Linear Writing

At the crest of completion

Other people's writing experiences have fascinated me since I began my learning curve of constructing a novel.  I especially wanted to know about their creative process.  How did you start out?  Did you have an ending before a beginning?  How did you get past the middle hump?
 
In between all these questions was my own experiences.  I've come across a span of time in which I didn't want to write.  Now I know for three months out of the year I'm the least creative but most playful. 

I have found that I am realatively flexible on the beginnings and middle of my story but not my endings.  Endings are suppose to have a point and I don't necessarily care how it gets there only that it does. 

I've tried getting down the entire book in draft form and then re-aranging the scenes to fit into a cohesive story but that doesn't work for me.  I write a scene and then edit it.  Write/edit process gives me time to think of the next scene.  Sure I know what the next scene should be but it doesn't always work out that way.  My story ability and space trajectory have a lot in common.  One minute detail will cause the rest of the story to veer into different dimensions, kinda like nasa is one-half a degree off in trajectory and sends its astronauts to Pluto instead of the moon.  BIG difference between having your character carry a gun or not.  Tiny detail, colossal difference. 

Brings to mind the detail of Holmes leaving his gun at home so Watson would see it and go after him to the ship yard.  That's why I don't get the draft down in it's entirety.  Having a story line helps.  I'm finding it helpful yet there are scribbles under scratches and scratches of previous story lines. 

I have also discovered that if I'm having a hard time writing a scene I back up re-read and begin to see how the path does need to be changed.  It's also the way my characters tell me they would never do that.  I've had a recent revelation that pairs-off with the outcome. With my temporary "why aren't you working?" tantrum I've seen a new twist to put in the book.  Still getting over that hump of what next but walking with the Emma will help with new ideas!  (She's my secret weapon)

How To Inspire A Muse

Muse not talking to you?  Wake up at 3am with ideas in your head when you went to bed after midnight?  Have to break away from a well-worth conversation because that pest of a muse just won't let you go?  Yet when you do have a moment your muse stares back at you with that deer in the headlight look?  Well here's what you can do!

Bribery.  Good 'ol fashioned bribery.  I like to use chocolate myself.  Or a massage. Ice cream works.  Though money has never worked for my muse sometimes buying a Writer's Digest workshop has done wonderful things for my muse.  I've tried sex but that just puts him into contented sleep (Yes, I'm a girl and my muse is a boy who likes chocolate and ice cream--it's why my POV belongs to a guy).  While bribery is a slippery method to get Muse to come out it's worth mentioning because it does work occasionally.  

Consistency.  Do you have a set writing schedule?  For those who do try taking a break.  People have to get away from each other.  Twenty-four seven of even those you love will make you want to scratch their eyes out.  Think of your muse as a person and take a break from each other.  For those who don't have a set schedule ask yourself this--when you call a friend at the last minute and say hey, I'd like to get together, do you really expect them to drop everything and come running?  Your friends have lives.  Make a plan.  Don't expect them to be on time to your last minute request. 

Use your senses.  Squashing your muse like a pestering child because they want your attention at the wrong time will get you pouting and non-compliance.  Part of the reason your muse doesn't come out is because your still thinking of other things when you write.  Clear your mind with yoga before writing, listen to Beethoven or Rammstein.  I will go through a round of jungle jewels before I write to let my muse know--it's time to play!  Sometimes going on Facebook or reading the news will get me so mad I have to spew words on the page and that too will get my muse to flow. 

Your muse gives you that rush, that feeling like there is nothing in world like creating a scene and transforming a clean screen into art.  Your ideas come from the core of your being so be patient while your muse swims to the surface bypassing the layers of self-preservation and the mask that seperates civility and restraint from those things you'd like to say and do to those who push your buttons.  Your muse is a person too.  Your muse is the beauty you bring forth into the world.  Amuse your muse and you'll always have a friend with ideas.  (But notice I didn't say good ideas).

How A Dog Improved My Health

My German Shepard, Emma, is a pain in the ass and I love her for it.  There is no arguing...wait let me back-up...there is no question that Emma is my "it's time to walk" alarm clock.  This in itself has gotten me to get out and walk her in the mornings before work.  That right there is a wonderful health benefit.  When Emma "argues" with me about a contingency it's "bark, bark, whine, howl, moan, bark, bark."  This improves my problem solving skills trying to interpret what she wants.  A walk?  Food? Is it time to chase squirrels? Maybe she wants me to get out the Nerf gun so she can chase the Nerf bullets.  You never know but I can't always blow her off when she thinks I'm working too hard on the computer.  And in that, she relieves stress and stimulates mental powers I might not otherwise use.  Pets are natural healers in that they can mend a heart, lick off tears, and make us feel worthy from being their sole-provider. 

