The Writer Chick

Wednesday Blog Post: Time to get back to the grind

2009-11-18T18:52:00.004-05:00

So, I know I didn't post last week. I'm contemplating reorganizing the structure of the blog, perhaps relaunching it as of the first of the new year. When I figure out what changes, if any, will be best, I'll let you know.

I decided to spend today working solely on my writing - at least for the afternoon. I went to the Portland Public Library and got a few books, including one on writing. For undergoing renovations, they did have a selection of writing books to choose from - I didn't expect any at all, so that was a welcome surprise.

I then got a chai at Bard Coffee in town and sat for a while, sketching out potential article ideas. While I'm pretty sure a daily reporting job isn't for me, I do like writing feature articles on topics I'm interested in. The ideas I have do require a bit of research, yes, but I'm hoping it'll be worth it in the end. At this rate, if it's getting words flowing, even with how few of them end up on the page, who am I to turn that inspiration away?

Someday I'm going to get my writing life back on track, no matter what method it takes to do so.

Wednesday Blog Post: Falling Behind

2009-11-04T22:44:00.002-05:00

I haven't written in what feels like weeks. I don't want to count the days, because then I'll just feel worse, knowing that I let something I love fall so low on my list of priorities.

It's not that I don't want to, not really. I'm still working on reading all of my writing material - currently, an issue of The Writer and You Can Write a Novel by James V. Smith Jr. I've all but given up on my writing practice, which is sad, because I was doing so well with it previously. I understand the need to adjust to living in a new place and the resulting changes in routine - I no longer have to drive so far to work each day, which is awesome, but it's leaving me with more time to sleep in and procrastinate. But there's a part of me that feels like I need to get pen to paper soon, or I'm not going to be able to keep up with anything.

Hence my decision to postpone NaNoWriMo for another year. I'd like to think I could tackle it, but I'd rather save the energy for a real try at it than force myself to do it and get pissed off when I fail to reach 50,000 words. I don't even know what my next novel subject would be yet, and that's not good for starting any major project.

I am, however, rereading some of my old writing practice snippets, especially the Imperial Story clips. Some of the lines are actually really good, and I'd forgotten all about them. Maybe, just maybe, this will inspire me to get my ass back in the chair and back to work.

Friday Writing Response for October 30, 2009

2009-10-30T22:56:00.002-04:00

Oh wow, I haven't posted one of these in forever. This response is based on a trip my friend Josh and I made to Fort Williams, where there's a lighthouse and really pretty shoreline. There's no actual beach, but the water crashing into the granite cliffs were pretty amazing. This is a snippet of what I got out of it.

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They wouldn't let him into the lighthouse (which, in Quentin's opinion, was complete and utter bullshit), so he explored the ruins instead. At one point, Fort Williams was a stationed base, mounted guns along one side, protecting the easternmost port in the country at the time. Now it was just crumbling structures and graffiti covered walls.

And there was the ocean. Here there was no white sandy beach and quiet waves; the surf pounded into the granite boulders forming the cliffs. There was a sense of power in the white foam at the base of the rocks, an act of God in plain sight. It was almost like he could hear a woman's voice on the wind, beckoning him to join him in the water.

Every artist was inspired by something different; this view was one of Quentin's favorites. He climbed down to the small rock outcropping, careful to avoid any spot that looked wet, sketchbook clutched in one hand. Let the rich kids have their celebration. This, in his mind, was a better way to spend the afternoon.

Monday Writing Prompt: Motivation

2009-10-26T21:45:00.001-04:00

So I've really been dropping the ball when it comes to writing, these last few weeks. It's not an excuse to say I've been busy, because then it sounds like I haven't made writing as a big a priority as I need it to be. Now that things have settled down some - mostly unpacked in the new place, and one of my best friends in the whole world on his way home after spending a few days here, it's time to get back on track.

Plus, I have at least one reader who remembers to poke me when I haven't posted - Meg, my dear, you are amazing, and thank you for the reminders! ♥

With that thought in mind, this week's prompt is simple:

Motivation.

That's right, find one thing that inspires you do something with writing. No matter how small, if it creates some words for you, go with it. I'm working on a little piece now, based on the lighthouse trip I made with Josh while he was here. We'll see if anything coherent comes out of it.

Wish me luck! And this time, I WILL post on Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Monday Writing Prompt: In Hiding

2009-10-19T23:03:00.002-04:00

So, first off, many apologies for not getting a writing response up last week! Friday was my big moving day and, needless to say, it left me exhausted. I'm not the kind of person who likes to stare at boxes, so most of my time this weekend has been devoted to getting things in order and finding out where the hell I put everything.

I've not forgotten about writing, however. I'm getting back into the routine of my daily writing practice and, of course, posting to this here blog. This week's prompt is inspired by my kitty, Lily, who is currently quite angry with me for moving her into a new place.

The prompt is in hiding. That's right, Lily has not come out of the basement since I brought her to our new home. I got her to come out for kitty treats this morning, but that's it. Perhaps this prompt will work for you - either coaxing a difficult character to talk, giving good reasons for going into hiding, whatever the case may be.

As for me? I'm going to try and write in between begging my kitty to come out and play. I'll let you know on Friday how successful I've been.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Wednesday Blog Post: Procrastination Week

2009-10-14T21:18:00.003-04:00

I haven't done my writing practice today. Again. I feel like such a fool for admitting that out loud, but it's true. Today was hard, because of the way my schedule fell - I closed last night, opened this morning, came home to find my couch and a long nap while watching Food Network.

Tomorrow, I promise, back to the notebook. I've always been the type to push myself beyond my limits, and I know I have too much on my plate at the moment. Time to slow down, take a deep breath, and let my creative energies recharge for the night, like the nap did for my body. (Naps, in case you were wondering, are one of the best things in the world. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.)

As a warning, I may not get to Friday's writing response until sometime late Friday night or on Saturday. Friday is the day of the big move, including dismantling my computer. The new place has wireless and I'm sure I'll be up and running in no time, but I figured I would give anyone waiting a notice in advance.

On a side note, this doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about writing. A new character popped into my head while at work yesterday, just based on the name on a customer's credit card - Tessa. Not sure where I'm going to use her yet, or how long it will take to flesh out her background, but the idea definitely got rolling in my head. And between drinks, character ideas are always welcome.

Getting a chance to write everything I come up with down in time, however, is a bigger challenge, one I'm sure every writer faces. I've taken to jotting quick notes on my hand between customers. The ink stays on my hands for a day or two, and if I can't transcribe my thoughts before then, tough cookies.

Monday Writing Prompt: Free For All 2

2009-10-12T22:59:00.002-04:00

I do feel bad about this week's lack of a new writing prompt. I have so much going on right now that it's hard to find time to think, much less do anything else. Ad I'm in the process of packing everything up and getting it to my new place, my free time lately has been spent vegging out because I don't have the energy to do much else.

Hopefully you'll have more motivation (and inspiration!) than me to get some work done this week. Take a look through all the prompts from weeks past and see if any strike your fancy. All the prompts can be found here:

Monday Writing Prompt tag

I'll have something to post on Friday, I promise, though the quality of said post remains to be determined. Have a good week, and wish me luck!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for October 9, 2009

2009-10-09T21:39:00.003-04:00

This week's response is just a brief snippet, as I didn't have as much time to write as I hoped I would have. Pakcing and moving stuff on top of work takes up a lot of time! So, what I have is an intro to a journal entry, told from the point of view of a very girly, princess-like brat named Ravyn. She's fun to write, at least so far.

Also, today is the first day when I haven't completed my writing practice. I've got so much going on, my brain is fried. Tonight is my one day off, and I'm cracking the whip tomorrow.

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Lesson #1: Do not go to the comic store in one of your best dresses.

Lesson #2: Do not go in stiletto heels. (They were such beautiful shoes, though!)

Lesson #3: And for god's sake, don't piss off the woman your brother is trying to get with!

Finally met Peyton today...

Wednesday Blog Post: Random Inspiration

2009-10-07T14:26:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, when you're doing anything else besides writing, inspiration walks up and smacks you in the face. I've read the testimonies of other writers, who talked about solving plot issues while going out for a walk, doing laundry, playing with their dog, you name it.

Me? I was listening to music. Procrastinating writing, because I didn't want to sit down at my desk yet.

I've been toying with the idea of a short story collection, filled with fictionalized stories about each of my exes. I'm at the point where I'm brainstorming ideas, figuring out what would work, what won't, and the like. And today, I'm bouncing around my room listening to "Down and Out" by The Academy Is... and "Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today" by Fall Out Boy when it hits me: the title of my collection.

Never Burned My Bridges.

I like this because it implies a few things. One, that I'm the type who doesn't let anything go, which I am. Two, that at least some of the people I'd be basing characters on are ones I would like to talk to again, but have "burned the bridge" and want nothing to do with me. I like the image of saying you've walked away, that it doesn't matter and you can't go back, but in reality, you're still standing there on the other side of the bridge, hoping to cross it.

Considering that I'm usually crap with titles, I'm excited to find one that might work. Now I just have to get up and actually work on the project. We'll see when - if - my ideas come together.

Monday Writing Prompt: A Letter From Your Characters

2009-10-05T22:40:00.002-04:00

I first saw this idea in The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley. This week, let one of your characters do the talking, whether in an online blog post, a journal entry, a letter they'll never send. Kiteley called this exercise "Letters From Inside the Story," and it was one I wanted to try the second I got the book. It's full of different prompts, grouped together by the writing technique or topic they emphasize. The book is definitely worth a read if you're looking for some inspiration.

One of my biggest flaws I've been noticing in my writing lately is voice. It's not easy for my characters to sound distinctive; I'm noticing this especially when comparing Emma to Zeke, or Anitra to Briyant. By giving a character a chance to reveal something intimate, in their own voice, without the fear of another character listening in, I'm hoping to tap into something real.

This is another exercise that, more than likely, will not make it into the final draft of your story. I'm just hoping I stumble upon a character's deep, dark secret. Either way, I'll let you know how it goes on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for October 2, 2009

2009-10-02T22:24:00.003-04:00

I didn't get to play with this week's prompt as much as I hoped, but I do have one response. This is from my writing practice a couple weeks ago, a line that I ended up loving. I've taken some of the punctuation marks, thinking it might help the poem a bit.

Thoughts always welcome!

Her engagement ring needed a
funeral,
a memorial service
something to
commemorate -
to celebrate -
the time in her life when
she truly believed anything was possible
that one day
she might hope for those days to come again

Wednesday Blog Post: Songs and Writing

2009-09-30T21:15:00.003-04:00

I'm a firm believer that every story has a soundtrack. Not in the sense of movie scores, exactly, but that certain songs remind me of certain pieces of a story and, whenever I hear them, it always gets me in the mood to write.

Take today, for example. I was driving to the bank when Howie Day's "She Says" came on my iPod. The original acoustic version from Australia, not the revamped one that appears on Stop All The World Now (both are great, but I favor the acoustic more). I wrote most of And You Tell Me I Am Home to Howie Day's albums, because it seemed to fit the mood I was going for. And the lyrics to "She Says" fit Zeke to a T:

And when she said she wants somebody else
I hope you know that she doesn't mean you
And when she breaks down and makes a sound
You'll never hear her the way that I do
And when she says she wants someone to love
I hope you know that she doesn't mean you
And when she breaks down and lets you down
I hope you know that she doesn't mean to

He's the guy Emma's always wanted, back in the picture for good. It's like he's giving the finger to Jay, so to speak, saying that he knows her better than Jay does.

As a matter of fact, I think this is a feeling that needs to be addressed more fully in the novel. I wanted it to be, but in retrospect, I don't feel that it was. A note for the revision, to be sure.

I could write for days about the impact music has on my writing. The little snippet today was enough to remind me that, hey, inspiration triggers everywhere, even when you're driving to the bank. Whether or not you take the time to listen to it is up to you.

Monday Writing Prompt: Found Poems

2009-09-28T22:40:00.002-04:00

Okay, this exercise isn't so much about creating something new, but about looking at something you've already written in a whole new way. I remember an exercise similiar to this from my AP English class in high school, in which we created a poem from any passage we found in a book or magazine or advertisement. Mine came from Roger Zelazny's Amber Chronicles. If you're surprised by my sci-fi nerdiness, you must be a new reader of the blog. :)

The idea is simple: Take a few lines of your work in progress and reorganize it into stanza form. Don't rearrange the order of the words themselves, but put some thought into where the line breaks are, where the reader is forced to draw a breath. Maybe you'll pick a lyrical line that lends itself well, or a passage you're having trouble with.

I like this exercise because I find myself focusing less on the words themselves, but rather on playing with the structure of the poem. Sometimes all you need is a nudge in the right direction to se what's not working in a piece - or, on the other hand, what is.

I'll share a few examples on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for September 25, 2009

2009-09-25T14:58:00.002-04:00

I went in a different direction than I originally planned with this week's writing prompt. My first thought was to write out the major points in Emma's history, like a timeline of events. Instead, I used my writing practice to tackle a few scenes set before the novel begins, before Zeke moves away. I found myself coming up with details I hadn't thought of before, like the fact that Emma has a younger brother, Craig. I'm going to stick with this a bit and see where it goes.

At some point, I do want detailed histories for my characters. For now, I'm just happy to know a little more about them. This snippet shows a bit of that, told from Emma's point of view.

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"Besides," Leigh added, flopping down on the couch like she owned the place, "we were out ghost hunting, and you know how Emma gets whenever we go out to Hell Hollow."

"You killed the lights on the car!" Emma wasn't about to let her best friend portray her as some sort of scaredy cat, afraid of the dark. "In case you didn't notice, there's no moon tonight. We couldn't see a thing."

"We had a flashlight."

"That you kept taking away from me every time you thought you heard something!"

This, at least, brought a hint of a smile to Zeke's face. It was a start, and that was enough for Emma. "You went ghost hunting without me? Guess I really do need to answer my phone more often."

Leigh rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Since I don't think we'll be able to talk Emma into going back out - which is a shame, by the way, I wanted to go to Trinity Church tonight - what are we doing for the rest of the evening? Your parents are out for the time being, yes?"

Wednesday Blog Post: Computer Programs

2009-09-23T16:56:00.003-04:00

Stopping into Apple to see my boyfriend last night, I once again found myself looking over their giant wall of computer programs for sale. They have one called the Writer's Dream Kit, and I was very excited to learn that it also works on a Windows computer.

I almost bought it on sight, but I stopped myself, for two reasons. One was the price - I'm not made of money, so $60 on an impulse buy is a lot for me. The second reason was that I wasn't sure if it would be helpful for my writing.

I know myself: I can easily get caught up in the planning process. I bought a huge pack of fine-tip Sharpie markers so I could work on the massive scene-by-scene outline for And You Tell Me I Am Home. I forced myself to stop plotting once I got to the big fight between Emma and Zeke, so I could still have some surprises when I got to the ending. It's so easy to get lost in character profiles and outlines and plot arcs that you don't get to the actual writing. That's exactly what I don't want to happen.

Still, I wonder how the program works. Does anyone use it, or something similar? This may require some Internet research. I think I'll probably break down and buy it anyway, just like how I buy more writing books when I haven't finished the ones I've started. If it helps with the writing, great! If not, we'll try something knew. Maybe a new program is just what I need.

