...That's What She Said

Sporadic observations and accounts of my daily world and creative pursuits

Current Status:

Volunteers needed to critique a sci-fi short. Please feel free to comment if up for the challenge!

Quote of the Week:

“A short story is a different thing all together - a short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.” ~Stephen King

Buccaneer Blogfest - Reading - Part 2


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Today's prompt is an easy one for me... who doesn't love writing about their favorite books and why?  Here are my top 5:

1. Pet Sematary by Stephen King:  I read this book in a weekend when I was 14 years old.  It was the first novel I ever finished, then immediately flipped back to the beginning and read it again... in one sitting.  Many people may think that Stephen King is over the top, hokey or weird, but I'd be willing to bet money that those people haven't read his best work, or maybe not any of it, basing these assumptions on poorly made screen adaptations.  Pet Sematary is one of his shorter novels, but it packs a punch.  The great story alone isn't why this is my favorite though. As a teenaged girl with some dark family secrets, King showed me that horror could be turned into something beautiful.  It was in the few minutes that I sat in perfect silence after my first time reading the last line that I realized that I didn't have to falsify memories and write about a happiness that could have been... instead, I could share a little darkness with the world that could spark inspiration within a reader (or at least let them know that they weren't alone).  That's pretty much been my goal ever since.

2. The Drawing of Three by Stephen King:  I literally just spent 30 minutes re-typing that title. The hardest part of this post was picking which of the books in the Dark Tower series to choose as my favorite.  Of course, I cannot choose the seventh book, as it's the only one I haven't read.  (There's a part of me that keeps telling myself that I'm just saving it for a rainy day, but in reality, I don't want the series to end.  I often wonder if there are any Harry Potter fans out there who haven't read the last book in J.K. Rowling's series for the same reason.)  I picked the second book because I think I had the most fun reading it.  The introduction of new characters was unlike anything I'd ever read before and I enjoyed every single word.

3. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams:  I shouldn't have to write much about this one.  It's the perfect blend of comedy and sci-fi... undoubtedly what opened the doors to many of the lighthearted sci-fi and fantasy that we love today.

4. Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein:  Reading this book is a life changing event.  It will make you question the society you live in, if you aren't doing so already.  I went into a deep period of self reflection and evaluation after reading this novel for the first time and emerged a better person.  Of course, this book doesn't have all the answers... it's not a Bible or a guide to live by... it will however, force you to think about what it takes to be a human being.

5. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers:  Not everyone loves this book the way that I do, but I've got a strong sentimental attachment to it.  I read it entirely on a plane.  At one point I was in Chicago, at the exact place where a scene from the book took place.  I was moved to tears.  This self-aware, self-satisfying memoir was told in a real voice... with a stream of consciousness that reminded me of my own writing style.  This was the novel that told me that I could write a novel in my own voice... and it might speak to someone else, too.  If I ever get my own memoir published, I will have Dave Eggers to thank.


Buccaneer Blogfest - Reading - Part 1


For those of us "sailing the blogging seas", we are past the halfway point... and I have fallen waaaaay off course with my commentary on fellow posts.  This fest has surely been a test, but I vow to catch up and continue making new connections!

Click the photo link below for full details on this "Arrrg-some" Blogfest:

Week 3 is all about reading... and today's prompt asks us: What are you reading? What books are on your shelf?


I think it would almost be easier to answer what WASN'T on my shelves.  Last year, our best friends helped us move and the running joke was that we should be much smarter people in relation to the number of heavy boxes of books we had.  Part of the problem is that we collect hardcover first editions.  My pride and joy (book-wise, of course) is that I have all but the first two of Stephen King's novels in first edition hard cover. I even have rare hardcover editions of the Dark Tower series... but I'm sure I'll delve into all of that on Wednesday.  For now, I'll stick to the theme.  Aside from a book titled "When Dinosaurs Came With Everything" that my three year old son has requested for his bedtime story every night for the past three weeks, I am re-reading the first four Dark Tower books before reading The Wind Through The Keyhole, which is King's newest book in the series (though technically it's a flashback and fits in as novel 4.5).  I am also reading a fantastic sci-fi novel called Ready Player One by Ernest Cline.  If you grew up in the 80's or just happen to love the 80's, this book is a must read. I'm not even a quarter of the way through, but it's already stacking up to be one of my favorite sci-fi adventures ever! Next up on my Kindle is a book recently published on Amazon by a fellow blogger.  It will be my first read through of a fellow blogger's book.  That's right, until now, I've been strictly mainstream.  Shame on me!!! I've read a lot of posts in the past two months about a lot of great story ideas, but many of them are YA books, and I don't know if that's really my thing.  I have great disdain for the Twilight series and I couldn't get into The Hunger Games, either.  However, I found one about a teenaged boy who apparently has a problem with bullies... and ghosts.  In a recent blog hop, I got to read a snippet about the MC's "first fight" and I enjoyed that scene and am intrigued by the plot so much that I'm giving the YA genre another chance.  The author is Michael Pierce and you can find out more about his book Provest City by visiting his blog for yourself:


Michael Pierce

Click the photo link above.

Buccaneer Blogfest - Work In Progress - Part 3



Click the photo link below for full details on this "Arrrg-some" Blogfest:

The instructions for today's post were: Share your lightbulb moment with us. What inspired you to write your WIP? How did you formulate your idea? Is any of your "fiction" taken out of your real life?

Well... a couple of years ago, I stumbled upon a short story science fiction contest that ran yearly. The contest resulted in four quarterly winners who competed for the yearly award of cash and publication. I read the previous four winners and thought to myself, "Why am I not doing this?" And it's not that I thought I could do any better, but I distinctly remember thinking that there was nothing outrageously groundbreaking or new in these tales... no, they won because they had relatable characters and good story structure. The fact that I didn't have to think of a completely original idea or plot to write science fiction inspired me to want to do it myself.  Sadly, I spent the next two years only thinking about my potential story, never finding the motivation to actually begin writing it. Instead, I blogged about my life on occasion and periodically worked on bits and pieces of my memoir style WIP. It wasn't until I'd found myself bored with Facebook late one night (a little over a month ago or so) that I started exploring the blog community for the first time. Until that point, I'd only kept track of my own blog and the three or four belonging to close personal friends. By clicking around, I realized there were networks, support groups and blog fests... all just waiting for an aspiring writer like myself to participate in. It was Cherie Reich's Second Annual Flash Fiction contest that caught my eye. The only rules were that your piece had to be 300 words or less and begin with the words "Lightning flashed".  <Insert lightbulb moment here.> The next day, my story was officially born. In the days that followed, I got so much positive feedback that I was inspired to keep the story going. I may only be at 5,000 words, but I'm further along than I've ever been. Now my main questions revolve around what to do with it once it's finished...

As far as where the actual story idea came from, that's a tough one. Obviously I've read and watched a lot of sci-fi, so the landscape of a dystopian future stemmed from my interest of those types of stories. The idea of a woman who learned how to manipulate her memory most likely came from a close friend of mine who passed away several years ago. He used to tell me stories about how he had mastered lucid dreaming and was working on astral projection. Unlocking powers of the mind has always seemed like the type of science fiction that isn't too far off from our reality today. I think he would have really liked my story.

