concept and the idea...I just don't feel confident enough about it to post it here just yet. Like I said, I am a perfectionist when it comes to writing and I found myself keep coming back and wanting to change things immediately. Kinda amateurish.

So for now, I'm going to nix the story of the month idea for the time being.

I'm going to keep writing like it's no body's business and take it from there. Eventually...hopefully, my work will speak for itself.

In the next few weeks, I'm going to be doing some serious research about expanding my writing horizons. I've realized I have a thing or 20 to learn about networking. I'm interested in blogging for different news publications, or really any other venue and I have to figure out how to 'net-whore' myself.

It's Friday, and I'm actually sitting here fretting about it. Seems like there is more that I should be doing.

I'd love to spend another hour or two online researching, but...that's not going to happen today.

I'm frusterated and annoyed with myself. Classic case of doing way too much at once.

Anyhow folks, time to go pick up my daughter. Shopping with mom and sis tomorrow...and that's ALWAYS a hoot. I'm sure by Monday I'll have some interesting and weird conversations to share with you all.

Have a good one!

My Two Dimensional 'Cube'

2009-03-26T07:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what I want to write about today. I’m having one of those days where I’m just extremely unsure of myself right now. And it’s only what? Three days into that damned Snowflake Method Outline thingie and I’m already getting extremely annoyed with it. Maybe it’s for people who have absolutely no idea what they want to write about because it’s meticulous to the point where it’s verging on redundant.

So I finished the outline. I’m doing as much as I feel I needed to do—and I’m done. Now I realize why I can’t follow the concept of an outline—it’s because I just can’t follow someone else’s idea of structure. I just—write. And yeah, it gave me a good start, but that’s all I need.

I’m the kid who has an idea of how to ride the bike. Just give me a helmet and a steadying push and I won’t even come back—I’ll go faster than a speeding bullet. Superman has nothing on me.

I have the three main characters mapped out with detail and their own story lines and that’s all I need. I was reading the instructions on how to do the outline and it felt like I was just filling in what I was supposed to fill in just to get to the next part. And then the author of the outline says—and I’m paraphrasing and exaggerating now, “Now this is the fun part…you get to spend a day and half writing the same thing again…even more. Because you’re a moron and I enjoy torturing you.”

I mean yeah, the idea is good. The concept is…decent. But for a writer like me, it only works in theory. If I don’t start writing, I’m going to lose the moment—and I’m already getting annoyed with it and myself. It’s like (for girls at least) you get those pre-menstrual cramps and you KNOW you’re about to get your period but you keep praying for another day of freedom. If you’re not a female, you are SO not going to understand that analogy.

So I’m done with the outline for a while and I’m just going to write it now. And even with that, I’m going to wait a day or two before I begin to right. I can’t believe I put myself through that AGAIN. Outlines KILL my desire completely. I’m meticulous when it comes to my writing anyhow—so doing one seems obsolete. Oh well…it’s outside of the box for me. I’ll just come along and sweep the mess into a neat little square and call it my two dimensional ‘cube

That being said, I did a search yesterday for a few writing contests, and there’s one being given by Writer’s Digest which happens to be a short story contest. I haven’t entered many…and the last one I entered, I was in eighth grade and I won second place. So I’m considering entering, even if there is an application fee (I’m poor, but I think I may have a shot). I realized that I already have an idea in my head and I’m more excited about that than actually sitting down and starting this book.

I don’t know—today, for some reason I’m feeling very ridiculous and I don’t like it at all. I can’t believe I let a stupid little outline shake my confidence like that.

Stupid snowflake.

Beauty in The Breakdown

2009-03-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

By the time I got home yesterday, I was sore, tired, I had to pee and I was vaguely hungry. I'm not all that used to coming home to an empty apartment--and I admit, sometimes I'll fret about it. But not yesterday. My daughter was sleeping over at her grandmother's, the other half was at work, and I had the apartment gloriously to myself.

The first thing I decided to do when I got home, was to write without any break in between. But I only lasted about a few minutes before I realized I was entirely too tired to do anything remotely constructive. I realized that I was already becoming frusterated, and that damned migraine was coming back again, so I decided to take a nap.

