happy holidays!

Happy Christmas Eve Eve!

This will be our first Christmas on our own and while I had initial reservations about it, I'm getting excited. For the last three years we've spent Christmas at Tim's parents' house in Delta, which I love because the holidays were always a time for family when I was growing up so I have this need to have people around me. This year, though, his parents are taking a long overdue vacation to see their kids that don't live in our valley so we're on our own. We will be having one of Tim's sisters and her husband over for Christmas Eve, though, which should be a lot of fun! We always went to my cousin's house for Christmas Eve dinner in New York. The idea of staying snuggled up indoors on a lazy Christmas day has grown on me lately but I'm glad we'll have some company tomorrow

We finally got our tree up and decorated over Friday and Saturday [I know, so behind] after I spent a day and a half removing the pre-wired lights. Let me tell you, whoever puts those suckers on is not getting paid enough, not nearly. I also understand why pre-lit trees cost so much more. Honestly, though, I'm willing to put up with having to re-wrap the tree in lights every year to avoid potentially needing to replace the entire tree every other year because some of the lights go out and you can't fix them [the reason I removed the lights on ours this year]. Tim thought I was a bit crazy but I didn't really mind taking them off and as for putting them on, we always had a real tree, growing up, so I'm used to it and our tree has never looked this good, if I do say so myself.

Winter has been making periodic attempts to set its claws in over the last week. We've finally dropped out of the mid- to upper-50s and we're starting to get some precipitation, mostly in the form of rain. It did start out pretty snowy yesterday but by the time I left work it had all melted and today it's sunny, if frigid. The weatherman predicts at least 3 inches of snow on Christmas which would be appropriately seasonal and pretty but we'll see what happens. Only a fool trusts the weather forecast implicitly.

I only have to come in to work on Monday and Tuesday next week and I'm looking forward to a lazy vacation. I've set a goal for myself to break 20,000 words [continuing my word count from nanowrimo] before the new year. I know that's only a goal of 5,000 words for the whole month but it feels attainable and considering the holiday season as well as the other events that broke up my writing schedule this month, I'll be happy with attainable. Right now I'm trying to find pictures of people that remind me of my characters which is fairly simple for some but others, like Percy [who is undergoing a change of ethnicity by her own volition], are a bit more challenging. My search terms are often too specific or too many to bring up any good results so I might end up Frankenstein-ing pieces of different pictures together. Man, I really need to get that cork board!

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday wherever you are! And if you don't celebrate any of the current holidays, create your own! We should never really need an official excuse to celebrate life  : )

starting to feel more like christmas

Finally some snow!

Hey guys! Sorry for the somewhat unexpected radio silence for the last two weeks. I wasn't planning on posting last week because I had my friend out from New York but I had fully intended to post on the fourth. Work just got a little crazy those last few days before I took a vacation.

I know I'm a bit early this week but I figured I felt like blogging and it makes up a little bit for missing two weeks. I might post next Tuesday as well since Thursday will be Christmas and I don't think I'll be online much that day  : P

So a lot has actually happened in the last two weeks. I went to an author signing event at a local library where I met Shannon Hale and saw several other famous authors like Ally Condie [of the Matched series], Brandon Sanderson [Wheel of Time, Stormlight Archive, Mistborn], and Brandon Mull [Fablehaven] . I was surprised to see Ann Dee Ellis sitting at one of the tables further down the room. I had Ann Dee as a teacher for my Middle Grade and YA writing class at BYU three years ago and this was the first time I'd seen her since then. I hadn't brought Everything is Fine with me because I didn't know she was going to be there so I browsed the books they had for sale until I found The End or Something Like That which I purchased because I wanted to read it and because I wanted an excuse to talk to her. Ann Dee isn't as well known as a lot of the authors that were there so when I wandered over there wasn't a line at her table and she recognized me before I even got up to the table. I have such a hard time with remembering people's names and I don't consider myself to be terribly memorable so it came as a surprise that she remembered me from three years ago. It was awesome to talk to her again and I'm kicking myself for not getting a picture with her but she did sign the book with "can't to read yours!" which has double impact for me coming from a writer and former teacher.

With Emily here this last week we got to do a lot of fun stuff [guys, I need to go to aquariums more often] but I didn't get any writing done. I'd planned for that but now that I'm getting back to my regular schedule I've been dragging my feet about picking up the pen again. Writing consistently can be such an easy habit to fall out of - in fact, I don't think it's really a habit people ever get into, not really. Each day can be a struggle to keep going. The habit is in making yourself sit down at your desk or computer every single day and at least trying. I'm resolving to try tonight even though my evening is kind of booked. I'm going to do it. Even if it's just a sentence. 

Last week, while roaming B&N, Starbucks hot chocolate in hand, in true nostalgic fashion with Emily, I picked up The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. I haven't read a lot of his work though I've been aware of him as an author for a long time. I have read Stardust [though if I'm being honest, I prefer the movie ending] and I've been meaning to read Coraline since I saw the movie [it waits patiently on my list]. I've heard a lot of talk about The Graveyard Book within the last year so I was intrigued to read this spooky, magical story.

Confession time - and I'm more shocked than ashamed of this - but I haven't read a book since August when my unofficial Wheel of Time hiatus began. The lack of literature has been a note in the back of my mind for the last three months and while I had plenty of reasons to not be reading as voraciously as I typically do, it felt really weird for books to not be such a constant part of my life. In high school I had several instances where friends told me that I didn't act like myself unless I was up to my neck in some book or other and I've realized that the longer this dry spell got the less I felt like myself. So on Friday I dug into The Graveyard Book and then The End or Something Like That. It felt so good to read again. To inhale characters and worlds created with such imagination and emotion.

I adore The Graveyard Book. It's shelved in the youth section of my B&N and I can see how it's appropriate for that age group - spooky but not disturbing, despite some of the events that occur. Gaiman has a skilled hand at describing horrific things in a way that doesn't traumatize you but also somehow doesn't lose any of its impact. In this way, The Graveyard Book is suitable for younger readers but it doesn't come off as childish or simple for older readers. The chapters could be set up as separate short stories, and I understand that one was published that way, but put together you feel the flow of time that is growing up for Nobody Owens. Growing up in a graveyard with ghosts and other supernatural creatures for parents and teachers isn't an experience any of us can relate to but Gaiman spins a world where everything Bod encounters seems natural and reasonable. First-class world-building here, folks.

I finished The End or Something Like That last night and it was with serious effort that I kept myself from sobbing. Ann Dee Ellis writes realistic fiction that is absolutely saturated in deep emotion. Emmy's best friend Kim died a year ago and Emmy has been doing everything she promised in order to meet Kim's spirit on the various dates they picked out beforehand but nothing is working out the way they expected and Kim hasn't made any appearances. The book is set over the course of two days - the day before the one year anniversary of Kim's death and the day of - with frequent flashbacks. Ellis's 1st person PoV is all consuming in a way unique to her. I'm awful at explaining it but I feel more completely a part of Emmy's mind and heart than I ever had with other characters. This makes for a breathtaking experience as Emmy struggles to come to terms with Kim's death, the events that led up to it, and what her life will be without her best friend - who Emmy will be now. This story and these characters really resonated with me. Ellis has a somewhat off-beat writing style that allows her to convey each emotional punch with incredible force as the characters feel them. Beautifully written and deeply felt, this book will touch a lot of hearts.

something to read this time

I'm still not really sure where my novel is going at the moment and writing has been slow this week. So last night, after a conversation with Tim about a bill recently passed in Utah that would allow prisons to use a firing squad in situations where lethal injection isn't available, I wrote what I suppose would be called  a scene along the same train of thought. It was refreshing to write something that's outside my current box. I'm fairly pleased with it, as morbid as that might sound, and I thought I'd share it for my post this week. It's not at all graphic but if this topic isn't your cup of tea you might want to skip.

[I have no intention or interest in starting a debate about the death penalty or the way in which it may be carried out so please don't make this a platform for an argument.]


***


     I never imagined it ending this way, my life.
     I'd known the "how" for a month but I'd never really pictured it. Strapped to a chair, legs, arms, head, staring at a wall with a slit in it just big enough for the rifle barrels. I don't think it's something I'd have been able to imagine before being brought into this grey room.
     There's no panic, just a sort of wonder.
     I wonder about the men behind the rifles, maybe women. How many wished the prison had been able to obtain the chemicals for a lethal injection so they didn't have to be here. How many didn't care.
     My lawyer had wanted me to care, to fight. In thirty years there had been unnumbered chances to fight. I bet she knows the number. But I hadn't cared when I wrecked that train. I didn't see why I should be allowed to care now. I hadn't imagined it this way, but I wouldn't argue.
     173. It should have been 174 but few things end the way we expect them to. I chose this seat when I flipped that switch and pushed that lever forward. I think some part of my mind must have known that then but I didn't dwell on imagining this moment. It was supposed to be 174. Today it would be. It would be quick, but a death thirty years slower than planned.
     Nothing comes out the way we plan. 174 plans, interrupted, all but one put eternally on hold. I think that's my legacy in life, ruined plans. The people behind the rifles probably had plans for today before the drug manufacturers held up their shipment.
     The straps press into my skin. The chair arms are cold. How long will my arms bear the pattern of the restraints? I wonder if I'll get to see, after. I can still taste the banana pancakes I had for lunch. They put the bananas in the batter instead of just on top. That was nice. The two taste completely different.
     I wonder how much longer. Maybe there's a problem. Maybe one of the riflemen got a call that his wife just went into labor. I don't mind.
     How many others will sit in this chair and see this slit? Jason, Kobe, and Ben are all on the row, others must be too. Kobe's still fighting his. Jason told me to tell him how it is. Maybe they'll have the chemicals again by the time their afternoons come around.
     I don't think any of them would imagine this either.
     It's quieter than it's ever been in thirty years. Even at night you could always hear the other guys breathing, muttering in their sleep, crying. The steady step of the detention officer pacing the floor. There might be a shuffling behind the wall but I feel like I've pulled inward, all I can hear is my own pulse. I wonder if that really is what waves sound like. I've never been to the ocean. I was headed there once, but I never made ---

let's go see the chickens!

