Archive for November, 2012

After LOtR, Sauron Took Any Job He Could Find

After LOtR, Sauron Took Any Job He Could Find

Ha, I say again, Ha!

NaNoWriMo: Part Two: The Revenge: The Return Of NaNoWriMo: You Only Write Twice In Paris: NaNo Is Back- And This Time It’s Personal!

Can somebody tell me where I left November?

I’ve searched among the scraps of paper and inkless pens on my desk. It’s not there. I’ve sifted through the pile of discarded ideas; shuffled my snippets of dialogue; ransacked my stress box where plot holes and dead ends live; I’ve even tentatively poked my head through the doorway to my imagination, though I didn’t dare to step too far in. For the life of me I can’t think of how I’ve managed to misplace an entire month. 

It’s November 30th. NaNo is almost over. I find myself disturbed by that thought more than I imagined. Yes I’ll certainly continue to write, it’s not as if the creative gears in my head will come to a grinding halt, but there was a spark of excitement that took me to places I’d never explored before. Actively searching for ideas; pressing my exhausted imagination to find enough juice to juuust make my word count for the day. 

And that’s saying nothing about the online community I found, writers that made me feel a little less crazy for one glorious, coffee-fueled, frantic month. I found people just like me, who talked about their characters like they were tangible and didn’t bat an eye when I crowed about having finished a particularly difficult scene. 

I guess this is goodbye, NaNoWriMo, but only until next year. I’m certain that I’ll carry what I’ve learned and accomplished into the rest of my writing habits outside the box of November. 

Writing Prompt: Switch It Up

There are times when my characters just refuse to behave, and that’s when I either A) horribly maim one of them; or B) do this.

Prompt: Take a character you’re familiar with, and put them in a completely different setting. How do they react to this new environment? Perhaps they know nothing of their “previous life”, or are they fully aware that things have changed?

Example: One of my triad stories seemed to be going in circles, as they like to sometimes, so I took all three characters out of a futuristic setting, and put them all the way back into medieval times. As it turned out, the problem was that two of the three weren’t as strongly bonded as I was hoping for; so I remedied that by having them meet first and travel together a bit before introducing the third character.

How to Fake Your Own Death

How to Fake Your Own Death.

I may just be in a pensive mood tonight, but this really struck a chord with me. It’s short and simple, but the words carry weight and depth with an ease I envy a little.

Thoughts

I couldn’t sleep last night. Thinking too much. 

Why do we write? What sets us apart from the rest of the world? My younger brother has little interest in books, and even less in putting pen to paper (figuratively AND literally). We are three years apart. So what do I have that he doesn’t? Where does the spark of creativity come from?

A scientist would give me some spiel about genetics and family traits that he himself only half understands- leaving me completely in the dark. 

A God fearing man might say that the Creator blessed each of with a special set of skills, and that creativity was just one of mine. 

My mother would tell me she loves me anyway, and shoo me off. 

I think a child might attribute it to magic. 

Personally I don’t have any idea about why I write. The urge has just always been there. As a child I was a story teller and an avid reader. I’d take bits and pieces from my favorite tales, borrowing from Tolkien and Milne and Poe and countless others, weaving them together in a way that left my teachers scratching their heads, while my classmates begged me to tell a story in our free-time hour. 

When I was eleven, an idea manifested itself that would not go away. I thought about it when I woke up and when I went to sleep, through class my mind drifted, and finally one day I got my hands on my mother’s old computer at her office after school. Here I finally found release for the pressing rush of ideas and voices that spun around my brain. I couldn’t type fast enough to get the words out. That was the start of something epic. 

400+ pages later, I’m still not finished with the story. I’ve written many, many pieces in the eight years since I first started it, but my first novel remains an open ended work in progress. 

Quite often I’m asked, where do I get my ideas. I have not to date found a reasonable answer. Everyone has at one point or another seen something on television, or the Internet, that made them think. But what possesses one to take that idea and run with it- spin out characters and stories and entire worlds from the pit of imagination? 

Visited by an Angel

Visited by an Angel

This has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to share it…because yes.