I've always loved dogs to the point of confiscating Neo, my mom and dads Laber-doodle for an hour every week, but never found the right predicament to have one.  I'd always had horses but they were boarded and not at home.  I have fish that make me laugh, a dog that keeps me honest about my exercise regimen and I feel responsible for two horses that have found a way to my heart that give me a surprisingly different connection from dogs and people.  But no matter what animal you have they are a purpose in your life.  Purpose might be the most healthy thing out there for mind, body and soul.  I give no less than those three qualities to Emma and it's returned two-fold.  

The Little Boot That Couldn't

This post could also be called wardrobe failure.  Since I'm on the subject of old horse stories this week I'll tell you another. 

Now some of you know how annoying it can be when you have a bra strap flopping down while riding in a lesson or have a helmet try to pop off right in the middle of your second level dressage test so let me explain by saying I understand.

The helmet in my second level dressage test did not actually come off due to my amazing flexible balance and the ever patient Arianne but also because I've had practice with a failing wardrobe. 

While Pam was giving me a lesson on Cordova we practiced on circle, circle, circle.  My ten meter circle was more like twelve and my boot during the lesson had broken and lost its lace.  While doing the circles every so often I would pull up my boot because it was sliding.

Now for those who might be lost in the significance of all this let me explain.  I was using my outside leg, the one with the boot with no laces, to turn Cordova in a smaller circle.  This requires you to kick the living m****r-f***ing-s**t out of your leg.  Every kick was making my boot slide further and further.

I wasn't complaining, I wasn't stopping, I was simply using my hand to pull up the sliding boot.  After half my lesson it was obvious Pam was done with my wardrobe failure and blared over the intercom her displeasure.  "I don't care if your bra and top are coming off keep riding!" 

If you know me, I follow directions as best I can to the letter.  So I kicked and kicked to make my circles smaller without pulling up my boot.  At first I thought I could keep my boot on by pushing down on my stir-up but it just wasn't enough pressure because my kicks were also helping the boot slide further down.  Within one circle that boot said-I'm outta here!

Cordova being the gentleman, and not caring a damn about my failing wardrobe, and I went on.  The boot slid off, hung in the stir-up for a circle and plopped to the ground while my little dirt stain sock pitifully asked for my steed to make a ten meter circle. 

Pam, laughing hysterically, could not find words or the desire to go on with my lesson.  Me, Cordova and my sock were able to get down to eleven meters that day but after that incident, and the generosity of friends, I never had a want for boots. 

So keep a extra pair of field laces, wear a sports bra and never stop riding when you think it's going to fall off.  Oh, and don't try to stuff paper napkins in place of a well-fitting helmet.

We Never Get Past The Smiley Faces

• This was a previous post from Oct. 20th, 2009 on livejournal

My friend, Caryn, was writing out the check for Apollo the other night when I saw she made a cute little smiley face on the check she put in the envelope. That brought me back to a time long ago...

I'm cleaning up the barn isle after Pam gave a hard lesson of screaming "outside reign" to a satisfied masochistic client (aren't they all) when she picked up the training checks. This five foot two, hard as nails, tough blond that I have ut-most respect for and am a little afraid of looks at all the checks and I hear her give out a squeak. It's a high pitched sound that would come out of a mouse not a whip wielding hard nosed dressage trainer.

She's dialing her phone and waits for the pick-up. I can tell from the conversation who the client was because of the horses name given. Unless the client has done something completely stupid Pam is sweet, accommodating and informative. Unless you're in a lesson. Anyway... she was blah blah blahing and then I hear "So why didn't I get a smiley face on my check? Did I do something wrong?"

This was the point in which I start laughing hysterically. I look on the check and nope, no smiley face as this client usually does. The clients response? "I was in a hurry and didn't think about it. No, you didn't do anything wrong."

I'm pounding the walls, howling, crying (trust me you just had to be there). I told my story to Caryn, she said, "We never get past the smiley faces."

I can tell you, it's true.

What Is IT Worth?

Adult subject matter...read with caution

Five Days Of Angels

Uriel--My guiding light

Some of you know what I'm talking about when I say I've had the pleasure of helping to host the famous five; Archangel Metatron (doesn't anyone read the bible?), Archangel Michael (Who is like God), Archangel Raphael (Healing power of God), Archangel Gabriel (Strength of God), and Uriel (Fire of god).

This is where you allow the famous five (yeah, I know there's other Archangels, but can you name them?) into your home for five days.  

I've had a few conversations with them...

Me: I'm going to put your picture on my screensaver.

Uriel: Don't do that yet.

Me: Why not, I'm just going to load it in it's already on my computer.

Uriel: *shrug*

Me: *puts Uriel's picture on computer*--computer locks up.