Nanowrimo is going pretty well. I'm clocked in at over 6,000 words right now, averaging about 3 pages a day. Now, that's nowhere near what I need to be writing to hit 50,000 words by the end of the month but I'm not really stressed about that. Writing this much this consistently isn't something I usually manage. Sometimes I'll have a day where I write ten pages but it's usually dry spells in between and it's learning to write through those times that this month is really helping me with. Hitting the 50,000 words would be cool, but there are other lessons and habits that I can pick up regardless of what my final word count is for the month.

That being said, for the most part writing has been pretty smooth sailing thus far. I had a pretty good idea of where things were going and what was happening next but now I've exhausted that [and my notebook along with it] and I've hit a slow period where not much is going on. I realized this rather abruptly on Tuesday and the question has been sitting in my brain since then: what do we do? My characters are stuck in a mandatory waiting period which could ultimately work well for pacing purposes or it might be best to do a literary "five weeks later" [did anyone else hear that in the SpongeBob narrator voice?] and jump to when things start happening again. The latter may be what I go with in revisions, who knows, but with the context of the quote I shared from Neil Gaiman last week I'm pushing forward to see what might become of this slower time. I'm trying to figure out what could be meaningful about it for the two characters who are currently able to do more than lie in bed.

Last night I decided to go see the chickens. The dialogue seemed to be stalling within the group so I thought, let's take a tour, and the first place we're going is to see the chickens. It's not the most exciting thing, though one has already scared the living daylights out of Kamdon - he may be scarred for life - but you have to start somewhere before your characters can tell you what they want to do. I think I might keep "let's go see the chickens" as my little mantra for situations like this where I have a sense of where the story is going, long-term, but not in the immediate present. It's just weird and funny enough for me to remember what it means and remember to loosen up a little in my planning.

Speaking of planning, flights have been rescheduled and Emily [from high school - I'm not referring to myself in third person] is coming out on the second week of December! I'm excited to hang out during the holiday season. It'll be cold, but hopefully pretty!

I've been watching Gilmore Girls for the first time since the whole thing is now available on Netflix. So, in closing, I will leave you with possibly my favorite scene thus far. The dialogue from this show plus cats? You can't lose.

a change in plans

Daylight Savings went into effect this week and now it's entirely too bright in my bedroom in the morning. I'm sure it was this bright over the summer but that's something you get used to as the sun gradually comes up earlier and earlier every day. In the last few weeks we were waking up to dim light that has been replaced with what feels like a glowing neon rectangle. I really need to invest in some blackout curtains but I waffle on that idea because they're kind of expensive and we live in an apartment where installing such things would probably be against our contract or something. I saw another apartment that had taped construction paper to their kid's window, presumably so they can take naps during the day. Necessity is truly the mother of invention.

I know I said I wouldn't be posting this week but due to a sudden dental emergency, my friend was unable to fly out to stay with us this week. We're working on rescheduling but the week goes on regardless.

This has freed up some time for writing, which, honestly, I haven't done very much of this week. Yesterday I got a bit sidetracked making a "cover" for my novel along with actually creating the look of the marks that are so central to the story. [The official NaNoWriMo website claims that authors with "covers" are 60% more likely to reach their word count. This may have backfired a little as I spent all of last night working on this and didn't get any writing done.] There aren't that many simple character languages out there so I've Frankenstein-ed a few together. I'm not sure if I'll ever actually use the marks as illustrations in the book but it's good for me to have a reference for descriptive purposes.

Marked is my working title. 

It gets pretty annoying to constantly refer to a story as "the novel."

The original drawing is actually flipped horizontally. 

I had to change it because Mona's Malmark is on her left wrist. 

*face-palm* 

Despite my slow start to NaNoWriMo my notebook is getting heavier, a tactile indication of progress that might be my favorite thing about writing stories long-hand. The difference in weight between a blank notebook and one that's been filled is much greater than I'd think a little ink would account for. I think the stories themselves make them heavier.

I follow Neil Gaiman on tumblr and he's been getting a lot of questions about NaNoWriMo but this has been my favorite response so far.

Writing the "boring bits" is something I this most writers have a hard time with and I'm right there with them. The pacing of a story is so important and writing a "slower" scene freaks me out sometimes because I worry that it's boring and bland and this is the point where people will put the book down and never finish it because it's awful. I've seen a lot of opinions that books should never have these "boring bits" in them, that your exposition should always be action packed and engaging. I get that we should avoid writing essays in our novels but I love that Neil points out that you don't have to add explosions to scenes like these. It's about finding the meaning in a scene and bringing it out through dialogue or someone a character does. It doesn't have to be big, it just needs to mean something. Most authors lose around a third of the text from a first draft in revisions. You cut the things that don't mean anything, that aren't important, and you're left with fewer, but more powerful words. If we try to create that kind of power even in a first draft, imagine how much better a concentrated final draft would be. Power in stories comes in action scenes, dramatic moments, but also in little conversations, small acts. So we write those "boring" scenes and we make them mean something.

hallow's eve

Hey guys! I'm sorry about the radio silence. I've been so busy writing and getting things ready for my friend's visit next week that I haven't had much of interest to talk about these last few weeks. That and I kept forgetting it was Thursday until it was Friday.

I've still got a nice list of things to do before Monday but last night I checked off cleaning my shower which took a good two hours. I cannot fully express how much I hate having hard water. I'm going to start dreaming about water softeners pretty soon.

So, tomorrow is Halloween! I've had everything for my work costume for a few weeks now and I was just waiting on the necklace I'd ordered at the end of September. That turned into a whole fiasco with it getting lost in the mail and many phone calls to USPS. Thankfully, I was working with a very understanding seller who refunded my purchase and sent me another necklace which arrived last week! Hopefully I'll have a picture to share next week.

I'm going to be taking the first week of November off from NaNoWriMo and I probably wont post either but I'm excited for a new month, though I still can't believe October's disappeared on me. I've figured some important plot and character points out this month that will be big helps as I move forward. When I first committed to writing this whole thing out, back in August, I gave myself the liberty of skipping sections that I wasn't prepared to write just yet with the plan of going back. I have yet to do that but I'm trying now to write everything out as I go, no skipping. This has been a bit frustrating at times and I go through pages that I'm not in love with but getting through to the other side is rather rewarding.

Okay, my brain is being a bit spazzy right now so I'll leave you with this video my husband shared with me this morning. I cannot get over the giant's expression at the end :]

nanowrimo - do you dare?

Hello! It's been a pleasant fall week here so far. It smells like leaves outside and the trees on the mountains are taking on fall colors in earnest. On my way home from work on Tuesday there were only those wispy clouds in the sky but some of them must have lined up just right with the sun because there was one spot of rainbow in the sky. I'm adding that to my list of funky weather/light happenings I've seen along with the moon-bow I saw once. [I've dubbed moon-bows the unicorns of rainbows]

Apples out here are ridiculously expensive and always the most costly part of making pies or apple-crisp. I wanted to make some of the latter this week so I jumped on a produce bag sale my grocery store was having [fill the bag with certain produce for $10 total] and good heavens I'm glad they had that because the apples I got were originally $2/lb and I ended up getting at least 4lbs plus bell peppers, cantaloupe, and carrots. I would buy apples way more often just to have for lunch and things if seeing the prices didn't make me want to faint every time. I miss the ease and value of getting apples on the east coast.

If you're a writer or you know someone who writes you've probably heard of NaNoWriMo or started to see the promotional things that are coming out now. For those who are unfamiliar, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month which is an event that takes place over the course of November every year. The challenge is to write an entire novel [just the first draft, mind]/50,000 words in one month. It's a daunting task but one most veterans laud as a wonderful way to just bust your way through a first draft or just as a general exercise in time and task management as you have to write the equivalent of just over 1,667 words a day to meet the goal. [it is an option to set up your own word goal if you don't feel up to 50,000 words or you know you can't dedicate that amount of time]. There's an official website where you can sign up, create and track your goals, get advice and ideas, and become a part of the writer community that participates [currently over 700,000 writers]. They also have shirts and other fun things you can buy but my favorite thing in their store is the 2GB USB bracelet:

I don't write on a computer but I think this is a super cool idea, especially for NaNoWriMo, to be able to have your story with you all the time - to keep track of it and be able to work on it whenever you can.