Monday Writing Prompt: Backstories

2009-09-22T20:48:00.002-04:00

Forgive me - this is posted a day late! I had everything written up and completely spaced last night. I suck :(

Last week's blog post got me thinking: Too many of my characters lack decent backstories. Take, for example, my novel And You Tell Me I Am Home. We have Emma Wilson. She's a barista who always wanted to be a writer, even went to school for English, and was still sad about one of her best friends moving away after high school. Oh, and she recently broke up with her boyfriend.

And that's it. The structure is so thin, it's anorexic. And no one wants an anorexic plot.

Does this sound like one of your characters? If so, this is the week to fix it. Your challenge, and mine, is to work on some backstory for a character you're struggling with. This work may never end up becoming part of the final story, but it's information you, as the writer, need to know.

I'm hoping this will help me get to know Emma, maybe Zeke and Leigh too, a little better before starting the next draft of the novel. I could certainly use an extra kick of inspiration. Friday's post will hopefully have some awesome results.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for September 18, 2009

2009-09-18T21:05:00.002-04:00

This week's prompt didn't work for me. Not given the week I've had with apartment searching and the trials and tribulations thereof. So, therefore, this week's response is a sample from my writing practice, which in itself is a feat, that I managed to get it done.

From the Imperial Story, very late in the storyline. It's hard to avoid spoilers with this one, but this may be part of a potential ending for the whole thing.

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In the end, it was always about the war. About ensuring victory for our people, even when my father had a few minutes left to live. "We'll try," I choked out, barely able to force the words through my tightened throat.

"You will." Wakka smiled, just a little, a sight so rare that I'd forgotten what it looked like. At least I got to see it one last time. "I was wrong about you, girl. You're a perfect Warrior."

"The triplets will be too," Briyant murmured, sliding his hand off the wound, but still holding on to Wakka. "I'll finish what you started. I promise you."

Wakka nodded, eyes drifting closed. There was nothing more we could do for him, not with how much blood was pooling on the floor around us. "Thank you," he whispered. "Tell Rosaria I love her. That I'm sorry I didn't make it back. Give Salida a kiss for me." HIs voice was getting softer, each breath coming slower.

Wednesday Blog Post: Reinventing Characters

2009-09-16T22:42:00.003-04:00

Have you ever written the same character for two different stories? I have a few I've been playing with for a few years; I consider them my favorites. Every time I try to write something new for them, I find myself constantly going back to their original storyline, trying to fit the pieces together and figure out where to go next.

Instead of rewriting everything, I take the same personality and tweak it based on reactions to the new backstory. For example, I have a character named Zach, who can be cocky and standoffish, but is a good guy deep down. He's gone through a few different versions:

Version 1: Mom dies in childbirth.
Result: Zach is cocky, trying to impress his father in an attempt to prove his worth. As a result, he doesn't have that great of a relationship with his father.

Version 2: Mom dies in childbirth; Dad dies in a fire.
Result: Poor, poor Zach. His original personality falls by the wayside and he turns to alcohol and depression to get to the next day. Eventually he figures out how to put his life back together.

Version 3: Everyone lives! (I'll admit, I felt bad for him after Version 2.)
Result: Cocky, competitive - but very protective of his family. This is probably my favorite version.

I like creating backstories, reasons for why these people do what they do. I think it's the reason why my novel currently feels flat; I haven't given these characters enough motivation. Perhaps that will be my goal in the next few weeks; even if I never use the info, it still won't be time wasted.

Perhaps this is another writing prompt waiting to happen.

Monday Writing Prompt: Apartments and Roommates

2009-09-14T13:17:00.002-04:00

To mirror some of what's going on in my personal life, this week's writing prompt is apartments and roommates. Everyone's done it at some point or another, whether in college or looking for that first place out in the real world: living with other people. Sometimes things end up great - I still keep in touch with my very first roommate, Alecia, from my freshman year of college. Other times, the university makes the biggest mistake ever and you quickly find somewhere else to live.

Put your characters in this same situation. Maybe they're just moving into a new place, meeting their roommates for the same time; maybe they're working through a situation with the people they're already living with. There's something to be said for putting strangers in a small space and letting them react off each other.

I hope my own experiences turn out better than the drama I could imagine for my characters. I'll give this one a try and let you know how everything goes on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for September 11, 2009

2009-09-11T14:39:00.002-04:00

My fears were for nothing - I have something to show for this week's prompt! Granted, it was not written quite the way I had expected; I left my writing prompt book and journal at my boyfriend's house yesterday, and filled in with my kickaround notebook. For anyone who knows me, and how OCD I can be about routines and schedules, this kind of freaked me out this morning. But, never fear - I still managed to write something, even if it's not in the right notebook.

The prompt I used was, "Take two years and call me when you're better," from the Fall Out Boy song "The Carpal Tunnel of Love." This may become a short story all on its own, though I already came up with a revision idea halfway through this prompt.

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That was how she found herself on the same stretch of highway she'd driven all through college, going to visit him while he was at school. Every couple had certain places they'd visited together, that meant something special to them. She'd visit one of these, convince herself that she was going to have closure once this was all through.

Maybe someday he'd talke to her again. Just once, like they did before they dated, discussing the previous night's episode of Lost and what their theories for the season were. Or talk about the latest video games or funny videos on YouTube. Anything. As long as she got the boy she once knew back.

She could name all the exits on this highway in her sleep, she'd driven it so much while they were in college. Here she'd established herself as a fixture among his friends, in her own right, not just because she was his girlfriend. But that, too, was over. College ends, and everyone drifts away, even the people you never thought you'd never lose touch with.

It was like high school, only harder. After high school, there was college to look forward to, the promise of a new beginning and the adventures that went along with it. Now every day was just work, coming home to an empty apartment and wondering what the hell she'd done with her life.

She'd walked away from most of it.

Had she made a mistake?

Wednesday Blog Post: "Real Life" and Writing

2009-09-09T22:22:00.002-04:00

Wrting has always been a pasttime I have considered "fun." I don't need to get paid to do what I do, though it would be nice; I write because I have all these ideas in my head and it's what I like to do.

This week, though, it's been hard. Though I'm still doing my writing practice every day, it doesn't seem like I'm getting anything productive out of it. No flashes of insight, no moments of, "I have to keep writing." I put words down on the page for 20 minutes and then I close the notebook, get up and do something else. It's become a chore, and I'm really sad to say that.

I have a lot of things going on in my life right now, and I'm sure that's contributing to the current lack of inspiration I feel. I can't quite call it writer's block, since the ideas are there, it's that I'm unwilling to work on them. I've spent the last couple of months working on bits and pieces of the Imperial Story; maybe it's time to try something new for a while. At this rate, it couldn't hurt, and Andros and Anitra will still be there when I get back to them.

I think my biggest fear is that the drive, the inspiration won't come back. But I haven't given up, not by a long shot. I'll just spend every day in front of my notebook, even if it's only for 20 minutes, and see what words pour out of me.

Monday Writing Prompt: Fall Out Boy

2009-09-07T19:15:00.002-04:00

If you've been following this blog at all, you know I'm a big fan of song lyrics as prompts. My favorite bands are the ones that acutally say something in their lyrics; while the music may be catchy, it's the words that stick with me when the song is over.

Fall Out Boy is probably my second favorite band, as I lump Jack's Mannequin and Something Corporate together under the heading, "Andrew McMahon is amazing." FOB's lyrics always manage to catch me off guard in a good away, the kind I find myself quoting all the time. Infinity on High is, in my opinion, their best album, an experiment for the band and yet still maintains their signature sound. Here are just a few of my favorites:

- Take two years and call me when you're better. ("The Carpal Tunnel of Love")
- I read about the afterlife but I never really lived. ("Saturday")
- I'd promise you anything for another shot at life. ("Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes")
- The kid was alright, but it went to his head. ("Fame > Infamy")
- He tastes like you, only sweeter. ("Thnks Fr Th Mmrs")
- The best part of "believe" is the lie. ("Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year")

By now, you all know the drill. Pick a lyric and see where it takes you, and I'll do the same. I have every intention of getting to this prompt, but we'll see - my birthday is Thursday and I don't have an extravagant plans, but I will be doing something. With any luck, I'll have something to show on Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for September 4, 2009

2009-09-04T12:17:00.003-04:00

HEY LOOK YOU GUYS, I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS WEEK!

...Ahem. I did go back to the Andrew McMahon lyric prompts, though I ended up picking one not on the list I had posted before. It's still unfinished, but I wanted to get a snippet up before I forgot about it. The lyrics I used as inspiration came from Jack's Mannequin's "Bloodshot":

He sits in his basement from midnight 'til four
Painting pictures that nobody sees
From his days in the war
Canvases bathed in bright red
He heats up the shower,
He paces the hall
He'll scrub for an hour or more but he won't get it all
The paint in his fingernail beds...

Let me know what you think!

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He'd known this was coming for a few days, but he didn't think Renee would actually pack it up and send it to him right away. Quentin would have much rather just picked it up the next time he went back to Kennebunkport, whenever that turned out to be. It was easier to deal with Kevin's death when every reminder wasn't constantly staring him in the face.

Thank god Renee also shipped him a case of beer with the model ship. Shipyard IPA, a local Maine brew and Quentin's favorite. He cracked open a bottle and took a long pull, staring at the miniature ship inside the bottle.

Model building and boating had been Kevin's big interests. He had them tucked in places all around the house he lived in, and every year he built one for their father at Christmas. Their parents kept them on display in the Drawing Room, a testimony to their favorite son's accomplishments. Once Quentin moved to his mini-apartment above the garage, he finally had a reason not to see his parents' favoritism rubbed in his face every single day.

He painted something for his father, once. A scene of the marina, like the one Quentin had planned to have tattooed on his back. Joshua James had given him that fake half-smile, patted his hair, and put the painting into storage. Never displayed it, like they did with Kevin's model boats.

Wednesday Blog Post: In and Outs of Sci-Fi Writing

2009-09-02T12:22:00.005-04:00

In preparation for NaNoWriMo in a couple months, where I may be tackling the first draft of the first part of the Imperial Story, I've started reading How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy by Orson Scott Card. While I have a ton of writing books, this is the only one I've found that was genre-specific and written by an author I've actually heard of. I'd like to say I've read every book in existence, but that's not the case.

Card brings up an interesting point, in the beginning of the book. Science fiction writers, he says, are always going to be science fiction writers, pegged by the industry as it were. While there's lots of freedom to work within the genre, if an author writes, say, a nonfiction book, it's not placed with his other sci-fi works and it makes it much easier for readers not to find the latest work and therefore, not sell as well.

This is a thought that hadn't occurred to me. The Imperial Story is my first attempt at actually writing sci-fi, though I've been reading it for years, since I was a kid. My attempts at scenes in writing practice have been somewhat successful, but I've mainly been concentrating on getting the characters down and figuring out what voice to use to tell the story; the details of the world have a long way to go. I'm not sure everything makes sense on the page as well as it does in my head. But that's what drafting and practice is for; nothing's set in stone, not by a long shot.

But is this a genre I want to stick with for my entire career? If it ends up being of publishable quality, it'll be something to think about. And I'll have to keep it mind as I write, to make this the best work I can. Either way, I see it as a challenge, and I don't want to back down from it.

We'll see how I feel once the drafting process is complete, and how successful I feel the story is. And if it makes sense to anyone else, readers who haven't been listening to me babble on and on for months now.

Monday Writing Prompt: Free For All

2009-08-31T21:56:00.002-04:00

Every week I post a link to all of my writing prompts I've posted in the past. I'm not sure if anyone has ever looked at the link, but I have prompts dating back to the end of May, some really good ones, some even I couldn't find inspiration in.

As this past week as me completely friend from work and life in general, this week's prompt is a free for all. You guessed it, any old prompt is game. Maybe something will speak to you now that hadn't before. You never know until you look. All the prompts can be found here:

All Monday Writing Prompts

I've got my eye on those Andrew McMahon lyrics I missed, a few weeks back. This is the week of second chances as far as prompts are concerned, and I hope I don't waste it by Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for August 28, 2009

2009-08-28T20:48:00.002-04:00

Okay, so I didn't do as much work as I intended for this week's prompt, but I did do some, so I consider it an accomplishment!

I went back and read a story I'd started in high school, titled Generations. Great title, I know, but I was 17, so give me a break. The basic plot of the story was that a son moves back in with his aging father after his mother's death, bringing his 17-year-old daughter with him. Together the three of them learn what it is that they're supposed to get out of this life, overcoming their personal struggles. I still like the general idea of the story, if I could ever get it out on paper. Rereading it, though, I was surprised at how many adverbs I used, especially attached to dialogue tags. Everything was "Riley injected quickly," "Brad said sullenly," etc. For me, most of this was remembering what I liked about the plot, though I could tell my writing had improved in the years since I'd written it.

So, taking a stab in the dark, I attempted to rewrite the beginning. This isn't perfect by any means, and in revision I probably wouldn't keep it, but it's a start.

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At 37, I did not expect to be attending my mother's funeral.

It was always a possibility. Of course, someday your parents pass on and you're sad and you miss them. But you're never ready for it.

And I didn't expect it to come so soon after losing my wife. Becky. My high school sweetheart, the mother of my daughter, Riley.

Mom loved her to pieces. She'd held my hand throughout the funeral, Riley tucked against my other side. She'd cried with me, when i sat there in the emergency room and had the doctor tell me there was nothing more he could do.

Now Mom was gone, too.

I glanced over at the passenger seat. Riley stared out the window, hands playing with her charm bracelet. She'd grown so much in the year since Becky died. I could see traces of the gawky girl with too-long legs, but that was fading more and more by the day. Some days it seemed like I didn't know this woman she'd become, even though I saw her every day.

Wednesday Blog Post: Preparing for NaNoWriMo... Maybe

2009-08-26T22:12:00.003-04:00

Every year, I say I'm going to do NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month. The idea is that, during the month of November, you write a 50,000 word novel from start to finish. The goal is both daunting and entirely doable at the same time. It breaks down to roughly 1,600 words a day, which isn't a hard goal to reach. I did a modified version of NaNoWriMo to finish And You Tell Me I Am Home, and while I didn't write 50,000 words, I did keep up the pace until I was finished. It took me a month and a half, but I finally - finally! - had a draft finished.

Thing is, NaNoWriMo is always in November, which is a hard month for me. Not only because of the holiday and family obligations everyone has, but because I work in a mall and everything goes insane from Black Friday on. The last thing I want to face after a long day of angry Christmas shoppers (don't kid yourself, you are all angry) is a blank computer screen and a 1,600 word deadline.

Right now I'm thinking of ways I could make this manageable. Reorganzing my writing to routine to accomodate the beast, and then I could return to regularly scheduled programming once November ends. These are my ideas so far:

1) Writing practice. Instead of writing about a random prompt for 20 minutes, that time could be spent working on the novel. This way I'm assuring that for at least 20 minutes every day, something gets written.
2) Modify this blog. If I shift down to a post a week and maybe an excerpt if the writing goes well, I can turn that time into writing. I would then return to the regular posting schedule at the end of the month.

When all is said and done, it's not a difficult schedule to keep. It's just a lot of pressure for those 30 days, trying to get everything done in time. Who knows if I'll even be able to finish? At some point I feel I need to make the attempt.

And I still have two months to plan for the beast.

Monday Writing Prompt: Revisions

2009-08-24T12:16:00.003-04:00

One of the best parts of being a writer is going back and rereading old stuff you've written. Maybe it's a few weeks old, a few months, maybe even yeaars. I'm always surprised by it - by what doesn't work, and by what really, really does. I recognize it as my writing, though it feels at times like someone else wrote it.

