The Awesome Power of Procrastination

I’ve never been good at keeping journals or blogs–not a skill of mine. It’s one of those things that I’ve always wished I was better at, more disciplined with. I’ve always been a little envious of people who can pull out journals from high school and see exactly how they thought.

I don’t know why I’m not better at it. I suppose it goes back to the whole, My Life’s Not That Interesting concept. In some ways I’m really glad that I don’t have notebooks dedicated to the stupidness that has been my crushes over the years. o_O I would pity anyone with the misfortune to read that…

So that’s my excuse for not posting here in nearly a month–that there has been nothing worth posting about.

Well…that and laziness. Let’s not forget the awesome power of procrastination.

I need to get back into writing everyday. I think I was just so overwhelmed with Nowhere to Hide that once I sent it off to my critics, I just wanted to breathe. I have been working on this other story though…just not as much as I should.

But Brianna sent me back her critique yesterday and that made my day. It’s so funny–I’ve never met the girl (oh the power of the internet), but her opinion matters the most to me. I think it’s because I know she’ll always be truthful. There’s no chance of her telling me it’s amazing and thinking it’s not. Not that she really could. I know her well enough now to be able to tell when she’s lying.

Which means I now have to start on the pictures for the sims album. Bleh.

On another note, I think I am going to take a course at the local college about writing a novel.

I am terrified to.

I think the fear goes back to my first year at university. It was not a good year and I haven’t gone back. I’m starting to think I want to though. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but I really don’t want to do the whole check one, window or aisle thing for the rest of my life.

I’m just a change-a-phob.

When Mush Turns Out

Mushy scenes and I don’t get along. I blame it all on lack of personal experience. At least that’s the easiest excuse I’ve come up with. So I’m almost done writing Nowhere to Hide. It’s bittersweet, and I think I am going to try polishing it and getting it published. Just because I love these characters too much to leave them to the wilds of the exchange.

But anyway, I’m really happy with how this one scene turned out. Even if it was at the expense of me singing along to my soundtrack and being teased by my family.

Here is my pride:

Emma stared at the ring, turning it on her finger. Watching each facet glint as it captured the burning sun, she knew. It was time.
Time to let go. Time to let all the hurt and ache that she had held onto roll off her like a bead of dew on a blade of grass. The hardest part was over, wasn’t it? This was what life was about—these moments—the small fragments of time that remained as wavering beams of light breaking through the clouds. It was time to allow them to shine brightly, the way they were intended to—to allow them to warm her, to bask in their presence. If she did, maybe then of all the regret, all the pain … perhaps then they would wash away as time fell away.
She wouldn’t forget—she couldn’t. But she could rebuild. In these small moments, she knew she could. Because this—here with Jared, was all that she had. And, if she was honest, it was all she wanted.
Her lips parted as she narrowed the gap between hers and his. A sigh of surprise—relief even—escaped his lips as they connected. And it was there that she found home. Electric shocks traveled up and down her spine. There was no fear, he was all she had, and that was comforting. He gave her a chance to hold on, to pull through.
His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close to him, desperate to prolong the moment as long as possible.
Emma pulled back and smiled—her breath tickled his lips. “I love you. You’re everything…I don’t think you know how much…I don’t. When you’re gone, my world is darker—you make it okay. I miss you when I close my eyes. Jared, I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t think I could feel this way about anyone else. You…you’re my rock, my best friend, and now…now you’re my future.”

Candlelight Sessions

Last night, Larisa and I were attempting to squish boredom in a RP session over at Sylvan Hollow. Of course, just as things were about to get interesting, the power randomly vanished. To make matters worse, when my brother and I went for a walk … there was power on the other side of a relatively busy street that runs a block away from me. It was like a slap in the face. My brother told me to go sit in an empty soccer field and try to steal someone else’s internet signal. I passed.

So after a really lame game of Go Fish — can that game ever be cool once you’re no longer six? I went to my room and stared at my laptop with longing before pulling open my notebook and writing until my hand felt like it was going to fall off, by what else? Candlelight.

Apparently I get inspired when I can barely see the paper.

But here is a snippet of what I wrote — I don’t know if any of this will make it into a final draft. As I read it now it looks more like a character development than anything.

I knew she only had my best interest in mind. She worried obsessively over me since dad died eight years ago. Not that I had given her much, if any, cause. I’ve always been somewhat of a homebody, preferring to curl up on the sofa with a good book to going out with friends. Out of all my idiosyncrasies I always thought this would be the one thing she understood — it wasn’t like she was a social butterfly. Rather than understanding she liked to tell me that she had only “settled down” after she had met Dad — that partying and getting into a “little trouble” was character building. I honestly think she only said that to let me off the hook — that or she thought I was wired wrong. Knowing Mom, both options had probably crossed her mind. She had a hard time relating to me after Dad’s death; most did. Despite her claims that she wanted me to “embrace life,” and “be young,” I think she was relieved that I gave her little cause to worry. No, my high school days passed with about as much fanfare as the flicker of a flame.
In a lot of ways she was right.
My father, Walt Davis, was the one person on the planet who got me. He and I would talk for hours. For me home was never the four walls that surrounded us — it was found in his booming laugh, or his twinkling gray eyes that changed color with his mood, or his broad smile. When he died so did a piece of myself. So, with all the wisdom I possessed at sixteen, I did the only think I could think of, I hid.
I withdrew deep inside of myself, because there, all of my memories of him were safe. If I didn’t create new memories there was no danger of losing the old ones. It wasn’t rational, I know, but it was the only way I could guarantee that I wouldn’t lose him. It worked, but not the way I had hoped. Once clear, my memories faded, distorted. I clung to them like I would a life preserver, but all they are now are brief flickers — some clearer than others.
Had he still been alive, he would have understood why I was sitting in the car, on my way to the airport, with an uncertain future looming on the horizon.