The part of myself that I see in Winter is her introverted, independent and isolated nature, fused heavily with sarcasm and ideals that focus on justice and fairness. The fact that she is fighting against being creativity stifled also represents the real life obstacles I often face when trying to balance my time between family, earning a living and pursuing my writing. That last part is something I think we all can related to... which makes me hopeful that Winter, despite her tendency to be a loner, will be relatable to others as well.

Buccaneer Blogfest - Work In Progress - Part 2


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Hold on to your seats, folks... this will be my very first character interview... EVER.  Until I really dug into my one of my two current WIPs, I'd always just written whatever came to mind.  However, I was having trouble figuring out the best way to get from my climatic mid-point to my ending.  With a million ideas rolling around in my head (ok, maybe not a million, but at least a few)... I became indecisive.  Indecision lead to writer's block... and here I am.  I think the reason why I am having trouble writing from the heart and on the fly this time around is because I'm writing out of my element. I've never attempted to write sci-fi before, as much as I love reading it.  So, I figured while I'm in new territory, I may as well explore some writing techniques that seem to work for others.  If you read my last post, you caught the brief intro to my story called "The Grave Mistake".  (If you were extra sneaky or you are not a brand new follower, than you've likely read my entire "Act I" on my side blog.)  Either way, here goes nothing!

Character Interview with Winter Graves:

Where did you grow up?

"In The New Society, just like everyone else."

What's your happiest childhood memory?

"Probably the day I realized that I was different from the other "pod children" in my programming class. I was plugged in, just like any other typical day when I began to daydream about a painting. The act of letting your mind wander was an impossible feat, yet somehow it had happened. I was eleven years old, and the time was 11 hours, 11 minutes and 11 seconds."

Who was your childhood best friend?

"The TR-30, hands down. The best audio and visual recorder coin could buy. I never left home without it."

What is your greatest talent?

"Well, obviously, that would be my secret... I can trust you, can't I?"


Yes, most definitely. Everything you say here goes in the vault, never to come out.

"Alright, then I'd have to say poetry."

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

"I am supposed to say that I wouldn't change a thing... that the Society Leaders know what is best for everyone.  That's what I would change."

Do you have any regrets? What are they?

"Just one... I wish I'd known what the girl in the rain was going to do before she did it."

Do you have a significant other? How do you feel about them?

"I may have been in love with someone who wrote a book, if that counts.  I loved him because he saved me, though he was terminated before I was born."

What can you offer the world?

"If it were safe, I could offer everyone in the world a life worth actually living."

What is your greatest fear?

"Losing myself completely, should I ever be found out."



Buccaneer Blogfest - Work In Progress - Part 1

Click the photo link below for full details on this "Arrrg-some" Blogfest:

The purpose of today's entry is to share the first paragraph of your current WIP.  Mine is rather short, so I decided to cheat a bit and post the first two (Shhh, don't tell!)...  these are from my current sci-fi short story called "The Grave Secret":

**********

Lightning flashed behind my eyelids as memories of the storm faded. The still air sat heavy in my lungs. I took inventory of the room that had no vents from which a scanner could be watching. Despite this, I felt something gaping at me... penetrating directly through me.  


The amount of time slipping by was as unusual as the seamless panels surrounding me. I wanted to test whether my touch would reveal any new information about my container, but thought better of it. Thinking had gotten me into this mess in the first place. While the rest silently accepted their downloads without question, I played a very dangerous game. Becoming a constant watcher, I'd only get caught if I were summoned as a witness. I'd kept records, while blanking my mind to make room for creative endeavors and stayed hidden. Was it narcissistic of me to believe that I'd find a way to share my secret and be deemed a genius rather than a traitor? Now I’d never find out… I thought of the girl in the rain, wondering if we’d both get the reboot. If I attempted to use my vague recollection of the crash, they would know. What would happen if I focused and just erased everything? Could I be eliminated for crimes of conspiracy if I couldn't even remember who I was? Would it be worth risking my entire being, the very essence of what I thought to be my soul, just to keep my heart beating?

**********

That was it... a snippet that hopefully serves as a good hook to catch a reader's interest.  All feedback and critiques are welcome!  And I cannot wait to post the interview with my MC on Wednesday (provided that I actually finish it, of course)... off to hop to some other first paragraphs... see you all back here on Wednesday.

Buccaneer Blogfest - Intro

I just stumbled across an awesome blogfest that could be EXACTLY what I need to keep myself on some sort of a writing schedule and continue exchanging constructive feedback with other aspiring authors. Court Young and Sharon Bayliss are hosting a month long blog hop called "Buccaneer blogfest" with three prompts per week. Of course, I'm arriving late to the party, so week one will be squished into this weekend in an effort to be ready for the July 16th deadline for week two. Hopefully the cliche "better late than never" is applicable here!

Click the photo link below for full details:

Intro Week

Introduction: Tell us a little bit about you and your blog:

Well, for starters, I am a married mom of one little boy who also works full time as a business analyst and manager at a law firm in Dallas, Texas. I've been a resident of the Lone Star State since last Thanksgiving, and moving away from my friends and family in Florida (where I'd lived most of my life) was a huge transition. Out of that transition came my re-dedication to writing. I'd been writing stories and poems since childhood and prior to getting hitched and doing the family thing, I was a constant blogger between 2004 and 2008. My blog was private and my close friends kept telling me that I should write a book. I just assumed that as a friend, that's what you're supposed to say... whether you think the writing is publication material or not. You know, kinda like when your parents tell you that you can be whatever you want when you grow up (not that mine ever did). So long story short, I stayed fairly private and didn't lend much credence to the praise. Then I really did grow up... and starting a family was a lot more work than anyone had ever told me, so the blogging pretty much came to a screeching halt. Anyone can scroll back and see some of my earlier posts from a few years ago. If they did, they'd see that I blogged about whatever my thoughts were that day (and hopefully be half as amused at my sense of humor as I was at the time I was writing it). This year, however, there has been a dramatic shift. My last few posts have centered around my struggle to take my writing more seriously... and actually put a book together. I can't help but feel a little selfish for taking this turn, but then again, after devoting the last three years of life to my family and feeling like I was losing touch with one of my lifelong passions... I'm trying to look at this as some well deserved "me time".

Why you did you start blogging? What are your goals for your blog?