I slept for a few hours--maybe two or three and I woke up refreshed. I went and ordered some chinese take-out, ate dinner, showered, grabbed my pencil and I began to work on the outline again. Sometime during those moments, I kept getting distracted by Family Guy and King of Queens (which are both hilarious shows--to me at least)

While I was writing, I kept thinking about when I stood at the bus stop yesterday, waiting to catch the bus home. I was remembering how my arms felt empty without holding a baby in one arm and a stroller in the other.

I remember watching the same people day in and day out trying to sell stuff out of their duffle bags and purses, and feeling slightly embarassed for some reason.

There was a tall, skinny black man with a scraggly beard and bright, yet hollow eyes clutching a duffle bag to his side that seemed to weigh more than he did. He eyed me when I walked past and hoarsly whispered, "I got Dvd's and cd's for sell--3 for five dollars."
I had that smile. You know that smile? The one so false you were certain it would dissolve in water... and I said,"I'm good."

Then there was a lady, kind of overweight with that hard look in her eyes and the sort of face that may have been beautiful once. And she was selling her bus pass. She kept saying "Three zone bus pass for sale! Three zone bus pass for sell!" She seemed angry when she said it--she had one of those voices in which you were sure she could bully you into buying it from her. I could tell by the desperation and the way she moved that she was looking for her next high.

I've lived in this city too long not to be privy to the hustles played out everyday on the corner of North Broad and East State street. There are cats that sell packs of cigerettes for five dollars and there's always some amazingly pretty girl who's trying to sell you perfume out of her bag.

And I'm embarassed. I try to find things about this place that I actually love--and there's nothing. So I write about it. I take moments spent outside, and I create characters--broken down characters who are usually generic staples here in the Gray City, and I try to...I don't know what I try to do. Give them life perhaps?

But these people, even in a city that embarasses me sometimes, I use these people in a breakdown of the human psyche. I figure if I can pull them apart in my head (excuse the gory detail) and create a past for them (even if it's not all that accurate) I'll be a better writer.

So I watch them. I watch everyone. I make mental notes about them--take mental snap shots. Like I remember this woman who is of no particular interest generally--I remember her crossing the street, coming from one of the shops near the Commons, and the sun made her appear to glow and I noticed that the reflection of the sun on her shiny shoes look like they were on fire--just the tips of them.

And then the bus came and I thought of nothing else aside from whether or not I wanted to stop at the corner store near my house to get a pack of ramen noodles for dinner.

The time had come and gone and I ended up walking right on past.

Baby Rage

2009-03-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

Alright, so this particular entry has nothing to do with writing. But I had the funniest conversation with my friend as she helped me whore myself--I mean, network myself around the in-tar-nets.

Now, it has already been established that I have a daughter, and at only 16 months old, she is sufficiently ebil and angry randomly.

See exhibit A.
She looks like one of those Japanese Animation characters. Believe it or not, she was screaming 'I keel you mom!' (Alright, that's a total lie, she wasn't--she was just screaming to release her baby rage.)

Anyhow, my Izzy has nothing on my friend's five year old that attempted to steal a car. Oh yes...yes she did--and the conversation goes like...this:

her says:
I really did catch her doing that.
her says:
she stole my sunglasses, kaytlin's cell, the car keys and some money
her says:
she was heading out
me says:
-is laughing so unbelievably hard right now-

her says:
You have no idea. I just moved- and I found a box with a toy nerf gun, a pirate sword, plastic ninja stars, rope, and duct tape
her says:
and I todl her I found it
her says:
And you know what she said?

her says:
She raised one eye brow and looked at me and said "You are not supposed to touch the box"
me says:
-fucking..dies-
her says:
THE BOX
her says:
alicia- my kid has A BOX
her says:
and it's full of kid weapons
me says:
And she's..how old?
her says:
and she is always talking about how someday we will all be part of her minion army
her says:
5. she just turned 5.
her says:
she had 85 bucks in cash
her says:
you think she's playing, i'm telling ya'll, i have birthed evil and she is coming for you.
me says:
She's Lara Croft gone terribly short and terribly bad.
her says:
She doesn't really want to do bad things..
her says:
She just wants to do things HER way.
her says:
Her way isn't that bad, it's actually kinda great, but for fucks sake, I think she'd eat Samuel Jackson to get there.
me says:
It's just that if you try to stop her...she'll kill you.
her says:
That's what I'm saying..
her says:
That's what I'm saying..
her says:
Oh and it had a plastic bow and arrow
her says:
I cant forget that. Because she counted the bows.
her says:
Like each had a purpose.
her says:
She can't even tie her shoes.
me says:
Congratulations, you just gave me a new blog entry
her says:LMAO

Thank heaven for little girls? I think NOT.