NaNoWriMo: Part Two: The Revenge: The Return of NaNoWriMo: You Only Write Twice in Paris

50,000! 

I did it! I wrote….a bunch of words that is not a novel…in 19 days! And I’m going to keep going, see how far I can get in the remainder. Maybe I’ll take a look at the outlines I discarded on Day 2, see if any of that can be salvaged. I reckon if I am for the “episodes” I usually do instead of novel format, I may be able to bring them back to life.

But not as zombies.

Because zombies are fuckin’ terrifying. 

Writing Prompt: Reading

I love to read. It’s like taking a mini vacation, except without packing your bags, putting up with a crappy flight where the fat guy next to you hogs the armrest, checking into a hotel where thy swear you didn’t pay for your reservations even though you are HOLDING A RECEIPT in your hands, trying to find an uncrowded spot on the beach, and then repeating the crappy flight home where you realize how dirty your house really is. 

Prompt: This one is more open. You can describe a character reading, tell about you reading- hell, write it from the book’s point of view! What are he/she/it/you reading? Why that particular book/magazine/whatever?

Example: Coty walked into the coffee shop mostly out of boredom. Her flight home didn’t leave for another two hours, so she’d spent the last hour wandering the airport. As the door closed behind her, the familiar smells of espresso and paper met her, and Coty smiled faintly. She headed right past the obligatory rack of paperback novels, big unwieldy books that Coty found utterly dull, and stopped in the back of the small room next to the barista station where the magazine racks where. She ran her fingertips lightly over  dozens of glossy pages filled with shiny plastic people. Headlines screamed out at her in bold letters, but Coty had no taste for the tabloids either. She didn’t care who was marrying who, or who was having an affair; much less about the seedy looking paper tabloids that claimed a woman in Michigan had given birth to a baby that was half lizard. Selecting a Seventeen! Magazine, she paid for it at the counter, then went back out into the airport and found a seat in one of the little clusters of armchairs that dotted the airport. She settled her small carry-on back pack next to her, flinging one slender leg over the arm of the chair and scooting down in the seat sideways to get comfortable. Having done so, she popped her headphones in and opened her magazine. Her eyes greedily took in every page of anorexic teen models posing in clothes she could afford, but didn’t want. The get-the-look pages were her favorites. She stared past the pictures, imagining herself in any one of the outfits the magazine featured, ever on the hunt for her newest look. In the back of the magazine were “the most embarrassing stories ever”, and these amused Coty to no end. She flicked her eyes over a story about a girl who threw up on her first date due to food poisoning and actually laughed a little, earning a quizzical look from a passing family. Try having a first date that ended in the emergency room involving major blood loss without any visible injuries and an unexplainable case of amnesia on the victim’s part. Coty cringed a little as she remembered that particular night. She’d been still getting used to her vampire tendencies, and nearly killed her date. After that, Coty shut the magazine, she suddenly didn’t feel like reading anymore if that’s where her mind was going to go with every story she read.

Never Coming Home- Sting

This man…Oh. My. GOD this man! Pure genius. I like a lot of different music, but if I could only listen to one artist for the rest of my life it would be Sting. He brings lyrics to an entirely new depth. Just, he has this way with words…even the songs that come off as cavalier are poetry.

And he’s damn good looking too. *swoon*

NaNoWriMo: Part Two: The Revenge: The Return of NaNoWriMo

Broke 40k today! 

In other news, where the hell did November go? We’re essentially at the halfway mark. Two weeks down, two weeks to go. Day 15 out of 30. One half of November is gone. 

So far my plan to write a different story is going well. I’ve actually gotten two excerpts for running serials that I post elsewhere done. Which is a blessing because the natives are getting restless waiting for inspiration to strike me. It is a little disappointing in that I was hoping to have a complete novel, but hey, if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. I do short stories well, so that’s what I’m focusing on. Strengths. 

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that people have different styles. I look at people who can go from A to Z in a coherent fashion, with an outline and fully developed side stories, all in a month…and I get incredibly jealous. By the same token I know there’s somebody out there that wishes they could fly by the seat of their pants and write short, complete story arcs in 5k words or less like I do. Everybody has a different writing style, so what’s yours?