Month: November 2008

Writing Stuff

A Lonely Profession

Karen

I just received a comment on Write Anything concerning an entry I posted over there March 31, 2006.

Wow, I forgot I even wrote this. I have to admit, I like it and it still applies to me today.

In fact, probably more so.

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Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.
Ernest Hemingway

Writing is a lonely profession.

And yet, I like it that way. I’ve never been a people person, per se, and given the choice of attending a party or holing up in a corner with a pad and pencil, I’ll choose the isolation every time. This doesn’t mean I don’t like people, far from it, I just prefer to remain on the outskirts of humanity and simply … watch.

And write about my observations.

I like my space. I like being by myself, I like having room to stretch out and do yoga exercises with my imagination. I like submersing myself in fantasy worlds and building entire scenes out of an overheard conversation or absent-minded gestures and unconscious expressions. I require absolute silence when I write, otherwise I’m too easily distracted and my story fades like a television station with poor reception.

I like my own company and I never have any problems being by myself or finding something to do to entertain myself and I purposefully factor myself out of human equations – give me a book instead.

And yet, there are times I get incredibly lonely. Those are the times I pin my husband to the wall as soon as he gets home from work and talk his ear off, generally about nothing; it’s just a relief to hear my voice as opposed to hearing my thoughts. I know he must feel like a bug caught in a jar during these times, he can see me and he can hear syllables come out of my mouth, but I’m usually talking so fast that the words are garbled and vague. I can tell he’s humoring me. He’s a creative person as well (he plays music) so he can relate to my enthusiasm for new ideas and the adrenaline rush one gets when ideas flow, but he doesn’t fully understand that there are times I simply need to … talk shop.

That’s why I love participating in online groups like this blog. It gives me a chance to communicate with like-minded people, like myself, on my terms. I can sign on and comment on my schedule. I answer to no one.

But after comparing notes, cracking jokes, bouncing ideas, and offering suggestions, after all of this is said and done, writers must once more step back into their isolation and pick up where they left off – they must accept the fact that writing is a lonely profession.

How do you alleviate your writing loneliness?

NaNoWriMo

Reality Check – Last Excerpt

Karen

nanowrimoex-061

Here’s the last installment from my 2006 NaNoWriMo project.

I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think about revising at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

Please remember, this is straight from my rough draft – I’ve done virtually no editing. 🙂

Thanks for reading and KEEP WRITING!

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“Should I wait here, miss?” the cab driver asked her.

That was probably a good idea. She didn’t even know if she would be allowed into the house, let alone allowed to talk to Marcus. Perhaps coming hadn’t been the best thing to do.

“Actually, yes, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure if he’ll even see me so … if you don’t mind, could you stick around for about five minutes? I’ll come back out and pay you if it looks like I’ll be staying longer.”

“Right.” The cab driver put his car into park, turned off the engine and settled back into his seat. “Five minutes, miss.”

She opened the door and made to get out when suddenly a body shoved her back in, a male body.

“Hey!” She was shoved across the seat, her body pushed up against the opposite door.

Dalton shouted to the driver. “Drive!

“What?” The driver sat bolt upright and twisted around in his seat to give Dalton a wide, startled look.

“Drive!” Dalton glanced out of his window, a look of trepidation on his face.

“Wait, please,” Brenna placed a hand on the driver’s shoulder then turned to Dalton. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to Jackie.”

Brenna continued to glare at him.

“My sister?” he supplied, his brows lifted. “Marcus’ wife?”

“I know who Jackie is, Dalton! Now get out of my way! I need to talk to Marcus and you’re not stopping me this time.”

“I won’t have to,” he said, his eyes trained on a figure bursting out of the house. It was a woman, and she was carrying a shotgun.

“Get off my property, you little whore!” Jackie started across the front lawn, the gun dangling from her skinny arms.

“She wouldn’t seriously shoot me, would she?”

Dalton ignored her and spoke directly to the driver. “If you don’t want your head blown off, I suggest you MOVE!”