Take a moment this week to go back and read something you've previously written. Take note of the bad lines, yes, but aslo the really good ones - you should be proud of these. Instead of tossing the entire draft out, save the lines you really like and try to rewrite the scene from them.

The idea here is not to tackle a full revision - though if it works for you, more power to you - but to see if your old writing can spark anything new. Maybe it will take you in an entirely different direction, a new twist on the same story.

I have every intention of working this prompt this week. Cross your fingers, and by Friday I should have something to show you!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for August 21, 2009

2009-08-21T22:14:00.003-04:00

I fail as a writer.

For the record, I love this week's prompt. Absolutely adore it. The lyric ones are always my favorite and this one was centered on my favorite artist. But time slipped away this week, and I have nothing to show for the days that passed between today and Monday, when I put the prompt up. I started looking for an apartment, scouring the Internet and Craigslist, seeing a few impromtu places. (Neither of which are going to work out, I'm fairly certain.)

And, as such, it's now Friday and I have nothing to show for it. This just adds to my already pretty rotten mood today. I do have another snippet from my writing practice, a piece of a new scene from the Imperial Story - that much, at least, I managed to get done. No comments expected on this piece; it's mostly up to prove that, yes, I did do some writing this week.

I will come back to this prompt. When I do, I'll let you know.

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We could just see the figure approaching us now, dressed in fatigues, blending in with the woods surrounding him. It was hard to tell for sure, but this wasn't an Imperial uniform I'd ever seen. "We have you in our sights," Briyant called into the woods. "Put down your weapon and I give you my word this will go over peacefully."

"Like hell I'm putting down my weapon, just as soon as you lower yours." There was something familiar in that voice, like I'd heard it before, but I couldn't put my finger on where. "That's my vehicle you all happen to be poaching and my friend who's still in it, so don't think I won't shoot you if I feel like it."

"No one's poaching anything. We're travellers. Came across the wreckage, looking for survivors." Briyant's voice was steady, but I still reached for my own gun, preparing myself for what might happen if this ended badly. "Come out, and we can discuss this like men."

"Discuss?" The man laughed, taking another couple steps forward. I could see he was definitely wounded now; one leg was twisted behind him, dragging along the forest floor. How he managed to walk at all was nothing short of a miracle. "You'll kill me, loot the vehicle, burn the remains. I've seen it a dozen times. You don't scare me."

Wednesday Blog Post: New Notebooks

2009-08-19T15:12:00.003-04:00

I'll be the first to admit, I'm a creature of habit. I buy new things all the time - pens, journals, CDs, you name it - and I still go back to what I know works. I'm not sure if it's a comfort thing or what, but when I try something new, I freak out a little.

I'm doing this with notebooks, too.

In the last week and a half or so, I've changed two of my everyday notebooks: my kickaround notebook, which I discussed in last week's post, as well as my writing practice journal. Filling two notebooks within such a short span of each other is thrilling, no doubt. As is writing on the first blank page of a new journal - so full of promise and wonder and all that jazz people talk about but you never really believe until it actually happens.

My new kickaround notebook is a hardcover journal, with grid lines instead of lined paper. I'm adjusting to the grids better than I thought; it's helping me make sure my left margin stays in a straight line. What's bugging me is that I can't fold the cover back, like I could with my last notebook, which had a spiral for the spine. I'm used to folding it up and propping it up wherever I can to write, especially at work where there really isn't such thing as "desk space." I'm finding myself clearing away people's drinks just so I can get some room to set the journal down. I've had a few days, but it's still weird to me.

For the writing practice notebook, it's a big hardcover notebook from Borders, one of the basic black ones that's perpetually on clearance though they've had tons of them for years and years and years. This is the first time I've found something to even consider using that notebook for, so that's good. It's just - plain, for my tastes. I'm not sure how the spine is going to hold up when I'm filling page after page.

Maybe it's just me, being resistant to change. I don't want to let the slightest little thing ruin my writing experience, because I'm sure those thoughts are all in my head. We'll see how it goes over the course of the next few weeks.

Monday Writing Prompt: Andrew McMahon 1

2009-08-17T22:41:00.002-04:00

Writing up a response on Andrew McMahon last week reminded me of a prompt idea I had a while back: Jack's Mannequin and Something Corporate lyrics. I'm biased, I'll admit; I happen to think he's a brilliant songwriter and all around great guy. The lyric prompts are one of my favorites too, mostly because I never know what I'm going to get out of them. The hardest part this week was choosing which lyrics to include!

Here are the lyrics:

- I'm gonna hang the sun above your bed and soak your hair in bleach. (Jack's Mannequin, "Miss California" - not sure why I love this one so much, but it strikes me every time)
- My life has become a boring pop song and everyone is singing along. (Jack's Mannequin, "I'm Ready")
- Without you I don't sleep, just dream. (Jack's Mannequin, "Last Straw")
- You live the life you're given when the storm's outside. (Something Corporate, "Watch the Sky")
- She's praying to Jesus, she's pulling the trigger. (Something Corporate, "Me and the Moon")
- Thought I was lost, but I was stranded. (Something Corporate, "Fall")

Take these and run with it - see where they take you. My favorite part is when a prompt manages to surprise me, as I hope it does with you. I hope to have something Andrew-worthy by the time Friday rolls around.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for August 14, 2009

2009-08-14T21:00:00.003-04:00

I had originally intended to write something new for this week, but the words proved harder to find. I tried to write about Star Wars, but found that the words reminded me of the essay I wrote back in high school. While they still remain as true today as they did when I was 17, as a writer, I wanted to go with something new and fresh.

So, instead, I give you this little snippet from my writing practice, about musician Andrew McMahon. He's the frontman of Jack's Mannequin and Something Corporate, and aside from being a huge fan of his music, he's a really nice guy and I take a lot of inspiration from him. He fought leukemia and won. His lyrics are profound and amazing and I wish I could write half as well as he could.

Fangirling aside, he's one of my heroes. Here's some of the reasons why.

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If I am to name one man as my hero, it would be Andrew McMahon, not only for his music but for who he is and what he's done. He's three years older than me, 26, same age as Josh. When his music comes out, it speaks of things going on in my life now, even though he lives in an entirely different world than me. And he's a cancer survivor, diagnosed with leukemia the day he finished recording Jack's Mannequin's debut album, Everything in Transit. He's a fighter and an artist, an activist, and everything in between.

Everything in Transit, is, simply put, the album that describes my life. Granted, it speaks of drug use and other moments that don't apply to me, but the overall feeling of the album does. On one level it's a breakup album, detailing how he processed losing a long-term relationship. On another it's a transition record, adapting to the end of one phase in life and learning to start another.

That's the aspect of the record that still speaks to me, even though it came out four years ago this summer. I hear different things now than when it first came out. "I'm Ready" is a good example. Thinking it was a good song but not his best, I usually bypassed it in favor of more melodic tracks like "Bruised" and "Dark Blue."

"I'm Ready" speaks of a life at a crossroads, not knowing where to go next. And that is exactly where I am right now, and I'm not sure when I realized it. "My life is a boring pop song and everyone is singing along" became an anthem for me. I was determined to believe that I am ready for this next phase of life, that I can take this next step. Now, when that song comes on my iPod, I never turn it off.

Wednesday Blog Post: Replacing Notebooks

2009-08-12T22:40:00.003-04:00

As I write the draft of this blog post, this is the last entry I will be writing in this "kickaround notebook." It's the Paperchase one I covered in stickers from works and I'm sure it's seen better days; I may have to tape the cover back in place to preserve it once I'm finished. It took me a little over a year to finish this one - the first page is dated May 8, 2008.

It's still satisfying to fill a notebook, at least for me. I like being able to riffle throughthe pages and see all the colors (I used a different one every day, pens are my weakness), the half-finished scenes, my notes to myself. This notebook in particular has bits and pieces of my novel, And You Tell Me I Am Home, as well as snippets from the Imperial Story. I'm quite proud to retire this baby, giving it a good home on my shelf.

This means, of course, that I had to pick out a new journal to use as my "kickaround" notebook. Rather than buy a new one, I raided the collection in my cedar chest - at some points, it's better than going to Staples. I found three nice leather bound journals, gifts from various people (my Uncle Joe, my Aunt debbie, and ex-boyfriend Caz). One was a gift from Mrs. Keane, my senior year of high school - the cover is emblazoned with the words, "We are the hero of our own story." These are the journals I want to keep in perfect condition, not let get bounced around when I carry them everywhere. It was good to remember than I had these journals waiting for me, waiting to hold the perfect project.

I ended up choosing a hardcover journal, nothing fancy, but the paper inside is of a good weight and it will hold up to a lot of abuse. This notebook lasted me 15 months; the next one should be able to do the same. I'm excited to write on that very first page, to fill another notebook with my thoughts and words. It's been too long since I've started something new.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way - this elation, this thrill. It's one of my perks to being a writer, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

Monday Writing Prompt: Your Heroes

2009-08-10T22:37:00.002-04:00

I finished reading Julie & Julia over the weekend. It's a quick, funny, fascinating read about two of my favorite subjects: cooking and online blogs. My copy is dog-eared in all sorts of places for quotes I like and ones I want to turn into away messages on AIM. This is definitely a book I'd recommend for a quick, summer read.

Julie Powell's admission of how much Julia Child changed her life got me thinking about who my own heroes were. In Julie's case, it's not even someone she'd ever met, but someone who had an impact over time, over the course of her project - trying to cook her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I have several heroes, people I respect, who have moved me. Andrew McMahon from Jack's Mannequin is a big one, but there are others - Mrs. Keane, my English teacher in high school; Tim Parrish and Robin Troy, my creative writing professors from college. People have an impact, and most of us don't even realize it. This week, write a few words about one of your heroes, big or small. This is not necessarily something for anyone else to read, though you can share it if you wish, but for you, to realize what these people mean in your life.

By writing about people, I ensure, once and for all, that I never forget about them. I always have that piece to look back on, to capture how I felt in that moment in time. Your pieces don't need to be very long, as long as they're honest. I'll let you know how my attempt went on Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for August 7, 2009

2009-08-07T21:36:00.003-04:00

Okay, so first off: Character profiles turned out both good and bad. The good news, I did finish one complete profile - for a character completely outside of any story I'm currently working on. The bad news, Zeke's profile is started, but not finished. I'll admit, it's actually rather frustrating, the fact that the novel is no longer talking to me like it used to. I think it's been too long since I've worked on it consistently, not in fits and starts. Maybe it's time for another read through, just to refresh myself on the material. We'll see.

For now, I'm just going to post a bit from what I did get finished: descriptions of Zeke's appearance and personality. More so for my reference than anyone else, but I still find it interesting to get an in-depth look at a character, especially as a writer.

CHARACTER NAME: Zeke McMahon

Physical Description: Zeke specializes in laid back. He's most at home in jeans and a t-shirt, just the right cut for his lean frame and you can be sure all his clothes are neat and clean. His hair is thick and dark; he always kept it long, past his shoulders. HIs mother, a hairstylist, finally convinced him to get a more modern cut. It now frames his face in shaggy layers, accenting his square jaw nicely. He does get a lot of glances his way for his looks, but Zeke is mostly oblivious to it.

Personality: Zeke straddles the fence between being completely spontaneous and erring on the side of caution. He's a "go with the flow" kind of guy, and he only worries about the big things - the state of his relationship with Emma he considers to be a big thing. Zeke tries to do the right thing by his friends, but he's always up for a little adventure. When it comes to people he doesn't know well or is just meeting for the first time, he tends to form an opinion quickly, and it takes a lot to change this first impression. He's also convinced that he's right, in most situations, so when it comes to arguing, he always wants to be the one who wins.

Wednesday Blog Post: On Building Characters

2009-08-05T22:25:00.002-04:00

Characterization is one of those writing concepts I understand in theory, but have a hard time putting into practice. While I have no trouble coming up with backstory, plot and complications, I struggle with getting that out on paper. Maybe every writer faces the same problem, getting the words down that they hear in their head. I find that I reveal character through dialogue, and the way they interact with each other. I often skate a fine line between dialogue and prose; I don't think I balance the two well.

I didn't realize the impact characterization had on my overall writing until working on revising And You Tell Me I Am Home. One of the initial critiques I received was that the first half moved too slow, and I figured it was due to a lack of tension between the characters. Once Zeke and Emma start fighting, the scenes started to pile up, get interesting, even for me as I wrote them. Once of the conflicts I'm working on developing is between Zeke and Jay, Emma's ex, and I decided to use character sketches to help.

Jay, since I modelled him after one of my best friends, was easy to write. Zeke, on the other hand, I really struggled with. Suddenly the traits that seemed good enough when writing the first draft - Zeke likes music, he plays guitar, parents are divorced - were nowhere near as complicated as I needed them to be. He was risking becoming a stereotype, and I couldn't let that happen.

In the next draft of the story, I have some ideas of how to broaden Zeke's (along with the others) characterization. I've considered better conflicts, flashbacks, letting the reader in on more of the backstory behind each of these people. As an author, it's my responsibility to make sure each of these characters become real on the page - the readers, as well as myself, deserve that much. I'm sure it will take me several drafts to get it right, but that's okay. I'm learning. And that's a process any writer should always be a part of.

Monday Writing Prompt: Character Sketches

2009-08-03T20:50:00.003-04:00

Everyone has a different approach as far as building their characters is concerned. I've mapped out and brainstormed characteristics; I've written scenes and been surprised at what I've found. But one of my favorite ways to learn a character is to make a bio sheet of him or her.

Applications for online, journal-based RPGs are a great example of this kind of biography. When writing, you're forced to think about different aspects of your character, not that just if he has blond or brown hair and likes to play guitar. A well-rounded character has likes and dislikes, weaknesses and strengths, just like a real person does. No one is perfect, and your characters should represent tha as well. After all, the too-perfect characters become stereotypes, at the very least, and they no longer surprise you during the writing.

Your challenge this week is to write one such character bio, either for a new character or one you're struggling with. (I may choose Zeke from And You Tell Me I Am Home, because I don't feel like I know him as well as I should, one draft into the story.) I've provided a version to use here, but feel free to add or subtract categories as needed for your character.

Name:
Nicknames (if any):
Age/Date of Birth:
Physical Description: - Things like height, weight, eye and hair color, what clothing they wear, etc.
Personality: - More than just likes and dislikes; is he friendly, outgoing, shy, etc.?
Personal History: - Everyone has a story, including your characters. What happened to get them to this point?
Family Members/Relatives/Closest Friends: - Flesh out the character's relationships, the important ones at least, even if you never see them in the story.
Philosophy on Life: - Is the glass half full or half empty? Why?
Strengths and Weaknesses: - Everyone has both; remember to keep them in balance. Not everyone can be Superman, after all. But no one is completely bad, either.

The idea here is to flesh out a character, more than you may see in the story itself. It may give you some new ideas to add when a story is stuck in a rut. Remember, just because the reader may not know why a character does something, doesn't mean that you, as the writer, don't need to know it.

If anyone tries this and finds it helpful, please let me know! I'm always curious to see what these prompts produce for other writers. I'll let you know how my character profile went on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for July 31, 2009

2009-07-31T22:19:00.002-04:00

This week's writing went a bit easier than most, because I wasn't trying to fit it in with everything else I had going on. Instead I just sat outside on my day off, on my front porch, propped my feet up and wrote. The sun was shining, the bugs were leaving me alone (for the most part) and I got a scene done.

