High school English, all over again.

Well, I got my first full fledged critical spanking.  I mean, no holds barred "You sucked balls" type stuff.  It was as crushing as one would think.  I never want to write again.  I suck.  I don't have a viable job and need to find something else to do for money and fulfillment.  Maybe I should get a license for hair or nails since I already work in a salon and spa.  Maybe I should get a student loan and go back to college for a degree in a field that will make me money.  Maybe I'm failing.  Well, definitely I'm failing.  I usually do.

But there was one sentence that caught my eye near the end of the critique.  Half of a sentence actually.  She said that I wrote an interesting story if only I would tell it well and not break every fiction writing rule in the book.

Huh.  

I can't tell you how much I don't want to write anymore.  It's difficult and time consuming and I find it to be extremely frustrating.  The other day I described it to Hubby as "Trying to grab a cloud and make a string out of it."  I don't always like doing it and often hate what I wrote anyway.

But what if I can tell a good story if I learn some discipline.  This critique reminds me of my high school English teacher.  I had previously written stuff that wowed every teacher.  All A's and sometimes teachers encouraging me to get it published.  I had some serious confidence in my writing skills because I liked what I wrote and had been told that it was good.  Then I started in this woman's class.  I forget her name but will always remember her very clearly because we hated each other.  My first year in her class she ripped my papers apart and always gave me Cs.  She said that I had good ideas but was sloppy, unorganized and had terrible grammar.  Poor structure, sentence fragments, run on sentences, terrible punctuation - you name it.  And this woman showed me no mercy.  God, I hated her!  

So why, you might ask, did I take her class a second time when I had the option of another teacher?  Because I knew she was right.  

By the end of that first year I got an A in that class.  Barely and after much extra credit work.  The second year I also got an A but with a better percentage.  We argued and fussed at each other and she often told me that she expected college level work and would take nothing less.  I thought that she hated me as much as I did her but I liked the challenge and could see that she made my work better.  (By the way, college English was a breeze thanks to her.) 

 At the last conference of the year my dad told her about my plans to be a nurse, which I did not follow up on.  According to my dad she got pretty upset, like angry upset, and said that she thought that I was supposed to be a writer.  It was the highest praise that I ever got from her and probably the most important to me of any that I ever received.  

So maybe this critique was her spirit yelling at me again.  Yelling that 15 years away from her has made me lazy and sloppy again and that if I want to be a writer I need to treat the writing with respect.  Respect for myself as a writer, for the reader and for the words that I use to tell my story.  

It's a great teacher that continues to teach 15 years after their last class with you.  But I'm still listening and am grateful for the lesson.

Writing sample: Coffee Run

I have been able to get a small amount of writing done.  I've been trying to focus on telling a fun story that I would like to read and thinking less about how others will receive it.  Making my inner critic shut up, as it were.  : )

So here is a little scene that I wrote the other day.  It's a first draft and not perfect, but I think that it shows the progress that I'm making in letting me and my voice shine through without a filter.  

Seraphina stalked down the sidewalk, her 4 inch silver stilettos issueing sharp cracks that echoed off the buildings with each step.  Honestly, not the shoes she would have chosen if she had known what tonight was going to turn into.  Short black leather skirt and tight black shirt boucing in time to her steps, the silver knives strapped to her upper right thigh flashed just a bit with ever other step.  Guns dangled in her hands by her sides, one in each.  Fingers on the triggers, eyes on alert.  

As she scanned the alleyways, windows and doors for signs of her enemy her vision winked in and out from normal to infrared.  She could see the heat signatures of the rats in and near garbage cans, the yellow mass of a cat ran across the street with a yowl as she clicked by.  People on the street were walking rainbows of color, all with that same luscious yellow inside.  In the times when her vision was normal she saw that few noticed her guns and those that did chose to quickly look away.  She was downtown at 4am, if someone yelled about a gun who would come?  The cops were asleep in their patrol cars or filling up on pre-breakfast donuts right about now.