The cab driver took one look at the woman with the gun coming toward them and roared the engine to life. They were moving two seconds later.

Brenna turned around and watched the woman reach the curb. She steadied herself and took aim.

“She’s going to shoot us!” Brenna continued to stare at the woman through the back windshield. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A man was running toward Jackie. It looked like Marcus. It WAS Marcus. “There’s Marcus!”

Dalton slapped a hand on the back of her head and pushed her down to the seat. “You have a death wish, do you know that?”

The driver, panicked and not wanting to get shot, rounded the corner on two wheels, they were out of sight within seconds.

“If she had fired that gun, could I have had her arrested?”

Dalton sat back up and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Just what the HELL were you thinking?”

“I … I … needed to talk to Marcus,” she answered quietly, shrinking from Dalton’s anger.

“At his house? With his WIFE home? What did you expect to happen? That you could just waltz up to their house, ring the doorbell and say in that perky little voice of yours, ‘Hello. I’m Marcus’ mistress. I was wondering, is he here? I need to talk to him. I hope you don’t mind.’” He snorted. “Are you mental?”

“I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking that question to, Dalton.”

“I’m not playing games, Brenna. Jackie is my sister, and I love her, but she’s nuts. Always has been. She’s unstable under the best of conditions, she’s certainly not going to allow you to walk into her home and shut yourself off in a room with her husband just so you can get a few answers.”

“Uh … where to, lady?” the cab driver addressed the question to Brenna, but his eyes remained on Dalton through the rearview mirror.

“Back to the lady’s house,” Dalton growled

The cabbie’s question served to ground them both. Long moments passed with neither of them speaking.

“WHY don’t you want me to talk to Marcus?” She crossed her arms and turned in her seat to stare at him. “What exactly do you not want me to know? What is the big secret?”

“Believe me, I’d tell you if I could.”

“Why can’t you? I’m going crazy trying to piece this thing together on my own. It would be nice if you would meet me halfway here.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

Dalton waved a hand. “Your whole losing your memory thing.”

“I’m not made of glass, Dalton.”

He sighed. “Look. I realize this must be incredibly frustrating for you,” she snorted in response. He ignored her. “But you’re going to have to trust me on this. Dr. Connelly said you lost your memory because of something traumatic that happened to you. This is your body’s way of protecting itself. You’ll remember when you’re ready to remember. Talking to Marcus is not going to help you.”

“It would fill in some gaps.”

“It would hurt you,” he said softly.

“Why do you care? Wouldn’t it be better to make me remember? Then you would have the answers you need concerning the fire, you could get back to work, I could get on with my life, everyone’s happy.”

“It’s not that easy, Brenna.”

She felt like screaming. “It could be! Why do you feel like you have to protect me?”

He was silent for a long time. When she was sure he wasn’t going to answer her, she huffed out an irritated breath, moved closer to her side of the car and stared out of the window.

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Writing Stuff

My “Lost on Earth” Chapter Six Contribution

Karen

chapterseven

So I mentioned that our first collaborative writing project, called Chapter Seven, was due to post at Write Anything this week – and it has been.

Today, my chapter was published. *gulp*

I wrote chapter six because I was terrified of writing chapter one or getting stuck wrapping the story up at chapter seven. However, I would have taken those chapters if no one else wanted them.

This was my first time participating in a collaborative writing project, but it was not my first time writing with other people – if that makes any sense. I used to be pretty heavy into the whole role playing thing (back before The Sims came along *gasp* and back when you had to write all of your characters reactions out as opposed to now when it’s all done through fancy-smancy avatars.)

So, I was pretty used to thinking on my feet. And that is what is necessary when you collaboratively write with other people. The story takes unexpected turns and you must go with the flow – sometimes it’s frustrating because it wasn’t what you envisioned, but often times, it’s exciting because it travels down a road you never considered before.

It’s the ultimate writing challenge, in my opinion. And it REALLY exercises your writing muscles as well because you have to consciously try and write in the same tone as the other writers.