Uriel: I told you not to do that.

Me: Okay so I'm not so good at following suggestions.  *Doe eyes* Will you fix my computer?

Uriel: *lifts an eyebrow*

Me: Oh never mind!  It's working again--Thank you Apollo. 

Michael--yeah, he rocks.

A friend of mine (names will remain anonymous for the sake of the innocent) has Archangel Michael as guide and mentor.  

Me: I just don't see how (my friend will remain nameless) puts up with you.  You can be such a jock.

Michael: That's because I am a jock.

Me: Well she's a book worm and you’re so active.

Michael: Hey, someone's got to be the football.

Me: Excuse me!  (Nameless friend) is not a football.

Michael: You're looking at it wrong.  The football is the most precious thing, so much that there are a hundred-and-four guys that can't get their minds off it.  The football might get tackled sometimes but they protect that precious little thing the entire field to the goal knocking down anything in their path.  You know how hard an angel can tackle you?

Me: *Blink* My friend the size and shape of a football being carried by Michael across the field makes my face contort.

Michael: gottcha.

Raphael--healing through laughter

When I was asked to take the famous five I said NO!  Why?  Because angels are scary.  Inviting five into your home doesn't make me think oh all these wonderful beings are going to help me.  Angels, while they mean you wonderful most the time can be a bit high-handed.  That means your life might not go according to your plan.  Anyone who says, "God doesn't give you more than you can handle."  You come talk to me in person and I'll tell you a story.  

As an example of high-handed--I was given the chance to host them and said no.  That was that, I thought.  No.  I got usurped from the back door.  DW took them in.  That is a move that sounds like a favorite vampire of mine would do.

So, to make me laugh (because I was extremely nervous having to help host them), during our walk with Emma Archangel Raphael shrinks them all to the size of smurfs and uses Emma as a mount.  While five smurf size Archangels are "riding" Emma they all shout in tiny smurf voices "Whoaaaaaa".  At that moment Emma reaches around and bites the air above her back nearly biting off Raphael's face. The image had me in tears.  

Gabriel -- Feminine or Masculine?  Does it matter?

Gabriel explained to me the reason why he/she looks so gender neutral (at least to me).  It's because Gabriel doesn't want to be classified as either.  She said that sometimes the message is received better when gender isn't involved or when a specific gender is involved.  Don't know if that makes sense, but I get the impression Gabriel tries to be all things to all people and that works only for an Archangel.

Before she left she said to me, "Always your faithful servant."  The statement blew me away.  It takes character and tremendous humbleness for an ancient being such as Gabriel to want to help, what one might consider, a lower life-form.  Yet I see her point while I'm feeding, watering, grooming, taking every pain-staking care of Emma (my dog) and yes, I am Emma's servant and proud of it!

 

I will always see Metatron as Allen Rickman

In the beginning of all this I had thought it was funny Metatron had absolutely nothing to say to me (being the voice of God) and then I get this huge boom in my head replying--"Who do you think is interpreting for you?"

I also think Metatron was the one who came up with:  How to construct a human -- (An Angles point of view)
Materials: clay, universal ooze, syringe, dense semi-rigid porous calcified connective tissue, grey matter, two looking glasses.
Step 1.  Assemble dense semi-rigid porous calcified connective tissue and grey matter inside clay.  Be sure to place the two looking glasses near the location of the grey matter.
Step 2.  Use syringe to gather 20cc of universal ooze from the primordial dark matter. 
Step 3.  Insert universal ooze inside your construct. 
Step 4.  Watch and play with your new claymation. 

Anyone else maybe feel a bit like a bug comparatively?  My reply--Thanks Enoch.  

I haven't written much for my novel since they've been here but that might have to do with Uriel and I getting square again.  That is a long story for another time though and while there are other stories of personal worth I will always keep, they aren't for the blog-o-sphere.  Monday was the last day we hosted them and funny thing was I thought they'd be gone Tuesday.  However, at the appointed time they were to leave on Monday, I was able to write again.  

Angels are here to help us (despite the high-handedness).  But I'm reminded that if God ever decides he's done with Adam's children, we're screwed.  

Thank you my dear friend who will remain nameless for slipping the famous five into my life through the back door that is DW.

My Tribute

I've Got Nothing But Pretty Pictures...(Excerpt)

I took this picture while waiting for my windshield to be replaced (this was a while ago).  It struck me as odd that the entrance of the church is on the second floor.  The windows had some beautiful stained artwork that doesn't translate from the picture I took on my phone yet to me the picture was fascinating. 

As a writing exercise I challenged myself to "paint a picture" of what I see here and translate it into words.  It's an inspiration of a description and passage I've put into my WIP:

The mage tower the magician resided in was a three story cylinder set apart from the palace.  Asmara mumbled about indignities of a magician owning a mage tower.  How Ardin received special treatment to have his own personal retreat and look-out was beyond Marcus.  After tonight he doubted if the magician would be given indifference.  