For the Imperial Story, as most of my writing has been lately, and using the prompt from the Fray: I'm losing you and it's effortless. Told from Anitra's point of view, set after her and Briyant rescue the Lambazzias.

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[Rosaria] paused for a moment. "There's still room for you to travel with us, you know. Wakka will never ask for it, but he could use Briyant's help. Your help."

Concentrating on the bedsheets, I found it hard to meet my mother's eyes. "Our place is here, in the Underground. You know that."

She took the top blanket from me, spreading it on top. Her bed always looked crisp and sharp, from the years she had spent working in our village's hospital. "It wouldn't be permanent. Just one mission, like we used to."

I wasn't the only one trying to hang onto the past. As much as I wanted my family to come back together, the way we were before the Great Raid, it was a fool's dream. The kids we were then were only shadows of the adults we'd become. "Briyant and Wakka will never work together again," I reminded her softly, tugging the pillowcase onto the pillow. "Both are too stubborn, wanting to lead."

"I'm sure they can find a way to work something out."

"Not for Briyant." I gave Rosaria a small, sad smile. In her heart I knew she'd done what she thought was best, caring for the lost little boy she'd found. It wasn't her fault, what Wakka had raised him to become. "He's handling this better than I thought he would - at first, he only agreed to the rescue because I wanted to do it. He's accepted it, now."

"He's still that angry with us?" With the bed made, there was nothing left to do with her hands, and Rosaria sank into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "I only tried to do what I thought was right. To give him a home."

Sitting next to her, I took Rosaria's hands in both of my own. It killed me to see her like this, the woman who had always been our beacon of hope and light when the world seemed like it was coming to an end. "He doesn't blame you, just Dad, mostly. Because you never told him the truth about who he was, and how we discovered what happened. In one night, he learned his entire life had been a lie. That's not something you just get over."

Her eyes glanced up to mine. "And what about you? You were angry enough with us to leave too?"

"It wasn't like that." Not for the first time, the guilt welled in my stomach, but I forced it down. "He wouldn't stay. And I couldn't be without him again." I didn't regret my choice, but that didn't make it any easier to live with.

Wednesday Blog Post: Writing Times

2009-07-29T21:52:00.002-04:00

Every writing book I've read has said it - every writer has a certain time of day when writing works best for them. Some like to be up at the crack of dawn, others up until the wee hours of the night. My own writing schedule tends to be sporatic, writing during my breaks at work or between classes when I was in college. Then, I decided I was going to do daily writing practice, 20 minutes a day, every day.

I've been following my writing practice routine for over two months; it's how I've been creating scenes for the Imperial Story, by answering prompts. I work in retail, with open availability, so my schedule varies from week to week. What I've found is that I'm happier and more inclined to show up at the page when I write at the beginning of my day, rather than waiting until after work. I manage this most days, since I work a lot of nights, but opens are brutal. It's hard enough to get myself to work on time, much less factor in writing practice too, which means it usually gets left until the day is done. The excuses not to write come to mind so much easier: I'm tired. I'll do it after dinner. I just want to check my email first.

But, at the end of the day, I still drag myself to the desk, promising myself that it's only 20 minutes and I can shut the notebook the moment timer on my phone goes off. Or that I can have ice cream or a cup of tea once I'm finished. It's straight-up bribery, but it works. I've shown up and done the work, every day, since May 15. And I'm proud of that.

They say you can't schedule creativity, that it just happens. But I do know it doesn't happen if you don't take the time and put in the effort to make something beautiful. For me, that means figuring another 20 minutes into my morning routine, when I'm still energized from coffee, using writing to help start my day.

Monday Writing Prompt: Song Lyrics 2

2009-07-27T14:50:00.002-04:00

I'm going back to the tried and true standard of my writing prompts: song lyrics. For some reason, these always seem to spark something really interesting in me. I know it's time to return to this type of prompt when lyrics from different songs stick wtih me for more than a day or two. Without further ado, this week's lyrics are:

- I'm losing you and it's effortless. (The Fray, "Over My Head (Cable Car)" - A Day to Remember does an awesome cover of this)
- I'm trying to let you hear me as I am. (Sara Bareilles, "Love Song")
- Truth be told, I miss you. And truth be told, I'm lying. (The All-American Rejects, "Gives You Hell")
- Our hope is all we bring back in our jars, empty though they seem to be. (Treaty of Paris, "Why Am I Still Broke?" - you should be listening to this band)
- I ache to remember all the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said. (Matt Nathanson, "Come On Get Higher")

No Jack's Mannequin or Something Corporate this time around, but don't worry - I'll probably have a week with only their lyrics sometime soon.

The task this week is to take one of these prompts and see if a scene comes out of it. The last time I did this, I eneded up with the first scene I wrote for the Imperial Story. You don't have to come up with something epic, but remember, all things are possible.

I'm not sure where these lyrics are going to take me, but I'll let you know how everything goes on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for July 24, 2009

2009-07-24T22:58:00.004-04:00

So. I tried this week's prompt. Twice, as a matter of fact. I had one scene in my head - Briyant and Anitra stuck in an Imperial city for a few days with nothing to do but wait, and I wanted to send them to a "movie theater" of some kind. This idea didn't work, I think because I was trying too hard to force it to.

This leaves me without a response to this week's prompt, however, but that's okay. I'll put up a snippet from writing practice instead. I've been focusing a lot on the "Andros' return" scenes this week, taking place after this snippet from a while back. Told from Anitra's point of view, taking a friend's advice and it seems to be working out so far.

---

Gingerly, I laid Andros down on the bed, my bed. I hadn't actually slept here in weeks, so he could use it for however long his recovery turned out to be. Behind me, Rosaria carried the tray full of medical supplies, setting it down on the small table by the bed. "You said he talked to you? On the boat?"

"Yes. Whatever happened damaged his vocal chords." I could still remember the rasp in his voice, a shadow of what he used to sound like. I'd fix his voice, his face, his eyes, everything. I had to. He was my Warrior. "He's awake, though, and responding."

Andros reached out, hand hitting my arm first, then working upward, until it rested against the side of my neck. It was warm and rough, the way I remembered him. "You can hear us still?" I whispered, since my face was close to his.

His hand stroked my cheek once. Yes.

"Is anything else hurt? Anywhere I should check?"

Two strokes. No. Just the face, then.

"We're going to have to sedate you, in order to get the mask off." I paused, closing my eyes and wishing, not for the first time, that I'd been there when this happened. "There's a chance that there could be more damage if it wasn't used properly. The removal will hurt."

He hesitated. Andros, I knew, didn't want pain medication of any kind. "A Warrior's duty is to fight through it," he explained to me once, "to be stronger than the pain, to carry out the mission. You'll have to force the meds down my throat." This was an exception. I knew already that we didn't have the equipment here to treat a wound this bad, especially a burn. And he wouldn't want to be awake when I removed the mask.

"Please, Andros," I whispered. "For me. So I can help you."

Finally, he stroked my cheek again. Andros would take the medicine. "Thank you," I breathed, turning to Rosaria, holding out my hand. "Is it ready?"

Wednesday Blog Post: The Index Card Experiment

2009-07-22T21:00:00.003-04:00

I'm trying something new, in regards to outlining the Imperial Story. I've been writing bits and pieces of scenes in my daily writing practice, sometimes inspired by that day's prompt, sometimes continuing the scene from the day before, sometimes I can't get them out of my head. Timeline-wise, these scenes run from the very beginning to the beginning of the end. To try and organize what I've already written, I'm writing out each scene on index cards.

Each card has the basic details of the scene: who's in it, where it takes place, what's going on, who's telling the story. I'm finding that, by writing out these skeleton versions, I'm writing a lot about the middle of the story - Andros discovering his identity, the creation of Briyant and Anitra's Underground. I've also written a lot more than I thought I had; I have cards for 20 scenes and I'm not finished going over everything I have on paper. And to my surprise, some of it, down to the individual lines, is work I'm really proud of.

My idea is to lay all these cards out, group them together by events, and see what I have. What scenes have to come first in order for the later ones to make sense? What scenes are missing from what I've already written? What I'm looking to find is the overall arch of the story and start planning it from start to finish. And, seeing how little I've been wanting to write the actual beginning of the story, maybe that means I'm starting in the wrong place. Writing books recommend starting in the thick of things, so perhaps that's advice I'll take.

I don't know if this is a project to tackle in my daily writing practice and then type up later, or if I devote a couple days a week to it. I do know that I need a structure of some kind before I get anywhere. With my last drafted novel, I used a gigantic mind map to plot out scenes, but for some reason, that doesn't seem to be working with this one.

Has anyone used index cards to help with plotting before? If so, what was your experience? Right now, I'm just entralled to get to spend hours rereading what I've written, wincing at the cliches, but finding the gems too. I'm calling this an "experiment" - we'll see if it creates anything special.

Monday Writing Prompt: Picture Prompt 1

2009-07-20T21:16:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, you see something you just need a picture of - a street sign, interesting bird formations, you name it. Since I finally have a phone with a camera in it, these moments no longer pass me by. This picture was one of them:

I took this while walking out of the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince last week. The theater had four midnight showings, all getting out around the same time. This was the first trash can we passed on the way out; the one by the exit was empty, because no one could wait to find another trash can.

I could see a few different ways one could interpret this image and write about it - abundance of trash, the movie theater, the art of building towers out of inanimate objects. The choice is up to you - I just couldn't resist taking the picture.

I'll let you know where my imagination takes me when I post on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for July 17, 2009

2009-07-17T21:31:00.003-04:00

Not my best response ever, but not my worst. It was harder to get into my characters' heads on demand than I remembered; I think I've let this project go too long, which I'll have to remedy soon.

A quick side note to my best friend Meg - I'm sure this scene will make you hate Leigh that much more, but I like her. I needed someone to be the antithesis to Emma, all collected and rational and without a spontaneous bone in her body, and Leigh fits that to a tee.

Timeline wise, this takes place after the end of the novel, so minor spoilers, I suppose? Just assume the novel has a happy ending, and you should be all set. This is a snippet, as I have most of the scene finished, but not entirely. Email me if you want to read the rest.

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Emma managed a smile at her new boyfriend as she climbed into the front passenger seat. Boyfriend - it was still something she was getting used to, looking over at Zeke and knowing he was hers and she was his, no questions asked. Novels talked about rainbows and butterflies and warm fuzzy feelings, and while Emma didn't feel any of those, she knew this was right. They were where they belonged.

And, if the road trip turned disasterous, her AAA card was tucked in her wallet. She even made sure to double check the night before. No side of the highway for Emma Jean Wilson, no sir.

Zeke turned on the car, the radio station blaring loud, from when he'd been the car last. Emma reached out and turned down the volume, rubbing at one of her ears. "No wonder why you're going deaf," she murmured, shaking her head.

He just shrugged. "I'm going to call it an occupational hazard. Any music suggestions?"

"Something easy for all of us to listen to," Corey suggested. He'd returned from his honeymoon tanned, well rested, and more relaxed than Emma had ever seen him. "Classic rock, maybe."

"Fiona Apple! No, some old No Doubt! I think my iPod's in here somewhere, there's plenty of good stuff on that." Most of Leigh's words were muffled as she was going through her bag, pulling out various items and giving them to Corey as she found them. So far he was holding two pairs of sunglasses, three books, a journal, and a handful of pens.

Zeke looked up at Emma, who just shook her head. "I agree with Corey. Nothing too loud - something for background noise. Classic rock would work."

From behind her bag, Leigh stuck her tongue out, just a spot of pink behind a can of Pringles. "I swear, you wouldn't know what fun was if it came up and smacked you in the face. Come on, Zeke, you agree with me, right?"

"I don't know, Leigh." Throughout the conversation, Zeke had been searching his iPod, scrolling through lists of artists. "My car, so I cast the deciding vote." He set down the music player, AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" starting to play. "Sorry. You know how much I enjoy the rock."

Wednesday Blog Post: On Selecting POV

2009-07-15T22:51:00.003-04:00

Point of view has always been a hard decision for me. In my creative nonfiction stories, the choice was obvious. First person works best becuase I'm the one telling the story, based on my own experiences, thoughts and feelings. With fiction, I never know if the character I use is the best one for the story.

I've been working on the "Imperial Story" in my daily writing practice, trying out scenes, sticking with the ideas that work and abandoning the ones that don't. For the most part, I've stuck with Andros' (Briyant's) point of view, as he became the dominant character in the story so far. I'm not sure why I chose him, though - keeping his perspective, in first person, makes me aware of how much he doesn't know about what's going on. A large part of the storyline rests on the knowledge that Andros doesn't know who he really is, but the reader has to know something's not right in the Lambazzia family.

This is the part I'm having trouble with: revealing that information in such a way that doesn't come out of nowhere but doesn't give too much away either. I've tried some scenes from Anitra's point of view, but for some reason, I haven't been able to get into her head; the voice still doesn't sound right to me. Maybe this is something I'll try in the first draft, telling the story from Andros' POV, and switch it in revisions if need be. I still feel like there is so much I don't know about this story, about the world I'm trying to create, so I need to be willing to change as I progress through an actual draft.

I'm curious to see how other writers would handle a similar point of view question. How would you decide to tell the story? I've used third person to switch between characters before - And You Tell Me I Am Home switches between Emma and Zeke - but to me, it doesn't have the same sense of urgency, of immediacy, that first person does. In a novel about a rebellion fighting an empire (cue Star Wars music here), I think that tension is needed.

For now, I'll turn back to my writing books for advice, and see where the story ends up going. I won't know until I actually start writing.

Monday Writing Prompt: Road Trips

2009-07-13T21:34:00.003-04:00

Everyone's done it, or at least talked about it: taking off on the quintessential road trip. Windows down, the road stretching in front of you, no destination in mind, just enjoying the sights. I've taken a few of these in the last month and a half or so, including a day trip to New Hampshire last week to see my old college roommate and her fiance. You forget how good it feels to get away, even just for a few hours, until you finally do so.

Give your characters the same freedom. Put them in a car - or a bus, a train, a van, a flying saucer - and let them explore their new environment. Maybe this will breathe some life into a story that currently feels stale, stuck in a rut. Even if they never reach their destination, perhaps you can discover something new and exciting about your characters.

I'm hoping this works for me, as I plan on using this prompt with my novel, And You Tell Me I Am Home. I've been having trouble getting through the first round of revisions, so new ideas are always appreciated. If the scene goes well, perhaps it'll give me the encouragement I need to blow through those last 50 pages or so and get the draft out to my readers - so the real revision can begin.

Let me know if this works out for you, either by dropping a comment here or sending an email. With any luck, Emma, Zeke, Leigh and Jay will have surprised me by Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Prompt Response for July 10, 2009

2009-07-10T22:33:00.005-04:00

So this week didn't go exactly as planned, writing wise. While I did manage to get my writing practice and my blog post done, i found myself without a lot of time to work on the prompt for this week. I still love the idea for it - "Sunday night crappy hour," it's a great line - but I found it hard to keep an idea for it in my head. It didn't inspire me like I'd hoped, but that's okay - some prompts work better than others, and at different times.

For now I'm going to hold on to this week's prompt and post a snippet from my writing practice instead. I've been working a lot on different parts of the "Imperial story," and I think I may be at a point where I can start plotting out scenes and seeing what goes with which part of the story. It looks like this will need to be a full, written epic after all.