At any rate, I had a BLAST participating in this project and we plan on continuing the project as long as we have interested writers. We’re currently gearing up for the next Chapter Seven Edition – the Winter 2009 Edition, if anyone would like to join up I still need three more writers. I will be participating again (in fact, I will be participating in every challenge because come on, it’s only fair I ask myself to go through what I’m asking you to go through) so I’ll be at least one face you’ll be familiar with. *smile*

You only have to write about 1,000 words and you’ll have close to a week to write that. It’s a fairly low-stress (non-paying) writing gig and I can promise you, you’ll learn a lot about your writing self in the process. Contact me if you want in!

Anyway, here’s an excerpt of what I wrote. Our story is entitled “Lost on Earth” and it’s a science fiction story about a woman, an alien, who is using Earth to hide from her people who want her back so she can lead them. If you get a chance, please click over and read the rest of the excerpts – I really think we did a nice job pulling it all together.

loe6

Nico could only see the outline of a body on her front stoop. She tried turning her head to one side, then the other side in an attempt to gain a better perspective, but it was no use, she simply couldn’t determine who, or what, was outside her door.

“Who is it?” she asked softly. Her voice sounded strange, almost hollow in pitch and she felt a peculiar squeezing in her stomach.

She placed a hand flat against her abdomen and nearly forgot about the person on the porch as the peculiar sensation persisted. She tried to decipher what she was feeling – fear perhaps?

“Hmm, that’s an interesting emotion,” she muttered quietly.

“Nico, it’s Bob,” his voice hissed through the door. “Let me in, we need to talk.”
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Read the rest of Chapter Six here.

“Lost on Earth” table of contents: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

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NaNoWriMo Progress

Life

The Holiday Family Shuffle

Karen

I was reading Assertagirl’s blog entry this morning and I’m afraid I went a little berserk in her comments. (Sorry about that!)

It wasn’t a bad berserk, but more of a crazy/frustrated/I-needed-to-get-it-off-my-chest sort of berserk.

The subject? The holiday family shuffle.

*sigh*

You know what I’m talking about, right? The whole we will be at your house at such-and-such time, but only until 2:00 p.m. when we’ll have to inevitably leave in the middle of some fun game/conversation, feel terribly guilty about it and probably hurt some family member’s feelings over it, so we can race across town and show up late to another family function and stay until the last possible moment to make up for coming late and then getting home to collapse into bed because we’re too tired to unwind, relax and enjoy what little time we have left of the holiday to spend with just our immediate family … dilemma.

*takes a deep breath*

I despise holidays where I’m forced to watch the clock the entire day. It’s not fun for anyone. Let me repeat that, it’s not fun for me. And when the boys were little? It was torture on them because they were so tired but were forced to be polite and good and I would get questions like, “why is MK acting so strange? Is he sick?”

AARGH.

We did the family shuffle every year, for many years. I did it mainly to appease my mother-in-law. We would spend all day Thanksgiving day with my husband’s family and then at Christmas time, we would have brunch over at my parents’ house (because mom was nice enough to move our “dinner” up to brunch so we could participate) because we had to be back at my in-laws’ house in time for lunch.

Do you see the big, fat problem with this scenario? My family was getting the short end of the stick. We never (and haven’t in I don’t know how many years) spent Thanksgiving day with them and then on Christmas day, we went over to their house at 10:00 a.m. to be at their house, eat a hurried brunch, hurry through presents and talk really fast to catch up before we had to leave around 1ish to make it over to my in-law’s house where we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon.

I had finally had enough. I yelled FOUL BALL and revised the rules.

I could no longer stand the fact that we were being terribly unfair to my family. My mother never once (and would never) said a word about the arrangement. She never complained or even made an indirect snide comment about it. Ever. My mom is the sweetest person you’ll ever meet in the entire world and hates to put any stress on you.

But I could see it bothered her. And it really bothered me that it bothered her. But not just that it bothered her but that it was unfair to them and I pride myself on being a pretty fair person.

So … we (because the husband is in agreement with me on this) put our foot down.

New rules have been established: spend all day with his family on Thanksgiving, spend all day with my family on Christmas day.