I've heard about NaNoWriMo since high school but I've never tried it, being the queen of cop-outs and rationalization. Setting and completing goals has always been a tricky hit-or-miss thing for me so I hesitate to commit to something that just seems so vast. This morning though, I was toying with the idea of trying it this year. The initial obstacle is that I write long-hand so there's no convenient word counter at the bottom of my page as I work. So I took some time to get a rough estimate of how many words per page I typically crank out [230]. The other excuse is that I have a friend coming to stay with us for the first week of the month so I don't think I'll be using that time to write which would push the word count due from those days onto the rest of the month. Also, Thanksgiving. See? I'm good at finding excuses.

But I did the math, subtracting a whole week for good measure, and, if I base reaching 50,000 words on a page count [because, let's be honest, I'm not going to spend an hour every day going back and counting each word] I'll have to write about five pages a day [front and back. because it sounds less intimidating than saying ten pages a day]. Maybe I'm just feeling overly optimistic today, but that sounds feasible to me. It will be more than I've ever written before as a daily pace but I have the time and I think it'll really help me bang out my current project.

Committing to do this will mean starting work now so I'm as prepared as I can be when it starts. Which means I'll probably spend most of this month working up a chapter outline as well as my regular writing. I've never really done an outline before because I usually change my mind so often but, as with learning to be okay with an imperfect first draft, I suppose it's high time for me to learn how to use an outline as a guide without feeling like it's set in stone. I have a feeling there's a lot of learning coming my way this November.

thank goodness for fall

I cannot tell you how happy I am that it's October! I've never had a particular connection with this month aside from the season it's associated with here in the northern hemisphere but I'm developing a growing appreciation. Mostly because it's not September.

This September harked back to the same time last year in a bad way. Last September was the first time in 17 years that I wasn't going back to school and I had yet to find a job. I think life shortly after graduation is something that throws most people for a loop. For me, that loop took the form of a month of depression. Up until I started at my current job I was not in a good place and I had no idea what to do. Getting a job in October pulled me out of it and got me to feeling more like myself again. I've been looking back on that month as one of the most confusing and difficult times of my life that I would make every effort to avoid in the future. I suppose some decisions aren't ours to make.

This last month felt almost like a mirror image of last year, except that I had a job, and I couldn't figure out why. I'm still not sure what caused the sudden onset of melancholy and the struggle to care about or act on anything. In a sense it felt like life just stopped, but only for me. It didn't make sense. I've been out of school for over a year, I have a job, I have my writing projects and other things to focus on. So what's the problem? My husband's suggestion is the only thing that makes any sense, though I don't have a formal diagnosis - seasonal depression.

I'm an east coast girl through and through so living in Utah can be a struggle for me at times. I do love it here - there is breathtaking beauty in all parts of the world - but the winters can feel unbearable and this year I felt dread instead of my usual joy when people started talking about the coming autumn. Because it meant that winter was coming too.

I suppose it's ironic then, that this week has seen the coldest temperatures we've had since spring and I love it. As September ended I've been feeling better and I'm trying to hold onto the two weeks of fall we get here for as long as I can. I'm feeling excited about my writing again and my energy is coming back so hopefully I'll be more regular here with more to share.

A silver lining about having times like these is that I seem to par my priorities down to a very basic level and what I'm left with helps me to reorient and reorganize parts of me and my life that need it when the sky starts to clear. Sometimes we learn what's valuable in our lives when something comes in and suddenly changes it. Other times, we learn what we need through its absence, even if its brief, and its return will only cement that surety.

So I don't know about you, but I'm glad fall is here. The next three months will probably be insanity with holidays, having a friend to visit, and other family events unfolding but I'm looking forward to it.

in which i ramble and fuss

As I haven't posted in two weeks I was surprised to see that there was a spike in page views last Saturday. It seems that someone in France and someone in Romania may have read through the majority of the posts I've written this year. If you're reading this, I'm not sure how you came across my blog but hello!

I've ordered two of the three things I need to complete my Halloween costume and one of them shipped today so I'm pretty stoked. I really enjoy dressing up for Halloween but I'm not terribly social so I generally end up wearing my costumes while watching tv in my apartment. When I started this job I found out that my office encourages staff to dress up for the occasion but I only had a week's warning last year so I wasn't able to do much. This year though, I had a plan months out and I'm excited to see things coming together. I'll have to share a picture when I'm done with everything.

I gave blood on Tuesday for the first time in four years. Why the long break? Well, to put it simply, I hate needles. A lot. My courage was rewarded, however, with a noticeable lack of bruising. I also learned that the stinging you feel for about 30 seconds after being stuck isn't from the needle. It's from the small amount of iodine that gets into your blood from the scrub they do to sanitize your arm. And here I had thought it was just my body's reaction to having a pointy piece of metal shoved inside it. I'm not sure if this particular piece of information will ever be relevant to anything I write but it has made me more comfortable with the idea of giving again in the future for some reason.

I read a quote recently, advice from a published writer to those aspiring to be, that encouraged people to focus on feeling emotions deeply in the interest of being able to better portray emotion in writing. I consider this to be good advice in general, though I might try to focus more on being able to describe how I'm feeling rather than perhaps feeding an emotion until it's reached it's greatest depth - for two reasons. One - because if we can't describe even the most surface emotion then having gone to lengths to feel it is worthless in relation to our craft. Two - I think the suggestion to embrace and experience all kinds of emotion runs the chance of encountering the same issues found in method acting. Namely, that the pursuit of a certain mentality or emotion, especially inherently destructive ones like depression or rage, can easily have damaging consequences. A lot of people have spoken out against the idea that artists need to be depressed in order to create their best work. It's fairly easy to see the problem with such an idea but the danger here is much the same as that of indulging in anger and selfishness. Our characters will hopefully experience some of these emotions as well as more positive ones if we write them well, but I don't believe that we need to personally experience a murderous rage in order to write one any more than we need to be orphaned to convincingly write a character who has been. It's easy enough as it is for us all to give in to feeding anger, self-pity, and sadness as it is - and if you choose to pursue those things, it might turn out that no one is ever able to read that story you were writing. I want to read your stories. There are people out there who will need your stories. It might be the psychology major in me that gets me so wrapped up in topics like this but please everyone be safe. There is a difference between dedication to your work and disregard for your health.

learning from writing

I didn't learn everything I need to know in school and there were some specific lessons I know I missed - not because I was bad at school, but because I was good at it.

School came easily for me. I'm a good test-taker and I had a natural aptitude for most subjects which meant I enjoyed good grades and a high class standing all throughout my education. These are things I think most parents want for their kids and achievement in education is a great thing but for me, like so many other people for whom school was largely a breeze, the ease with which I passed classes left me with certain deficits. Having been praised all my life for my intelligence, as I grew I shied away from things that I wasn't immediately successful at because the idea of not doing well or, heaven forbid, failure, was foreign and intimidating. So while I graduated Salutatorian of my class, in a lot of ways I had never been challenged or challenged myself before I went to college where I quickly discovered that I didn't really know how to study and struggled to make new interests stick when I found that doing so took effort.

That sounds pathetic, doesn't it? Well, confessions of a straight-A student  : P
I have found that my experience is not entirely unique - a rant for a different day about the consequences of how we praise children. This week, though, I've been thinking about ways in which I've begun to catch up on those lessons I missed in my younger years about perseverance and being okay with giving your best even if it's not the best. As you may have gathered already, these are lessons I'm learning as I write.

I've been writing off and on since elementary school, mostly off as I consistently struggled to make it a daily habit - which any writer will tell you in necessary to be successful in it. Forming this habit has been a struggle because I'm so easily persuaded by my own rationalizations of being "too tired" or "too busy" or "just not in the mood" that I'd write for a day or two in a row but once something came up I'd let it fall by the wayside. I've mentioned several times in the last two months that I've been doing really well with writing every day so what changed?

For one, I made the decision that I was going to stop letting myself cop out. We all have internal voices and a lot of us are really familiar with those that criticize us or excuse our behavior at times. I decided that I was going to give my no-nonsense-coach voice more prominence. That decision is a first step, but for me, it wasn't enough.

Fear of failure or even mediocrity has been one of my constant companions, especially when I approach writing. Expecting perfection from a first draft, first sentence is absolutely crippling and would leave me staring at the page, pen in hand, without writing a word for hours. Let me tell you, having those stories and ideas crammed up in your head without being able to get them out on paper is a supremely frustrating experience. But how do you break that barrier? The simple, and true, answer is "you write."