As I mentioned in my introduction, I started blogging simply to record my day to day thoughts. It was through LiveJournal and then MySpace at first (back when MySpace was cool), so the format was a very user friendly way to share ideas online. Since my office job was stressful and simultaneously boring, blogging was my only creative outlet at the time. The recent shift in the focus of my blog has been a way for me to share my thoughts publicly for the first time. One of my biggest fears when I was younger was the fear of being plagiarized. When I started blogging on MySpace, a school teacher who claimed to be new in town requested to be my friend. I was young, single and all about making new friends, so I thought it was great. Then one day, I popped onto her page and saw, much to my horror, that she had posted a blog that was a word for word copy of one I'd written a few days prior about my philosophy on the subject of "soul mates". Angry is not the appropriate adjective to describe how I felt in that moment. I called her out on it, of course... and emailed everyone on her friend list. I reacted in the way one might expect from a prideful 26 year old and promptly blocked her... and anyone else I didn't personally know. Time has passed and I like to think that I've not only matured, but that I've overcome some of my trust issues. I think that my main goal of this blog now is to get better about putting myself out there, while getting to know other like-minded writers who are struggling to get their ideas out into the world, too. I've participated in a few recent blog hops and each experience was better than I could have expected. I'm continually impressed by the amount of positive support and encouragement total strangers provide to one another. The past two months have been such an amazing inspiration and I hope that I'll be able to help others progress as much as they've been helping me.

Interview the person signed up below you on the linky and post that interview: 

Now here's the tricky part... I'm last in line. I'm going to have to reach out to fellow participants to find someone to interview! Stay tuned for an update to this post... and thank you for taking the time to visit my blog!

Update: I received the pleasure of getting to know one of the blog hop hosts a little better. What luck! A big thanks goes to Courtney Young for not only providing the thought provoking answers below, but also taking the time to answer my questions despite having "away from the computer" plans all day today! I hope you enjoy this interview as much as I did:

1. If you could meet one person, real or fiction, who would it be?

JK Rowling or Conan O'Brien. JK because she is one of my writing role models. Her success story is genuine and very inspirational. My dream would be to drink tea with her. Conan because I know when I am on his show, I have made it to my dream level. Plus, he is HILARIOUS!!!

2. What are you top 3 favorite books ever and why?

A. Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. Really any of the Harry Potter books but the last one is my favorite. I hated Snape for years of my life and the last book brought everything together. I grew up reading the series. Harry Potter really jolted my love for fantasy and magic.

B. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (book 2). HG is one of those series that makes every girl want to be strong. The story has so many wonderful elements, liberation being one of them.

C. So Cold the River by Michael Koryta: I love ghost stories and I recently discovered this author. He writes compelling stories and uses real places in the US (and now I want to visit)

3. What methods or philosophies do you use to write?

I am not a plot bunny. Considering I have only written one full novel (After the Woods soon to be released by Curiosity Quills), I cannot say that I have any methods perfected. I am a new writer and still learning. I love writing to classical music on my laptop but there are times when I don’t listen to anything. Whenever I have an idea I write it down as soon as possible. I usually think of the story in terms of the big picture and try to figure out how to get from point A to B. I love it when my characters do their own thing or when I am inspired to drag them through crazy scenarios. I’ve learned some of my best writing comes whenever I am typing on a whim. Also, edit, edit, edit, but don’t over-edit, it is true that a novel is never finished, but abandoned. Us writers could probably edit until the end of time!

4. How do you work through mental blocks or overcome hitting a wall when writing something new? I try to take a break or do something physical, like ride my bike or go for a walk. Sometimes, I will read a good book for inspiration. There have been times when I let my WIP sit for 7 days because I was not sure what should happen next. Forcing yourself to write, at least for me, has not been very successful. Having a clear mind really helps!

5. What are your ultimate goals as far as writing is concerned?

My dream goal is to be on the Amazon, NY Times, and USA today top 10 best seller list. J I still have a lot to learn but that is the goal!

6. What was the first thing you ever wrote and why did you write it?

I remember reading an article when I was in 3rd or 4th grade asking kids to submit their short stories to be published in the school newspaper. I went home and wrote a story about the ocean and fish and submitted. My story was picked and printed. It was seriously one of the coolest things that happened to me as a kid.

7. If you ever lost your ability to write, what other creative outlet would be your biggest passion?

For years of my life, I stopped writing. I replaced my need to create with the theatre. Acting and singing in musicals kept me occupied for almost 10 years. I think that if I lost my ability to write now, I would spend most of my time reading and singing.

8. What are your favorite song lyrics?

I thought about my scene today
And I've finally got the words to say
The truth is cutting like a knife
Gonna use it to cut away my strife
The grass is green and the sky is blue
My head is clear and my thoughts are true
(Summer of Love by 311. Reminds me of good times!)

9. What is memory from your childhood has had the biggest impact on your writing and why?

I cannot think of a memory from my childhood that had a huge impact on my writing. I think my writing was impacted whenever I really discovered who I was as a person in high school. As a young adult, teenager, I wrote poetry addictively and even joined a band where I was the main lyricist and lead singer. I think sharing my poems in the form of music ultimately helped me break out of my writing shell.

10. Where we can befriend you (blog, goodreads, twitter, etc.)?

Blog: www.courtyoung.blogspot.com or www.courtyoung.com
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/courtney825
Twitter: www.twitter.com/courtney825
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/cutiecourt83
Facebook: www.facebook.com/courtneyworthyoung

Easy Four Step Guide to Being a Jerk

How to be a blogosphere jerk:

Step 1: Find a lame excuse(s) such as being sick, having out-of-town guests and/or getting caught up watching all four seasons of Breaking Bad in two weeks.

Check.

Step 2: Procrastinate rectifying the situation by resuming regularly scheduled blogging as slowly as possible after establishing lame excuse(s).

Check.

Step 3: Forget and/or delay going back to and reviewing the results of a blog hop contest that you entered in a timely fashion to comment and congratulate the winners.

Check.

Step 4: Apologize for being such a jerk.

Ch... wait.  That's the step I'm missing.  Apologizing won't fill in the two week gap on my blog, but hopefully it will show how sorry I am!

It wasn't until a few days ago that I was able to go back and re-visit both Entertaining Interests and Bouquet of Books to see the results of the First Fight/First Kiss Blogfest last month... and wouldn't you know it?  Jackie, author behind Bouquet of Books, gave me an Honorable Mention Award for my First Fight entry!  Considering she only picked one winner and three honorable mentions out of 35 total entries, I am truly honored.  It was some very tough competition and so much fun! So... basically, this apology goes out to Jackie and Danielle.  I'm sorry for being such a slacker, but I feel the inspiration kicking back in... and I have the blogfest to thank for that.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Now I just have to figure out how to proudly display my very first award badge on my blog sidebar.  :-)


Past & Present

Previous posts by yours truly proclaimed that Facebook had killed blogging, at least the real time life update style that I'd been publishing to the web.  It wasn't until I switched gears from outward sharing to inward creativity that the connection between my blog and I was rekindled.  When the frequency of my posts began to increase, I received encouragement from my friends.  As my posts continued to center on my efforts to write, feedback from known friends diminished (while support from unknown fellow writers increased).

I sat in front of the computer for an hour while the little one was napping this afternoon uploading every photo I've taken this year whilst out and about in my new home of Texas.  After putting up just over 150 photos depicting family fun that was had between March and last week on a new Facebook photo album, I distinctly recall thinking, "Phew, there we go... now everyone is updated." And so I say again, the social network has taken all of the thinking and all of the writing out of being social.  I could have written a detailed account of each event from chowing down on some very fresh steak at the Ft. Worth Stockyards to the hilarity discovered at the region's largest Renaissance Festival to my astonishment at a three year old behaving himself through an hour long pre-recorded door of the Sixth Floor Museum...  Instead, I selected the most decent photos I'd taken at each event, clicked a button, and called it a day.