Needless to say, this is not going over well for my mother-in-law. She’s getting more used to the arrangement now, but it’s been a tough road.

I’m not so hard-nosed that I haven’t tried to come up with an alternate plan. I’ve told her, and I still tell her, that we’ll be more than happy to get together with them/the whole family on any other day BUT Christmas day. Christmas day is reserved for my family. I have brothers-in-law who made plans with their families months ahead of time – they all agree on one day to have their family party and they all show up and have their party. Easy, efficient. I don’t know why we can’t do that as well.

But whatever. People have their parties and if we can show up, great. If we can’t, great. I don’t expect anyone to rearrange their schedules for us. I wouldn’t ask them too – I think that’s rude and presumptuous.

*sigh* It’s hard (and sometimes impossible) to satisfy both families, you know? (Not that anyone is complaining now – we’ve all sort of settled into a pattern – but I can see it still bothers certain *cough*MIL*cough* people).

Anyway, I think the awkwardness has been ironed out and I feel better about the holidays – more so now than I ever have. And yes mom, I KNOW I was always the one to get stressed out, not you. What can I say, I’m a stress machine. 😀

The moral of the story? Be fair, but be firm with family. Sometimes, you have to be.

What do you do? How do you divide your family time on the holidays?

NaNoWriMo

Racing Heart – Last Excerpt

Karen

Racing Heart

This is the last excerpt from my 2008 National Novel Writing Month project, Racing Heart. I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think too much about what I’m doing at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

This is it, the last week of the challenge. I’m in pretty good shape and barring any unforeseen tragedy (knock on wood), I should be crossing, validating and posting winning badges in the next several days.

It’s weird, but I don’t feel as drained as I have in year’s past. In fact, my creative energy is just as high as it was beginning the challenge. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s been a subtle shift in me – I feel more like a writer and I’m feeling a bit more confidence.

Thank you so much for sticking it out with me this month. Watch the word count widget in my sidebar, it should be reaching that 50,000 mark very soon.

(last part of) Chapter One
You can read the prologue and the first and second part of chapter one.

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“Alex, let me explain,” Julie began. She stopped as she noticed that Bridget was still sitting on the bed. In fact, she was settling in deeper and looked like she had no intention of leaving any time soon. Julie ignored her. “I just took my eyes off the track for a second …”

“That’s all it takes, Julie,” Alex said softly.

Tears began pooling in Julie’s eyes and she moved closer to the bed. “I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am, Alex. You know me, you know I would never do something like this on purpose. I always watch you like a hawk …”

“Until Kent shows up,” Bridget cut in.

Julie blinked. She could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”

Bridget sighed and leaned back against Alex’s shoulder, her long, lithe body was half off, half on the narrow hospital bed. “You really want to go there, Julie?”

“I … I don’t know what she’s talking about, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes volleyed between the women. After studying Julie’s face for long moments, he turned to Bridget. “I’d like to know what you mean, Bridget,” he held up a hand as she began to speak, interrupting her, “but this is my baby sister we’re talking about here and I won’t put up with your bitchy attitude or silly gossip. If you have something to say to me, then say it, otherwise, this conversation isn’t about you.”

Bridget blinked in surprise at his sour tone but then shrugged. “It hurts to think you believe I’m capable of something so petty at a time like this, Alex. But I’m telling you the truth. Every time Kent walks by, Julie gets flustered and can barely speak.”

Julie threw up a hand in disgust. “How would you know that? This is the first time we’ve even met, I don’t know you …”

“I’ve watched you, Julie,” Bridget said quietly. “From my father’s box.”

“Your father’s box?” Julie looked at Alex for help.

“Her father is Gary Ritter, Jules. You know, Ritter Racing.”

“Of course,” Julie said dryly and snagged a tissue from a nearby box. She couldn’t bare this. She knew she had to explain what happened, but she also knew that after he found out, he would never forgive her or want to see her again. She had learned to endure her parents’ rejection after so many years, she wasn’t sure she could handle it if Alex rejected her, too.

