Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Lucky Seven Meme

I was tagged by my crazy awesome friend Jamie, whom is super awesome. I was a bit worried about sharing some of this, because I knew it was around some spoilery bits, but luckily, 77 is past the majorly spoilery parts. There's some cursing in this, it'll be highlighted in black. If you don't mind cursing, then highlight it and read it all. Here goes.

     When everything is quiet, I refuse to get up. I’m so angry that I can feel my fingernails sinking into my forehead and I should stop before I draw blood, but everything is wavering and withering away. Dr. Tyson has been making me take pills and they made everything stop but the one thing that was the craziest of all. I don’t feel like I belong here, with such a normal boy, trying - and failing - to portray a normal life. I do not belong on an Earth with such normal people who don’t understand anything but the fact that I’m not like them. I am not like anyone else. I try to remind myself of the statistics, but statistics are bullshit when they don’t help you any, aren’t they? I’m just another number and I’m plotted too far away from the next, stuck between two people just like me and never able to reach either.
     Eventually, Chance says, “It’s getting dark.”
     I scoff. “It’s been dark for a while now.”
     “The sun’s setting.”
     “I wasn’t referring to the sky.”
     He sighs and wraps an arm around me to help me up. “Come on.”
     “I’m not going back home.”

Here are the rules:

1. Go to page 77 of your current MS.

2.  Go to line 7.

3.  Copy down the next 7 lines-sentences or paragraphs and post them as they are written. No cheating!

4.  Tag 7 authors

5.  Let them know they've been tagged! 

I tag (not all of you have writing blogs, so you can post them somewhere else if you decide you want to, but don't want to put it on your review blog.):


and anyone else who wants to participate! I'm mainly a book blogger and I don't know too many people who have solely writing blogs, but if you wanna do this, go for it! :) You can say I tagged you, if you want.

Friday, November 25, 2011

My entry for Jamie's contest: Upon a Dream

This is my entry for Jamie's contest. I really hope you like it!

This is what she says to do:
Sign up on the widget below and leave a comment. Then from today until Dec. 9th, write a 1000 words or less flash fiction that includes all of the gifts from the 12 Days of Christmas! It doesn't have to follow the song, just have them in there however you like. Then hop around to each other's blog and critique or comment. Along with some special judges, I will be hopping around reading and picking out our favorites and on Dec. 10th, we will post our 3 winners!

Here goes.

Upon a Dream

It starts with a dream.
I close my eyes and I dream a dream that would start out sweet to anyone who didn’t know it.
It’s snowing. I used to love snow, but it’s become a part of my haunted mind. This snow doesn’t dissolve into small puddles. It crunches beneath my feet but never leaves a print, never a track. I wonder if this is so that I will be lost in this miserable wonderland forever.
It never changes, but it startles me just the same. The same pear tree with a fat bird. The same pond with the very same swans swimming in circles, their long necks reaching to the white-as-snow sky.
I come to a village with a bottled surprise. There’s the same unmelting snow resting on the wooden fences. There are several women in long dresses and bonnets milking cows. They kneel beside their cows with tin buckets in front of their knees, and they purr names that are horribly stereotypical. “Shh, Bessie,” one says. “Good, Bluebell,” another adds. They are a chorus of murmurs. I walk past a girl who’s carrying a hen in a cage. No one ever seems to notice me. I have never even seen them move other than when they were milking cows or carrying hens. They are robotic. They are not alive.
I walk past the village. The sky is an odd shade of blue. It’s almost white, but has a strange tint to it, like gathered glass. I pass the geese at the very edge of their fences and the turtle doves and the colly birds, their beady eyes watching me as I shuffle my way through the snow.
There’s what I assume to be a parade. They always appear just after I look at the rings on my hands. I count them twice. There are five of them in total, all gold and gleaming in the nonexistent sunlight. Two on my right hand. Three on my left. I’ve tried, in the past times that this happens, to look at the rings at a different times, but I’ve never been able to really bring my gaze to them before I pass the village.
The parade is a wild beast, feral. It lashes out at me and tries to grip me in its claws. The ladies in shining and glittering fabrics of different colors - though I notice that the colors silver, gold, red, and green are always more prominent in these swarms of movement - sway and shimmy past me. Men leap around me, all happy faces and joyous laughter. I feel so out of place. These people too never seem to stray from their spot.
I push them out of my way. I carry on. I have to.
When I finally break away from the pipers and the drummers, I run. I have no clue where I’m going, just that I must get there.
I see the slightest shine on nothing and I sprint at it. My heart beats loudly throughout my body. I can feel it in my limbs. This glimmer of nothing, it must be what I’m after. I know it is. It must be. And so I run until my palms hit something hard and I feel smooth glass under my hand. I pound my fist against it.
The world shakes. I’m tossed back to the beginning of my journey, before the swans moving in perfect circles and before the village. This never-melting snow floats so slowly though the air. It shimmers in the light, but there is no Sun. It reminds me of glitter.
I’m tired of the journey, but I feel my feet moving. The swans round their pond again and again. The women milk their cows with a measured precision. I see the girl carrying what appears to be the exact same hen. The birds never move from their perches.
They are not alive.

Spaced between paragraphs for ease of reading.
Hope you liked it, guys.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Challenge accepted.

