What’s for breakfast today? Or rather Brunch…(I never was a big breakfast eater.)
French toast with syrup, sprinkled with powdered sugar and orange slices. Yum!
Since I started this new job, I’ve been appreciating my weekends more and more, and lately it has become a Saturday morning ritual – where I’ve liked to make something special, something that I don’t normally get the time to make during the week.
My online creativity class emphasizes how important it is for a writer to have other hobbies and I agree! It’s refreshing, because it allows you to take a break from the pressure of writing, and all the anxieties that sometimes comes with it. (Writer’s block, time management, writer’s fear, etc.) Here’s how to start: find something that you find relaxing and fun and just do it!
Although I’m not the cook in the family, I like being creative and making food that looks and tastes good, well, what can be wrong with that? 🙂 This is my NEW hobby. What’s yours?
Every writer has a moment where it all began. That point in their lives, where they were 10, or 14, or 42, where they realized that words can be something more than dots and slashes and letters on a page…that words can take you places.
For me it was a book called, The House on Mango Street, By Sandra Cisneros, which I read in eighth grade. The middle school that I attended had a new eighth grade teacher that year; a man from New York City named Mr. Van Dright. He was a bit unorthodox for an upstate New York school strict on curriculum and following the rules. He had long dark hair and grizzle on his face, who wore a leather jacket and drove a motorcycle when he wasn’t in school, who reminded us often how thankful we were to attend a school that was safe and clean with no metal detectors.
And although this unique teacher from the city was forced to resign before the following year, what I remember most about him was that he was an artist. He had that look in his eye of a person who had stories to tell. He showed me, although he probably doesn’t know it, (a very insecure and shy fourteen year old at the time,) that books and words could be something more, you just had to dream them.
“In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.” (Cisneros,10)
This is from a passage in the book entitled, “My Name.” I remember him reading it to the class that day. What does that mean, he asked us. A name like the number nine?
Perhaps it was because I was obsessed with names. Wondering what it would be like if I had a different name – to separate myself from the ten other girls named Amanda in my school. (I really did graduate with about 5 of them.) Perhaps it’s because later on in the passage, the narrator goes on to describe her name, “as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth.” (Cisneros, 11)
Up until that point in my life, I’d never given much thought into the meaning of words, how with a simple sentence you can describe your name as muddy and we know how you felt about whatever it is you were talking about.
My own writing as of lately, has become its own kind of muddy and I thought I’d take this time to go back and remember where it all began. How words can have inspiration just by how they sound in your mouth mixed around with a word or phrase that can have nuances of meaning. How something simple can change the way you think and view the world. Muddy. Muddy. Muddy.
Nothing was as clear to me as those words on those pages. I wanted to write muddy too.
Picture taken by my cousin, Mark. Watch out Mr. chicken…that’s a bull!
So, as emphasized in my last post, my creative writing teacher was big on the phrase “In medias res,” which means in the middle of things. She encouraged us with various prompts to start out our stories in the middle of the action and let the exposition flow through in the narrative.
I loved those prompts, so I thought I’d share one of my stories from that 15 minute exercise. I wrote all of it in that 15 minute journal session, and very little is changed from the original with the exception of added commas, and a few extra adjectives here and there. I’ve always meant to add more to the story, but it always seemed so neat leaving it the way it is.
I believe the prompt was something along the lines of “write a prompt of a family situation, made up or real and include a body part or some catastrophe. Start the narrative in the middle of the drama. Go!”
***(FYI, this is completely made up. Although I do have an uncle named Donald.)
Chicken and Rice Soup
So Uncle Donald dropped his teeth in the chicken and rice soup, and there they were grinning stupidly up at us, like they were about to start yammering about how maybe too salty the soup was or start shivering – chattering back and forth – yak, yak, yak, yak, yak.
We all stood around the pot of soup in silence, staring down at it. Me, Aunt Josie, Uncle Donald and Daryl, my brother. Uncle Donald’s toothless mouth wore a grim expression.
I thought that if we broke the silence that would be it, and the teeth would start talking back up at us. I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, felt it want to yank up to one side and let out a large gurgley sort of laugh. Daryl caught my expression and coughed into his rough callused hand. He wore a black t-shirt, his jeans baggy like always. Aunt Josie went and got the tongs.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” she fretted and scooped the teeth out and set them down on a paper towel.