Thoughts, comments - they're always appreciated. This is unedited, so whenever these scenes become part of the overall story, I expect a lot of changes to be made.

---

...Wakka looked over at me again and behind him, I watched Rosaria flinch and look away. "You never answered my question earlier. Who are you, and why don't you talk?"

"And where's Andros?" Rosaria's voice was soft, pleading. Of all the Lambazzias, it was hardest to be mad at her. She'd always acted from the heart, doing what she thought was right, like Anitra did. "We know he was with you, when you left us. Is he all right?"

Biting her bottom lip, Anitra shot a glance over at me. "We'll discuss it later," she said. "Dad, you're limping. Our Healers should take a look at it, or Mom can, if you'd prefer-"

This time, instead of me, Wakka grabbed Anitra, holding her by the shoulders as if to shake her. "Answer the question, girl."

I was done. Hoisting Wakka by the shoulders, I threw him to the ground, uncaring if I injured him further. "Her name is Anitra," I snarled behind my helmet, "and you should be able to remember what you named your own daughter."

"Please, there's no need to fight." Rosaria hovered behind me, Anitra taking hold of her, to protect her or to keep her from joining in, I wasn't sure. "He's just trying to understand what's going on."

"Then understand this." Planting a knee in Wakka's chest, hand on his throat, I used my other hand to pry off my helmet, throwing it to the floor. Rosaria gasped as she recognized me, like I knew she would. "Andros Lambazzia is dead. And as far as I'm concerned, the two of you are as well."

Wednesday Blog Post: The Craft of Quoting

2009-07-08T21:33:00.004-04:00

One of the hardest journalism classes I ever took - one of my hardest classes period - was Journalism 201 with Professor Harris, Reporting and Writing. While other classes required an essay every once in a while, this was an article a week, 750 words, with revisions due the class after you got your paper back. It was intense - never mind the actual writing and interviewing, but just coming up with story ideas each week stressed me out. On top of tat, Harris assigned us exercises from The Craft of "Quoting," a thin white book he had written and had become an SCSU Journalism Department staple. Even our weekly articles included the patterns, underlined and numbered on the drafts we turned in.

Back then, trying to work the patterns into my articles awas difficult. "I don't want to write like this," I remember thinking. "Who cares if the attribution goes before or after the quote? Who cares if I paraphrase?" Harris cared. And while I'd been baptized in red pen during American Studies, Harris killed pens on our articles. Thank god for rewrites, or else some of us might not have passed.

There was one good thing about having such a regimented schedule of first drafts and rewrites: you're always practicing. And being forced to include quote patterns burns them into your memory. I no longer remember the patterns themselves, but I see them, every time I write dialogue. Writing books often recommend varying your sentence structure to liven up your writing, and I already do that - thanks to JRN 201. I find myself glancing back up every few paragraphs, looking to see how my dialogue is structured and how I should change it up. And I never, ever have two characters - sources - quoted in the same paragraph.

The old adage is true: You never realize how much you've learned until you look back on it, years later. And that is why The Craft of "Quoting" still retains a place on my writing bookshelf.

(If you're interested, Amazon has a listing for the book, though it looks like they're only selling used copies.)

Monday Writing Prompt: A Road Sign

2009-07-06T20:46:00.002-04:00

Every day on the way to work, I drive past the local strip club. While I have never gone inside, nor do I plan to, they always have the best messages on their sign - the kind that make you blink, turn around, and read it again.

For example, when my friend Josh came up to visit, Platinum Plus was advertising "Bridget the Midget" and "Foxy Boxing." Josh was so amused, he still mentions them to this day. If they ever come back, I think he may drag me down there, just to see what all the fuss is all about.

This week's writing prompt comes from a sign they had up a few weeks ago. I wish I had taken a picture, just to prove that this is actually what it said:

SUN NIGHT
CRAPPY HOUR 11-1AM

Write about what happens at "Sunday night crappy hour." Put your characters in a very unsavory bar on a bad night and let the scene play out. Better yet, put them in Platinum Plus (now known as PT's Showclub) and see what happens. The sign now reads "happy hour," but I like the previous incarnation better.

Hopefully this inspires you - I, at least, found it pretty amusing. I'll let you know how my work goes on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for July 3, 2009

2009-07-03T18:02:00.002-04:00

Not my best answer, but not the worst. Cut me some slack this week - today is the first day I'm finally starting to feel better. Next week's will be more extensive, I promise.

The prompt I used, as you'll figure out very early on, is Thriller. Emma and Zeke in this piece are from my novel, And You Tell Me I Am Home.

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Emma found Zeke alone in his apartment, sitting on his bed, strumming his guitar while Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” played in the background. She’d gotten worried when he didn’t answer her phone calls – granted, she’d just called to say she was on her way over, but it wasn’t like him not to answer when she called.

“Hey.” Leaving her back on the couch, Emma sat next to him, reaching out run a hand over his hair. “Everything okay?”

He blinked, looking over at her. Though his fingers never left the strings, he wasn’t playing anymore. “Michael Jackson is dead.”

“I know.” She’d thought it was a joke at first – one of her customers mentioned it while paying for her drink. Then someone else brought it up. And so did the next customer in line.

“It’s just-” Zeke waved with his hand, as if trying to find the words. It was then that Emma realized the music came from his record player, not the computer; “Thriller” had to be one of his father’s old records. “I’ve listened to his music for years. Sure, the new stuff wasn’t any good but he was a genius, Em.”

Resting her head against his shoulder, Emma whispered, “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. While she hadn’t expected this reaction out of him, it made sense – Zeke had many musical idols and he loved 1980s pop music.

Zeke blew out a breath, shoulder slumping forward. “No, I’m sorry. It’s been on my mind ever since I found out.” He strummed the guitar. “I’ve been trying to play all night, but this is all that comes out.” He played for a second, the notes forming the bassline to “Thriller.”

“Maybe that’s all you need to play.” Sitting up, Emma crossed her legs, leaning forward. “Or maybe it’s because the record’s on.”

“It’s been on since I got home.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to hit so hard, you know? It’s not like I knew him personally. I just had a few albums.”

She reached for his hand, stilling his fingers as they brushed over the strings. “That’s not the point. Music, art – they touch you. You don’t have to know them to be affected by it.”

“You probably think I’m crazy.”

“I think you’re grieving. I’d be the same way if one of my idols passed away unexpectedly.” She couldn’t imagine if Neil Gaiman or Jim Butcher stopped writing; their works were the kind of books she hoped to write someday. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at his hands – no, not his hands, but the instrument he held. “Distract me?”

As gently as she could, Emma took the guitar from him, setting it next to her on the bed. “We stick with the plan. Ice cream at Hank’s tonight, remember?”

His eyes brightened. “I haven’t been to Hank’s since I came home.”

“It’ll be just like old times.” She sat up, holding her hands out to him. “Come on. We’ll be standing in line forever if we don’t get there soon.”

Before they left, Zeke paused in front of the record playing, hand resting against the glass. The music still played, almost as if he was afraid to shut it off. After a minute or so, he lifted the lid and took the needle off the record. “When we come back,” he murmured.

“When we come back,” Emma agreed, taking his hand and leading him to the door.

Wednesday Blog Post: This Week's Inspiration

2009-07-01T22:27:00.003-04:00

It's no secret that I am a huge Star Wars fan. I've been collecting the books since I was 10 years old; even my till tags at work say "Lord Vader" on them. (No, I'm not making this up.) Say what you want about the prequels and the special editions - I've been in love the world the movies created since I was a little girl.

As I'm feeling under the weather this week, I spent my day off on my couch rewatching A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. For as much as I was watching them for the fun of it, I found myself noticing details about how the story is put together, how these characters are revealed, how George Lucas created the Star Wars universe star by star, planet by planet, ship by ship. Working on a science-fiction based story myself, currently dubbed "the Imperial story," I tried to pay attention to the details I might overlook since I know the plot so well.

What struck me the most while watching was how much of the characterization went unsaid, though I knew what and who everyone and everything was. For example, some of the races are named - Chewbacca is a Wookiee (and he doesn't live on Endor) - but others aren't, like the Biths who play in the band in the Mos Eisley cantina. It's these tiny details that reveal the world this story takes place in, bit by bit, assembled together like the pieces of the Millenium Falcon.

Star Wars also shows reasons to be on the rebellion's side throughout the course of the films - the Empire is shown only as being evil, controlling, not paying much attention to the wishes of the people. Vader Force-chokes those who fail him. Tarkin blows up Alderaan just to show off what the Death Star can do, for crying out loud. This was a major point for me: While I know what I want the rebellion in my story to be about, I know little about the empire they're fighting. Watching the way Star Wars handles its villains, both big and small, started turning the wheels in my mind; I have a few ideas now, whereas I didn't have any before.

While I could watch these movies over and over again, yesterday's viewings struck home just because of what I'm currently working on. Both my story and the original Star Wars trilogy focus on the struggles of freedom fighters, and while I have no desire to copy a classic, I won't lie and say I'm not inspired by it. Yesterday, I banged out a rough draft of a completely scene for the Imperial Story in one sitting, which doesn't always happen for me. Who knows? Maybe I'll end up dedicating the finished novel to George Lucas after all.

Monday Writing Prompt: In Remembrance

2009-06-29T12:55:00.004-04:00

The entertainment industry lost three greats last week: singer Michael Jackson, actress Farrah Fawcett, and emcee Ed McMahon. Everyone remembers people, even celebrities, differently; I choose to do so through writing. This week's prompt is actually a combination of three prompts, one for each celebrity. Maybe one will speak to you, much as they did in real life.

For MJ, the prompt is Thriller. Everyone's seen the classic music video, heard it on the radio, or know of the album of the same name. You could use the video or its lyrics as inspiration, or use the word "thriller" itself to spark your creativity. It's up to you; I chose it because it's my favorite of all his videos.

For the lovely Miss Fawcett, the prompt is swimsuit. We all know the iconic picture of Farrah, head tilted back, blond hair falling waves, that graced every teenage boy's wall in the 1970s and beyond. Let this image be your inspiration - in a creative way, of course. I see miles of shoreline and a trio of girls saying, "Hello, Charlie!" in the background.

For Ed McMahon, the prompt is sidekick. Ed's great claim to fame was working with Johnny Carson on the "Tonight Show," introducing him each night with a rousing, "Heeeeere's Johnny!" Watch some old clips - I'm sure there's some on YouTube, everything is on YouTube - and see if any of the jokes get your brain working.

The way I see it, I want to remember these people for the good things they did - not the scandals, the cancer, the financial woes. And the best way I know to honor their memory is through my writing. Maybe this will work for you, maybe it won't. I'll be back on Friday with something I hope lives up to what I have in mind.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for June 26, 2009

2009-06-26T12:05:00.002-04:00

This one was harder to finish than I thought it would be, including a couple false starts. The first image I came up with for the "I remember..." prompt ended up being the one I used, though I tried others first. I think it has to do with the proximity of the event in question, the one year anniversary of Steve's death coming up. The prompt I used was: "I remember Steve ordering his caramel macchiatos, wanting them 'hot, hot, hot,' the look on Kim's face when she told me he passed away."

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Pat and Steve used to come to our store two or three times a week. They'd been married for forever and a day, and whenever we hired a new barista, Pat made sure to ask what his or her name was, how they liked the store, what was new that day. Every time we would go out and clean the condiment bar, one of them would strike up a conversation, and if the store was slow, I would stand there and talk for a few minutes.

When they came in, every one of us knew what Pat and Steve drank: caramel macchiatos, no foam, light caramel, nonfat milk, "hot, hot, hot," Steve would tell us as he pulled out his money. I always remember him smiling as he got their drinks, bring them to their table by the window. After their morning drinks, they would walk a few laps around the mall, hand in hand.

They were like the store's grandparents. When mine were three states away, I felt like I could confide in them if I ever needed someone to talk to. When I opened the store during the week, I always knew I'd get to see them.

Then, a few weeks passed, and Pat and Steve didn't come in. Steve had cancer, I learned, something he'd been fighting for a long time. No one ever mentioned a thing and he was always smiling, never mentioning that anything was wrong. Their absence from our store was something we noticed.

We signed get well cards. A few of my co-workers visited him in the hospital; I wasn't able to go. The last I knew, the doctors said Steve was getting better, and he should get to come home.

He didn't. Pat and her sister came in to tell Kim and Steph, who had worked there the longest, the closest to them. And it was Kim who told me as I walked in for my shift. "Steve's dead."

I stared at her, mouth slack, trying to let the words sink in. Steve's dead. I didn't realize I'd started crying until the tears had reached my chin and Kim was pulling me against her, my head pressed against her shoulder. "I've been thinking about how to tell you and it just came out," she said. "We cried too. I sent Steph home. She's never lost someone so close before."

Later that night, I would send Kim home too; though she tried to act like she was okay, her heart and mind were elsewhere. I would be the strong one, who would take care of the store and do my job for all of us.

All I remember is getting home and finally letting it out, curling up with my new kitten, only four months old at the time, still young enough to want to be held. That was how my parents found me, balled up on the couch, clutching my cat and unable to stop crying.

The part that hurt the most was explaining who Steve was and what he meant to us. That was almost a year ago, now. Steph mentioned it a couple weeks ago and though Pat still comes in, still talks about Steve, none of us have mentioned the anniversary to her.

Wednesday Blog Post: The Struggle With Memory

2009-06-24T23:17:00.002-04:00

Having written the first draft of a creative nonfiction book and a handful of short stories in the genre, I'll be the first to admit, writing the truth is hard. The stories you don't want to remember but you just can't forget are often the ones that need to be written, no matter how hard it is to put the words on paper. My biggest problem I run into is that I think I remember everything perfectly - until I sit down to write.

I noticed this especially while drafting my thesis, American Studies. I had been sharing stories about the AS crew - Derek, Dave, Barton, et. al. - all through college, so of course I knew what the stories were. When I sat down to start outlining and selecting scenes, I realized how much I had forgotten, and how much wasn't applicable to the plot I had in my head. Yes, the sock joke, a line I knew from start to finish, was hilarious, but it was just an anecdote; it didn't represent what and who this class was about. It was the intangible moments in between I was trying to capture.

I did have a few resources to fall back on: the diary I kept that year and a handful of papers and assignments from the class. One of our projects had been to keep a daily journal, so I have consecutive entries for most of November and all of December 2001. I have the entries from Sept. 11th and my reactions, its impact on my classmates and I. I have the 100 word essays Mrs. Sihvonen decorated with red pen and a rewrite stamp, the current event assignments dotted with Mrs. Kowal's opinion.

Some of it made me giggle. Some of it, especially the Sept. 11th entries, make me reflect on everything that tragedy set into motion, how our world changed. And when I read about Tonya, our classmate who died because of a car accident, I remembered. I was back in Mrs. Kowal's room again, Barton's foot tapping and his hands folded against his chin, stone-faced, jaw clenched. Kristin was crying softly and I was dabbing at my eyes with a school tissue; I might as well have scraped my eyes with sandpaper.

Do I remember the exact words said? No; I don't have a tape of the event, and 16-year-old me didn't write it down. But I remember Mrs. Kowal asking us if we wanted to have class, and someone - I'm pretty sure it was Dave - spoke for all of us, saying we wanted to continue. Rereading all the material I kept jogged my memory, brought me back to the people and the feelings I wanted, needed to capture in words. Writing this now still brings it back, every worry and fear and laugh and bit of happines..