I am curious to see how much progress I can make in a day. With some healthy competition. *coughs* Inspired by this and this.

We're trying to get to 2K more words by midnight. It's 10:05 PM right now. Here goes.

10:05: I must not listen to Brendon Urie and his very nice voice. It's too distracting. No matter how much I like it. *changes to Regina Spektor.* Okay. Working. Now.

10:12: I meant now. Obviously.

10:31: Must google stuff. GOOGLE AWAY.

10:42: Finished the googling. Wrote for a bit. At 539. I hate you, research. HATE YOU.


10:47: Ahem. Back to work.

10:57: Informed that I am still beating my opponent. Yay? I think. Still not to 1K. Will do this. *turns up music* 748 words.

11:14: Slightly distracted, but at 958 words. Will get to 2k. I must. MUST.

11:20: Six minutes opening a pickle jar. Like a boss.

11:30: CRAP CRAP CRAP WORK WORK. Bad Twitter. Bad cool author who was answering questions on Formspring (Not really. Just bad me for reading so many.).

12:00: So, I got 1,780. I am okay with this. It was pretty freaking close to 2K.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

On underwriting

I've never been much of a plotter. I'm one of those people who hates figuring out the entire story and then writing it down. It gets boring. It feels repetitive and I despise it. So I half-plot, half-write as I go.

This has spelled some issues for me in the past. I've started four different drafts of the novel I'm editing now before I realized what was wrong with it. And trust me, it was way crazy wrong. And I'm now working on adding another major element to the aforementioned novel.

What I'm getting at with this would be that I am known to speedwrite. I finished this draft, the first semi-solid product I've gotten out of this idea, in around four months. I typically get obsessed with writing on an idea to the point that I do get things done.

But, along with being a speedwriter, I'm an underwriter.

I don't plot most of my novel out before I start writing it. Therefore, I spend a lot of time feeling my way around the plot, figuring out what needs to happen. I write quick, short books that need to be expanded upon.

The way I've always tried to describe this goes like this:

My first drafts are more like very long outlines than very short books. I go through and write what feels right for the story. Later, I'll expand on everything, add detail, rephrase things. Basically, I write semi-crappy books with pretty good ideas (I'm probably biased, but you know.) and then polish the hell out of them.

Yes, editing does take a while for me at the moment. I'm in school and I'm nothing but a teenager. I don't really plan on trying to get published anytime soon (That's another post for another day.), but I will continue to write. I've been writing for years now. Four years of being obsessed with writing are great, but I've not ever done much editing. So I'll start now and figure out how to do it before I try to make it a huge part of my life.

Underwriting is okay, I think, as long as you make sure to expand on everything later. If you're a pantser and an underwriter, know that your book has just as much potential as anyone else's.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go back to editing/expanding.

Happy writing.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

On feeling down:

I know how bad I want to be a writer, how I want it so much that I almost can't see myself doing anything else.

But I know that it's a dream that a lot of people share. I know that it's an unfulfilled dream that a lot of people share.

Sometimes it's hard. I love writing and I want nothing more than to share my stories with the world, but that's something that requires a lot of skill and talent and hard work and, also, maybe just a little bit of luck.

So sometimes I look at the things I've written and I'm hard on them. Too hard. Harsh thoughts are prominent in these little self-derogatory sessions.

"Your prose is too dreamy. The characters sound crazy."
"You'll never be as talented as ____! Look at how pitiful your work is compared to their books."

And I know I'm not the only one to do these things.

But it's hard.

One thing I know always helps is getting on YouTube or Formspring (or even blogs) and going to find some of the authors that really inspire me. There, I can find videos or things that really push me in the right direction.

So, I'm going to risk being a bit of a fangirl and linking some of my favorites.

Lauren DeStefano's Formspring

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Right now I'm like:

But...I'm pretty sure that I'll eventually look more like this:

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

I've stuck with it.

I know that I'm not finished with this WIP. I'm far from finishing it. I still have to finish writing it and then I have to finish editing it and so on. But, I'm proud of myself.

Lately, I've been thinking about how this started.

And, quite literally, the inspiration was a car wash and my Zune. More specifically, water on the windows and Howl by Florence + The Machine. I got almost all of the basic plot with that.

And I remember telling a friend about it and her telling me not to give up on a plot that I wasn't in love with writing, to just write this idea as a short story.

And believe me, I tried to do that.

I still have the short story I wrote. I can't show it to you, because it's essentially the biggest part of the book. But, even after I wrote the short story, I didn't forget about it. I plotted in my head and tried to forget so I could  stay with the WIP I was working on.

I didn't. I actually started two more projects before even trying this one.

But I've waded my way through a lot of it. I've let people read it, people I don't know in real life. I've spent months on this one. I'm happy with writing it.

And that's a crazy thought to me, because, while I've been writing for a long time (given that I'm younger than most writers, so long for someone my age, I suppose.), I haven't ever stuck with anything this long. I've never been to ten-thousand words, let alone twenty-thousand and up.

It's crazy to me to think that I may not have even started this one without going with my dad to wash our car, if I hadn't brought my zune, if I had listened when people told me not to write it. I wonder if I would've aimlessly continued my cycle of getting distracted by new book ideas. I hope not.

So, here's to a crazy coincidence. I have no clue what else to thank.

And I apologize for the crazily cheesy post. It's getting late and I'm tired.