Write is the fundamental answer to basically all writing problems but knowing the answer doesn't always make fixing the problem easier. I don't remember where I read it, but about two months ago I read a post that addressed this sort of problem and the suggestion it gave was to try writing for 10 minutes - time yourself so you know when you're done - but just write for that 10 minutes. It doesn't have to be a story, or part of anything you're working on, and, most importantly, it doesn't have to be good. Whatever you come up with at the end of that 10 minutes can be the crappiest thing you've ever written but that's just fine. So I tried it. For the first time in longer than I can remember I let myself write without judging what I was writing and it felt amazing. No, those 10 minutes didn't give me a masterpiece, but that was okay. And for the next two weeks or so I had to continue timing myself, at varying lengths, in order to access that judgement free space in my mind, but the feeling of just writing was so wonderful that I kept doing it. I haven't timed myself in weeks, though it's a strategy I know I can fall back on if I need it. And no, I'm not a perfect writer. There are still days where all I get out is a single sentence and that's okay. I'm pushing through scenes that I'm not satisfied with and that's alright because I keep writing. I resist the urge to go back and pick apart what I've written, looking for mistakes and things to nit-pick over, and I write.

Writing is teaching and reminding me that it's okay not to do something really well, let alone perfectly, the first time around - that developing good habits and things I'm interested in may not always be easy but it is worth it - and that some days, it's totally okay to just write one sentence and let it go. I can't say what I would have done differently if I had learned these things when I was younger and "if-onlys" and "what-ifs" are pointless. I'm just glad that most lessons can be learned outside of a classroom and it's never too late to start.

So, is there a story you want to tell? Then write.

music, scribbles, and life

I got turned onto Post Modern Jukebox by a friend this week and I'm really enjoying going through their playlists. This group takes top 40 hits and rewrites the music in retro styles ranging from the turn of the century [1900s] to the 60s. I can't pick a favorite but their Pompeii cover is one of the best I've heard.

[And their version of Call Me Maybe is the only one I've ever actually enjoyed.]

They also have a playlist called Saturday Morning Slow Jams in which they remaster beloved 90s cartoon theme songs as R&B songs. My childhood was somewhat deprived so I'm not as familiar with a lot of the songs as I bet most of you are but I think the Pokemon Theme Song is probably the best regardless.

Yesterday was the first day at work in while that I didn't have a lot to do and since I'd left my book at home I resorted to making silly sketches and since today's post is a bit of a random hodge-podge I figured I'd share them with you. I started with Todd, the Qualified Quail because I think quail are funny little birds.

Tim pointed out that he doesn't have any feet, which is primarily because the picture I was referencing lacked feet as well so I decided that he's sitting. I'm not very good at drawing animals really, especially birds. But he's got a certain charm, with his important file folder full of papers.

After Todd I couldn't think of what to draw next so I texted my coworker and asked what her favorite animal is. Of course it's a hedgehog, which is a pretty intimidating subject really with all the quills and such. This is where my penchant for alliteration saved the day. I give you Hink the Hard-boiled Hedgehog.

See? Minimum quill visibility! I got through drawing the collar and lapels and had just started on the sleeves when I realized that I'd drawn the coat too large for it to fit him at the current scale so this happened. I think I like it better than if it fit him.

Anyway, I am still writing just about everyday [personal victory high-five!] and I'm half a page away from needing a new notebook which is a pretty good feeling, especially being able to flip through all the pages I've written. I love these guys more the more I write them and it so awesome to slide further into their skins. Because that doesn't sound creepy. Writers, man. 

In other, also random news, Tim has fallen prey to an illness again. We're not really sure what it is. We thought last night that it might be strep throat so he stayed home today to rest. He's had a pretty bad cough that's caused most of his discomfort until this morning anyway. The cough stayed, but he started hiccuping. I know this sounds weird but he's been hard-core hiccuping all day and I have to say it's the strangest symptom I've ever witnessed. Someone needs to tell his diaphragm to calm down. My personal cure for hiccups has helped a little but only for an hour or so at a time at which point they start up again for no apparent reason. I feel bad because I know it hurts but it's also hard not to laugh sometimes. Supportive wife, that's me!

nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-reindeer!

If you guys haven't listened to the deleted songs from the Frozen soundtrack you really should. Especially this one, which I really really wish had made it in at the very tail end of the credits:

Reindeers Remix

It's been stuck in my head all week.

I came across a quote from Roy Peter Clark the other day that I keep coming back to. "Everyone should read, we say, but we act as if only those with special talent should write." One of the most helpful things for me to remember when I'm writing and start feeling down about my work is that while it may never become a national best-seller, someone out there will enjoy it. It may become someone's favorite book. I think this quote applies in a similar sense.

The best thing for writers to do in order to improve, by general consensus, is to read. So if we're encouraging everyone to read, why shouldn't we encourage everyone to write? We're all unique individuals and as such we all relate to different things. I'm not a huge fan of non-fiction pieces - for the most part I prefer to stick myself firmly in genre fiction, but there are people, and I know a few, who are just drawn to non-fiction pieces. If you're not comfortable writing whatever genre you may see as being the most popular or hip, who cares? Not everyone likes reading those books! Whatever your preferred genre/style, there is at least someone, maybe many someones, out there that are wandering bookstore shelves wishing that there was an author who wrote the way you write. So write the way you write!

Right now I'm discovering how I write action scenes. I've never really done one before - my personal tendency to avoid confrontation bleeds over into my stories - so this is pretty new territory for me. Which means I've been over thinking things and muttering "dur dur dur" under my breath a lot. Seriously.

from your bona fide, certified, apprecafied, expertified, but not brain-fried, phoenix expert

Sometimes, writing everyday means you only write a sentence or two before passing out. On the bright side, I only missed one day this last week! Woo-hoo!

I don't plot things out very much and at this point I mostly just have periodic "landmarks" that I'm going by. I've just finished up the tail end of the first major point which is probably the biggest reason why my pace has slowed down in my day-to-day writing. Figuring out the big moments comes relatively easily, it's finding out what happens in between that I need to find out now.

Moving forward while trying to let my characters guide the story is kind of a scary thing - to feel like you're letting go of control - but I'm invested. And guys, I am having so much fun with these three! I've never considered myself a funny writer, or a funny anything mostly because I can't usually tell a joke all the way through without stopping at least three times because I'm laughing too hard. But I have had so many moments in writing these last two weeks where I just broke out laughing at the situations these guys get in and the various ways they react. Judging by the reactions I got from my husband when I tried to explain why I was cackling by myself on the couch, these moments probably aren't that funny for other people but hey, as long as I'm entertained that's what matters, right? If the writer isn't having a good time, the reader never will.

I realized yesterday that the students in my class are going back to school in less than a month and I wondered if they thought summer has gone by as fast as it seems to me. Maybe it just went faster for me because I'm just working now - no new school year to get worked up over - so the end of summer doesn't feel as much like an end as it used to. Do you guys have any summer projects you're hoping to get done before the scorching weather tempers? My main quest [aside from writing] is to finally get doctor appointments set up for my husband and myself. I don't like going to the doctor but my mother had us go regularly when we were all at home so the fact that I haven't seen one in about four years makes me a little antsy.

Ending a post talking about doctor visits sounds weird to me so in lieu of that, I will tell you something about our quail. Well, they aren't our quail - they just live around our complex and we see them every so often. I think there are two pairs and right now they each have chicks so it's one huge quail field-trip whenever they roam the lawn.

 You can't see them all here but I've counted and there are at least 14 chicks.

Anyway, the point to this is that our buildings are surrounded by those low bushes in that picture and then by a street. So my husband and I are 99% sure the quail live in the bushes - having seen them run into them on multiple occasions. The thing is, we'll watch them run into the bushes, so we know they're in there and moving around but the bushes never move and you can't hear anything at all, even though they're fairly loud when they're out on the grass or road. So we've come to the only conclusion that makes sense: bushes are quail portals. They walk into one on one side of the complex and end up in another across the quad so of course you can't find or hear them in the bush they went through. And you know, I always knew that little feather on their heads had to be for something. Turns out, it's magic. Quail magic. Now you know.

a little excerpt for this holiday post

Hey guys! Yes, I know it's technically Friday but I'm still awake so for my intent and purpose, it's still Thursday.

I wasn't planning on posting today because it's a holiday here in Utah and I was going to take that excuse to be lazy but I've been struck by a sudden desire to share a bit of what I've been writing. Yesterday was the only day in over a week that I didn't write anything so I'm really proud of myself and really excited about what's happening.

What we have here is part of Mona and Percy's argument about whether or not Kamdon, a brand new Malmark [a Fresh], can join  their little group. Let me know what you think!