Uncle Donald cleared his throat. “Might want to want to wash them off, Josephine,” He said. He only used her full name when he was being real serious.
She had wandered into the kitchen and set the tongs in the sink. “The tongs?” she asked him.
“Not just the tongs,” coughed Daryl into his hand. Aunt Josie returned to the Dining room.
“Now, now,” she chided, although she wasn’t scolding. “These things happen.”
Uncle Donald got up with a grunt and took his teeth into the bathroom.
“Yeah, only in our family,” I said when Uncle Donald’s back had disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Daryl and I started laughing.
(In which it ends, and I’ve tried to add more but just can’t seem to get the same innocent frankness of the narrator. Who is a young girl about twelve or so named Charlie. Leave some thoughts below if you want to!)
Well, went to bed last night and I had a total of 10 views on my blog. Just checked my stats here at about 5 o’clock and I have 109Â views! And from different countries, too! (I love that. That you can connect with someone halfway across the world. Oh, the power of words…thank you Mr. Internet!)
More Myrtle Beach…but I love the blue color here – looks so otherworldly! If only it was in better focus…
So, as I was sitting in church this morning I had a thought about what I was going to write about today, I guiltily recorded it in my phone’s notebook as some old lady looked on – no ma’am, I am not texting in church, honest!
I was thinking about this:Â How as writers we always try to get the better story.
We twist and we turn things to suit our fancy. (Well, I do sometimes!)
For example, say you are presented with this situation: Your co-worker shows up late for work and then acts awkwardly around the boss.
My thoughts: What is she wearing? She looks sloppy. Okay, there’s a wrinkle in the blouse, her lipstick is smeared…is that cover-up or some kind of bluish-bruise on her cheek? Wait, no, it’s just a freckle. Perhaps the boss took her out for dinner. Maybe he hit on her. Oh, I know! Perhaps they went out to eat, got drunk, hooked up and now they are late because they had to get the morning after pill, but the car ran out of gas and maybe they had a flat tire…oh, and now she’s looking at me funny because I’ve been staring too long at the wrinkle on her blouse. Look away! Look away!
Well, you get the point. As writers we are always looking for the better story. We are always striving for that little bit of detail that will tip our readers off to the fact that hey, something important is about to happen here, pay attention!
In truth: The co-worker was probably late because her kid was sick and she acted uncomfortable around the boss, because he said something to irritate her the day before. That darn boss!
But, the other story was much, much more fun. I stumbled upon an episode of Castle the other day. It was a rerun of the first episode in the whole series, where Castle more or less accidentally helps Beckett solve a case. She gets irritated because he pushes and he prods: Why do people do the things they do? What’s their motive? What makes the better story? But he ends up helping her solve the case. Again, now, who doesn’t love Nathan Fillion?
For me, I am always seeing writing opportunities in normal situations.
For example: The old lady sitting next to me in church. She is wearing brown shoes. She’s got a hat on. White curly hair and sun spots on her legs. She is wearing a green skirt, a forest green in color, but her blouse that she wears is a turquoise green, patterned with flowered embroidery. Her clothing is old, but so is she. But the smile and sparkle in her eyes says that she is in excellent health. She acts nervous though; she told me during the greeting and welcoming portion of the service, it is because she is new, she doesn’t know anyone. But she is so kind to me, with a warm smile. She asks me about my interests. She smiles and pats my shoulder. She encourages me. This perfect stranger, who I only met five minutes ago.
My writer brain is thinking: Holy crap! This woman is a guardian angel. She’s one of God’s own. Oh, and she smells nice. Angels are supposed to smell nice, right? Perhaps she’s on a mission. I haven’t been feeling well…maybe she’s here to heal me, oohh, hallelujah!
(Laughs). Well, you get the point. Again. And I actually did think that today! What a nice elderly woman! I hope I see her again next time. And if I don’t…*cue creepy music*
I guess she was there for a reason. To inspire me to write this post to say: Hey, we writer’s do think differently sometimes…we prod and we poke and we stretch. We look for the detail that no one else sees. We look for the extraordinary in everyday situations. There is art in life. Just like we can create art. And going above and beyond the usual…
Well, had a busy, girlie day with the mother and sister shopping and while me and my sister came home both tired and worn out because we both have some kind of nasty flu bug, I’ve been veggin’ on the couch watching firefly. Did I mention how much I love Joss Whedon?