The key here is to stay true to who these people are and convey their personalities onto the page. Even if the dialogue isn't exact, it probably won't be, it should still sound like something they would have said. Cross reference what you can and remember, you can always talk to other people who were there. This is one step I didn't take with the first draft of American Studies, though I probably will for the second draft, whenever I decide to start it.

Bicky was the only one who knew I was writing it. "Are you going to use our real names?" he asked. "Because I think that you should."

I did. And I hope that, when the project is complete, it is an accurate reflection of not only my memories, but of the people who made those days mean so much to me.

Monday Writing Prompt: I Remember

2009-06-22T23:01:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, during my daily writing practice, I find myself writing more autobiography than fiction. I describe places I've lived in and where I used to play, people I used to know, events that pop up in that moment in time. Over the weekend, the prompt was, "Someone was playing the piano," and I spent 20 minutes writing about Andrew McMahon and the impact his music has had on me. It's not that these short bursts of rewritten memories are part of any one story, but the details I find in my writing later on never cease to amaze me.

This week, see what memories first come to your mind when you let the flood gates open. Take the beginning, "I remember..." and finish the line in a sentence or two. For example:

I remember... picnics at my grandparents' house, the wooden picnic table that may or may not have been painted red, the pallet by the driveway we used to claim as first base in kickball.

Do this four or five times and choose one to use in a longer exercise. Don't force yourself to remember one particular place or event or person, but rather grab the first thought that comes to mind and go with that. The goal here is not necessarily about telling a story, but to let your mind work on recalling details, seeing the scene that way. What you come up with, and the form these memories take, will likely surprise you.

If all goes well, I'll have a memory or two to share with you on Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for June 19, 2009

2009-06-19T22:35:00.004-04:00

Again, I find I didn't follow this week's prompt exactly, but that's the beauty of prompts: You don't have to. I'm working with the "Imperial Story" again, jumping around in the plotline, figuring out different pieces of the society as I go. This is the first scene I've written with Andros in his new identity, as Briyant Correleon, and already he seems a little bitter, harder. And I like that, that his character changes over the arc of this storyline.

The prompts I used, or pretended to use, were:

silver - dive bar - calm

This is a snippet of the completed scene; if you're interested to read the whole thing, drop me a line and I'd be glad to email it to you.

---

“Excuse me?” The man flagged Jackal down with a wave of his hand. The dialect was foreign for these parts, the vowels too rich – he had to come from money. What was he doing in a place like this? “What is the finest wine you carry?”

Jackal rolled his eyes, wiping his hands on his rag. Whoever this guy was, this was not the bar for him to hang out in. “Vetrian cabernet. Twenty years old.”

“I’ll have a glass, please.” He glanced sideways, “And two glasses for this young couple.”

Anitra tensed, hand on my arm, squeezing a little. “That’s a kind offer,” I said, “but we’ve already beat you to the drinks, I’m afraid.” I held up my glass, taking a long sip.

“I insist.” The man switched chairs, moving closer to me. “It’s not everyday I meet two legends in person.”

“Legends?” Anitra chuckled at that; I could hear the nervousness in her voice, but I doubted he could. “Surely you have confused with someone else.”

He leaned forward, and I caught a hint of vanilla and musk on his clothes. Old money, then; he’d probably never even held a gun, much less fired one. I still let my free hand drop to my lap, out of sight, fingering the gun on my hip.

“You’re Briyant Correleon,” he said, and my finger found the trigger. “Formerly Andros Lambazzia, trained to follow in Wakka’s footsteps until you’d discovered what he’d done. And you,” he turned to Anitra, “You’re his partner, the daughter Wakka lost. Your reputation precedes you.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic, a spy sent to take care of two thorns in the Empire’s side. Keeping my face neutral, not wanting to give anything away, I asked, “And who are you?”

Tilting his head, he held out a hand. On his finger was heavy gold signet ring, engraved with the axe and tree emblem of the House of Berryd, one of the noble families of the Old Empire. “My name is Lucard, representative of the House of Berryd. Our information said you might be found around these parts.”

The door to the bar swung open, and another group of patrons wandered inside, a little louder than the other people in the bar. Lucard’s hand dropped away, and Anitra’s hand slid down to mine, on the handle of my gun. “Perhaps we should take this to a table?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jackal grunted, returning with the wine. The glasses were made of the finest crystal, engraved with the logo of the tavern. Apparently Jackal thought us worthy of pulling out all the stops. “Corner’s free,” he said, gesturing towards the other end of the room.

“Thank you.” Anitra slid off her stool, her hand brushing over my leg as she moved. I was the strategist, planning out raids and battles, but she was the diplomat. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

I made sure to keep myself between Lucard and Anitra as we sat down. The booth Jackal pointed out offered a good view of the empty stage, but also of the bar and the tables around us. “First things first,” I began, tapping my fingers against the wine glass, “How do you know of us?”

Lucard was mid-sip, eyes closed, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Always with the business, your kind. By the time you stop and enjoy life, it’ll be far too late.” Setting the glass down, he leaned forward, towards me. “Your Underground has earned quite the reputation, even reaching the upper echelons. The Nobles are amazed of it – a safe harbor for the refugees and fighters, a place to regroup, utterly brilliant. Not that we know where it is, you see,” he was quick to add, “but the existence of such a place – my, isn’t that a thorn in Cansolee’s side.”

“The way we see it,” Anitra said, “the nobility is part of the reason why Cansolee came into power to begin with. Signing the treaties to allow full military control over the government let him pull his coup.” She never raised her voice, never said anything in such a way that could be seen as demeaning or looking for a fight. But still Lucard recoiled as if she’d struck him, and it was the first hint of shame I saw on his face.

“Ah, yes, there is that.” He stuttered a little, trying to hide it behind a sip of wine. “But the House of Berryd has always been sympathetic to the rebellion’s cause, trying to right a wrong, as it were. We occasionally fund a few groups, provide rations, a place to stay.”

I tried the wine, sure Jackal hadn’t given us anything poisonous. It reminded me of the wine from the celebrations of the Trials, sweet, but richer, a better vintage. “That’s all well and good of you, very noble.” Anitra’s hand squeezed my leg under the table, but I ignored her. “And we figure into this how?”

He looked from me to Anitra. “One of the groups we’re funding is the Lambazzia faction.”

Anitra sucked in a breath. “We weren’t aware Wakka was actively fighting.” We kept what information we knew about the Lambazzias quiet; I knew they’d left the island sanctuary, but not much else.

“Indeed he is. I’m afraid he’s run into a bit of a snag, which is where you come in.”

My free hand balled into a fist. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t owe Wakka a thing. He lied to me, kept me away from my family, raising me to believe I was someone else. “We haven’t said we’d help you.”

“Of course, of course. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Finishing his drink, Lucard attempted to flag Jackal down for another round. If Jackal noticed his waving, he was dutifully ignoring the other man. “If it were just Wakka, I could understand your hesitation. But you haven’t heard the whole story.”

“Just what kind of trouble is he in?” Anitra started playing with the frayed edges of her gloves, a nervous tick she’d had since childhood. I needed to remember that the Lambazzias were her flesh and blood; she was more tied to them than I was.

From his jacket, Lucard pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. Inside were the floor plans to an Imperial holding facility, detailing the guards’ locations, entrances, the best times to get in. “They’ve been captured, and they’re being held here, about 20 kilometers north of this village.”

“They?” I was skeptical, though the plans bore Cansolee’s seal, they were as authentic as they come.”

“The family, him, his wife and children. Our informant says the boys put up a bit of a fight, but there were damages sustained.”

The color drained out of Anitra’s face, and this time it was me squeezing her hand. I needed to keep her focused, her mind on the present, not dwelling on possible injuries. “Damages?” she whispered. “Rosaria, even Salida – they should be able to do something to help.”

Lucard’s face softened, and he reached over to push Anitra’s wine glass towards her. “Take the drink, dear. It will help you relax.” He looked over to me. “The rumor says you two are the best at what you do: taking back what the Empire has stolen. I need you to get Wakka Lambazzia for me.”

Wednesday Blog Post: Writing Adventures #1

2009-06-17T20:12:00.005-04:00

As promised, to both myself and whoever reads this blog, I went out on Monday to take my first stab at writing in a new place. I ended up at my local Borders because 1) it was nearby and not a Starbucks and 2) I could get a drink at my store before I went over there.

While I got some work done, it wasn't as productive as I hoped. I think this was due to a lot of factors. Don't get me wrong, I love Borders. My checkbook cries every time I drive by it, though I've been better than I originally thought at resisting the urge to stop there every other day. The familiarity of it killed me, even though they moved all the bookshelves around - I was already there, of course I had to work.

My first spot was in the cafe, in one of the big leather chairs. Very comfy, like I could sink down into the seat and never get up again - but it didn't offer anywhere for me to prop up my notebook. Had I been home, I would have kicked off my shoes and curled my legs up, forming a table that way, but as it was, the guys next to me were giving me dirty looks. I was more comfortable at a table; my favorite is this really high, circular table in the middle of the cafe. My feet can't touch the floor, so I propped them up on the chair next to me and I could spread out my things: my cell phone, my notebook, my iPod.

Yes, I brought my iPod into Borders. It's usually in my purse, though I had thought about leaving it in the car for this excursion. I wanted to listen to the sounds of the people around me and draw inspiration from what was going on around me. There were two problems with this: First, there wasn't a whole lot going on Monday nights at Borders, and that the one group of people talking were loud. Add to this the blender from the cafe, which startled me out of a thought, and I thought I wasn't going to get anything done.

The cure? Music. I listened to Mae's The Everglow album, perfect to write to because the lyrics are deep but I don't know them so well, which keeps me from singing along with them. I gave myself a good hour to work and have a decent start to the scene, and hopefully I'll finish it up in the next day or so.

I'm not sure if writing in Borders had an impact on what came out, but I do know it gave me the time to do nothing but write, which I find is half the battle. Next time I'll pick a place that I don't know so well. Bard Coffee in downtown Portland looks like a winner. When I make the trip, I'll be sure to document how successful it goes.

Monday Writing Prompt: Pick 3

2009-06-15T13:40:00.002-04:00

One of the communities I love watching on LiveJournal is Icons100. It's a challenge community, where people pick a topic, like the TV show Lost, and then make 100 icons for it, 50 of which are themed. I love seeing how people interpret each theme, what text they use, if it's literal or figurative. We can do the same with writing, using words as prompts or jumping off points. Combining three themes, or more, provides a mix of inspiration - at least, that's what I'm hoping for.

Here are the categories:

Colors:
red
blue
green
silver
orange
purple

Locations:
beach
mountainside
sidewalk
dive bar
on stage
department store

Mood:
happy
mellow
furious
calm
insane
ditzy

Pick one from each category and use them as themes for your next writing prompt. Your piece doesn't have to use these words exactly - for example, your character doesn't have to say, "I am happy," to illustrate happiness - but they should be prevalent somehow. I'm going to use this prompt with last week's Go Exploring challenge, and I'm looking forward to seeing what comes out of it.

Good luck - I'll let you know how it goes on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for June 12, 2009

2009-06-12T15:44:00.004-04:00

So. I didn't get a chance to try out this week's writing prompt yet, and I feel really guilty for not getting to do so. The day's still young, but I wanted to post something here anyway, to prove to myself that I'm still writing and so I didn't forget to post entirely.

This is from an idea I'm calling The Imperial Story for now, and pairs with the scene from a couple weeks ago. I've been coming back to this idea in my writing practice, writing out different points of the story. While I'm no closer to figuring out large chunks of what this society is like, I'm starting to get a handle on who Andros is and what drives him. Who knows? Maybe something longer will come out of it. All I know is that I had this scene in my head for a couple days and now it's somewhat down on paper.

This is a snippet; this particular scene is finished, but I'm waiting to see if it still makes sense to me a couple days from now before I show it off. At this point in the story, the Lambazzias believe Andros to be dead and he's trying to find them. He's severely injured, having been blasted in the face by a fireball (thanks Final Fantasy, for your enemies showing me new ways to mess up people!) and is currently wearing a bright blue mask to protect the burn, which needs to be treated. As such, the mask pretty much makes him blind.

I'm interested to know if anyone finds this snippet intriguing - worthy of continuing.

---

I heard the faint buzz of another engine approach the boat and then cut out nearby. Imperials, then, or hunters of some kind – someone who didn’t want their prey to know they were coming. I hauled myself into a sitting position, tightening a hand on my gun. I was not about to have them steal my boat, blind or not.

It was then I noticed my hands were shaky, the gun vibrating in my hand. I wasn’t scared – though the odds were bad, I could be facing worse. I hadn’t been able to eat solid food in over a week, and my liquid rations were almost gone. Even those burned like hell going down my throat, but it was all I could do. I feared letting anyone but Anitra near my wounds.

I couldn’t worry about that now. My hunger, my pain were making my mind wander, losing focus on the moment. One mistake here and I’d never see Anitra or my family again.

Footsteps landed on the upper deck, at least two distinct pairs. The first was heavy, though I could tell he was trying to move quietly. I pictured a man, possibly built, possibly heavyset, but with half a mind about what to do in a situation like this. The second set was dainty, quick taps against the boards, like a dancer walking from one end to another. A woman, then, which meant these probably weren’t Imperials who found me. More than likely, they were hunters or poachers, curious about the boat, wondering who might be aboard.

Murmurs floated down to me; they’d paused outside the cabin door. The man was giving orders and I slid into a crouch, ignoring the way my neck protested as I kept my head down. The heavier footsteps moved away from the cabin, towards the bow and the storage compartments underneath. He wouldn’t find anything.

The cabin door creaked open, and those tiny feet tapped inside the doorway. I’d left the lights off in the cabin – there was no point in using them when I’d gotten used to the darkness. There was a click, and a dim light flooded the edges of what was left of my vision.

The light felt almost warm as she swept it over the edges of the cabin. Another few steps forward and she’d reveal my position. A burst of static broke the silence, and I could hear her breathing as she lifted the communicator to her mouth. “It’s set to drift,” she murmured, voice quiet and sweet and a flood of memories surged forward. “Might have been set on auto-pilot.”

That voice – I knew that voice. Anitra was here; she’d found me without knowing where to look, like the Gods had smiled down on us for a change. I slumped forward, bumping into the cabin wall and knocking over a spare communicator as I did so. The clattering sound it made rang throughout the cabin and she jumped back, the click of a gun pointed in my direction.

“Who are you?” Anitra asked, shining her floodlight in my direction. I turned away from it, the brightness searing my injured eyes.

“Anitra.” Her name was a rasp in my throat, having avoided speaking for so long. “Anitra.”

She fumbled with the communicator; I could hear her pressing buttons. “Found our pilot,” she said, louder now. “You’d better get down here.”

“Subdue him until I arrive.” It was Wakka who answered; that explained the heavy footsteps.

“Anitra,” I tried again. This time it almost sounded right, so I continued. “It’s me.”

Her footsteps came closer, and she shined the light in my face. No, I realized, not directly in my face, but on the edges of it; she was inspecting the edges of the burn outside of the mask. “How do you know my name?”

“Andros.”

“Is dead.” Her rebuttal is quick, but I knew Anitra’s voice well enough to hear the quiver behind it. She believed the rumor, and I felt the gun pressed beneath my ribcage. “I’m not in the habit of playing games. Who are you, and how do you know who I am?”