“The day of the race,” Bridget began quietly, “you were one of Alex’s spotters. And you were doing a great job, I might add. So good in fact, that you were in the lead,” she said while threading her fingers through Alex’s. “You would have won that race and broke Ort’s ten win streak if you hadn’t crashed.”

“I know that, baby,” Alex said, his expression pained.

“Anyway,” Bridget said and cleared her throat before continuing. “Things were going great for you, not so great for Kent. He had crashed on lap 123. Do you remember that, Alex?”

Alex’s brow furrowed in concentration, but he shook his head. “Sort of. I heard that he had crashed, but I was too focused on the race to worry to think about it too much. Were they not able to fix his car?”

“No,” Bridget continued. “Bobby had bumped him and he went into the wall. His car was trashed.”

Alex nodded.

“So, Kent was out. He was walking back to his trailer when he passed Julie.” Both Alex and Bridget looked at Julie.

Julie swallowed hard and picked up the conversation before Bridget could continue. “He … he talked to me, Alex. He’s never done that before. I became distracted. I lost focus … I …I …” she bit her lip and tried to quell a cry. “I took my eyes off of you for a second,” she blurt out. “It’s all my fault that you’re paralyzed! I’m so sorry. Please forgive me! I don’t know how I can ever make this up to you. My God, you must hate me!” She buried her face in her hands and began crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. She began to hiccup in an attempt to get herself under control.

“Wait,” Bridget sat bolt upright and looked at Alex. “You’re paralyzed?”

Alex silently nodded and Bridget gasped. “Oh my God! When did … when I was here last night, I never heard, nothing was said … oh my God Alex. Is it permanent? How bad is it?”

Alex heaved a heavy sigh and turned his head away from the women. “Bad. As in I’ll likely never walk again, bad.”

Julie looked up and blinked away the tears. She hurried to Alex’s other side and kneeled down so that she could look him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Alex. I love you. I would never hurt you, ever. I worship you. You’ve been the only reason I’ve stuck around all these years. You’re the only family I’ve got.”

“Don’t be stupid, Julie. You have mom and dad.”

Julie vehemently shook her head. “No Alex. You know mom and dad only tolerate me. They don’t really love me.”

Alex’s eyes finally shifted away from the window and focused on her. “I can’t believe you’re still thinking of yourself and I’m stuck in this bed and …” he paused and took a steadying breath. “I will never walk again!” he yelled. Julie cringed and shrunk away. Alex had never raised his voice to her, ever. “I … can’t process this right now. I don’t know what happened. I don’t who’s to blame. I … you need to leave, Julie. I can’t … talk to you right now.”

Bridget sniffled quietly on the other side of the bed. Julie’s gaze remained fixed on her brother. “Alex. Please, tell me what I can do to make this up to you. How can I make this right? This is killing me. I don’t know what to say. If I could have taken this blow for you, I would have.”

“Get out,” Bridget said softly and blew her nose.

“This doesn’t concern you, Bridget,” Julie snarled, redirecting all of her fear, worry and apprehension onto the blonde woman.

“It damn well does concern me!” Bridget shouted. “We were going to get married, you stupid girl!”

Alex gave Bridget a sharp look. “Were?”

“Get out!” Bridget screamed. “Get out and don’t you dare show your face back here again, do you hear me?”

“Bridget,” Alex began.

“Alex?” Julie questioned, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Alex please, don’t shut me out. Let me help you.”

“Get out, Julie,” Alex said, his voice deadly calm and barely above a whisper.

Julie yelped back a cry and quickly gathered her things. “I’ll call you later …”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you, Julie. Give me some time,” said Alex.

“If you try to see him,” Bridget snarled, her nose red, her mascara smeared, “I will call security on you. If you try and call him, I’ll report a harassment suit against you. Do you understand, Julie? We do not want to see you, ever again!”

Julie looked helplessly at Alex and waited for him to say something.

He remained stoic and unresponsive. His head was turned once more and he was staring out of the window.

With a cry of anguish, Julie stumbled out of the hospital room.