No underground passages would help him sneak into the tower so he used stealth and a roundabout route to by-pass guards, patrols and wanderers. 

Tiecus would call this a “no-eyed” night and darkness camouflaged Marcus' pale skin.  His black hair helped cover his face but his eyes were like torches sending light out onto his path.  Careful where he aimed his attention he crouched low with his back pressed against the cool jagged palace walls. 

Ardin’s personal Blackened Elite were no longer with the magician but Elite guards had been posted outside the mage tower.  Two patrolled around the base of the tower and two maintained vigil at the second story entryway. 

The first floor had no windows or doors and was said to be a dungeon.  The second story had a window that faced opposite the only door to the inside.  The third floor was Ardin’s private chambers with four windows facing each elemental direction but that room was less interesting than the second floor lab.  He doubted he’d be greeted and allowed entry to the front but it wouldn’t be the first time he climbed up the tower wall. 

 

I Am My Worth

5'8 feet, 135lbs., 15% body fat, curvy, no scars or physical ailments and a face that many people didn't take damage from (or at least only one person ever admitted to me having a horrible smile).  You would think a girl would be happy with her looks.  It goes to prove that your physical body screaming "hey I'm every bit as thin as a Vogue model and I've got my health" doesn't mean you feel it.

Even with the mirror proving that I was every bit as beautiful as I'd ever be, I didn't believe it.  I'd see a face that was an alien.  I mean literally, I thought my face was, well, freakish.  Huge eyes, long horse face and a chin that narrowed down to a point so sharp you could cut diamonds with.  No other girls I'd seen had hips like mine.  Girls thighs were just as flat as guys and mine are "well defined".  So I accepted what I had, which in itself was a sort of confidence that guys like, and never found myself for want.

Accepting and loving are two very different things and until it was ten years after my senior picture I really saw things differently.  I was in my dad's office (then it was McKibben Communications) and I turned around and came face to face with the eighteen year old me.  My senior picture brought me this epiphany that I shall not soon forget.  There I was, younger, more adorable, even thinner and smiling.  Who is she?  I thought.  Oh.  That was me. 

Now some of you don't ever change from high school and I'd say I hadn't drastically changed but changed enough to remember how the younger me felt like an adopted alien.  Honestly I still felt like an adopted alien ten years later.  But that picture made me think to myself, "And I thought I was ugly."  Side by side to my best friend Nicole, I was a gunny sack wearing, buck toothed, straw-haired, dull eyed red-headed step-child.  She was the glamourous one everybody wanted, I was "Stephanie? Ick." 

Some women go through life thinking they are the red-headed step-child but when I came face to face with the eighteen year old me at twenty eight I had a resolve that would not wear off.  I will stop wishing my body had thinner thighs or flatter stomach because what I have today is going to be a hell of a lot better than ten years from now.  "I am beutiful", I said outloud.  Not was, not will be, right now.

Whenever the epiphany fades I look in the mirror and command myself to say, "You are beautiful" until it converts to "I am beautiful".  That saying of "if people say it enough times you'll believe it" works if you say it too.  I had to repeat the words until I believed it with conviction. 

Pity for oneself is demeaning.  I've not relayed this story for confirmation or compliment.  It was simply the truth of how I felt.  I do not feel that way anymore.  This story is for that twenty-eight year old that looks in the mirror and felt the way I did.  This story is for my niece who doesn't have the confidence yet to realize she could match up to Angelina Jolie.  It's for my brother who might think he's some ordinary looking guy and my mom who might think her laugh lines make her "look old".  It's for my friends who think the grey in their hair signifies anything other than a change of color pigment.  If you don't see what I see then you need to look in the mirror and say it with me outloud...

I Am My Worth because I feel it.

Do All M&M's Taste The Same?

Today was a day my senses were visceral and acute.  Colors were near painful bliss.  Air sought to play a cold/hot game with every nerve ending from fingers to heels.  My brain soaked-in every receptacle of information from the outside world and I was clear minded enough to perceive what was around me. 

Today was a day I could say I lived in the now.  On these days I like to play sensory games.  One of them is closing my eyes, popping one M&M into my mouth and guessing the color of the dye.  Some dyes are more prominent than others and sometimes the dye is weak but mostly, on days like this, I guess correct. 

Taking the time to live, to be in the moment isn't always difficult to do.  When fog of the future or inner conflict deprives me of being absolutely alert of the beauty around, I pick my favorite sensory game and come back to the now.  Here and now is where you are at not the past and not the future.  Take the here and now to discover if colors all taste the same.