Like I said … a snippet. There’s another good four pages that I wrote — and it is rough. A lot of changes in this bits future — for instance, the dad’s name will be changed.

Carpal Tunel and Conclusions

So I didn’t post anything yesterday — but I do have an excuse. I was trapped at the doctor’s office, then at work, and then on the phone.

However, I did write. Why I was able to in the claustrophobic waiting room next to a very large man who stunk and kept brushing my shoulder with his finger I’ll never know. I went old school — I wrote in a notebook.

I think there are some distinct merits to writing in a notebook prior to dumping it all on th computer. For starters it forces me to go back and look over every detail. Which, I don’t really mind, but a push in the right direction never hurt. And other than the fact that I always feel like my hand is going to fall off after a marathon notebook spree, there’s something strangely satisfying about looking back and seeing my story, penned, in my handwriting staring back. Besides, if the writing thing actually works out I can sell the notebook on Ebay.

I really think this blog is going to follow my personal journey — more my thoughts than what I’m doing. There’s actually a lot of logic to this. See my biggest challenge to getting published is, me.

But I came to a conclusion yesterday, as I was driving in my car and singing along to Linkin Park. I’m going to write for me. What’s the point in spending countless hours writing a story if, at the end, I wouldn’t read it myself? Not only that, but life has taught me that when I’m passionate about something, it’s contagious. People buy into my enthusiasm — what better way to get something on the bookshelves?

But it’s more than that. There’s that chance I may never make it big — let’s face it, the chances of becoming the next Stephenie Meyer or J.K Rowling are slim to none — but that’s not why I’m doing this. No, I’m trying to get published because I love my characters and their stories. I’m doing this to prove to myself that I can. I’m doing this because as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to. How cool is writing? Books last forever. They pass hands and the same story is shared with friends. A book creates a magical world full of imagination and wonder. You get to make people love and hate your characters. I could ramble about this for hours …
But in the end, I suppose it’s my passion for the craft that will make me keep trying.

Current Song: In Pieces — Linkin Park

You WILL be the Death of Me …

Okay, maybe not, but there are times where it feels that way.

I’ve decided two things about me as a writer.

1. — I’m a character writer
Basically what this means is I know my characters inside and out. But there are times where that does threaten my sanity. Because when they’re crying, so am I. When they’re mad, I am too. All this can make for a very draining writing experience. Which is totally how I feel about Nowhere to Hide right now. I think those characters are going to put me in a home …

2. — I have no confidence in myself.
I totally need that reassurance from others. I’m always putting myself down and comparing to what other people write.

Somewhere at the back of my head I know that this is stupid … really counter-productive. I need to get over it and realize that maybe, just maybe my stuff is good enough. I guess it’s all the “what ifs” that get in my way. There are a lot.

And really, what are the chances of making it? How many people try … See? Doing it again.

POSITIVE THINKING TIME!

I CAN do it. I can. One day my name will be on a bookshelf near you.

CURRENT SONG: Our Time is Running Out — Muse <3

Ready, Set, Uh-Oh …

So … I’m wondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into. But Denise’s enthusiasm is catching and I couldn’t find myself saying no.

For those of you just tuning in, I am a member of, (cue trumpets), The Challenge of the Badgers. Denise’s brainchild — my stupidity with the name. So what is it? Basically the premise is pretty simple. We each keep a blog tracking our writing progress as we write and then attempt to publish something. But it’s really more than that. It’s also a support network where we can encourage one another. I have to say, the idea was pretty darn amazing. That’s one of the reasons I agreed to this insanity.

Besides, it’s probably a good thing. I am, without a doubt, a procrastinating keener. Perhaps a little accountability will be the push I need.

My new years resolution was to write an hour a day — or at least 5 hours a week. Sometimes my job makes things a challenge.

I’ve been really bad lately. Although, I suppose, I could argue that all the role playing at Sylvan Hollow is a form of writing.

For instance, tonight Ainsley, one of my characters, had a meltdown on the beach. And I feel a little guilty about it, because it reminds me of another character — tomorrow I will finish the final chapter of Nowhere to Hide. I think once it’s done as a sims story I will go back and rework it. A part of me is debating changing it to first person. But, who knows.

As for the badger thing. Haha. I figure I should explain it in case other people decide to start reading this.

Well it goes back to when my Dell laptop died. (It was a traumatic weekend). The same morning there was an article in the paper about badgers in Iraq. The locals thought that the British had brought them to attack them — despite what local scientists and media told them. It was like reading an Aesop fable, people interviewed talked about seeing badgers eat their cows — one woman claimed one tapped her on the shoulder in the middle of the night and woke her up. That’s right, badgers will eat your cow and then wake you up to tell you about it. For some reason this thought amused me endlessly.

So as I waited on hold — I loathe call centers — I told my family that if the person was unhelpful I would yell, “There’s a badger behind you!” and hang up.

I’ve shared this story with many people and it’s become a running joke. Hence the name of the challenge.