I couldn't tell you what it is about the forest that calms me. Maybe it isn't the forest, at all, but the murmur of the river against the time-worn pebbles. Or maybe the melody of the birds flitting from branch to bank, the cicadas joining in with their staccato rhythm. Perhaps, even, the aroma of pine sap, damp earth, and moss drew me here--especially on days like today. Mostly, I liked the quiet. No one offered me advice or asked for my help out here. No one spoke at all unless you counted the babble of the water, and I didn't.
Tally snorted and took a tentative step from the shore and into the edge of the creek. I patted her shoulder as she took another swishing step, thankful for the distraction. I'd fought so hard to keep him from leaving, but, in the end, none of it mattered.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
The End of the Middle
7/31/13. In the middle of the night, I typed the last sentence of my Young Adult novel "In the Middle". I celebrated and felt free and easy for approximately half a day, then I flipped back open my laptop and fixed a section that didn't feel exactly right. Because that's what writers do--they always feel like something could be fixed or rearranged for more impact. It's a sickness. A strange and wonderful sickness.
The beginning of August marks the end of July's Camp NaNoWriMo, 31 days of writers worldwide creating. Campers are encouraged to pick their own word count goal (mine was 26,364 words, oddly specific because that magical number brought my novel to 50k words) and go for it. I rounded out July with 38,406 words (62028 words in total), 12k above my goal. I'll take it.
In March I began this journey with Lucy, an orphaned teenager burdened by the weight of her parents' deaths. Lucy was angry and unpleasant, scarred and in pain. She wasn't the only one in the little town of Mitte who struggled with loss and regret. In the Middle forced me to look at death and remorse from a handful of angles, mourn with each person, and then offer a bit of hope. Perhaps it will never be published, let alone read and understood by an audience, but recording their story took me on a journey I will always remember.
To Lucy, Oliver, Jasper, Perdita, Letty, Duke, Magnolia, Tessa, Johanna, Norman, Millie, Sadie, Angus, Sal, Bud, Vera--even Derek and Tanya... Thank you for waking me up.
The beginning of August marks the end of July's Camp NaNoWriMo, 31 days of writers worldwide creating. Campers are encouraged to pick their own word count goal (mine was 26,364 words, oddly specific because that magical number brought my novel to 50k words) and go for it. I rounded out July with 38,406 words (62028 words in total), 12k above my goal. I'll take it.
In March I began this journey with Lucy, an orphaned teenager burdened by the weight of her parents' deaths. Lucy was angry and unpleasant, scarred and in pain. She wasn't the only one in the little town of Mitte who struggled with loss and regret. In the Middle forced me to look at death and remorse from a handful of angles, mourn with each person, and then offer a bit of hope. Perhaps it will never be published, let alone read and understood by an audience, but recording their story took me on a journey I will always remember.
To Lucy, Oliver, Jasper, Perdita, Letty, Duke, Magnolia, Tessa, Johanna, Norman, Millie, Sadie, Angus, Sal, Bud, Vera--even Derek and Tanya... Thank you for waking me up.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Full of Win
In the wee hours of the morning--3:14 a.m. if we're getting all technical and stuff--I finally brought my current manuscript to 50k words, the length of an average novel (or so the peeps at National Novel Writing Month tell me). This story, best described as a young adult paranormal thriller, woke me up one chilly morning this past March. I read a lot of paranormal fiction, but it's nothing I really had any desire to write until this story shook me by the shoulders and demanded I pay attention.
In April I tried to take this particular story (currently titled In the Middle) from about 13k to 50k by participating in Camp NaNoWriMo. For those of you not familiar with the way NaNoWriMo works, allow me to explain. The other NaNos want you to write a 50k-word novel in one month (typically November), with emphasis on daily word count goals. If you've got a a big enough stash of junk food and are good at disciplining yourself and/or know how to blacklist most of the Internet from your computer, you will sit down at a computer, write for a month and magically a book appears at the end of it. You grin like a maniac and shake your aching fists in the air proclaiming your triumph over evil--I mean, words! Words! Then you quickly realize you haven't showered in a week (or three), clamp those armpits shut again, and wander off to tell your family they can call off the Search-and-Rescue mission.
