The paranormal, you can’t pick and choose. It’s all or nothing.

I’ve got ghosts…

I didn’t intend to have ghosts… They just kinda showed up. And to be quite frank, I am not really too bothered by the arrival. I think I might have had a ghosty idea when I started down the path of giving my protagonist a secret. I mean, what is a good secret without something really creepy surrounding it.

Now that I know what needs to happen–she has to be haunted by the ghost of course–it’s time to get to the task of scaring the living daylights out of her.

That's okay, Danny... Turn back around and keep riding that Big Wheel down the hall...

That’s okay, Danny… Turn back around and keep riding that Big Wheel down the hall…

I have no idea what will come next, aside from the fact that something foul is about to knock on the door during dinner that both of my characters aren’t going to like it one little bit.

Sometimes living inside your head really is bunches of fun. 🙂

The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about my NaNoWriMo project. The Clock Countdown stands at 15 days, and I’m just beginning to revel in the early stages of complete panic.

As far as novel ideas go, mine is pretty tame.

Girl falls in love, finds she is more than she thought, discovers a whole new identity, and saves the day.

Fascinating….and pretty boring.

I’ve wondered  for the past two weeks, why it’s taken me so long to get the story out of me, (it’s been an idea sitting in my head for over a year now…) and I’m thinking maybe that’s why.

The story itself just doesn’t excite me.

And if it doesn’t excite me, then what hope do I have in tickling a reader?

I know what you’re going to say. There is time to fix it. I know there is, and I will–and that brings me to the point of my blog topic today.

“The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.”

Somewhere along the timeline of my life, this little nugget branded itself on my heart. For the longest time now, I had no idea it existed within me, or that this was actually something I felt very passionately about. And still, I wonder at exactly what it is that the sentiment means to me–because I can read that two ways…

I’m complicated, I know.

Slowly, it is beginning to emerge as nothing else in my life ever has, and make itself known. And no where is that beginning to be more clear, than in my writing.

I left a friend of mine this evening, with a question hanging in the air. Of course, it was about writing…kinda. The question really had to do with what I would write, if it was possible to make real whatever it was I printed. It’s a heavy thought.

If you could write anything, and have it actually transform before your eyes–what would it be?

There is only one thing I could think of that I’d want. And I have to apologize for dragging you all the way down here and then leaving you hanging by not telling you what it is I’d write. (If you were really paying attention, you already know.) But really–that’s not the point.

The idea is to let your own mind wander and figure out what it all means…to you.

And that, dear reader, is what NaNoWriMo does. I can’t wait to see where the journey leads.

National Novel Writing Month

It’s fast approaching. NaNoWriMo! (Find me here at nanowrimo and add me if you’d like.) 

As I write this, the clock stands at 22 days, 12 hours, 40 minutes, and 38 seconds. That’s not a lot of time to finish my outline so I can write with literary abandon next month.

Don’t worry. I haven’t pulled out and installed my trusty PANIC button yet…

Put down the pen and slowly back away...

I did consult with my favorite writer and the result was–as usual, phenomenal. The story I will hack away at next month involves a complicated network of alternate reality beings. So basically, I have to come up with hierarchy and structure as well as figure out the dynamic between my heroine and my villain. In other words–research, people.

Lots and lots of research.

I’ve also embraced Scrivener. My story now lives in this neat little program, all organized and tidy. It’s a huge departure from the messy halls of my head.

I won’t lie–it took some hand holding to get me to trust it with my story. But I’m now a convert and there isn’t any looking back!

I’m not exactly how I’ll feel if I manage to pull this particular story out of my head and finish it at the end of next month. The only thing that keeps running through my head is a quote I once read by American author Truman Capote:

Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.

It seems a little extreme, but hey–what do I know?

Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.

Yes, dear reader–I am stuck. My writing has all but come to a standstill. A grinding halt, complete with skid marks, scarring the path I have traveled.

However, don’t panic! I have a hunch things won’t remain this way for long. My mind has been turning over a few thoughts–nothing concrete and visual, but something that makes me smile nonetheless.

Therefore, what better to do when one cannot get going than to blog about it and just let random thoughts hit the page.