~~

"He's not coming."
Mona paused and looked up at Percy who had turned to busy herself with organizing the new contributions to her stores of herbs. She'd known this argument was coming, moving on tomorrow had just pushed it up the schedule. She suspected that wasn't coincidental.
"Would you bring me some of those logs when you're done? For someone who was so concerned that I'd left him alone, you seem decided to do just that."
"Alone with our stuff," Percy said, lobbing several logs across the fire put in Mona's direction. "I have no problem leavin' him here."
"Why?" Mona asked, hefting a log in her palm before tossing it onto the growing flames. The tongues of red and orange soon began to lick at the dry brown bark.
"He's a liability," Percy said, brushing her hands off on her tunic. "We don't know anything about him. He might not even be a Fresh."
Mona quirked an eyebrow and suppressed a grin as she settled another log up against the first. "We both know how Fresh look, Percy." She scrubbed out a few rogue embers that had popped out of the pit and onto the dirt of the forest.
"You didn't see him leave the gate yourself." Percy sat down on another log and began picking pieces of bark and dirt off her sleeves. "He could be acting."
Mona felt her mouth screw up in confusion. "What?" She blinked and stared at Percy, fire forgotten. "Why would anyone pretend to be Fresh? There's no benefit. They're the best targets."
"Unless someone picks them up as a charity case." Percy gave Mona a significant look that didn't shift when Mona rolled her eyes.
"Kamdon couldn't lie to save his life. We could both tell when he made up that story about his past last night." Mona stood and moved to their supply packs.
"Maybe he's trying to throw us off the important lies."
Stooped over the canvas food bag, Mona just stared at Percy who shrugged, unapologetic. Mona shook her head and dug through the sack for some of the vegetables they'd gathered a few days ago.
"I know I said he was smart but I think you're giving him too much credit. No one comes through the Wall that crafty."
"Okay, so that's a stretch," Percy said. "I just don't like the idea of picking up random people. He could be dangerous."
Mona raised an eyebrow, still sorting through the bag. Kamdon might be taller than Percy, almost as tall as Mona, but he'd never win in a fight against the shorter girl.
"He's out here, isn't he?" Percy was defensive. She must have seen the eyebrow go up.
"Yes," Mona said, standing with a handful of orange and brown vegetables and one of their larger pots in her other hand. "So are we. Or have you forgotten what we are? Here, cut these up." She dropped half of the vegetables in Percy's lap before setting the pot down by the fire and sitting again. "We're more dangerous to him than he is to us if only because he's one unknown against two. We have more experience out here and you keep denying it but I know you have at least four herbs in your bag that can kill a person."
The grin that lifted Percy's glower disappeared as quickly as it happened. "I don't want to be a baby-sitter," she muttered. "He's a liability and not my problem."
Mona's knife paused half way through a carrot. She spoke carefully, her patience waning in the face of the heartlessness in Percy's voice. "We were in his position once."
"Yeah," Percy hacked at a potato, "and I took care of myself."
Anger and surprise boiled up in Mona without warning.
"And I almost died!" She felt as shocked at the outburst as Percy looked. The wood rang with sudden silence. "You know how many Fresh do."
A breeze rustled the leaves above their heads.
Percy bent to pick up her knife from where it had fallen and looked up, just shy of meeting Mona's eyes. "We can't save them all, Mona."
"I know." Mona wiped at the moisture streaming down her cheeks. "But can't we save one?"
Silence reigned again until a bird chirped tentatively into the evening air. Both girls turned back to the vegetables.
"Why did you help me?" Mona asked, resolving her voice into a more normal tone.
"What do you mean?" Percy dropped her uneven chunks of potato into the pot and ran her free hand into her hair, staring at the fire.
Mona tossed her uniform chunks of carrot into the pot as well and settled her elbows on her knees, turning her knife over in her hands. "You saved my life when I was a Fresh. Why. If no one is your problem and it's so much easier to take care of yourself than help anyone, why did you step in?"
Percy sighed and stood, sheathing her knife before pacing over to a maple tree, kicking bracken and twigs as she went. "Honestly" She turned and folded her arms across her chest, looking at Mona's boots. "I helped you because I hated those guys and I felt bad for you. I know." She glared at Mona's smile. "Shut up. I was tired of trying to see out the front and back of my head at the same time. And you're taller than me," she added. "So I figured you might make a good body guard even if you turned out to be stupid."
Mona was smirking now. "Well that was tender."
"It's the truth and you know it," Percy snapped. "Though you turned out to be a lousy body guard."
Mona laughed. Being taller was the only physical advantage she'd ever had over Percy. "You were surprised?"
Percy stuck her tongue out at her and they both laughed. Mona set to the remaining vegetables as Percy walked slowly back to her log. She picked up the stick Mona had used to stir the coals to life and set about shifting some to the side, away from the open flames of the new wood to create a bed for the pot.
Mona waited as Percy retrieved one of their water skins and filled the pot before adding more chunks of vegetables. She watched as a flurry of expressions crossed Percy's face. She could imagine some debate going on inside her head but she didn't ask. When Percy argued with herself the conversation eventually turned vocal. Mona focused instead on cleaning her knife carefully on the hem of her tunic. The blade would need to be sharpened soon.
Percy lifted the pot onto the prepared coals, shifting it around more than necessary before speaking to the fire.
"Why this one?" She looked up at Mona, baffled. "If you have to be saving one, why him?"
"Why not?" Mona asked with a wry smile.
"He's annoying," Percy said under her breath.

still alive

Hey all, sorry about the radio silence. As you know, Tim and I spent the last week of June in NY. We got back on the 2nd of July so I've been around but it's taken me these last two weeks to really start readjusting to being home. One week out east was not enough for me and I knew that going in but the level of trauma experienced when we flew home was much more intense than I had expected. I told Tim to give me two days and I'd be fine, bless his heart he's been having to put up with my weirdness for two weeks instead.

Ah well, life rolls on. I came back to some pretty major imminent changes at work which has actually been helpful in getting me back into the swing of things and focused on something other than my crippling homesickness. 

Also helpful has been the writing streak I'm on this week. I brought my notebook to NY but I didn't work on anything because, frankly, I had more important things to spend that limited time on. I've been mulling this scene over in my head ever since we got back, though, and on Tuesday I finally picked up a pen and man am I having fun. Last night I tried to explain to Tim why I was enjoying writing this scene so much but I don't think he found it as amusing. I suppose I should feel bad for Kamdon that Percy is currently just laughing at him but he doesn't understand yet that laughter is one of the most approving things you can get from Percy - if she was actually upset with him she'd be yelling, more so than usual anyway. Sorry, that probably doesn't mean anything to you guys either, I'm just enjoying this too much.

In other news, I'm renewing my previously non-existent efforts to prepare for the GRE [guys, studying is like eighty-trillion times harder when you're not actively in school anymore] so I've downloaded some vocabulary practice apps to my phone. They're super handy because I can review words on my way to and from work and during any little down time I have during the day. There are three levels, each with about 6 "decks" of 51 flashcards each. The sad thing is that the first level is called Common Words, I'm on the third deck, and the majority of the words I'm reviewing I've never heard before. So now I have to wonder if my vocabulary is really that limited or if they just have a different definition of "common." I think I might hang onto these apps after I've taken the test, though. It's a handy thing to learn new words and work out your brain.

i wish you a tolerable thursday. that's all any of us can hope for.

Today's post title comes care of April Winchell.

So I've been trying to figure out what it is one of my MCs does to impress another character enough that they let the MC travel around with them. The MC has to somehow obtain an object the other character has tried and failed to get, I just haven't decided how he manages it. But then I had the thought: maybe he steals it. Which resulted in two totally separate reactions: "HOLY CRAP. WHAT? HE WOULD NEVER STEAL ANYTHING." and "Oh, well, considering something this other character tells him earlier he might not consider it to be stealing so it could make sense that he would take it. And that would impress the other character."

Apparently, half my brain is my mother and the other half is Mercutio [specifically from the 1996 film adaptation of Romeo and Juliet].

There wont be a post next week because I'll be in New York [yay!] for my sister's graduation. I'm crazy excited because I haven't been home in two years and I have an epic surprise present for my sister - along with the finished armadillo stuffed animal I told you was in the works a while ago:

Isn't he cute?

The stress of packing always has a way of getting to me though. I can get so anxious about it that I want to start a month before the trip but that doesn't make any sense. I just get paranoid that I'll forget to bring everything I'll need [based on a history of forgetting important items]. Making lists seems to help though. There's something so satisfying about lists, being able to check off items and see how much has been taken care of. Inevitably, I will forget something. The hope is just that I'll be able to remember all the major things.

Sorry, bit of a random post today. Here's a picture of last night's sky to make it worth your while. Hot pink exists in nature, go figure!

back to basics

Hey guys! Sorry about missing last week but, as my husband says: it's a fool that speaks when he has nothing to say.

It's been a bit of a rough week with some weird bits thrown in [getting a random sample of Similac in the mail that I definitely didn't order and buying a 36 count box of tampons only to discover that it was 20 units short. what?] but things are looking up. Tim and I are going to a Collective Soul concert tonight and I'm super pumped. He's been wanting to get me to one of these since before we were married so it should be pretty awesome as long as we don't get rained on!

In other news, I've been writing more this past week, largely because I realized that I needed a change in medium. For those of you that have been reading for a while, you may remember that I'm not a huge fan of writing on a computer. I've tried a lot of things [MS Office, Ommwriter, and Google Docs among other things] and while some worked out better than others, I'm just never completely comfortable with doing at least my preliminary, first-draft writing on a word program.

Part of the reason is probably that I'm super easily distracted and if I'm on a computer chances are I will interrupt myself sooner rather than later to check facebook, email, or some other brain-killing thing. Also, computers are cumbersome to me. When I write I move around almost as much as I do when I read and computers typically aren't conducive to contortion.