If you're not so good at the whole NaNoWriMo thing, nothing happens. You probably have a social life, a job, a family who still likes/recognizes you--all bonuses. The most social we get during NaNoWriMo months is usually comparing word counts on our latest word battles. On Twitter. That's, like, not even a real website. That's people simultaneously yelling their opinions into a crowded room. #yesI'mtalkingtoyou. Sometimes I write on my porch just to remember what the air feels like on my albino skin.
Why do I do this to myself, again? Oh yeah, because I really, really love it.
All kidding aside, the lovely, caffeinated folks behind NaNoWriMo have inspired a staggering number of people to write books. Most of the time, that's a good thing. And, no, I'm not talking about you, E. L. James. Stopit!
The beauty of Camp is the ability to pick a goal for your month of concentrated writing that fits in with your life instead of 50k, which used to be the only option (go big or go home!) Optimistic, or possibly sadistic, I aimed high--That ended up too ambitious of a goal when it all boiled down to it. I lost a horse to old age and arthritis and gained two more within the same month. Historically, I'd say I'm pretty crappy with change, especially change involving the equine species. Emotional upheaval doesn't usually lend itself to my creative process unless you consider my creative process eating a ton of chocolate and threatening to move away because, and I quote, "y'all are crazy!"
I managed six-thousand words that month. That's, like, 1/8 of my goal. Or something. I'm bad at Math. Numbers aside, it was no bueno. My main character stuck in the middle of something big, something that changed the whole storyline... and I couldn't write myself out of it because I lost it all. Poof! The passion that woke me out of hibernation on a frigid Saturday morning fizzled away, even though I knew I had a story worthy of bleeding onto the page. I began to feel anxiety that I would never rescue poor Lucy from her predicament. I feared In the Middle would get buried in the old files on my laptop, never to see the light of day again.
A similar thing happened to me last July (and August. And Septem--do you see where I'm going with this?) while working on the second draft of my first novel. I'd lost my horse and best friend of 19 years to colic and the devastation wiped my mind completely clear of everything, including my creativity. My main character, known for her sarcasm, couldn't think of anything funny to say. For months, literally, I stared at my laptop screen all day, lucky to work out a couple sentences in all of that time. The whole thing seemed pointless and discouraging. I finished the redraft of that first novel only days before NaNoWriMo started up in November. When NaNoWriMo began, I started the sequel to my first novel, which I eventually finished up on January 15th of this year. Can't win 'em all, they say, but I won when I didn't give up. The second book was just the icing on the cake. (Did someone say cake? It is NaNoWriMo again, which means JUNK FOOD! It's for the books, I swear!)
Life, and death, runs in cycles--and I guess it is my Kryptonite, all this grief. And I need to learn to deal with it like Superman does. On second thought, no, probably not. Kryptonite renders him a whiny cry-baby. Dang it! That's the only comic book analogy I have!
Thankfully Camp NaNoWriMo occurs each July, too, which doesn't make a lot of sense to me because it is the worst possible month for a mom of four to accomplish anything beyond brushing her teeth each morning (and often that is questionable). But they didn't design their calendar around me, so I just have to deal. Camp is the perfect excuse to push myself to get back into the habit of writing a lot, so I went for it. This time, I set a goal of 26,394 words to bring "In the Middle" to 50k words. At 3:14 this morning, and six days before my deadline, I hit my mark. **
The novel's not completed, as much as I wish it was, but the finish line is so close I can almost taste it (have you ever noticed how much I talk about food? I have.). Now I'm pouring my focus into getting as close as possible to "The End" before July reaches its end. This month's success is the total opposite of last year's July paralysis
Being trapped inside your own head trying to figure out how to heal is not pleasant. Being able to look back and see how far you've come and realize you really CAN do anything is a feeling beyond words. Three-fourteen this morning found me staring at a blinking cursor and the word count screen with my heart bursting full of allllllll the emotions. No one can possibly know what it feels like unless it is your struggle and your triumph. Today I feel very powerful, kinda like the opposite of Superman hugging a bar of Kryptonite. I think the analogy worked that time!
Now back to the story...
**Special thanks goes out to my writing doula, Courtney, whose enthusiasm (or, at least facade of enthusiasm) keeps pushing me to press on even when my eyes are bursting into flames. Thanks to the Camp NaNoWriMo crew, of course. Also, a humungo shout out to the dude who wrote Write or Die! I don't know what it is about that red computer screen that makes me want to type complete gibberish just to make it go away. And, as always, a big "whaddup!" to my muses, Ish and Moe. Keep it up, boys. Mama needs a new pair of riding boots!