I love everything about the show. Great characters, great story, great setting, great writing…I love Nathan Fillion. (Uh, how dumb were they to cancel this show??)
Myrtle Beach. Was pining for some place warm and sunny.
Anyway, Joss Whedon is just an amazing inspiration and someone I look up to when it comes to great fiction writing. For those of you who don’t know who is he, he is the master mind behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel and Doll House. In the earlier years, he was on the writing team of Rosanne. Although more recently, he was the brilliant writer and director behind the movie Avengers.
He is also the reason why a lot of my writing is dialogue-based. From his example, I am inspired by what my characters say, and I want what my characters say to reflect who they are and have them contribute to the overall theme of the story.
There is some annoyance to read a book where the characters just sit around talking to each other and nothing happens. How boring. Just like with a movie, or a TV show, dialogue can make or break a story. And I don’t want that to happen to my writing. I want my characters to say something that actually means something.
Anyway, was playing around with new themes last night for this blog, and settled on this one (for now). That is until (if it is worth it) I will purchase the upgrade so I can fool around with the settings anyway I want! 🙂 Just wanted something that was more accessible to my viewers! Shiny!
Soo, this weekend was a busy one…saw Nemo in 3D, went to a memorial service, shot some bow and arrows at a sporting event at a local church-camp, held some adorable barely month-old kittens and went to an ordination ceremony last night.
Well, Nemo 3D wasn’t as impressive as I thought it’d be, the memorial service was sad but beautiful, and the shooting just left me sore. (I have a chiropractor appointment on Wednesday.)
My mother holding two of the gray and white kittens. There are really four of them…when I am there again, I will take more pictures.
My aunt has these adorable kittens and when they are old enough…I’ll get to take one home! Yay! And the ordination ceremony was interesting, (my brother-in-law was getting ordained as a minister)…
Anyway, the point I was trying to make was this:
Woke up with a sore throat and sinus headache this morning, so I must have caught something at that ceremony last night, uggh!
So here I am huddled on the couch with a blanket, my laptop and some soothing music and wondering how sleepy NyQuil will actually make me…I doubt it’s advisable to apply for jobs in a drug-addled state…hmm…
But of course I did everything else this weekend, instead of writing. I managed to create another cover page for a story…but nope, no writing done…
It made me think about some of the things that I’ve read from other writers on here:Â How a writer is an observer. Sometimes we become so preoccupied with observing, that we forget that we are also part of the reality that we live in.
Some emphasize that as a writer, it is just as important to live your life outside of the fiction world. Although things were certainly busy enough this weekend, it is something that I seem to be having more and more trouble with lately. Living in reality. Instead of zoning out…plotting, planning, hearing character’s voices in my head…
***One of the songs I was just listening to. I love the music in the Chronicles of Narnia movie. Another fine example of losing yourself in another reality!***
As the winter months come upon us, I start to dread it a little more…
Every year since I was a senior in high school, I’ve had what people call “the winter blues.” My doctor diagnosed it as “Seasonal Affective Disorder,” where my mood, attention span, etc. seems to be dependent on how much sunlight we may or may not get in a given winter. (I know, move some place warmer, silly! As soon as I get moolah, that might just be my plan!)
There is some correlation between serotonin and the brain, and for some reason, in the winter months…things are a little ‘off’ for me.
Things are certainly better than they were. I have a special sunlight lamp, my diet is much better and I try to exercise more, but there is something else that I notice. As I lose focus on the reality around me, I am able to lose myself in my writing and fictional worlds just a little bit more.
Anyone ever notice that a lot of great writers suffer or have suffered from some form of Depression? Robert Frost…Sylvia Plath…just to name a few…(one day I will do the proper research!)
While I am in no way planning to shut my head in an oven door, I find it interesting that as I become more withdrawn from the real world, the fictional world is welcoming me back with open arms.
This summer, I had the best summer of my life. (Everyone loves a summer romance!) I saw new places, I spent more time with my friends than I ever have before. I see this summer as bright and shining, full of sunshine a warm yellow; and the bright, rippling blue lakes that I drove by when I went to and from various places in the Finger Lakes area.
Me and some girlfriends at Robert Treman state park earlier this summer. (I’m in the brown t-shirt.) What a beautiful day!
And for the first time in about a year: I didn’t write.
Four months went by. I hadn’t written a single thing. (Handsome guys will do that to a girl…) But it makes me question myself. Should I still call myself a writer?