While this saddens me a bit, I'm justifying my lack of effort by telling myself that I'm conserving my energy for creative writing.  Does that make it right? Probably not... but I hope that I can make up for the recent disservice to my friends by giving them a free copy of my novel if and when I ever get it published.  In the meantime, I will share a snippet of inspiration that I found while being a tourist at Dealey Plaza a week ago.

(Illegal iPhone snapshot 6/30/12)

My husband and our visiting friend are both JFK conspiracy nuts, but I enjoyed my exploration of the Sixth Floor Museum and The Grassy Knoll because everything was exactly as Stephen King had described it in his recent novel, 11/22/63. Reading King's sci-fi story that intertwined with a historical event that changed our nation right before moving to the Dallas area myself was perfect timing... and then getting to check out the landscape of the story in person just months after completing the book was simply amazing.  The novel contained such an interesting spin on time travel and is ultimately what sparked my interest to start writing again once I found myself friendless in a new city. As I gazed at the interior of the brick building that haunted memories call home, I was dumbstruck by how detailed and descriptive my favorite author is.  I wondered if I'd ever be able to write something half as good as anything he's written.  But last week, I stumbled across something on the internet that not only gave me hope, but reminded me that everyone's got to start somewhere:


Quick Update

The morning after my last post, which also happened to be a blog hop entry, I was attacked... by pollen and germs and quite possibly the grim reaper himself. While I teetered on the edge of a flu-like death, there was no way I could force myself to put fingertips to keyboard after overly long days at the office. A week later, things began to turn toward normalcy, but I was then consumed by a mini cleaning frenzy in preparation of a friend from Florida visit. Which brings us to now, post-holiday and two weeks overdue on some pent up writing, but more importantly, reading and commenting. My sickness kept me from perusing what I can only imagine were some fun-filled high school memories! By the end of the weekend, my first goal is to have played catch up enough to feel as though I haven't missed out on too much in the blogosphere. Goal number two shall be to share a post that's been brewing behind the scenes... or behind the sneezes, if I'm being completely accurate. ;-)

Dear Diary


My So-Called Teenage Life Blog Hop

June 21, 2012
This is going to be so fun! 
Step One: Sign up on the linky 
Step Two: Dust off those old sappy journals or high school notebooks filled with badpoetry*
Step Three: Skim through them until you find something share-worthy
Step Four: On June 21 POST IT on your blog
Optional: We all love seeing old photos, so if you have one lying around of you as a teen, post that, too.


****************************

I'm going to be honest.  When I saw this blogfest, I thought I was going to unearth some long, lost profound thought from half a lifetime ago.  I actually spent 45 minutes in the garage digging through tupperware totes to find my authentic, hand-written high school diary.  It's pink, has hearts on it and the lock is missing.  The date inscribed inside the front has April 1991 scratched out and replaced by June 1992 and there are remnants of the missing pages that were torn from the beginning.  The first non-removed entry is dated June 20, 1992 and the diary ends 29 entries later at August 15, 1993, which should have recorded  my life from the summer prior to my freshman year of high school through the summer after.  In a way, I suppose it does... an abbreviated boy-crazy version, anyway.

It didn't take me long to read through all 29ish pages, as they're 3 x 5 sized... and as I read, I noticed a theme.  Instead of posting one full entry about a death of a classmate or the election of Bill Clinton, I'm going to post several excerpts that highlight something I actually found even more interesting.

A couple of years ago, my film aficionado husband thought it would be hysterical to make me watch the first Twilight movie, despite my vehement opposition.  He actually put the movie in our Netflix queue.  (To this day, I make sure to tell all of his male friends about this.)  Unfortunately, it made its way to our mailbox.  As we sat in the dark with our gigantic bowl of microwaved popcorn, it felt like it took well over four hours to watch the poofy-haired teenaged vampire and his bland, whiny teen human love interest being awkwardly interested in each other.  There were two instances where we paused the movie to openly complain about it.  Once was my (admittedly a slight over-reaction) rant about how vampires DO NOT sparkle as I threw the remote control on the floor.  The other was actually a few pauses over the exact same thing: meaningless/meaningful staring. It's this second issue that I want to focus on now, because (thank goodness) there were no sparkly, wussy vamps at my high school.  So, back to the staring contests... what was all that about?  I was so angry at that movie for stealing away 120 long minutes of my life that I could never get back... and it was mainly because over half of it was just people staring at one another with expressions as if they'd just gotten a whiff of bad cheese, then looking away.  My husband and I went on and on about how NO ONE does that.  Well, luckily, I didn't bet money on that statement.  Now, for your viewing pleasure, I present 100% true and accurately transcribed snippets (grammatical issues included) from my awful, awful, awful diary:

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Thursday, August 27


"Anyway there's a guy in two of my classes, and his name's Andy Hernandez.  He remembered me from 5th grade!  I didn't reconize him, but I pretended I did.  He's pretty good looking !!  :-)  And he's been looking at me everytime I see him!"


Saturday, Sept. 13


"On to another guy (oops!) I mean subject.  There is a guy named Whitar.  I think he's Korean, but I'm not sure.  Anyway he's been looking at me alot."


Monday, October 5


"What does bother me is none of them have said they like me, but it's pretty obvious that they're constantly looking at me."


Thursday, November 19


"I was daydreaming at the bus loop and I looked up.  Suddenly, there we were, me and Whitar, staring at eachother.  It seems to happen alot...  Ever since the day I really noticed him, I see him everywhere on campus + each time he's looking at me, too."


Tuesday, December 1


"The same thing happens with Carl - the staring, I mean.  I really like him, but I'm not sure what to do.  I could almost melt when his eyes meet mine.  I have to turn away.  Maybe I can figure out a way to let him know I like him.  But how?  Oh Boy, life's tough."


Friday, January 29


"I love Carl!!! I can't help it.  The way he looks at me, everything about him."


Friday, June 4


"It's the last day of school, I mean, was the last day of school.  My freshman year is over...  I took one last look at him as my bus drove off."


****************************

If you actually made it through all that dribble, I offer both my thanks and my sincerest apologies.  I almost feel like I owe Stephenie Meyer an apology, too... Hey, I said almost.