In April I tried to take this particular story (currently titled In the Middle) from about 13k to 50k by participating in Camp NaNoWriMo. For those of you not familiar with the way NaNoWriMo works, allow me to explain. The other NaNos want you to write a 50k-word novel in one month (typically November), with emphasis on daily word count goals. If you've got a a big enough stash of junk food and are good at disciplining yourself and/or know how to blacklist most of the Internet from your computer, you will sit down at a computer, write for a month and magically a book appears at the end of it. You grin like a maniac and shake your aching fists in the air proclaiming your triumph over evil--I mean, words! Words! Then you quickly realize you haven't showered in a week (or three), clamp those armpits shut again, and wander off to tell your family they can call off the Search-and-Rescue mission.
If you're not so good at the whole NaNoWriMo thing, nothing happens. You probably have a social life, a job, a family who still likes/recognizes you--all bonuses. The most social we get during NaNoWriMo months is usually comparing word counts on our latest word battles. On Twitter. That's, like, not even a real website. That's people simultaneously yelling their opinions into a crowded room. #yesI'mtalkingtoyou. Sometimes I write on my porch just to remember what the air feels like on my albino skin.
Why do I do this to myself, again? Oh yeah, because I really, really love it.
All kidding aside, the lovely, caffeinated folks behind NaNoWriMo have inspired a staggering number of people to write books. Most of the time, that's a good thing. And, no, I'm not talking about you, E. L. James. Stopit!
The beauty of Camp is the ability to pick a goal for your month of concentrated writing that fits in with your life instead of 50k, which used to be the only option (go big or go home!) Optimistic, or possibly sadistic, I aimed high--That ended up too ambitious of a goal when it all boiled down to it. I lost a horse to old age and arthritis and gained two more within the same month. Historically, I'd say I'm pretty crappy with change, especially change involving the equine species. Emotional upheaval doesn't usually lend itself to my creative process unless you consider my creative process eating a ton of chocolate and threatening to move away because, and I quote, "y'all are crazy!"
I managed six-thousand words that month. That's, like, 1/8 of my goal. Or something. I'm bad at Math. Numbers aside, it was no bueno. My main character stuck in the middle of something big, something that changed the whole storyline... and I couldn't write myself out of it because I lost it all. Poof! The passion that woke me out of hibernation on a frigid Saturday morning fizzled away, even though I knew I had a story worthy of bleeding onto the page. I began to feel anxiety that I would never rescue poor Lucy from her predicament. I feared In the Middle would get buried in the old files on my laptop, never to see the light of day again.
A similar thing happened to me last July (and August. And Septem--do you see where I'm going with this?) while working on the second draft of my first novel. I'd lost my horse and best friend of 19 years to colic and the devastation wiped my mind completely clear of everything, including my creativity. My main character, known for her sarcasm, couldn't think of anything funny to say. For months, literally, I stared at my laptop screen all day, lucky to work out a couple sentences in all of that time. The whole thing seemed pointless and discouraging. I finished the redraft of that first novel only days before NaNoWriMo started up in November. When NaNoWriMo began, I started the sequel to my first novel, which I eventually finished up on January 15th of this year. Can't win 'em all, they say, but I won when I didn't give up. The second book was just the icing on the cake. (Did someone say cake? It is NaNoWriMo again, which means JUNK FOOD! It's for the books, I swear!)
Life, and death, runs in cycles--and I guess it is my Kryptonite, all this grief. And I need to learn to deal with it like Superman does. On second thought, no, probably not. Kryptonite renders him a whiny cry-baby. Dang it! That's the only comic book analogy I have!