Wednesday Blog Post: Notebooks

2009-06-10T16:25:00.003-04:00

Every writer needs a good notebook to keep thoughts in, even the ones that don't seem so important at the time. I'm always on the lookout for new notebooks and journals, even when I know I don't have a use for them yet. (Clearance Paperchase at Borders will get me every time.) My notebooks each have a purpose, so that way when I'm looking for a certain story or subject, I know exactly which book it's in.

Right now I'm using three notebooks on a regular basis; next week, you could ask me again and I'll tell you a different number. I do this mostly so that way, wherever I am, I always have some place to jot down a thought or idea without needing to grab a notebook or lose it on scraps of paper.

The one probably getting the most use right now is my "kickaround" notebook. I use the term "kickaround" to describe those notebooks that seem to follow me everywhere; this one primarily lives in my work bag, but I carry it around to friends' houses, the library, you name it. I initially bought this notebook for its tabbed sections - not that I've used them to separate thoughts or topics, but it looked cool. Just looking at the cover, you can tell it's getting beat up from the rough life it has with me. Insides is everything from half-finished writing prompts to pieces of my novel to notes about writing books, taken while I was reading. I usually draft my blog posts here, since I'm not always in front of my computer. I'm surprised at how long this one has lasted me going on a year, most of that spent getting carted back and forth to work.

My writing practice notebook, however, is more durable, being one of the few hardcover notebooks, aside from journals, I've ever used on a consistent basis. I like that the pages are the size of normal printer paper, so it's a good judge of how much I've written; a 20 minute session usually yields two and a half pages of writing. For a bound journal, the spine lays flat so I'm not struggling to keep the book open while I'm writing. Probably my favorite part is the ribbon bookmark attached to the spine. I like to set it at the end of my writing and then look at the top of the journal, to see how much of it I've filled. It's a confidence boost for me, being able to see how my writing practice pays off.

The last of my three favorites of the moment, my "writer's sketchbook" is a new idea I'm trying out. It's technically a scrapbook, with heavy pages I can write and draw on with Sharpies and the ink doesn't bleed through. I use it to map out ideas, such as a character's personality traits or thinking of new ideas for this here blog. I like the fact that the pages are so big and the unlined paper makes the maps look cleaner and easier to read. Though I've only used it for a few weeks, I've found it to be really helpful for remembering ideas and jotting down new ones as they come. And I'll be honest - getting to play with Sharpies helps my creativity.

Notebooks have always been my way of keeping my thoughts straight, both for my stories and for my personal life. I've always wondered if it works the same for other writers as well - whether through journals, sketchbooks, lined paper, unlined paper, colored pens, the list goes on. What notebooks do you use? I'm curious.

Monday Writing Prompt: Go Exploring

2009-06-08T20:50:00.004-04:00

Everyone has one or two places where they write - maybe not in the same spot at the same time every single day, but on a regular basis. For me, I have two places: my desk at home, where I work on my writing practice every morning and keep a spot empty big enough for my notebook, and the back room at work, where I write on my breaks and before my shift starts. I probably wrote at least a third of the first draft of And You Tell Me I Am Home from work.

This week's assignment deals not so much what you write as where you write it. Find some place new to write, and see how your work changes, or what new things inspire you. Have a favorite cafe where the music is just right and the baristas know your drink? Don't write there - try the one across the street instead. Drive out to the park or the lake or the beach and bring sunscreen and a bathing suit (depending on the weather, of course). Take a hike, take a walk, experience something new. I have a few ideas for where I might go, possibly taking the opportunity to explore downtown Portland a little.

Please feel free to drop me a line letting me know where you went and if creativity followed you. I'll be back on Friday to talk about where I went!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for June 5, 2009

2009-06-05T20:15:00.003-04:00

So. That Colors prompt? I followed it loosely - too loosely. While this short piece does focus on descriptions, I found it much, much harder to focus on a color than I previously thought. Instead I focused on an aspect of a color and writing a little scene around that, using a character I've been playing around with for a while now. It's still practice, so the effort wasn't lost even if it wasn't as successful as I had hoped.

The color I chose was green, focusing on it being a sign of life and rebirth. I blame it on the weather being so nice up here for a change. Comments always appreciated.

---

Adrie always noticed the same thing when she first stepped out her front door: the sunlight. It filtered through the trees, thick with late summer leaves; it spotted the roads, warming her feet as she walked through the patches. Everything always seemed so bright in Southampton, compared to the dark, claustrophobic halls of the manor where she grew up. She loved the openness of the town, the closeness of the water, the wonder of small town life.

People smiled here as she walked past them, out checking the mail or watering their gardens. Some stopped to ask her how things were going, how her husband was, what was new. Adrie had grown so accustomed to the jealousy, the fear, she'd seen in the eyes of her parents' friends. The difference was astounding, the freedom she could feel.

It was something she'd never realized, when she and her husband first came to Southampton. Josiah grew up here; his parents lived two streets away, and they'd welcomed her with open arms, like she was their daughter already. Southampton was a place to raise a family.

She laid a hand on the tiny bump of her stomach as she walked. Josiah had been beyond thrilled to learn he was going to be a father, and Adrie was even more pleased that she was starting to show. She couldn't wait to feel the baby move within her, to take on a life of his or her own, to know the baby was half her, half Josiah. Though she'd never been the kind of girl to have her children's names picked out or nurseries planned, she knew when the moment was right.

They'd have the baby in spring, just when the leaves returned to all the trees after winter's long stay. A new life as nature returned to life - Adrie thought it was fitting. She'd be able to show the little one the sun and the sky and the sea and all the things she loved about their port town.

A slow smile spread across Adrie's face as she reached the bottom of the hill, downtown Southampton spread out before her. The Owl's Nest Restaurant, the business her in-laws owned and where her husband was a chef, was at the end of the street. Josiah always seemed so surprised whenever Adrie visited him at work; he should be getting out soon, and they could walk together back to their new house. Their life was built on these quiet moments, and Adrie wouldn't have it any other way.

The hostess ushered her into the kitchen, and Adrie stood to the side, hand on her stomach, waiting. Her father-in-law caught her eye and smiled, knowing who she was here to see. Reaching over, he nudged his son's shoulder, where Josiah was flipping steaks over on the grill.

Josiah's eyes grew wide as he saw her standing there, the deepest shade of blue she'd ever seen; she hoped their child would have those eyes. "Adrie? What are you doing down here?"

Her smile matched his: mischievous, loving, promising. "Waiting for you, what else would I be doing?"

Wednesday Blog Post: On Dan Brown's Angels & Demons

2009-06-03T12:42:00.003-04:00

(What follows is an in-depth discussion of the book Angels & Demons, containing plot spoilers. Just so you've been warned.)

I don't usually read a lot of "popular" fiction. If a book seems interesting, I'm always willing to give it a try if I can get my hands on a copy. I read Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code a few years back, after the movie came out, and I remember thinking the book was tons better. So, before Angels & Demons came out, I didn't want to repeat the same mistake twice, and my friend Adriane conveniently gave me a copy.

Maybe I've spent too much time reading books on how to write, because this book did not blow me away by any means. From page one, I found myself thinking on everything I've learned and how I would address Brown's writing in a workshop setting.

The first third of the novel moves too slow, especially for a suspense thriller. Why spend so much time describing Robert Langdon's home, only to put him on a super jet and fly him to Geneva a few pages later? Spend the reader's time getting to the point of the action, where the drama is at its strongest. Focusing on descriptions - like Brown did with Leonardo Vetra's lab, while Vetra lies dead upstairs - doesn't cut it.

It doesn't help that Langdon, a Harvard professor and symbologist, doesn't have much to do in the beginning of the novel. Until he discovers the poem and starts to follow the Path of Illumination, Langdon goes through the novel with a dazed look on his face - "Oh snap, there's Illuminati around?!" He definitely fulfills the role of the Everyman thrown into an extraordinary situation, but as the hero of the story, it sure takes him a while to live up to the role. I also didn't get why Brown always refers to Langdon's "Harris tweed jacket" - this brand means nothing to me. I'd be more intereste if this jacket was worn or had holes, a personality to it. Brown refers to a lot of brand names in Angels & Demons, and to me it sounded like a lazy man's way of describing something.

That being said, once the story moves to Rome and Langdon and Co. start to chase the Hassassin, the man committing the Illuminati's vicious murders, the pace picks up. This was where my interest in the novel grew, as Langdon and Vetra's daughter, Vittoria, race through obscure church after church, finding the branded cardinals, following the clues. The amount of reseach Brown needed to get these details was obvious; the descriptions of the churches were one of my favorite parts of the whole book. I wanted to know what happened next, even while I wondered who the mastermind behind the Illuminati plot was.

Which brings me to my next point: Trick endings are still cheap. Finding out that it was actually the camerlengo, the Pope's personal attendant, at the very end put an entirely different twist on the story. Thinking the master was Max Kohler, the director of CERN, made sense because Brown describes him as cold, unfeeling, dislikeable. Even his assistant hopes he won't recover from one of his frequent medical emergencies. On the other hand, Brown writes the camerlengo as sympathetic, an orphan taken in by the church and who really, truly believes that God has a plan in mind for him. Apparently that plan was to resurrect the ancient fear of the Illuminati, kill some cardinals, almost blow up the Vatican, and come out looking like a hero for all of 30 seconds. Who knew?

Both Angels & Demons and The DaVinci Code work as thrillers because they are literally written in the same format. Just a few similarities I noticed:

- Both open with the murder of an old man under highly ritualistic circumstances (scientist Leonardo Vetra; museum curator Jacques Sauniere)
- Both involve secret societies that the Catholic church tried to banish (the Illuminati; the Knights Templar)
- Both have a "hired hand" to do all the dirty work (the Hassassin; Silas)
- Both have a female relative of the first victim helping Robert Langdon (Vittoria Vetra, Leonardo's daughter; Sophie Neveu, Sauniere's granddaughter)
- Both have law enforcement who don't buy into Langdon's theories (Captain Olivetti of the Swiss Guard; Bezu Fache of the French police)
- Both have a disabled man as part, or seeming to be part, of the scheme (Maximilian Kohler and his super high-tech wheelchair; Sir Leigh Teabing and his leg braces and crutches)
- And, of course, the whole "figure out clues to track down the killer and ultimate prize" thing.

Having read Angels & Demons, The DaVinci Code seems like a rehash of the first book - still a thrill ride, but not the epic triumph I was hoping for. I am glad, however, that I read this one befroe seeing how Tom Hanks brings Robert Langdon to the big screen.

Monday Writing Prompt: Colors

2009-06-01T12:12:00.002-04:00

How much of our world do we describe through color? Spring has finally sprung in southern Maine, and the trees are covered in the rich green of new leaves. Descriptions tend to be one of my challenges; I can show a character through their actions, through their dialogue, but I often forget how big an impact small details can make, including colors. Driving this weekend between Connecticut and Maine in the bright sunshine, seeing how beautiful the flowers where in my grandmother's yard - those are the moments I would like to practice capturing. As such, this challenge was born.

This week's prompt is to pick a color and infuse it in a piece of writing. I mean you should let it inspire you; maybe take a few minutes to brainstorm ideas asociated with this color, what thoughts come to mind. Focus on ways to show this color rather than saying, "His shirt was red." Is it crimson? Or the shade of two-day-old spilled wine? Does he remind you of the "redshirts" of Star Trek fame? Let's see if we can find new ways to describe the colors in our world.

If you try this, or any of the other prompts I've posted, feel free to let me know how it worked out for you. Comment here or drop me a link via my email. My attempt will, in theory, be up here sometime on Friday.

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for May 29, 2009

2009-05-29T23:25:00.005-04:00

When I first started this prompt, this is not what I expected would come out of it. This snippet follows an idea for a sci-fi story I had back in high school, and trying to work with it now, I can see why I never actually wrote anything for it. It goes back to Tim's "exploit what you invent" mantra: I had a great idea, but very little concept of who these characters are, what motivates them, and how the events of the plot would affect them. It also doesn't help that this piece takes place in the middle of my preconceived storyline.

There are lines that I like in this, and at least I got to play with an old idea a little bit. Who knows? Maybe I'll go back to it and fix it up someday. The prompt I used was, "She said, 'Let's change our luck,'" from We the Kings.

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I stood by the window, looking out over the quiet shore than had become our home. No, not my home: Anitra’s home. Anitra’s parents’ home. The Lambazzias had lied to me for years, calling me their son when they knew I was anything but. Anitra was on the bed, twisting her hands together, head down, so I could see the dark roots in her neon red hair.

“How long have you known?” I asked, the wind carrying my whispered words to her.

“Years.” She lifted her head to look at me, and I watched her reflection in the window pane. “I don’t – I don’t remember when they found you. But I always knew you weren’t my brother. That you were something more, closer than that.”

“You could have told me.”

Anitra took off her gloves, revealing the tattoo on her right hand, between her thumb and index finger. It was the mark of a Healer, a vow I’d seen Anitra break in the last few days. “How? I didn’t have any proof, and Dad always treated you as his favorite – his heir. He trained you to lead us if something happened to him.”

She was right. There were some things Wakka Lambazzia had ingrained in me – hatred of the Cansolee Empire, a desire to see justice enacted. We had been raised as children of the rebellion, and I would fight with every last breath in me. It was the same reason why Anitra now carried a gun on her hip; none of us could afford not to. “My father,” I said, voice soft now, “my real father – he was a soldier for those bastards. A murderer. And he was proud of it.”

“Andros.” Getting off the bed, Anitra came up behind me, her forehead resting on my back. “That’s not who you are. You are a warrior, a fighter of the Light. No matter who your birth parents are, they can never take that away from you. No one can.”

Her touch was feather-light, reminding me of Anitra’s support, her loyalty. On every one of our family’s raids against the Empire, we were always paired together, healer and warrior. She always had my back – even in that moment when I learned my entire life had been a lie, she never flinched. Anitra had always been the closest of my “siblings,” and I knew she could never abandon me while my birth family had. She’d become more than a sister, than a best friend, but I couldn’t quite put a name to what our relationship was now.

Finally, when I found my voice, there was a hard edge to it that I hadn’t expected to be there. “Andros Lambazzia is dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. He died in the fire pits, like you thought for so long.” I turned to face her, tucking her hair behind her ears. It was short enough that the strands wouldn’t stay in place after I’d touched them. “I’m not the same kid who left you. I was naïve then – I know better now.”

Anitra shook her head, the moonlight shimmering off the tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I can’t stay here. With them.” I jerked my head towards the closed door separating us from the rest of the house. On the other side, down the hall, Wakka and Rosaria Lambazzia were discussing the family’s next move. If I listened hard enough, I could just make out what they were saying. “I can’t pretend anymore. They’re no more my parents than you are my sister. I’m not going to fight just because they tell me I should. Not alongside him.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Panic flashed through Anitra’s eyes, just for a second, and I wondered if she realized I could never leave her side again. “This war waits for no one. There is no hiding, there is no peace – not unless we fight for it. And I know you, you’ll never run. You took the mark of a warrior, Andros, and you know that vow is one you can never walk away from.”

Even hearing her say my name felt wrong, like it wasn’t mine to use anymore. “I won’t be his foot soldier.”

“Then don’t. We’ll find another way to fight. We’ll start over. Change our luck, as it were.”