Never Surrender




I think that anyone who's read my recent blog hop postings can gather that my journey from childhood to present wasn't an easy one, but then again, who can truly say that theirs was? I've yet to meet a single human being that hasn't had to overcome obstacles in life. When I saw this particular blog fest that asked participants to write about a time that they didn't give up and accomplished something significant in their lives, about a billion things popped into my head. Should I share a snippet about an award won, a job promotion, or finding some luck in love? This is a difficult topic for me, as I feel like I'm still in "never surrender" mode right now, at this very moment. One of my personal goals that I've had since I first put pencil to paper has been to document my life story. I've always hoped that sharing my experiences might help someone feel inspired to keep pushing forward in their own endeavors. I've written tiny pieces of my story over the course of the last eight years, though none of it was cohesive enough to string together. Just before this Christmas past, I took a leap of faith and moved over a thousand miles away from my comfort zone and found inspiration in a place where I least expected it: from the kind words of strangers. Each of whom shares a common goal and passion for writing and sharing their stories. There's something to be said of establishing a sense if community and kinship with like minded people. And I have been reminded that I am so lucky to live in a time where technology can bring us together, regardless of physical distance, to encourage creative growth in one another. So, for my contribution to this theme, I believe THIS is me not surrendering, right here... right now. Unlike years past, I will not give up on writing. I will not use life distractions as excuses to go months without writing. I will not let doubtful thoughts deter me from sharing my story. I will not slack in sharing support for my fellow writers. I will finish what I started. I will never, ever surrender. And I have whomever is reading this to thank... so, thank you. Yes, YOU. :-)

Blue Light Special

The gentle, warm breeze pushed past the old red pick-up truck that my father allowed me to drive to work and puffed up the front of my matching red smock. It tickled the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of my vintage button up shirt and the waistband of my faded, black consignment shop dress pants, sending goose bumps up my spine and down the length of each bare arm. Fluorescent lights cast a rose glow onto the mostly abandoned parking lot below through the oversized, red plastic “K” mounted above the entryway to the closed storefront. It was after ten o’clock p.m. on a Friday night, and as the seventeen year old service desk manager of my friendly neighborhood K-Mart, it had been my job to count all of the cash drawers and cart the hundreds of pounds of profit back to the safe in the cash room behind the main stockroom. One might think it was unusual that such a young girl was tasked with such an important duty, but I’d always been responsible beyond my years. What I found to be far more unusual was that I was seventeen (nearly eighteen) and had never been kissed. I looked up at the glowing moon as I unlocked the truck door and thought about how that fact was finally about to change.

One by one, the late shift employees got into their cars and drove away. I’d removed my polyester employee vest, thrown it into the passenger seat and was applying lip gloss by the soft light of my vanity mirror when the general manager emerged from the building, keys in hand. Behind him, the last three employees, all stock boys, exited so that he could lock the doors. They all chattered the standard end of the night, see-you-tomorrow salutations and headed to their vehicles, with the exception of Jeremy, who was headed straight for my open driver’s window. In the fifteen minutes that I’d sat waiting, I’d romanticized the event soon to transpire… taking in the ambient whir of traffic on the main road beyond the lot and the wind rustling bits of trash through the wheels of the shopping carts that were nestled together in the metal corral. In reality, it was a dirty, old patch of pavement in front of a sub-par department store. However, for me, it may as well have been a deserted beach, at sunset, on an island in Fiji. I’d practiced what I was going to say to my very first “real” boyfriend for the entire five hours that I’d argued with customers about why they couldn’t return their dust-covered 1974 television set without a receipt and exchanged pants that didn’t fit for moo-moo nightgowns that did. It was going to be as perfect as the picture I’d so painstakingly painted in my mind, and not even the grating clatter of the empty beer bottle that rolled past my truck was going to change that.

Jeremy arrived at my parking spot and rested his forearm on the lip of the window frame. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself,” I replied. So far, so good, I thought, and continued, “So, I was thinking about you a lot today and I might be able to get my dad to un-ground me before my birthday…”

“You shouldn’t be grounded at all. It’s been like two months and I’ve only been able to take you out to dinner one time and that was to Burger King. It really sucks that you have to rush home every night all stressed out.” He furrowed his eyebrows out of genuine concern.

“I know, but my father is the biggest A-Hole on the planet and I don’t want to make things worse. Anyway, look… I know I’ll be able to go out and do something fun. It’ll be my birthday and I don’t want to have friends over or have a party… I just want to be with you. I want to be with you now, too... but if I’m not home by eleven…” I trailed off and searched Jeremy’s hazel eyes, which was an easy thing to do since they were magnified by his enormously thick black-framed lenses. He shifted from one Doc Martin to the other, looked down and then back up at me again. I was fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing that I was, and I knew that he was just as nervous, if not more so.

Jeremy, a few months older than I, was also a never-been-kissed statistic. My best friend, Brandi, said it was because he looked like a tortoise, but I thought it was just because he was shy and unsure of himself, like me. I supposed that was the reason my answer had been yes when he stopped me in this very same parking lot to ask me if I would be his girlfriend. Despite my enormous crush on another coworker, a strapping and classically handsome tall boy with black hair and deep blue eyes (and no glasses), I felt a kinship with Jeremy… a commonality that would surely bond us more than a silly attraction to a boy who probably didn’t even know that I existed. Since the night I’d given him my answer, work had been a lot more fun and I’d had something to look forward to outside of my normal daily grind. The store was in the next town over from where I lived, so we attended different high schools. In the last two weeks, I’d scheduled myself extra nights so that I could see him more often. I’d also been a little more lenient with people who wanted to return broken merchandise that would have to be picked up and brought to the stockroom... and I volunteered to deliver those returns in person. "Wow, service with a smile," he'd said as I'd entered the customer free zone that was his domain.

I turned my attention to the digital read out on the car stereo. It was 10:32. My commute home generally took about thirty minutes. “My dad’s gonna kill me if I’m late,” I said with a reluctant sigh. I was hoping that he’d noticed the extra emphasis I'd put into that sigh and would pick up on the fact that I wasn’t dead set on obeying the rules tonight.  But he was staring down at his scuffed boots again.

"Then I guess I'll just see you tomorrow," he nearly whispered as he stopped leaning on my door and took a step back, slowly lifting his gaze to meet mine.  He was visibly upset, but not more than I was. Were boys really so clueless? No, I'd planned the perfect thing to say, rehearsed it a hundred times and if there ever was a right time, it was now... whether he was picking up on my hints or not.

"Hold on a second," I began as I motioned for him to step closer. "I waited for you for a reason. What I mean is... well, you've been waiting for me this whole time and I don't want to just up and leave just because... Crap. Hold on, let me start over."  I took a deep breath, ignoring Jeremy's raised eyebrow. "Ok, so... did you hear the whole stupid blue light special announcement I had to make over the intercom to get rid off all that Valentine's Day stuff for seventy-five percent off?"

He nodded, still eying me suspiciously.

"Ok, well, did you hear the part where I said that thing about how any customer in the store tonight lucky enough to have someone to buy discounted candy for, should definitely pick some up even though the official holiday was over... and what a value it was to be able to show their love every day for such an unbelievably low price?"

He was grinning. "Oh yeah, I heard that part. All the guys were giving me total crap me about it. Talk about cheesy. They think you're more of a dork than I am!"

I briefly thought of my previous crush. Of course they did.

He went on, "But I could hear the sarcasm coming through, so it was funny. When you started doing those announcements, that's when I knew I had to ask you out... I mean, I always thought you were pretty, but... that stuff cracks me up." The smirk on his face was endearing.