Shaking her head to get normal vision back she cursed the fickle fall weather.  It was too cold, her breath puffing in the air in front of her.  She was dressed for tonight's job, not for being outside and her body was using energy to warm her.  Dammit, she knew to plan better before going out.  But when she had left the apartment earlier she had been distracted and dressed for the job at hand, not for complications.  If there was one thing that Sera knew, it's that life is absolutely full of complications.

She needed heat.

Seeing a Phoenix Coffee ahead of her she picked up her pace.  The closer she got the more her vision flickered until it became a steady picture of colors.  Walking rainbows, like multilayered candy.  Each layer a different flavor and she was getting a sweet tooth bad.

Time running short she ran the last half block and jerked open the door.  Before her stood a line of people waiting patiently for their turn to order.  Depth perception shot she couldn’t see details, only knew that the third person in line was the warmest and that if she didn’t act fast then that person would die first.

She walked around the line and straight to the person taking orders.  People from behind her began to mutter but she ignored them and put in her order in the clearest voice she could muster.

“Large coffee, black, now.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need to wait...”  Amazing how a gun to the forehead can change a person’s mind.

“Coffee, now.”

A heartbeat later a shaking coffee cup came into her peripheal vision as the other server held out the steaming cup.  Sera plunked her other gun on the counter and used that free hand to gulp it down.  Coffee trickled down the corners of her mouth and wet the front of her shirt.  She handed back the empty cup.  “More.”

The woman took the cup and began to fill it.  Someone farther back in line either didn’t see the guns or didn’t care.  “Hey lady, get in line!  You gotta wait like the rest of us!”

Sera merely swung the arm still holding a gun to the back of the line and aimed it at the mans heart without even turning her head.  There were gasps but, blessedly,  no screams.  She just didn’t have time for screams right now.  A couple of people fell to the ground but most chose freezing in place as the best option.  

Accepting the next cup she gulped it down just slow enough to not spill again and gave it back.  Twice more she did this until she thought she would burst from all of the liquid she had poured in.  But it was worth it once warmth flooded her body and she could see with normal vision the beads of sweat on the servers forehead.

“Thanks, I needed that.  Can I please have one more but with 6 sugars and 3 creams?”  At the servers nod she looked back at the line.  Now she could see faces, clothing and emotions in eyes.  Most were scared, not ideal but couldn’t be helped.  A couple were right and truly pissed.  Well, that couldn’t be helped either.  The man at the end of the line was glaring at her with the most intensity and her gun was leveled on the middle of his sternum.  He must have been the complainer.  She had aimed about 8 inches below the sound of his voice and her guess had been true.  If she so much as sneezed this guy was dead and he knew it.

“Excuse me, miss.  Here’s the..the...um, coffee.”  The poor woman really was giving excellent service despite her fear.  Sera was impressed.

Reaching into her bra she pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the counter in front of her before hooking her second gun in the back of her skirt and grabbing the coffee.  “That’s for you.  Excellent job today...”  She checked the name tag.  “Missy!  Nicely done.  Thanks again.  And don’t feel like you need to share that tip with this guy that I talked to first.  If you you pee your pants and never even deliver the order then you lose your right to the tip, right?”

Missy gave a startled laugh and looked over at Mike.  Sure enough the front of his pants were wet and there was a thin line of snot running down his face.

With a smile and a wave, Sera turned and walked up to Mr. Grumpy at the end of the line.  He glared down at her, face red and eyes furious.  “Thank you for your patience,” she demured with wide eyes.  Then, with a grin that showed very sharp teeth she whispered.  “Patience is a virtue.  It would be wise of you to remember that.”

Lowering her gun she swiftly walked out of the cafe and down the street. 

Change of plan.

Ok, kids, here's the scoop.  Finances are running super lean over here at Casa de la Gott.  So instead of concentrating on NaNoWriMo, a large part of the cranium will be put to use overhauling the old Etsy shop and trying to bring in some greenbacks for the holidays.  

I hope to still get at least reach the half way point with the novel that I have started by the end of the month but most of my free time will be put into crafting and farting art.  Or arting farts.  Whatever sells.