I half-expected to hear desperation in Anitra’s voice; the girl I grew up with would be scared out of her mind. But now she was only calm, accepting, as if none of the evening’s events surprised her. “What are you suggesting?”

Squaring her shoulders, Anitra sat up a little straighter. “For years, Dad has talked about collaborating a massive strike against the Empire – something to end them once and for all. He’s in no position to do that now. We’ve spent the last year in exile, without resources, without support. But I believe we can still win this war.” Her brown eyes met mine. “And there’s nothing that says we have to be at Wakka Lambazzia’s side when we do it.”

I let out a puff of air. “You think we should leave?”

“Didn’t you just suggest the same thing?” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to contradict her, and I couldn’t. At the very least, I knew I couldn’t stay under the Lambazzias’ roof, not when I knew how they’d lied to me, how they never planned to tell me the truth. “Andros, we’re not going to win while we’re sitting here, away from the battles. And if that means leaving…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands, brushing her fingers over her Healer’s mark. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

I took her hands in both of mine. “We’re two people against an Empire,” I reminded her. “The road will be difficult.”

“We were trained to deal with worse.” She squeezed my hands; I was unused to feeling a warrior’s roughness in her deft fingers. “The longer we stay, the harder it will be to get away.”

“How soon can you be ready?”

We didn’t waste much time. Growing up as part of the rebellion, both of us knew how to pack light, essentials only. There was no such thing as luxury items, just clothes and whatever weapons we could carry; we’d pick up rations along the way. I decided against leaving a note – based on my last conversation with Wakka, he knew how furious I was. He knew I would leave, and he knew Anitra would follow.

The front door wasn’t an option; Wakka slept light, we all did, and the door creaked whenever it was touched. I was tossing our bags out the window when Anitra paused, kissed her palm and pressed it against the closed door between us and what had been my family. “Anitra,” I whispered.

She followed me out the window, landing lightly in the grass outside it. It was, I realized, the only goodbye she could make. “I know.”

Taking her hand, each with a bag slung over our shoulders, we darted into the night.

Wednesday Blog Post: How I knew I wanted to write

2009-05-27T19:59:00.003-04:00

I was nine years old when I figured out how much I loved writing. I was in Mrs. Day's class - Mrs. Day herself was another story, of our love-hate relationship and our respect for each other, though I was too young to realize it at the time. It was the first time in school that we had a time period set aside just for us to write. It wasn't a lot of time - maybe 20 minutes or half an hour, but it was right before recess, when most of my classmates were eager to get outside.

We were given little blue books, the kind of college students dread when exam time comes around. When I saw these books, over a decade later, I still saw myself hunched over a desk in Sterling Memorial School, writing away. The only thing we had to do in that time period was write. I no longer remember if we were given prompts to write about, but I remember loving the way it felt when you write on the first page of a brand-new book, crisp and clean and waiting for your words.

The first book I wrote in was kept nice and neat. My name was written on the front in strict, practiced cursive; I always had neat handwriting. The only doodle was a tiny pumpkin that I drew there in honor of Halloween. Inside, you could watch my handwriting change, going form that uptight script to loose and flowing print as the words came to me faster and faster, the more I practiced. By the end of that school year, I would fill four or five of those little blue books - a lot of writing for a 9-year-old.

It's not like any of these stories were actually any good. I remember one about my birthday part and the awesome things that happened - none of which were actually true I wrote about how hard it was to be a pencil and how awful it was to be chewed on and sharpened constantly. I borrowed characters' names from the Baby-Sitters' Club series, which I was collecting at the time. But my first big triumph, when I realized something big about my writing, was my first "chapter story."

I was writing about a girl hanging out at recess (named, of course, Kristy, though I never really liked her in BSC. Claudia was way cooler) and one of her enemies made it look like she was flipping someone off. At the time, it was the worst offense I could imagine getting caught doing. I ended the scene with the teacher stalking over to Kristy, demanding to know what was going on.

A light bulb went off in my head: This was the place to end the chapter. Even at that age, I could feel the suspense, wondering what was going to happen to Kristy - would the teacher believe her, if she said she didn't do it? What was the punishment for flipping someone off? I remember being so excited as I turned back a couple pages in my book and, between the title and the beginning of the story, I squeezed in the words "Chapter 1." I'd never written a multi-part story before.

All of my classmates regarded this writing practice as a chore, something so boring that they wanted nothing to do with it. But this opened so many doors to me, gave me the encouragement and the time to let my Muse come out and play. At 23, I'm trying to recapture that feeling of excitement I first felt when I was 9 years old. Some kids wanted to be police officers or astronauts or lawyers when they grew up,

Me? I always wanted to be a writer.

Monday Writing Prompt: Song Lyrics 1

2009-05-25T22:43:00.005-04:00

In some way, shape or form, most writers are inspired by music. I could write weeks' worth of posts about how music works for me, but I would rather see how this inspiration plays out in the actual writing. This week's challenge is take one of these five song lyrics and see what comes out of them:

- The darker the secret, the harder you'll keep it. (Jack's Mannequin, "At Full Speed")
- I'm in love with my own sins. (Fall Out Boy, "America's Suitehearts")
- I've always been the easy kill. (Jimmy Eat World, "Kill")
- I'll take my chances on truck stops and state lines. (The Academy Is..., "Almost Here")
- She said, 'Let's change our luck.' (We the Kings, "Skyway Avenue")

Don't worry about knowing the song the lyric comes from; in fact, it's probably better if you don't. (I'm already struggling, wanting to connect my piece with the music, even though I haven't started writing yet.)

The final piece should be between 750 and 1000 words - enough to start to tell a story. With any luck, I'll have my attempt ready to post on Friday!

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Don't like this week's prompt? Check out previous ones through the Monday Writing Prompt tag.

Friday Writing Response for May 22, 2009

2009-05-22T11:54:00.004-04:00

My attempt at following the "No E" excerise, as posted over here. I really need to get a decent thesaurus and start carrying it around with me, lol. Still, this isn't terrible for writing most of it while on break from work.

Follows loosely in with my novel, And You Tell Me I Am Home, though you don't have to have read it to follow the piece.

Jay works past midnight. It's not that his writing is so important it can't wait until morning, but his inspiration hits at two a.m. Typing away, Jay can't think of his old girl, or of his pain from that loss. Both said such a union couldn't work, it was mutual. It wouldn't suit him to wallow if distractions could sway his mind.

So now, Jay counts stars out his window, pricks of light in a pitch black sky. Words will flow from his hands, from his mind. It's not brilliant, but this job pays his bills, and so Jay can't complain. His only wish is to talk about such things with his girl again, about passions, about art.

Jay lays down around four, knowing morning is coming soon. Tomorrow will pass, just as all days prior. In a month, two months, his mind won't think about it constantly; his girl will drift away.

(Word count: 154)

Wednesday Blog Post: Exploit what you invent

2009-05-20T21:38:00.003-04:00

The best and yet the hardest piece of writing advice I've ever been given came from Tim Parrish, in my Advanced Fiction Writing class my senior year of college. I was working on my thesis at the time and, with my brain already frazzled from working with real events and memories, I decided to "take a break" and submit just fiction stories for this class.

My workshop story focused on a set of twins, Nathan and Angie. Nathan left home to pursue a music career and Angie, who hardly speaks, stayed home with their music teacher father. When Dad has a heart attack, Nathan comes back to town to help Angie, only to find how much worse her situation had become. I loved the dynamic of the artistic twins, how Nathan would speak for Angie, and the situation I was creating. It was an incomplete draft when I submitted it, but I liked where it was going.

The workshop was, in a word, brutal. Tim said my characters were too weak, timid, not reacting in ways that they should. That they were, essentially, caricatures without actually responding to the situation. Another girl complained about the face that his name was Nathan and she'd just broken up with a musician named Nathan. I went back to my dorm room with a handful of reviews, including a page-long one from Tim (the longest I had received to that point) and cried.

"Exploit what you invent," Tim said over and over in the workshop. His review repeats it: "You've got to let go of playing it so safe and to see the story from the outside," he wrote. "...You're a writer with a natural sense of how to tell a story, but you're not a writer who yet takes many emotional risks."

It took me a while to realize it, but Tim was right. I hadn't plotted out the story nearly as much as I needed to, even if I didn't know how I wanted it to end yet. I didn't know who Nathan was, his personality, what his quirks were - and if I didn't know Nathan, I didn't even start to scratch the surface with Angie. For my next workshop, I plotted. I thought about where I wanted the story to go and how these characters would interact with each other. The draft for my next workshop wasn't great, but it was better - and Tim noticed that I'd taken his advice to heart.

That is the best piece of advice I can offer to other writers: Exploit what you invent. Create the situation and then run with it, let your imagination go wild. The first draft may show you what the plot may be, but it's further exploration that gives you the characters you're working with, what the story actually means.

Monday Writing Prompt: No "E"

2009-05-18T19:49:00.002-04:00

I remember this writing prompt from American Studies. Our assignment was to write a 100 word essay without using the letter E anywhere in the piece. It was also the only assignment where we didn't have to prove a point or support an opinion. Accomplishing this is much harder than one might think it to be - how many common words use the letter E? "The" is now completely off limits. So are past tense verbs that end in "-ed," using words like "he" and "she."

Here is my original piece, from American Studies. Keep in mind that I was 16 when I wrote this, when I was in my big Highlander phase (and I'm still a huge fan of the show):

Duncan walks a road in Paris, with only his katana in his hand and a familiar thought on his mind. It is his duty to fight this man, at this hour. His body calls for blood, though his soul is loath to submit. A factory, long vacant, is a location for such a fight. Dark shadows call to him from all walls, surrounding him, and for an instant, Duncan is afraid. From such shadows, a buzz assails him, informing him of approaching Immortal company. With his katana in an apt fighting position, Duncan shouts his cry to arms: "Now, only a man can stand, not two!"

My challenge with this prompt is to write a coherent piece between 150 and 200 words without using E once. I haven't tried this in a long while, so it's something for me to work on as well.

Good luck - I hope to post my version on Friday!

Who's writing this thing?

2009-05-14T20:04:00.001-04:00

About the Author

My name is Amie Lynne Martin, and I’m 23 years old. Currently living outside of Portland, Maine, I’m originally from Voluntown, Conn. I have a BA in journalism with a Spanish minor from Southern Connecticut State University, where I graduated in 2007.

Aside from writing, I play a few video games, mostly RPGs like the Final Fantasy series, and dabble in graphic design. I waste a lot of my life on the Internet. I love to read science fiction and fantasy – current favorites include Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (which I highly recommend reading for the sheer absurdity of it). Musically, I am a huge fan of Andrew McMahon and his two bands, Jack’s Mannequin and Something Corporate. Other current favorites include Fall Out Boy, Treaty of Paris, Queen, Vanessa Carlton, and Howie Day.

I am the proud owner of a one-year-old kitten named Lily, who loves to cuddle and chase bugs and play with her sparkly green mousey. She’s adorable and I’ll be the first to admit, I spoil her rotten.

I’ve had a few articles published here and there, most recently in the Conn. magazine Metroline. I successfully completed an internship with the New Haven Register in their features department, where I interviewed Cyrus Bolooki of New Found Glory, among other artists. I am currently working on revising my first novel, currently titled And You Tell Me I Am Home.

Thoughts, questions, concerns? Feel free to ask me here or send me an email at amielynnemartin [at] gmail [dot] com.

Welcome!

2009-05-14T20:01:00.000-04:00

Welcome to The Writer Chick, a blog dedicated to the craft of writing as I see it – the view of a writer just starting out in the publishing world.

I created this as a way to keep myself writing, through the days when I fight to edit a page of my novel, when inspiration goes on strike, when I feel everything I write is garbage. I miss the way writing felt when I was in college, taking classes in creative writing. There was a sense of community; everyone had read everyone else’s stories, and the resulting discussions were always lively and entertaining. I want to recapture that magic in blog form.

Once a week, I will make a post discussing some aspect of my writing world. Perhaps it will be about whatever project I’m working on that week; check out the list of current works for a summary of these stories. I also want to discuss what my experiences are, what new topics I struggle with. As always, these posts are my opinion – everyone approaches writing differently, which is why talking about it is intriguing to me.

Also once a week, I plan to post at least one excerpt from something I’ve written. I can’t talk the talk if I don’t walk the walk, as the phrase goes, and one of the goals of this blog is to encourage myself to write. If someone else would like to write along with me, that’s even better.

Writing is a gift, but it’s also a skill, one that becomes lost if it’s not in practice. I don’t want that to happen to me. My hope is that this blog will help me sharpen my words, clean up my phrases, and reclaim the passion I had for writing.

Thanks for joining me on the journey.

Posting Schedule:

MONDAY: Writing prompts
A picture, a sentence, something to spark some creativity.
WEDNESDAY: Blog
My thoughts and views on the week’s writing topic.
FRIDAY: Writing responses
A completed exercise or other excerpt from my current works.

Current Works

2009-05-14T19:56:00.002-04:00

Current Works in Progress; An Overview

For all the projects I talk about, in various stages of completion.

Title: And You Tell Me I Am Home
Genre: Original Fiction
Form: Novel
Status: Initial draft complete; first edit in progress

My first novel-length story. Five years ago, Zeke McMahon left his hometown of Plainfield for New York, leaving his two best friends behind. When he finally moves back home, he finds the situation to be much more complicated than he remembered. One friend, Leigh, is in the midst of planning her wedding to her high school sweetheart, and the other, Emma, is recovering from a recent breakup. To top it off, Emma’s ex, Jay, is still friends with both Emma and Leigh. A coming of age story, Zeke learns who his old friends have become, how much time has changed everyone – and where his new place will be in Plainfield.

This story was originally based on a short story I wrote in college, titled Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying. It was always a story I wanted to fix and expand, because the characters I created were based on people I knew, and the ten page story I originally wrote was nowhere near enough to house the relationships between these characters. I’m not sure the current 200 page draft is enough. That’s what revisions are for, and I’m learning that it’s harder to revise than it was to write in the first place.

Title: American Studies
Genre: Creative Nonfiction
Form: Novella; possibly a full-length novel
Status: Initial draft complete; restructuring and second draft planned

Dinty Moore, in his book The Truth of the Matter: Art and Craft in Creative Nonfiction, defines the term “creative nonfiction” as a combination of real people and places and authentic thoughts with literary techniques used to tell the story. This project is an example of such a work, retelling the author’s junior year of high school, when she was part of a rigorous program called American Studies. The class combined Honors-level English and history classes in a discussion-based learning environment, allowing students to interact with the class material directly. From writing 100-word essays and current event articles every week to going through the events of September 11, 2001 and dealing with the death of a classmate, the ten students in American Studies formed a unique social group whose impact on the narrator lasted past the last day of classes. Told in a series of small sections, the project covers the narrator’s journey – the author’s journey – as she interacts with each of her classmates and friends, develops friendships and relationships, and as such becomes more than just an observer of her high school life.

(Why yes, that was my thesis abstract.)

American Studies serves as my way of honoring and remembering the kids I went to high school with, now that we’ve all drifted apart. Some of them I have on Facebook, some of them I talk to through LiveJournal, but we’ll never be as close as we were during that one year in American Studies. The story here is much larger than it first seemed when I started writing it; confining it to one year won’t do it justice. Right now, I need to work on redefining the story arc and facing the hard stories that need to be told here – the ones I don’t like, the ones that leave myself vulnerable on the page. These are the stories that need to be told most of all.