Thankfully Camp NaNoWriMo occurs each July, too, which doesn't make a lot of sense to me because it is the worst possible month for a mom of four to accomplish anything beyond brushing her teeth each morning (and often that is questionable). But they didn't design their calendar around me, so I just have to deal. Camp is the perfect excuse to push myself to get back into the habit of writing a lot, so I went for it. This time, I set a goal of 26,394 words to bring "In the Middle" to 50k words. At 3:14 this morning, and six days before my deadline, I hit my mark. **
The novel's not completed, as much as I wish it was, but the finish line is so close I can almost taste it (have you ever noticed how much I talk about food? I have.). Now I'm pouring my focus into getting as close as possible to "The End" before July reaches its end. This month's success is the total opposite of last year's July paralysis
Being trapped inside your own head trying to figure out how to heal is not pleasant. Being able to look back and see how far you've come and realize you really CAN do anything is a feeling beyond words. Three-fourteen this morning found me staring at a blinking cursor and the word count screen with my heart bursting full of allllllll the emotions. No one can possibly know what it feels like unless it is your struggle and your triumph. Today I feel very powerful, kinda like the opposite of Superman hugging a bar of Kryptonite. I think the analogy worked that time!
Now back to the story...
~~~
**Special thanks goes out to my writing doula, Courtney, whose enthusiasm (or, at least facade of enthusiasm) keeps pushing me to press on even when my eyes are bursting into flames. Thanks to the Camp NaNoWriMo crew, of course. Also, a humungo shout out to the dude who wrote Write or Die! I don't know what it is about that red computer screen that makes me want to type complete gibberish just to make it go away. And, as always, a big "whaddup!" to my muses, Ish and Moe. Keep it up, boys. Mama needs a new pair of riding boots!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Life of the Party
My favorite exchange from tonight's writing. Enjoy!
~~~
None of Derek’s buddies wanted to turn on him--they had their social standing to think about. I got it, but, thanks, guys. No, really! I’m fine here under 175 pounds of misguided hormones.
If only Tanya had given in when I’d begged her to come with me to the afterparty, then Derek would be all up in her business instead of man-handling me. None of the rumors at school on Monday morning would be about me, at least. But, nooo... She had to go and catch the flu and leave me here with Mr. Grabbyhands. I was calling her first thing in the morning to tell her to dump this loser, that is, if he didn’t suffocate me first.
“Lulu,” Derek slurred.
“Lucy!”
“That’s what I said!” He insisted, showing every single one of his pearly whites. “Liesl.”
“Now you’re just making it up.”
“You know who you are and you know you want to take this party somewhere more... pirate.” He suggested, his hooded eyes way too close to mine. In case I hadn’t caught his meaning, he brought his foul mouth back to my ear and proceeded to stick his nasty tongue in there. Ewww. Who did that?
As enticing as his slobber was in my ear-hole, I’d had enough. “It’s ‘private’, you moron! And you seriously need to get off of me right now.”
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
One Year
In the cool of the evening I spent a few moments loving on and wandering around with my mare, not asking her for more than either of us could give. Today I needed to be sure she was happy being with me, not burdened by my presence. I gave her extra scratches under her chin and on her forehead, and perhaps a few more treats than she needed.
I put aside my checklist of things to accomplish and took a deep breath, remembering when things were as simple as enjoying our time together. Moe would have wanted that, I think--and a few extra treats.
Miss you so very much, Moe. I cannot believe it's been one whole year without you. Nothing about me has been the same without you here.
I put aside my checklist of things to accomplish and took a deep breath, remembering when things were as simple as enjoying our time together. Moe would have wanted that, I think--and a few extra treats.
Miss you so very much, Moe. I cannot believe it's been one whole year without you. Nothing about me has been the same without you here.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Camp, Day 1
Here is a snippet from the novel I began earlier this year. I'd hoped to finish it up in April, but April was a trainwreck. Camp NaNoWriMo began today, and my goal is to add an additional 26k words to this novel to bring it to 50k and, hopefully, completion. For those of you following along, here's my progress today. Meet Lucy, the main character of "In the Middle".
Being slow as a turtle—even slower than that, it seemed—wasn’t my norm. My body was aerodynamic, thin and sleek. My legs used to reach outward with the grace of the gazelle, bounding me forward with ease. They said I would go places, that I’d have my pick of colleges. Coach lined up college recruiters for our biggest meets, all I had to do was show up and let go. My heart would do the rest.
~~~
Being slow as a turtle—even slower than that, it seemed—wasn’t my norm. My body was aerodynamic, thin and sleek. My legs used to reach outward with the grace of the gazelle, bounding me forward with ease. They said I would go places, that I’d have my pick of colleges. Coach lined up college recruiters for our biggest meets, all I had to do was show up and let go. My heart would do the rest.