Enter the random…

Earlier today, I was talking to my very good friend about the oddball things that happened to me when I was younger, and it got me thinking.

What about?

Well, get comfy and I’ll tell you.

When I was a little girl, I learned the art of self-indulgence. My home life afforded me loads of unsupervised time to get into all sorts of shenanigans; and I took full advantage.

I was impetuous, headstrong, spoiled, and yes—very bossy. Because of both my situation and my attitude, (it was then I perfected my signature tone) I usually always got what I wanted.

You can imagine a life of excess becoming lackluster after a while; and it was. I came to find that my world didn’t quite mesh with the outside, and that terrified me.

Alone and misunderstood, I would end up—years later, realizing that what I needed was something completely different from what I have known.

I know it might not all make sense—but I warned you it was random.

Writing was always the underlying theme. It was constantly a way to escape, to draw back and reflect, and of course—to sooth. The characters I wrote about, up until recently, were always happy, always had the perfect lives, and always fantastically boring.

As I look back, they were all yearning for the same thing…someone to understand.

So, where does that leave us? Will my characters learn from my real life hiccups? I have one thing rolling around in my head chasing that question around…

The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.  ~Anna Quindlen

You are tired, (I think)…

At this very moment in time, while the sheeting rain lashes out at my window, and I’m listening to the keyboard tap, tap, tapping vaguely disguised hints… This is what is running thorough my mind.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings

Should I Smile Because You’re My Friend…Or Cry Because Thats All We’ll Ever Be?

Writing about love is hard… Throw in a complicated story and it can be a downright pain in the ass. Perhaps it’s one of those emotions that you really hate to indulge in because it frustrates the hell out of you and tends to jerk you around the most? I mean, when your character gets angry, you’ve got an outlet. Hit things in the face–hard… Anger all better. When you’re sad–well, a cuddly kitten will always do the trick. Confused–Hell, there’s Google for everything now-a-days.

But love? Yes, love. What do you do when you throw your character into the depths of a true love induced passionate embrace and then rethink it and say, You know what, Bud… That ain’t gonna happen.  That’s where I usually split off from the major story line and write in fantasy world for a while.

As far as I’m concerned, all that fantasizing is considered back story and it’s useful for thinking about where a character might go…but it’s highly impractical for much else. (Unless you enjoy torturing yourself both in real life relationships AND in written relationships. I’m guessing if you’ve read this far–you’re a writer, so that’s highly likely.)

It’s one thing to fantasize–a whole other to get it semi-close to what the reality of your story calls for. So what happens to the fantasy world of love and romance when you’re knee-deep in the practicalities and formalities of relationship building? I don’t know–If you have an answer, kindly leave it in the comments. I’ll be forever grateful.

Dancing with the feet is one thing, but dancing with the heart is another.

Writers are, by all accounts of the word–SOLITARY. They enjoy being off on their own, locked into a room with their words sprawled out in front of them like little marching soldiers. I’m pretty much the same way. Being alone to explore and listen to the crazy muttering rumbling in my own head is a daily necessity.

While I wrestle with the expanse of blank paper to fill in, I have to admit my weakness… I consider the prewriting stage the most sensual. There, I said it. Something about raw emotions spilling out onto the page, unchecked and dripping with insane ideas is absolutely yummy.

But sometimes, being alone with your words gets…well, lonely.

And that, dear reader, is where this story is headed. Not that long ago, life took an unexpected turn for me. For those of you who don’t know me, (and that’s pretty much all of you save one or maybe two…) I don’t buy into the notion of randomness. In my world, there is a reason for everything. It might not make sense at the time, but it doesn’t always have to.

I had a choice. Stay the course and bury myself further under that pile of words, or explore new avenues of writing.

For me, it was a no brainier. And I can see a lot of head scratching so I’ll clue you in and tell you my new direction takes the form of collaborative writing. Yes, I dug my hooks in–because I’ve been told I’m “totally evil in a good way…”and I’ve found that when you open yourself up to the right kind of energy, real magic can happen. It’s a rare thing in my opinion, but writers who are of the same mind can take something ordinary and turn it into something that takes on a life of its own.

Like a simple Halloween dance. Building the Last Dance For Me.