So this last week I pulled out one of our blank notebooks left over from school and got back to my basic, which is writing by hand. There's a reason I picked the quote at the top of this blog. When I first started writing, it was in notebooks. Writing has always been a very tactile thing to me, as with reading, there's just something magical about paper and ink that computers can't replace for me. Of course, I'll still be using computers as part of my editing and formatting process since handwritten manuscripts seem to be frowned upon. But picking up a pen again seems to be helping me break through other blocks I was experiencing and while making progress can bring its own kind of stress, it feels good too.

something that scares you

The other night I had the tv on while I bounced around doing various chores and projects. At one point I realized that all of the shows that had come on had mentioned the idea of doing something that scares you. I had to laugh because at that moment I was cross-stitching which is an activity that has never caused me anxiety.

The idea has been floating around in my head ever since, though. Do something that scares you.

I've always been a pretty cautious person. I've always had a low tolerance for pain and I think, even as a child, I was very careful about doing something that might hurt. I can remember running around in the woods by our house and participating in rough-and-tumble play as well as climbing all over various playground equipment but at some point my natural caution deterred me more and more from similar past-times. That's probably why I've never broken a bone, sprained anything, or gotten stitches.

While I'm sure I could stand to be a bit more adventurous in my outdoor activities, I'm not sure physical recklessness is necessarily the end goal of the "do something that scares you" philosophy. Growth happens outside of our comfort zones. We don't change if we keep doing what we've always done, or avoiding what we've always avoided - as the case may be. Some of us may need to try skydiving, some should go swimming in the ocean or ride that huge roller coaster at the theme park. For others, doing something that scares us may mean making eye contact with someone on the bus, raising your hand to ask a question in class or opening up to someone about how you're really feeling.

Writers often have their own specific set of fears, whether it's fear of failure before you even get yourself to begin, fear of letting go of your plan and allowing your characters to tell you what the story is, fear of writing a crappy first draft or fear of sharing your work with someone and being made fun of.

We have to be willing to try things that scare us. I'm scared of a number of things on both of those lists but more and more I'm coming to realize that some of the things I want in my life will only be obtained by stretching myself and taking a few leaps.

Sometimes the chances we take might not work, sometimes the landing hurts, but the pain is never permanent. The lessons we learn from each experience, however, are priceless. The life of  the late Maya Angelou is a wonderful example that our lives are cumulative - we should not devalue any experience because, one way or another, it becomes a part of us and who we will be.

I don't know about you guys, but I think I'm going to try more things that scare me.

i'm too cold to come up with a good title

*Disclaimer* I'm super tired and hungry right now so please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors that may have cropped up during the writing of this post.

First off, I just saw this video today and this guy has some really cool stuff to say about the messages children's movies send. You should watch it. Don't worry, I'll wait.

Is that not cool? His thoughts went in a different direction than I had been expecting them too and I'm so glad! Not because I thought it would be bad, but because what he ended up talking about is something I hadn't really considered but is amazing.

I love epic hero journeys, don't get me wrong, but his points about that message, verses one of teamwork, and what it may teach children are points that I can agree with. We don't need to burn all the epics, maybe we just need to even the balance a little bit.

Also, can I get an "amen" for the fact that female protagonists can be role models and the favorite characters of boys as well as girls?

Okay, moving on. ~~~

So I got severely distracted from my main WIP after reading Cinder. My creative processes are often directly related to what I'm taking in [which I think is the case for most people and why it's always the best idea, if you're writing in a genre new to you, to first start reading in that genre] so reading a fairy tale retelling immediately derailed my brain from fantasy, simultaneously switching gears and picking up a random story idea that I probably first wrote down like a year ago and forgot about. So for the last week or so I've been sidetracked writing up characters and contextual points for this new story which, while exciting, is certainly not helping Mona out at all.

In all honestly, it was probably easier to derail my brain than it might have been because I felt like I was kind of stalling out on Mona. I find that I'm really great at coming up with cool story ideas and characters but my excitement fizzes out before the story ever really gets written. Perhaps some of you can relate. This is my trial and one I've been well aware of since high school. I have notebooks chuck full of story ideas that are still waiting for some productive attention. It can be super frustrating, as in Mona's case, because I really care about this story and these characters. I want to write it but sometimes I just feel stuck.

When I encounter crisis such as this, I am reminded of how amazing the writer community is. You can find it anywhere and whether you want to immerse yourself in all of the blogs and groups or just a small portion, you can always find great advice and support. This week I found Max Kirin's tumblr and while I haven't read any of his books [yet] I love the variety of writerly things that he posts, from writing prompts to inspiring quotes to advice that he usually gives in response to questions from other writers. He's written a great post in response to people asking about how he gets his motivation back here and I'm excited to try out his idea.

If any of you have ideas or advice about how to regain that excitement or push through writer's block, please share! We all grow through the help of others and sharing our own little tricks and secrets is a great way to support each other. :)

without knowing the force of words, it is impossible to know more -confucius

This week I got to a break in my Wheel of Time quest so I finally read Cinder by Marissa Meyer which I bought for myself a few weeks ago. I did really enjoy this interpretation of the classic Cinderella story and I'm excited to follow the series as it comes out. I'm not going to review the book today though, as there's something specific that I want to pull out of it. As a disclaimer, I really did enjoy Meyer's writing and the sticking point that this post is stemming from was the only one in the book so don't think that I'm criticizing her as a writer. We all make little gaffs and some things slip through the cracks during publication.

That being said, let us begin. Today, I want to talk about physical manifestations of emotions.

This is something that all writers encounter. None of us want to describe fear, hatred, embarrassment, and sadness in the same way as every author before us. The endeavor to describe emotions' physical manifestations in new, fresh ways is an admirable one but sometimes, on our journey, we come up with some things that just don't work. There can be several reasons why a physical description of an emotional state doesn't fly:

• It's cumbersome or convoluted and confusing - no one is quite sure what just happened to your character. Do they need to see a doctor?
• It overstates [or understates] the physical effect actually produced by an emotion - aka, an over dramatic response.
• The physical effect you describe is not physically possible.

The last category is where my example from Ms. Meyer falls.

"Her heart winced."

My body wants to writhe just reading that again. This single sentence is so out of place with the rest of Meyer's well crafted descriptions that it just jumped out at me. To anyone who may be confused: your heart cannot wince. 

1. It is physically impossible for this muscle action to occur in this organ.
2. To wince is to give a slight involuntary grimace or shrinking movement of the body out of or in anticipation of pain or distress. Considering, in the context of the scene, the prince, who is the hottest hotty mc'hotterson anyone has ever seen has just given Cinder his winning smile, I'm pretty sure she isn't in pain or distress.

Again, this is a singular blip in the story. It does bring up, however, the importance of matching the context of your character's emotion and what they are responding to to their physical reaction as well as the physical plausibility of their reaction. There are certain things parts of our bodies are simply not capable of. 

I frequently find examples in dialogue where people have valiantly tried to expand upon simple "he said" "she said" tags [not that there is anything wrong with "said" - whatever your teachers have told you about said being dead is a vicious lie]. Often, you might see something along the lines of "she smiled" which cannot be properly used as a tag for dialogue because smiles don't speak.

Describing physical effects of emotions can be a tricky business. Some things we know and don't depart from very often. Goosebumps are great for fear and anticipation and with this reaction we can find fun ways to describe the goosebumps rather than the fear or anticipation itself. Other times, however, you might be trying to find the best way to really convey the stress your character is feeling during a climactic moment or the devastation they feel at a surprise betrayal. 

These descriptions can be hard to come by but I had a teacher once who gave a great piece of advice. If you're trying to describe how a certain emotion feels, take yourself through that emotion as closely as you can and observe how your body responds. Do you hands get cold or hot when you are very angry? Does heartbreak feel like a hollowness that consumes your whole chest or does it feel like a cold ache that grips your heart? The wonderful thing about this sort of self-research is that everyone will describe a physical manifestation of an emotion differently because we all feel things a little differently. And if you haven't ever experienced a certain emotion, or such an extreme of one before, ask someone else who has to help you capture it accurately [being respectful and considerate of anything that may be extremely personal to them].

As writers, we will, at some point or other, write about something with which we do not have great personal experience. I wrote a short story in my first writing class in college that had to do with a deteriorating marriage that culminated in divorce. My parents were still married at the time, I had never been in a serious relationship that I could have drawn from or anything of the sort. And it showed. Our personal ignorance of topics will show in our writing but don't let that deter you. That's what research, friends, and writers' groups are for. We help each other. As it happened, one of the young men in my writing group had recently gone through a divorce and he was able to point out to me the parts of my story that didn't work or were clunky and felt wrong. He was gracious enough to share some of his experience to give me a better idea of what my characters would be encountering and feeling and the story improved because of it.