Incentive

2009-03-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

I didn't finish the outline last night. Oh, but I had every intention of finishing it! It started with a bad migraine that didn't disappear until the wee hours of the morning. My boyfriend Eric gave me a head rub that worked for a little while and then he made me some valerian root tea--and pardon my frankness, but it smelled like some one's sweaty butt on a humid July afternoon.

But that wasn't the gist of it. I picked my one year old daughter up after work and she fell asleep on the way home and slept for like..an hour and then woke up right after Eric came home. I'm laying on the couch brainstorming, and the next thing I know, Izzy's climbing all over me and Eric is just nonstop with the talking. I had to tell him to be quiet for like...five minutes--not that it helped anything.

I guess I shouldn't complain, I actually got alot done. But I think I would have gotten MORE done if I didn't spend so much time trying to perfect brainstorming ideas. I think I'm beginning to become a bit obsessive compulsive like one of the story's characters. All that being said though, I really loved what I had so far. The ideas weren't hard to come up with, since I'm only re formatting a story that I had already started. There were points in the day where I was wondering if I could really do this--and if I wasn't wasting my time. Apparently self-doubt is a constant companion of mine.

Realistically, the outline probably will take about a week, if not more to do. And as I was reading his guidelines, I realized how the 'snowflake method' comes into play. It's actually really clever--and it WORKS! I'm usually the sort to struggle with it on my own, but I actually like this.

Today, I took the day off of work to write and hopefully network myself a little more. Actually, this blog is one little net in the...uh...work? I was thinking of submitting some short stories for a magazine or something as well.

I was wondering if I could write a few short story publications on the side, and work on this novel...and play mom and girlfriend as well?

And I came up with...yes, I can. (Sorry, the Obama kool-aid kicked in) But seriously though, my apartment is crappy and I swear the new superintendent is on drugs or something.
Not to mention, fairly recently, my neighbor from upstairs stole some money from my neighbor from downstairs (after getting sloshed together) and then the downstairs neighbor's cousin and brother beat the crap out of the upstairs neighbor and he ended up jumping out the second store window to get away from them--meanwhile, my daughter slept through all of it.

I have to tote a stroller, my groceries and a very squirmy baby that likes to kick off her shoes, on a crowded city bus--and then people are rude and give you dirty looks when you accidentally bump into them with a toddler, or milk. So I'd like a car. Maybe a cheap little Pinto or something. I don't even care if it smokes and you have to prop up the front seat against a tire.

Incentive is...being able to take care of my family...moving out of a crappy neighborhood with slightly scary neighbors (not so much the building itself...but the whole city)...and eventually...not needing to get up at 6:30 in the morning, taking a lukewarm shower and trying to get a kid dressed at the same time.

Right now, even after saying all of that--it's not so bad. I mean, you do what you have to do to survive and it's worth it. I look at my daughter and she reminds me of why I want to write. She reminds me that every day is a chance to see something new and experience something new...

I don't know...it's just crazy right now, but I find myself appreciating this chaos even more. Suddenly...it's worth the headaches.

Descend into the pages.

2009-03-23T11:07:00.000-07:00

You know, the most frustrating thing in the world is wanting, needing to do this great thing; having the ability to do this great thing--and then constantly falling short somehow. So for me, finally, after fifteen or so years of writing and failing miserably--I've finally wizened up( or so I'd like to imagine) and decided to take a different approach.