"Yeah well, it was cheesy and all, but I was kinda talking about you," I informed him.  I reached into the oversized pocket of my work vest on the seat next to me and retrieved the foil wrapped, heart shape candy with the words "I Love You" stamped on the front.  Starting to feel as though my well rehearsed, albeit fifty cent valued, proclamation wasn't going to turn out the way I'd envisioned, I held it out to him before I was able to loose my nerve.  I was glad that the red tinted light covered the flush in my cheeks.

He took it and studied it for a moment.  Without words, he leaned in through the window. In that instant, a flood of thoughts hit me at once.  I was supposed to get OUT of the truck. I was supposed to end up in his arms, like a romance movie, with sweeping, epic music playing in my mind.  I was supposed to say something else, too... Before I could continue the process of over-thinking the situation, his lips touched mine.  I thought, "This is it... this is my perfect moment that I've been dreaming of and plotting for and planning every detail of since I was eleven years old!" Then all of a sudden I felt a sensation that I can only describe as being akin to my little brother's tackle box being dumped into my mouth. Something like one of those rubbery fishing worms was darting from tooth to tooth and nearly down my throat.  It was cold and wet and weird. "This is disgusting... is it supposed to be gross?," my flustered mind wondered.  Maybe it was the shock of things not feeling the way Hollywood portrayed them to be or maybe I'd just over planned the details and my mind wasn't where it should have been, but the sensation ended abruptly before I could analyze it further. The empty Budweiser bottle had resumed its journey across the lot and hit the wheel of a parked cart with a loud "Crack!"

"Ow!" Jeremy yelped, clasping his hand over his mouth.  I wasn't sure what it was yet, but something had undoubtedly gone terribly wrong. "I think you bit my tongue."

"Ow!" I immediately yelled back, putting my own hand over my mouth. I wasn't actually in any pain, but my panicked reaction was apparently to mimic him.

"Oh no," He stepped closer again, "Or maybe I bit yours? Or I bit my own? Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" He looked completely devastated.  Meanwhile, I felt horrible for shifting the blame onto him.  The entire event had been so confusing and I felt my eyes welling up with embarrassment. I realized that I'd selfishly been deconstructing every nuance of what I considered to be my personal milestone event... while simultaneously ruining his.

Before a tear could escape, I shut my eyes and gathered my thoughts.  Then I reached out my hand, which he took.  "I have no idea what just happened, but I'm pretty sure it was my fault.  I think I was a little bit nervous.  And I'm so sorry that I'm such a neurotic control freak. I don't know what I was thinking, but I do know that I was thinking too much.  Ugh. I suck at just going with the flow, ya know?"  Glancing at the clock that now read 10:39, I went on, "I'm also pretty sure I'm going to be late getting home tonight no matter what.  So, if I'm going to get double grounded or whatever, it should be worth it."  I studied his expression, trying to guess if I was seeing relief or shock. "It's only been a minute, can we have a re-do?"

Jeremy's gentle eyes were fixed on mine. "If my parents never let me do anything, I'd probably be a control freak, too. And I can totally help you out with the whole going with the flow thing.  So, if you really mean it, you can have as many re-dos as you want because I think I could use the practice," he replied with a smile that reminded me he had a cute dimple on just the left side of his mouth.

The big, red "K" reflected in his glasses, but I decided that his poor vision was obviously a bonus because he'd just called me pretty a few minutes earlier.  Had I already started to take such a sweet boy for granted? I shook my head in amazement, and with that shake, all thoughts of anyone else tumbled out and scattered in the breeze. This time, I opened the door, stepped onto the imperfectly painted line of the parking space, and closed in for what would be a truly perfect moment. A moment with the first boy who let me know that he honestly wanted to know me,  someone who wanted to gain an understanding of where I was coming from and who I was.  And in that moment, he was flawless...  I thought only of him as my lips' second touch from another's stirred an inner warmth in my heart that could only be described as the very beginnings of a first love.




(Thanks for reading my second entry in the First Fight/First Kiss blogfest!  This excerpt is also from my "Autoblography" that I hope to piecemeal into a memoir style novel in the coming months.  I'd like to point out that this is also a recently written rough draft with no editing done to date, so all critiques are welcome.  Thank you in advance for your support and I hope you'll check out the other stories that are part of this blog hop (courtesy of the wonderful hosts: Jackie & Dani) by clicking the photo link above!)

Summer Socks, Getting Socked

The summer before I started high school was a mixture of adulthood anticipation and childhood nostalgia. Camped out in my backyard by the lake, the splintered picnic table served as my stage: front, center and behind the scenes. Living in a sprawling, unincorporated township filled with elderly people, trees and alligators, meant that the recently transplanted youth would have to travel miles to find one another. Given that, I felt very lucky to have found a friendship with a girl two years my senior named Kelly Jackson. I taught her how to sew discarded buttons onto old socks and soon we were giggling from behind the overturned wooden table. While our puppets entertained the nearby birds and squirrels, I wondered if this was what it felt like to have an older sister. Would she teach me how to put on make-up and let me borrow her clothes? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to leave the childish play behind and explore her home, two neighborhoods away. Kelly, however, seemed quite content to stay, climb trees and explore the mucky lakeside, even when the puppeteering grew tiresome. As summer sped toward an ending, her visits grew less frequent. I had been so excited to show her the three new outfits I’d managed to purchase at the mall by scrounging together all of my babysitting money and I truly wanted to obtain her thoughts as to whether or not my dollar store canvas shoes could pass for Keds. I knew that her approval could open the doors out of nerddom, as just having a friend who was a junior in school would impress my fellow freshman… but add to it that this friend was Kelly Jackson, well, that was just as good as a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. Kelly was a pretty, blonde, mid-drift showing, new boyfriend every month kind of girl… which was the polar opposite of everything I considered myself to be. I’d had one “boyfriend” in the sixth grade, and I got laughed at by everyone on the bus for not holding his hand correctly. Kelly was going to change everything for me. I was sure of it… so sure, that I brushed off her absence in the week before school started as her just wanting to prepare for the big first day back.

Monday morning greeted me with a wave of anxiety induced nausea as I smashed the snooze button and stumbled into the bathroom to begin the arduous process of waiting for the water to become hot. Running late, as usual, I scrunched my socks down, careful to make sure that the yellow on the left foot rose to the exact same height as the turquoise one on the right. With a cold Pop-Tart protruding from my mouth, I grabbed by backpack and raced down the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if Kelly would be at the bus stop at the end of my cul-de-sac street or if she’d have caught a ride with someone lucky enough to drive their own car to school, but I wanted to get there early enough to say hi before the cheese wagon arrived. To my dismay, I heard the steady rumble of the large engine as I rounded the last bend and had just enough time to get in line behind the last fluorescent clad student before the pressurized doors were pulled shut by the driver. Kelly was sitting in the back, all seats full. I thought about waving, but I didn’t want to look like a complete dork when I hadn’t met the other older kids yet. Instead, I slumped down in one of the front seats and decided I’d catch up with her on the way home.