I missed the wind in my face and the teardrops that
collected in the corners of my eyes as the world blurred behind me. I missed the crunch of pebbles beneath my
shoes. I missed the tickle of my
ponytail grazing the back of my neck with each swaying step. I missed pushing through the burn in my lungs
and deep within my legs. Faster, faster,
faster. I missed every single shin
splint and weeping blister. I missed
running so hard the world spun behind my eyes, struggling to catch up. Heck, I even missed throwing up in the grass
because I’d pushed myself to my limits.
Even the worst day on the track paled in comparison to what my life looked
like now. This was not life at all.
They said I would go places.
Somehow I doubted this is what they meant.
I bit my lip to keep from sobbing as I continued forward at
my numbingly slow pace. The forest
around me fell silent except for the low crunch of the pine needles under my
feet. The sulfuric air grew thicker and
so heavy that it pressed on my chest and I had to stop to draw in a really good
breath. My throat burned with the
effort, and I coughed. The fire was close,
and so was my rescue.
The pines crowded close together ahead with branches
intertwined in protest. Even the forest
wanted to keep me stranded in this pit.
I knew following the trees until I could find a large enough opening to
squeeze through would mean going to my right or left instead of forward. Sideways was frustrating to me. Sideways wouldn’t get me away from Oliver or
Mitte, two things I wanted more than anything.
It was not one of my brightest ideas, but I gritted my teeth and pushed
forward into the arms of the pines. The
needles welcomed me, sliding across my skin like feathers. The tang of pine tar overtook the smell of
soot and destruction. Maybe this wasn’t
so bad, after all. Spreading the
branches of the tangle before me, I smiled.
Yes, this plan would work. Adios,
Oliver!
Almost as soon as I’d thought it, the needles turned against
me. Pins made contact with my face,
pricking my lips and drawing tiny beads of blood.
“Ouch!” I yelped,
trying to bring my arm up to shield my face, which only made me more of a human
pincushion. No one came to help me, even
though it was pretty obvious that I was stuck.
Oliver left. He left.
He didn’t owe me anything, and I figure most of the messes
I’d found myself in since fate dumped me in Mitte had been his fault. Not even two minutes ago I wanted as far away
from that boy as humanly possible.
Finally, something had gone my way.
From where I cowered, shrouded in flesh-eating vegetation, I couldn’t
bring myself to feel happy he’d gotten around to taking a hint.
If Dad was here he’d have torn himself in two to protect
me. There was no way he’d let me wander
off alone into the wilderness, no matter how much I kicked and screamed. Dad would have kicked and screamed right back
at me, and then, when he’d had enough, thrown me over his shoulder and carried
me back to safety. I would have hated
him every step of the way, as much as I loved him. He knew never to give up on me, but it didn’t
matter anymore. Even Dad had abandoned
me as the dragon drew near.
A flood of anger surged through me, and its intensity
vibrated wildly across my skin like a bolt of lightning. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t do a single
thing except kill me faster. I was no
damsel in distress, and this was the furthest thing from a fairy tale. Death would track me to this forest, one way
or another. A man couldn’t stop the
inevitable. I felt it as sure as the
pulse pounding in my veins. Wiping the
blood from my mouth, I forced myself further into the green. Goosebumps sprung on the back of my neck and
rippled down my arms. What in the--? The
frantic rhythm slamming through my body crushed the breath from my lungs.
My grandpa suffered his first heart attack right in front of
me as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake on my tenth birthday. I’ll never forget--his eyes bugged out of
his head like he was a fish out of water, gulping for air and finding
none. Yeah, my life sucked.
Friday, June 28, 2013
For My Husband
"Wrong lead, Gina!" I called out over my shoulder to the rider on the bay. He used to be a nice horse. Heck, they'd all been nice horses.
"I know!" She huffed in return, waiting until they had landed after the oxer and lurched into a trot. "We can't do it any other way. Charlie's about to drop a leg."
There was that feeling in my stomach again, the mixture of pity and sadness each time we lost one. I'd had that feeling a lot lately as, one by one, The Change claimed its next victim.
"I know!" She huffed in return, waiting until they had landed after the oxer and lurched into a trot. "We can't do it any other way. Charlie's about to drop a leg."
There was that feeling in my stomach again, the mixture of pity and sadness each time we lost one. I'd had that feeling a lot lately as, one by one, The Change claimed its next victim.
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