If you look in my drawer at home, I have at least eleven or so stories that I've started and then cruelly abandoned. I'd liken it to a teenage mother leaving her newborn baby in the trash, but that's a bit melodramatic. Though I'm sure you get where I'm coming from. Eventually I find them again, usually when I've decided that I can't stand the cluttered mess called a bedroom, shared by myself and my one year old daughter Israel. I sit down on floor, leaning against the bed and then I start reading the yellowed and stained pages--slightly surprised I came up with such a great idea. So imagine me sitting there reading this, and then it comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of a sentence and I'm thinking, "What the f@#$!". And then, for the life of me, I can't remember why I stopped writing it.

This has happened to me about a million times. But I've always been of the mind that I'll get that one brilliant idea and then I'll write it as it's in my head and I won't need anything silly like an outline, or plot synopsis...or anything that will take away from my actual writing time. So after all this time, I've FINALLY realized that I may have been...wrong.

I've always relied on my raw talent. I know I'm a pretty good writer. I know that I'm really imaginative and I don't mind thinking outside of the box. But at the age of 28, I've also realized that I need some sort of structure to hold all of that 'outside of the box' in so that it makes sense.

A very good friend of mine, one of the very few people that I've allowed to read my writing told me that I have these moments where I just seem to fall into the paper and everything comes together the way its meant to. And it's usually an occurrence I'm not even aware of or trying to replicate.

I know I get stuck with trying to 'sound' like a writer, and I end up losing myself in trying to create a persona for myself--and it NEVER once worked out for me.
It has caused me to realize that I am a very silly and stubborn girl (or maybe I've realized that a long time ago, and I'm finally at the age that I can accept that I can be utterly ridiculous at times.)

So...my good people, today is the day that I try it another way. My dream is to become published. My dream is to be able to write these amazing stories that inspire an emotion not yet tapped into--and be able to support my daughter while doing something that I love almost as much as I love her.

This blog will be my documentation of...well...my descent into the pages so to speak. My failures, my triumphs and everything else in between will be here for your view. I imagine that one day, once I am published, I'll go back and read this very first entry and realized that I had an epiphany that actually lead me somewhere.

So the other day I was spring cleaning while my daughter was with her grandmother this weekend, and I look in the top drawer of my dresser (which has been recently dubbed by my boyfriend and as 'the crap drawer') and I see this notebook folded in half with coffee stains on it. The first page is torn at the bottom so I could only read the first half of it. I forget about reading for a while, and I'm leaning against the wall reading this story--I think when I first wrote it I called it Theory of Adam or something like that. And it wasn't just a few pages--it was like 30! So as I'm reading it, I find myself laughing out loud at some of the banter between these two characters and actually feeling empathy for this alcoholic bus driver named Benny. I actually started to believe they were 'real' people.

I couldn't believe I wrote that! After nearly two years of writing utter tripe (at least I viewed it as tripe) I had come upon a gem and then just dismissed it. I get entirely too discouraged with myself and I realize that I've been doing myself a huge disservice.

That's not to say that in the course of picking up this project AGAIN, that I won't get discouraged, that I won't be tempted to toss it aside--because that would be a huge lie. I know myself too well.

But I think I'm going to ride this one out; win, lose or draw. I'm not really going to be putting up chapters or anything here for obvious reasons. These ideas are hard enough to come up with, without someone plagiarising your stuff. I might decide on excerpts somewhere down the line, but for right now, I'm going to take it one step at a time.

Day 1 the *cue dramatic music* Outline

Outlining. I'm not gonna lie, I kind of--hate doing it. I tried it once and it totally killed my mood to write--for like a year straight. I found myself trying so hard to follow the format that I was spending more time thinking about the outline than actually writing and it left me really dejected. *insert obligatory sad face here*
However, there's this strategy called the 'Snowflake Method that I heard about from a published author by the name of Randy Ingermanson. What's awesome is that he managed to explain it in a way that doesn't seem difficult at all and he doesn't sound completely narcissistic about it either. But basically, his approach is starting small with your story and then building it into something epic (in a manner of speaking, cuz yanno, snowflakes aren't necessarily something I'd call epic. But you get the picture). Here's his site. http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/snowflake.php

So tonight, once I get home and provided my daughter gives me a moments piece, I'm going to try and get the outline done tonight.

Here's hoping it doesn't completely suck.