Later, the bells had released us back out into the Florida sunshine and diesel fumes, and I jogged past the first few busses idling in the loop to find the one that would take me clear across town to my section of swamp. I saw that Kelly had just arrived and took an empty seat two rows from the last. Before she had the chance to turn around, I plopped myself right beside her. Two older boys with sparse facial hair and a girl with enormous hoop earrings in the row behind Kelly turned their surprised looks toward her, as I smiled from ear to ear. She glared at me and demanded that I get out of her seat. Her snarl caught me by surprise and my only question of “why” was lodged in my throat. Without a sound, I slipped away and took my rightful place behind the bus driver. I paid no attention to the whispers of the other riders as we rolled forward, keeping my eyes locked straight ahead for fear that any movement might cause a tear to spill out and call further attention to my utter humiliation.

Sadly, my quiet embarrassment was not enough for Kelly Jackson. After the bus pulled away from the corner, I scurried as fast as I could down the uneven sidewalk. Kelly followed behind. She shouted at me to stop, but I couldn’t turn to face her. Her footsteps closed the gap between us and the straps of my backpack jerked my shoulders backward. She wanted to know “who the hell I thought I was” and demanded an explanation as to why I’d want to make her look bad. Voice cracking, I simply murmured that I thought we were friends. The fire in her eyes subsided for only a second before her clenched fist connected with my rib cage. The shock of what was happening caused me to miss the complete details of how I’d transitioned from holding my side, still upright… to lying face down on a bed of loose gravel, sand and dandelion weed. I could feel the impression that a broken shell was leaving in my cheek as intensely as I felt the toe of Kelly Jackson’s puffy-painted shoe jabbing into my left thigh. She screamed at me to get up and fight, and when I didn’t, she kicked at me again… each time harder, like an angry mule. The problem was, I didn’t know how to fight. This was my first time. Just like I didn’t know how to dress, how to kiss or how to be cool. I had foolishly hoped that the older girl from the other side of the street would teach me these things... in exchange for what I had taught her about sewing and construction paper prop making and recording our summer sock puppet performances on blank cassette tapes. She called me stupid and pathetic and finished with “I hate you” as a shower of kicked up dirt rained down upon my tangled, brown hair. Over the course of those few minutes that felt like hours, I didn’t say a word and I didn’t get up and hit her back, though it seemed as though she’d really wanted me to. I kept my eyes closed and my nose pressed down, even as I heard the soft crunching of sand that her departing footsteps made. As I tasted the dry earth on my tongue and crunched the tiny bits of tarred asphalt in my teeth, I realized that my only lesson from Kelly Jackson had just been learned.



(Thanks for reading my entry in the First Fight/First Kiss blogfest!  This excerpt is from my "Autoblography" that I hope to piecemeal into a memoir style novel in the coming months. Also, I'd like to point out that this is a rough draft that was written within the span of 45 minutes (I've been a procrastinator my whole life!), so all critiques are welcome.  Thank you in advance for your support and I hope to see you back on Thursday!


To read the other stories involved in this blog hop, click the photo link above. For details on the official rules, please see below, courtesy of the wonderful hosts: Jackie & Dani:

Day one of the two day event has begun! First Fight/First Kiss Blogfast starts now!

Share your 1st FIGHT and 1st KISS scenes in your MS’s or WIP’s. Crack open your current project or dive back into an old one. We want to feel what your characters feel. From the sting of their first fist-to-the-face to the tingling taste of their first kiss.

If you’re not a writer, please share with us your real life firsts. We want to read and experience them all!

The First Fight/First Kiss blogfest will go as such: 
  • Post 1 will be on TODAY, June 12 - Share with us your 1st FIGHT scene on your blog. It can be physical or verbal, fists or magic. Whichever you want to share.
  • Post 2 will be on Thursday, June 14 - Share with us your 1st KISS scene on your blog. It can be a peck on the cheek or a full fledge kissing session. Whatever you would like to tell us.
  • Prizes? Absolutely! Jackie and I will each pick our favorite scene from each day. That’s 4 prizes total, folks. What are the fabulous gifts for the winners? $10 email-giftcards to Amazon or Barnes & Noble so you can choose that book you’ve been wanting or download it to your Kindle or Nook.)

A Compromise

Ok, ok, ok... I give in.  But I'm still not mixing my fictional short stories with my "regular blog".  I am however, nixing the third one that was supposed to be for my memoir style novel.  Instead, I'll keep the excerpts here... since they're about me, after-all... and there's a bunch of stuff already on here from several years ago that could probably be retooled for it, as well.  My new brilliant idea is to go back through and tag them all with a label called "autoblography" so that I can find them all later.  And to celebrate my new idea, here's the first one I'm tagging:

When I was in eighth grade, I wrote a short story that won awards outside of my classroom. It was the very first time that I coated my slightly dark past in a heavy dose of humorous embellishment. This blog is the second. The story was called "The Cotton People" and it was an essay about an experience I had at age four when I lived with my grandparents and the younger lot of my aunts and uncles in Harrington Park, New Jersey. The experience was my first recollection of seeing snowflakes. I wrote about how I'd asked my grandfather how such tiny balls of cotton would end up covering the entire lot surrounding our house, creating the magical wonderland that my pseudo brothers and sisters would undoubtedly end up having a snowball fight in the following day. Being too young to go outside and play in the cold on my own, he let me believe that snow was made of cotton instead of ice. He further explained that it fell down in layers while I was asleep, and to get me out of his hair (what was left of it), suggested that I go to bed so that I'd see the results before I knew it.  On my way up the stairs, I recalled that I'd heard my Aunt Liz using the word "layers" when talking to my grandmother about her hair.  (It was the early 80's, after all.) Thinking she'd be the best one to answer all of my snow related questions, I promptly interrupted whatever she has been doing in the bathroom. I went on to write that my aunt misheard me when I asked her what "lay-yers" were, and thinking I'd said "lawyers" went on to describe men in suits and judges and courtrooms.  To my horror, I crawled into bed with nightmares of little men made of cotton, falling from the sky, and splattering as they hit the ground... covering everything in the world with their white, fluffy guts... and my teenage relatives hurling their poor, lifeless remains at one another while laughing maniacally. Keep in mind that this was a story written by a thirteen year old, recollecting what it was like to be only four.  Not only did I win first place for creative writing in my junior high school, but I went on to compete in a county-wide contest against all the other area tweens.  One such competitor was a very polite Jewish girl who wrote a heart wrenching essay about her great-grandparents surviving the Holocaust and her grantparents' journey to America. We had to read our stories aloud at this Young Author's Convention to be judged by a panel, and I remember there were a lot of tears in a lot of eyes as she read hers.  I thought for sure she was going to win. I was wrong. I actually felt guilty walking past her to collect my award and tell the judges what I felt about my story being published in some collection at The White House. Of course, looking back, it feels pretty good. Sure, I made half of it up, but at the base of it there was some truth... and heart.  The latter is something an entirely true story about my younger years would be lacking.  That's the thing about providing entertainment to others... people want to leave feeling good about something. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that Holocaust films win awards out of guilt.  That's right, I said it.  You hear that, Kate Winslet? You don't have to play a horrible Nazi to win a golden statue... instead, you could just take something rotten, add a laugh or two and turn it into something fluffy (even if the fluff is really just guts in disguise).