The words we use will always be important. Our choosing of them creates our personal style and refining them helps us grow. Don't be afraid to try out new things, to come up with new metaphors and descriptions for emotions and their physical responses. We are all unique and how we see and feel the world can enrich it for others if we share it. Words have power of their own, so take the time to make sure what you're writing is conveying what you want it to as accurately and fully as possible.

better than I could say it

Sorry guys, I know I've been kind of lame about posting lately. Honestly, I wasn't going to post anything this week because I've been having a bit of a hard time and I just didn't know what to say or if I had the energy to say anything. But then I stumbled upon something on tumblr that I want to share.

I struggle a lot with the bleakness in current modernist literature [and other media]. The negativity and hopelessness of this rather cynical view is something that I've never agreed with and it breaks my heart sometimes to think that people are being told that this is reality. I'm having a hard time with words this week, and I can never quite say what I mean about this topic in general so I'm just going to let Cat express what I can't.

From her tumblr:

"like tbh i feel like my problem with the "dark and gritty!!" trend in modern stories is this
there's this idea in our culture that cynicism is realistic? that only children believe in happy endings, that people are ultimately selfish and greedy and seeing with clear eyes means seeing the world as an awful place
that idealism is- easy, i guess, butterflies and sunshine and love are easy things to have in your head.
but i've known since i was fifteen that idealism- faith in humanity- optimism- is the most difficult thing in the entire world.
i constantly struggle to have faith in humanity, because it's really, really easy to lose it. it's easy to look at the news and go "what were you expecting? of course humans behave this way." it's easy to see the world and go "ugh, there's no hope there." and the years when i believed that were easy. miserable- but easy.
it is hard work to see the good in people. it is hard work to hope. it is hard work to keep faith and love and joy and appreciation for beauty in my daily life.
and when moviemakers and tv producers and writers go "omg!!! all characters are selfish and act poorly and don't love each other, nothing ever happens that is happy or good, that's so much more realistic, that's so much more adult"
no, it's not
it's childish.
it's the most childish thing I can imagine."

I've been watching some adaptations of classic novels on youtube and this weekend I discovered The Autobiography of Jane Eyre which is really well done [push through the first couple of videos - the acting gets better and you'll be glad you did]. I'm not a huge fan of the story overall, I'm more of a P&P kind of girl [also, my mother was semi-convinced that watching the movie would make me more susceptible to getting sucked into an abusive relationship when I grew up :/ ] but the one thing I will always love about JE is Jane herself. My mother would probably say that Jane was taken advantage of, that she did not have much of a backbone or will of her own and while those she trusted did choose to take advantage of her naivete in certain areas [and lie to her], that's not a fault in her. In fact, Jane is one of the most optimistic, kindhearted, forgiving, and simply happy characters I've ever read. She strives to empathize with people, even those who have caused her distress or harm. I think a lot of people see her as weak or a push-over, but seeing the story played out again the last few days as I binged, I've been reminded what an incredible strength she has in those attributes. She's not wearing rose-colored glasses and denying the hard things that happen in life, but she chooses to cling to the good things and strives to understand people, and always forgive them.

We need better stories, ones that aren't drowning in darkness and nihilism. We need more Janes. We need more Annas and Rapunzels. If Disney movies aren't your thing, fine, but don't dismiss these characters [and others] because the qualities that make them so endearing to children and adults are shared by "adult" characters like Jane. We need more of all of them.

swan princess, an evaluation

So Disney has been making some pretty admirable steps forward in the princess department, and I'mma let them finish, but first I want to talk about why Odette is one of the greatest princesses of all time.

The Swan Princess came out in 1994 so if you haven't seen it yet, get your butt over to Netflix and watch it. Being 20 years old, the film does have it's share of corny lines [although is also has some amazing ones] and cliche moments but it also has one of the freakiest villains I ever saw before Dr. Facilier came along and most importantly, for the sake of this post, it still has one of the most progressive princesses in animated film.

Odette's not a warrior by any means. In fact, she comes off as fairly delicate and beauty-pageant-esque. You see that she was a tom-boy when she was little but it's apparent that as she's grown up she's focused more on developing what we might term "womanly wiles." This doesn't mean she turned into a brainless barbie, though. After getting swept up in the initial love-at-first-sight-let's-get-married-today montage, Odette pulls the brakes and asks Derek why he wants to marry her:

Derek: You're all I ever wanted. You're beautiful!

Odette: Thank you. But what else?

Derek: What else?

Odette: Is beauty all that matters to you?

Queen Uberta: Derek, what else?

Derek: What else is there?

And Derek's eloquent question effectively cancels any wedding plans. Odette later explains that "I need to know that he loves me...for just being me!" This girl is demanding more than immediate physical attraction from her potential partner and refuses to compromise despite knowing that their union had been orchestrated by their parents since they were children. We know from the opening song that she's never been weak-minded and this is the big point where she proves that she still has will of her own.

Now, that's all and well for a beginning, but it's still early. Almost immediately after this scene Odette is kidnapped, her father killed, and she is put under a spell that keeps her in the form of a swan unless she's on a lake when the moon rises - a pretty victim-y situation if there ever was one. This is a familiar set-up - the famous damsel in distress situation and Derek, the repentant prince, is more than ready to fill the shoes [boots?] of the knight in shining armor role. The twist, of course, is that Derek doesn't recognize Odette, as she's a swan, and gets the misguided impression that this swan is actually the beast he must defeat in order to find and free her. [you know, that idea actually has potential for a modern metaphorical-spin-off reinterpretation, if anyone is interested] This puts Odette in the awkward situation of not getting killed by the man she is trying to communicate with.

For me, this situation is pivotal in providing Odette with the opportunity to become something other than the helpless victim and she quickly seizes the chance. From here on out, Odette basically does all the [successful] work of setting things right. Not only does she repeatedly reject Lord Rothbart's overtures [that man seriously makes me want to take a shower] but she is active in finding a way back to Derek, braving his repeated attempts on her life to show him that she is the swan and then escaping Rothbart's clutches to be present at a critical step in the spell breaking process - which of course goes wrong [thanks Derek]. In the end, Derek is the one who slays the Great Animal and saves her life, but if Odette had just paddled around her little pond, sighing and pining away for a prince that needed some serious direction, he never would have been there to do so. 

There's a balance to this dynamic that I really enjoy and wish was found more in princess-type films today. Odette doesn't have to be transformed into some masculine character that bludgeons people in order to take control of her own situation and salvation and there is still room for a love interest that literally has to work for the woman he loves, in more than just killing a monster. 

Odette: the princess that demanded more than "what else is there" from her prince and worked to free herself. Such sass.

recovering

I don't have much to talk about today, my apologies. I'm just starting to really get over a violent bout of food poisoning from earlier this week. So honestly, I'm just glad I'm actually at work today. It's my body's birthday present to me :)

Throwing up is pretty much the worst thing in the world to me, as far as illnesses go, so today I'm thinking a lot about the stuff I'm grateful to have since I'm not doing that now. Being at work. Feeling better on my birthday. Having to take of from work for two days because I was sick being a super simple process because I have awesome coworkers. Having a husband who is a worthy priesthood holder who can give me blessings when I feel like my body is trying to kill me [and other times too]. Having a husband who, when I requested cheesecake for my birthday cake, immediately declared that he would make me one from scratch - which neither of us have experience with. Having a job that doesn't require a lot of manual labor so I can come back to work this soon without fear of hurting myself. Clorox wipes - which are wonderful tools for quickly disinfecting anything that might have come in unfortunate contact with the rejected elements of your stomach. Finally having my hands on the next books in the Wheel of Time series so I could read over two hundred pages in one go when I started feeling better. African Cats playing on the Animal Channel when I was dying on the couch on Tuesday [I still get super sad over the cheetah cubs and the mother lion :( ]. And a wonderful husband who came home early from work to take care of me, even though, for him, that largely entailed sitting on our second couch and listening to me moan pitifully while trying to encourage me to ingest more fluids.

I can't begin to list all the things I'm grateful for today and I encourage you to make your own list. Even if it's just in your head. Illness and accidents can gear our minds toward thoughts of gratitude pretty quickly but we shouldn't stop noticing those wonderful things and people in our lives just because we aren't in the middle of a crisis.

The world needs a little more gratitude and love :)

chapter one part two!

For those who may be coming upon this post without having read the first portion of this chapter that was posted last week you'll want to go here and read before proceeding with this post.

As promised, this is part two of the first chapter of my current novel in progress. Half way through the week I was looking at this and wondering why the heck I had promised to have this ready for today when this half is pretty brand new material that needed all kinds of work on top of just getting written. But here we are, and here it is, and hey, I'm actually pretty happy with what came out. This chapter is by no means perfect but for the moment I am satisfied.  : )

Remember, comments, questions, criticisms, accusations, and random offers of publication are all welcome.

**    **    **    **

Time began to slow down and then jump forward in spurts, leaving Mona a silent spectator as her world unraveled. She knew Gareth had left the room in the same vague way that she registered that her parents had both shifted away from her. As a Guardian, Gareth was even more duty bound than the rest of her family to report what she was. Her eyes were still focused on Lauren whose grip on her arm didn't slacken until the Guardians Gareth summoned arrived, but Mona couldn't feel it. The sudden shuffle of feet and sound of voices as uniformed figures entered the room came to Mona as if from some great distance, faint and distorted. Meaningless.