My notebooks didn’t get forgotten…I still had them with me wherever I went. I jotted down a few ideas, came up with a character name, a different story plot, but I didn’t string more than three or four sentences together. No dialogue got written. I might have started two paragraphs in a story and then, hey, there was swimming to be done, and kissing and movies to watch and cuddling…
But here I am, back to reality. Ironic, really. Summer romance done, full-time job over. The reality that I lived in this summer was probably as close to a fiction one as I’ve ever saw myself in.
I suppose the idea is this: When dreams aren’t being fulfilled in reality, I try to live them in the fiction world. What happens then, when I have a really good day?
Hmm, it’s a troubling thought. But I understand, (maybe more than some,) how important it is to maintain a good balance.
And I blame it on that movie, The Words…damn that clever, thought-provoking writing!
“Eventually, all writers have to make a choice,” says a character in the film. Do you live in the fictional world? Or maintain a grasp on reality?
Hmm. Here’s a thought: Why can’t a person do both??
Last night, I saw the movie, The Words. It was a last minute decision, there was honestly nothing better to watch and I thought, hey, I’ve seen a trailer for this, it looks romantic.
Little did I know, that it was going to be completely different than what I expected…what a relief!
***I recommend this for anyone looking for a thought provoking film and if you just happen to be a writer, you’ll love it too!
This movie is intelligent, and just very well written. The Words is the name of a novel, which is narrated by the author throughout the movie; it is about a writer who finds a story, which he takes as his own.
The music is beautiful, the acting is superb and it easily sucks a viewer in; the scenes are intricately woven and well placed ***this would be one of my examples of how to write a great plot!!
Anyway, the movie brings up questions about a writer’s capability and what it truly means to be a writer and the sacrifices that are made; about choosing between fiction and reality and that all writers eventually make a choice.
“Hitting a little close to home?” asked my friend in my ear during the movie, and well, yeah, it does!
I sometimes wonder if I don’t take too much time with my imaginary worlds. I’ll emerge hours later with a sort of glazed over expression and a dumb look on my face. My mother will be asking me a question but I’m still off in the story, I’ve still got the character’s voice in my head, I still feel their emotions.
Sometimes, it makes me worry, because it is so difficult to come back to the real world…to connect, to pay the bills, to do the laundry, to answer a friend’s text. Especially when things aren’t going well.
Sometimes the fiction world becomes an escape mechanism, a therapy. There is nothing wrong with this to a point, but suddenly I’m afraid. If you get too lost in your fiction, do you miss the real world, too?
Because, well…there is also beauty in reality, too.
Just finished watching Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark and I guess I am struck tonight by how inspiring great movie characters are and the writing behind them.
When you see the silhouette of Indiana Jones on the big screen, one doesn’t always see the great writing that went into such a script, but its been something that I’ve been thinking about lately. How great movie/TV characters stay with you and are a great inspiration for me, especially as a writer.
Everything about the characterization of Indiana Jones is well thought out, so cleverly or accidentally crafted; right down to the name of course. I did not know that Indiana was the name of George Lucas’ dog at the time! Hah!
But I was just telling my mother earlier today: “Look at a great character like Sawyer from Lost.”
Mom: “Yeah, what about him?”
Me: “Everything about the character is Sawyer, even the name. You can say the name Sawyer and you automatically know who or what that person is and (in Sawyer’s case) what clever lines he might have.”
Mom: “Okay…”
But my line of thinking is this: Who wouldn’t want to create a character as great as Sawyer, or Indiana Jones or Han Solo? To write something that has become legendary and I guess that’s the ultimate success, isn’t it? When the character becomes more than what’s on the page. It just simply IS.
(Here’s hoping that the new show Revolution has a similar feel, yeah? Even some of the lines we see in the trailer look good. But ah, I digress…)
When a character, or when a character’s lines or scenes or actions get inside you and make you laugh, cry or feel something – that is the ultimate success, too. Who wouldn’t want to create a character that quite literally flies off the page and reaches others? Because I know I definitely would!
The excitement of it…every little detail; to a head nod, to a muscle twitch in someone’s left hand…to their rumpled clothes. The perfect details. The perfect character. Ah… now who wouldn’t call that poetry?
French toast with syrup, sprinkled with powdered sugar and orange slices. Yum!
A. J. Morse 