Speaking of the novel, I got my first rejection!  Cool!  It was a really good experience because she brought to light something that I think I knew but didn't want to admit - I don't write freely.  When I write I worry about sounding professional, about offending the family, about whether or not my hip friends will think it's cool and if the Hubby will be miserable and rolling his eyes while he reads it.  I write scared and that is no way to work.

The question is how to get away from doing that.  It's a default setting and I have a difficult time turning it off.  But there are two writing blogs that I read daily and they have both recently talked about ignoring your internal critic during your first draft.  I think that I have been letting my internal editor run the show and that my work has been altered because of it.  The best parts of all of my work are when I write what I see without changing it for someone else's benefit.  

So there is my plan for now - I will craft until I drop and then write.  Plus work and take care of the house and kids.   And the broken legged Hubby.  I might even find time to sleep!

Uh oh, NaNoWriMo!

Okay, it's day four of NaNoWriMo and I have only sat down once to write.  It's actually okay though.  I got out 1,179 words in the 25 minutes that I had before my daughter's bus came and they are good ones.

I did it with my patented method of getting into the story big time and have found a mighty weapon to use to get there.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...The Dr. Wicked's Write or Die thingee!  *Roar of a small but enthusiastic crowd*

All you do is go to the page, enter the number of words that you want to write and in what time.  Then the fun part is choosing your mode for consequences and grace period.  There is everything from gentle mode (why bother) to evil, kamikaze and electric shock.  I tried normal and strict, just to see how it worked.  Basically it gives you a space to start typing and then, based on your preferences, will change the background color when too much time has gone by without typing.  The color change without noise or pictures is ideal because it's a visual cue that's not really distracting.  It's fun and made me compete with myself which is ideal.  By the time the timer ran out I didn't really care anymore because I had moved on to the finish line being when BabyGirl's bus came.  

So if you're a writer and are having a day when you just can't seem to get going - try Dr. Wicked's Write or Die page.  It's fun, effective and just a little bit evil.  : )

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!...Crap!

National Novel Writing Month started yesterday and I totally forgot!  It's okay because I don't have to technically write every day, but if I want to finish the 50,000 word challenge by the end of the month then I need to get my butt in gear!  

Speaking of writing, I have been trying to get back into it and found that it is super tough to do when you are out of the habit.  I am such a "follow the story" kind of writer and that means that I write my best when I am lost in the story.  I can't plot because I have no idea what's going to happen and so I have no map at the beginning of the book usually.  Well, a basic map maybe - one that has a picture of Earth with an arrow or two that says, "Story starts here and might end up over there...or maybe not."  

So I have some great ideas and just need to find ways to be more disciplined in getting lost in the story.  There is such a difference, let me tell you.  The other day I was writing and I could see the whole thing in my head but what came out of my fingers was some sort of extremely sparse script for a play.  Try as I might the world would not get on the page and the characters were paper cutouts with word balloons.  When I'm lost in the moment my fingers fly and the world unfurls like a drop of dye in a glass of water.  It's beautiful and mesmerizing to me, I never want to stop.  

I know that I have said that I needed to develop this skill better before but I have had trouble finding the time for the last few months.  But I have a secret weapon that I have used since high school - I thrive on deadlines.  The adrenaline rush feeds me and I can't stop the flow.  In times of writing for myself I send half an hour on one page and practically grumble through the whole thing.  Add a deadline and it's a whole new ball game.  This is how I finished Elemental, I had a 9 day deadline till the conference and I just wrote my heart out during all waking hours.  Now I have another deadline, four weeks until I need to finish 50,000 words or else I will have failed.  

I really hate failing.  I'm an overachiever by nature.  (But a nice one and I only compete with myself - never ask my to join your sports team because I am the opposite of competitive on the field.)

Anyway, off I go to write and attempt to meet my deadline.  Oooo, I got shivers just typing that.  There will be updates on the blog and here is my NaNoWriMo link.  

Wish me luck!