All at once she was outside, there was a brilliant flash of sunlight before the cool dim interior of a transport vehicle. It was the first time Mona had ever been inside one but she barely registered the stark, windowless interior. She wouldn't be able to help Auna and Meggie finish their group project for class. Another flash and then she was walking under the artificial lights of an Order Facility.

Mona had toured an Order Facility with her class last year. She remembered the pristine uniforms and tech-visored helmets the Guardians wore. These public service personnel who had been friendly and reassuring during the tour of students were now cold and condemning. Chatter filtered through the haze in Mona’s mind but it was all directed around her, not at her. She caught pieces of conversations about grocery lists, a health appointment to check out a rash, and several technical sounding terms that she didn't understand.

The unbroken grey floors of the Facility were cool under her bare feet. She watched her toes with each step as the walls of the main lobby, postered with public service reminders, were replaced in her periphery by their blank counterparts when they left the public area. Quiet rippled in her wake as she was guided and sometimes pushed down hallways.

Eventually, the Guardians slowed and ushered her into a room that was almost entirely taken up by a tall rectangular device with a door on one side. She was made to strip and step into the box, an analyst, meant to examine her for hidden items or other unreported marks while her clothing was inspected. The door was swung shut and darkness enveloped her. The air was stale and chill and Mona shivered, her still damp hair brushing against her bare back. The sound of her breath and pulse grew in her ears until it threatened to deafen her.

Without warning, beams of light began to flash from unseen recesses, crisscrossing her body in bursts that briefly illuminated her skin and the smooth walls around her. By the time the door opened again, Mona’s eyes were blurred with ghostly lines. The bundle of her clothing was pressed into her arms and she dressed by feel as her eyes adjusted to the light of the room.

In another room, a large hand, clad in a white glove, held her arm steady while her left wrist was scanned, cataloging the malmark in the Populace Database where every citizen’s marks were archived. She watched the red light of the scanner sweep back and forth across the mark and though there was nothing to feel, it burned. Once the mark had been recorded, “Malmark” overwrote her last name in bolded red letters on the tech interface. They were erasing her identity as part of a family.

Another transport vehicle, this time seated in the back with two Guardians stationed on either side of the door. Mona, in her distant thoughts, wondered if they actually believed the listless fourteen year old girl in front of them to be a threat. She didn't like looking at them but if she didn't, the lack of color and dim light that didn't seem to come from anywhere threatened to make her sick with vertigo.

The absence of bumps in the road only added to her sense of disembodiment. She knew from the tour and other school lectures where she was being taken now. The Threshold, one of many, was a gateway into and out of Orsandum, built into the great barrier wall that encompassed the nation. Taller than anything grown or erected within  its borders, the wall was meant to protect everyone inside from the dangers that lurked without. Mona’s house had been within sight of its eastern boundary and she’d always taken comfort in its enormous, ever present embrace. Now, it loomed, heavy and cast in shadow in the moment she paused outside the Threshold.

The halls and rooms inside were just like those at the Order Facility but on a larger scale. A maze whose twists and turns Mona would have no hope of remembering even if she’d been able to try. But the Guardians never hesitated and Mona was quickly swept through locking doors with a sign that read “Malmark Processing” above them. Another pair of visored Guardians, these with an added black band around their right upper arm that Mona didn't recognize, relieved those that had accompanied her in the transport. Their grips on her upper arms were even less friendly and held at such a height that Mona had to walk on tip-toe as they guided her down yet another hallway and through a heavy door.

A man stood inside the room which was empty aside from a table tall enough for him to use while standing. Mona barely glimpsed the surface of the table and the glow of a tech interface before the Guardians released their hold and her heels slammed to the unforgiving floor.

“Another.”

The man at the desk only nodded in acknowledgment, not looking up, and the Guardians left. The door closed behind them with a deep thud.

Mona stood, not breathing, and watched the man as he recorded something on the interface before turning his attention to her. He wore a different version of the Guardian uniform than she had ever seen before. Recognizable, less restrictive and yet more formal looking at the same time. He wore a small black cape, only long enough to cover his shoulders, that hung from a black cord attached at the shoulder seams. A hood, attached to the cape, covered his head in place of the visored helmet but it was not long enough to hide his face when he looked up.

His face was blank as his dark eyes appraised her for a moment before he straightened, taller than her father, and moved around the table to stand in front of her.

“Do not move. This will not hurt.” He hadn't spoken to her exactly, but to the room at large.

Mona’s muddled brain didn't have time to wonder what “this” was or why it might hurt before the man had raised his hands, gloveless, and placed them firmly on either side of her face. A soundless gasp opened her mouth as a tingling sensation filled her body, passing from her head to her chest and then each of her limbs.

Magic. It had to be. This man was an Analyst, one of the magic users that the devices in Order Facilities, created to imitate examinations performed with magic, were named after. Mona felt like she’d forgotten how to breath. Magic. The trait was unbelievably rare and she’d never encountered someone who held it before. She’d certainly never felt it and her mind didn't know how to process the sensation. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't comfortable either. This inspection made her feel much more exposed than stripping naked had, as if he were seeing every part of her, even her secrets.

And then the tingling was gone, leaving Mona more hollowed out than before.

The man’s face was still blank, but there was greater apathy in the lines around his eyes. He turned away without a word and moved back around the table. Chills began to ripple through Mona as his fingers flew across the interface with rapid strokes. The door opened into the room and the black-banded Guardians entered. Each reestablished their grasp on one of her arms and they led her, on tip-toe again, out of the room. The Analyst never looked up from the table.

The hallway they walked down now seemed miles long but Mona wished it was longer when she read the sign above the door at the end of it: Banishment Portal. An involuntary flinch shook her and she had a faint impression of gratitude for the hands pulling her along. Their pressure felt like the only thing holding her together.

They paused at the door as the Guardian to her right entered several codes into a small tech interface on the wall. Mona heard several loud clicks that echoed down the hallway and then they were pushing the door open and her through it. The chamber she stumbled into would only have admitted one more beside them and three suddenly felt like a very large crowd. The walls and floor were as bare as everywhere else she’d seen but there was another door, set in the opposite wall with a small window in it that gave a narrow view of a corridor one person wide that ended in another very solid looking door. There was no window in the door at the end of the passage.

Mona turned at the sound of the door closing behind her. In the confined space the clicks were even louder as the door locked itself again. The Guardians shifted and the one on her left released her arm then, in one fluid movement, tore off the left sleeve of her shirt, leaving her arm completely bare. He stepped away from her, turning to deposit the sleeve into a little metal chute that Mona had not noticed. Once a small glow had flared up, leaving behind the acrid scent of burned fabric, the Guardian nodded to his companion who turned to the portion of wall beside the windowed door. The wall lit up where he touched it. More codes, but on an interface that was not designed to be used by anyone who happened to stumble upon the room.

After a moment, the door swung open into the room, deathly silent, introducing air from the corridor that smelled musty and a bit like dirt. The ragged threads trailing from her shirt shifted in the small puff of air. Both Guardians gestured to her to enter the narrow hall.

Mona did not want to step through the doorway. Every fiber of her being screamed out against it. She took a step, and then another. Panic welled in her stomach, heavy and present for the first time since the leather strap had fallen to the table top just a few hours ago. How could that be? Another step and she was through the door, which was immediately shut on her heels. The tiny hall was silent, like the analyst, but there was enough light for her to watch, numb, as the door yet ahead of her began to open by some command she did not see or hear. First a crack of bright sunlight, the opening soon widened until the door gaped, an afternoon sun spilling into the space and making it impossible for Mona to see what lay beyond it. But she could hear wind, and the rustle of grass, or maybe leaves. The sound terrified her.

Maybe she wouldn't go. Maybe she would stay in the corridor. What would they do? Would they push her out themselves? Or would they leave her in this tight corner until night fell and some animal decided to investigate this new cave for a sleeping place?

The thought had her feet flying toward the doorway before she could register the fear. She exploded out of the passage and into a clearing spotted with clumps of short grass. The ground beneath her feet was dry and dusty; trees and bushes in the distance swayed in a breeze she couldn't feel. The glare of natural light after so long inside made her squint. No buildings, no roads, no people. The foreignness  of the wild landscape felt like an assault on her senses and she whirled around, searching through slitted eyes for the doorway to go back to the hall. But the only thing she saw was a large, unforgiving slab of metal that must be this side of the door. There was no handle, no edge for her fingers to grip but she ran to it anyway, banging on the surface until her hands we scraped and bruised. It wasn't until she slowed that she realized she was shouting, begging to be let back inside. It wasn't until she felt the burn of salt on her hands as she wiped her face that she realized she was sobbing.

“Please! Open the door!” She gasped. “Anyone? Don’t do this to me! Let me in! Gareth! Father! Please!”

Shadows had cast over the clearing by the time she stopped pleading with the door and slid, hiccuping with tears, to the ground and curled up into a ball. A slight, one-sleeved figure, completely alone for the first time in her life. As the shadows lengthened, fears whispered about the coming night but her world went dark long before the sun set.