The sequel to my first "published" story was going to take place just weeks later and involve what I recall as being my extremely brave attempt at feeding the family dog.  Considering that this pet was an enormous and unruly Siberian Husky that basically ran wild on a zip line for most of its life, I'd say that it was a courageous endeavor for a four year old girl packed tightly into a puffy blue parka.  Unfortunately, the tale fell flat... face first into a bowl of Alpo, to be exact... and even though I was just beginning to write, I knew to keep moving and pursue other ideas. I proceeded to jot down some obvious fiction for my eight grade teacher prior to departing into the world of high school... a place where my life would nearly end, though I didn't know that then.  The first was called "The Magic Flute".  I'd prefer not to insult your intelligence by explaining the plot line to that one, but as anyone could likely guess, there was a princess, a dragon and a boy who was not a knight.  Next, I wrote two illustrated pieces back to back.  One was about a bag lady/gypsy with a cursed pearl necklace and the other was about a little girl, electrocuted when lightning hit a carousel, who returned to an abandoned fair ground on stormy nights in hopes of finishing her ride. The drawings were better than the stories. It was about that time that I stopped looking back to the days of innocence where I watched Fraggle Rock and dreamed of fantasy realms... days spent with my grandparents, aunts and uncles... and started to focus (quite literally) on my current surroundings.  I found an old Canon SLR with a cracked viewfinder in the depths of my stepmother's closet. Instead of hiding in my room, writing about places that were anywhere else, I decided that I would escape to as many places within my small town as possible to see if I couldn't unearth some beauty in the present.  Up to that point, school had been my only outlet.  I was a teacher's pet, an honor student, a creative writer and artist.  But at home I was invisible... unless of course my father was overly drunk or my much younger half brother was overly bored. The high school offered photography as an elective and I elected to put off writing to take on the world through a 35 mm lens. I loved being in the dark room, I loved creating and capturing life in still frame, and I loved that I could express my mood by taking a picture of someone else. Much like I had done with my junior high stories, I deflected nearly every sad emotion by sharing it through art. The fact that no one else saw it, made it that much easier to share.

Hiding in the photography lab for half the school day didn't bode well for popularity, but I managed to cultivate a very diverse and artistic group of friends that actually wouldn't change too drastically until we all went our separate ways after school ended. Between classes and during lunch period, I felt at home, at peace and safe. I photographed all of these comrades with elaborate props and costumes that I'd scrounged up at the local consignment shops along with a few left-over pieces from my aunt's failed modeling career (the same aunt with the 80's layered hair-do). I pretended that I was capturing the very essence of their souls on film, exposing the inner beauty that only I could see, while knowing deep down that I was dressing them up in my own sorrow.


There was a boy.  He was the first boy who I loved as a friend, as deeply and completely as a friendship would allow.  Jason was a fabulous painter and sketch artist.  His work put everything I'd ever done to shame, but he told me that I was a very good photographer and asked that I take his picture.  He intended to use it to paint a self portrait assignment for his oil painting class.  To take such a serious photograph, I would have to put all my props aside.  I would have to go to his house, set up some make-shift lighting and simply shoot... him.  I was nearly fifteen and had never been to a boy's house, let alone his room, let alone while his father was not home.  Naturally, I would bypass seeking permission from my own parental units, and the one he had didn't come across as caring one way or the other.  Jason was damaged like me, maybe even beaten down and broken-spirited like me, and that made me love him all the more.  I wanted his portrait to be perfect, and it was (too perfect to even supply as an accompaniment to this posting).  His long hair was pulled loosely back, allowing one strand to hang, framing his strong jaw.  It wasn't the first time I wondered why he wasn't popular, why he didn't have a girlfriend and why he'd hang out with the likes of me. His hazel eyes penetrated directly into my camera lens and I knew that he was gazing into the tunnel leading directly to my heart without even realizing it.  It all sounds more painful and angst-ridden than it actually was, although if you found my actual diary from back then, you might think otherwise. His entire room was ornamented from wall to wall with rich green and purple vines, flames and other various textures. When my camera was safely packed away in my bag, he proudly showed me every canvas, unfinished or not, all of which I genuinely admired. Then he borrowed his father's van and drove me home. As I opened the door, I thanked him. Confused, he asked what I was offering my thanks for when I'd done him the favor.  Then, as quickly as I could before spilling a tear from my eye, I said I was thanking him for being nice to me. He leaned across the gear shift and hugged me from the side.  He let me know that was what friends were supposed to do, and we hugged often over the next few years of school, but never anything more.  Three weeks before our graduation, he disappeared.  I never saw him again.  Luckily though, he was there for me through the freshmen and sophomore years, times when I was bullied at the bus stop, pursued by a mentally handicapped admirer and publicly humiliated... sometimes a mixture of the three. But those stories are worth telling one by one...

Keeping the Beat

My last post focused on the negativity of indecisiveness and the perils of having a mild organizational OCD affliction. As an update: I am still feeling very conflicted about maintaining my three different blogs with three very different purposes, but I’ve settled on writing what I feel. Earlier in the week, I added a post to my memoir style fiction. That will always be easier for me, as it’s the very essence of writing what I know. My insecurity still lies with my other WIP, which is also my first ever sci-fi attempt, "The Grave Mistake".



So today, in honor of the IWSA (click above for details), I’m going to rein in some of the “I’m stuck and I don’t know how to motivate myself to push forward” complaining and focus on a positive tool that my husband, an aspiring screenwriter, has encouraged me to try out. It’s called the Blake Synder Beat Sheet and it’s basically a way to structure a story with 15 distinct “beats”… which when followed, will ensure that the body of your writing has a very strong and well defined backbone. Of course, adapting this outline method to a short story takes a little finesse, but it still works. The beat sheet format without the page number of where they should appear in a screenplay is as follows:

PROJECT TITLE:
GENRE:

1. Opening Image:
2. Theme Stated:
3. Set-up:
4. Catalyst:
5. Debate:
6. Break into 2:
7. B Story:
8. Fun and Games:
9. Midpoint:
10. Bad Guys Close In:
11. All Is Lost:
12. Dark Night of the Soul:
13. Break into 3:
14. Finale:
15. Final Image:

I’ve got my “beat sheet” completely filled out with the exception of numbers 10 through 13. For some reason, I’m having a really hard time getting my story from the midpoint to my finale and final image. I think it’s partly due to the fact that when I originally thought of the idea, most of the change and conflict within the story occurred within the main character’s head via inner dialogue. I’m now torn between adding external “bad guys” and keeping it based as an internalized event for my protagonist. Without a lot of external elements, I’m worried that I won’t fully capture the futuristic aspect of the world I’m writing about and even worse, could lose the interest of my potential readers. If you’ve been so kind as to have read the opening and Part 2 of my story on my blog “Breaking From Reality”, I’d love to hear your opinions on which way you see the story heading and what details you’d be most interested in learning. Don’t worry, my finale and final image are written in stone, so you are at no risk to change the outcome… but I would be open to adding more detail leading up to that point if it would serve my story well. Thanks in advance!