Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I'm a Cougar
I’m a Cougar!
I’ve been officially accepted into the University of Houston in Texas where I’ll be majoring in English and Creative Writing, with a minor in History. Hurrah!!! The cool thing is that my husband was also a Cougar, albeit at a totally different school, and we both laughed that if accepted I too would be a cougar. With a slightly different hue of course.
So…….GO RED!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Buried Treasure
Isn’t it funny how something of value can be diminished or forgotten over time. Perhaps it’s because other things take precedence. Maybe it’s because we’ve forgotten why we valued it in the first place.
I recently discovered (or was reminded of) a way in which to unearth it, which requires very little time and perhaps even less effort. It is a beautiful thing called free writing. Inspired by a few words and carried out by as many fingers. It uses a thought–a prompt if you will–and a smidgen of time, though the latter can often be ignored if the result warrants it.I first discovered free writing when I was a senior in high school. I had a fantastic creative writing class with not one, but two talented artists at the helm. They taught me how to read faster, thoughtfully, and discover what was buried deep within my heart and get it out on paper. Free writing is different than merely thinking. It allows you to put your thoughts down on paper as they come, thus freeing up your mind for all that’s buried underneath you didn’t know was there. Even now as we speak I’ve renamed this exercise to emulate its gift and purpose. Finding that treasure that is buried in our subconscious or our heart, fighting to break free.
It’s like an anxious child digging through their toy chest, pulling things out and throwing them aside, oblivious or uncaring to the mess they are making in their effort to find that lost item of value they know is in there….somewhere. Or less appealing, but just as effective, is the individual forced to clean out the fridge and in turn, unearthing a once precious item that has become something horrific in its languishing state. Both discoveries offer their own emotions upon reveal, and yet give us a sense of relief as they find their way out–for good or bad.
How much of ourselves do we bury out of fear, hurt, or simply out of neglect because of something more pressing that has taken its place? Are we actively searching to unearth those hidden treasures, unwilling to let them stay buried or forgotten? Or does our fear cause us to push things back until we’re forced to address them in whatever state they’re in.
Every now and again our fridge will unearth a rare treasure that has stood the test of time and grown to something even more beautiful. Revealing itself at just the right moment when you need it most. A chilled soda, a slab of sharp cheese that just needs a little trimming. We laugh, knowing it was there all along, but discovering it at just the perfect moment when we need it most.
Free writing is a lot the same way. It has the potential to unearth what’s buried within our hearts and minds, revealing thoughts, plots, and yes occasionally some moldy cheese that needs a little trimming before it becomes a thing of beauty once more. Even better is how it frees us of what we know without taking it away forever. Transferring it to written form allows us to take a closer look at it, and more times than not takes us somewhere we didn’t know we wanted or needed to go.
I can’t tell you how many times my writing has begun with a simple prompt or thought and very quickly taken me along a completely different tangent.
And so begins the “Treasure Hunt” where the prize for each of you will be of your own making, and the only help I can give is a “prompting” to get started.
Happy writing!
*************
5 Comments
Friday, March 26, 2010
Write Anything Fun Friday Prompt
“Shhh…did you hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything,” I said to Thane, watching him lower his head even more towards mine. It continued towards my chest where he laid his cheek gently against my collarbone.
“Shhhh. Listen. It’s beating so smoothly. Just for me.”
I smiled shyly. He was always saying romantic things like that. Even before I got him hooked on chick flicks, although I think even that was just an excuse for him to come over and spend time with me. My parents loved Thane almost as much as I did, though neither of us were quite convinced at first. Thane was one of those boys who started out toilet papering your house and in a few years was knocking on the front door of it asking out the girl who wasn’t quite as geeky as he remembered from grade school. It was the summer after high school now and Thane had been more regular at our house than my Grandma after her third bowl of oatmeal. I honestly didn’t know how to respond to his statement, but I thought maybe some mutual teasing might be what he was after.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
His head lifted and his eyes met mine. “I know what it sounded like before we met. Broken…unsteady…unsure…”
“And what makes you think it’s any different now?” I could feel my pulse racing and it was anything but steady. His voice had not reflected the playfulness I thought he was going for, and I gleaned that this wasn’t just any playful conversation despite it being a late Friday night.
“Your eyes. They’re like windows. Once curtained and shut off from the world…now wide open for those that long to see inside.”
“And what do you see?” I asked.
“The world. My world.”
______________________
Get your prompt and have some “fun this friday”
http://writeanything.wordpress.com/fiction-friday/
***********
2 Comments
Shelli says:
March 26, 2010 at 5:08 pm
Ooooh, nicely done! I like it! You took the prompt in a different direction, and I like that. I wouldn’t have expected a romantic twist.
Adam Byatt says:
March 27, 2010 at 4:49 pm
A great romantic vignette without being cloying.
I loved the description of the boy’s change in how he shows affection. And Grandma’s bowl of oatmeal made me laugh.
Great dialogue. Very natural.
“I don’t hear anything,” I said to Thane, watching him lower his head even more towards mine. It continued towards my chest where he laid his cheek gently against my collarbone.
“Shhhh. Listen. It’s beating so smoothly. Just for me.”
I smiled shyly. He was always saying romantic things like that. Even before I got him hooked on chick flicks, although I think even that was just an excuse for him to come over and spend time with me. My parents loved Thane almost as much as I did, though neither of us were quite convinced at first. Thane was one of those boys who started out toilet papering your house and in a few years was knocking on the front door of it asking out the girl who wasn’t quite as geeky as he remembered from grade school. It was the summer after high school now and Thane had been more regular at our house than my Grandma after her third bowl of oatmeal. I honestly didn’t know how to respond to his statement, but I thought maybe some mutual teasing might be what he was after.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
His head lifted and his eyes met mine. “I know what it sounded like before we met. Broken…unsteady…unsure…”
“And what makes you think it’s any different now?” I could feel my pulse racing and it was anything but steady. His voice had not reflected the playfulness I thought he was going for, and I gleaned that this wasn’t just any playful conversation despite it being a late Friday night.
“Your eyes. They’re like windows. Once curtained and shut off from the world…now wide open for those that long to see inside.”
“And what do you see?” I asked.
“The world. My world.”
______________________
Get your prompt and have some “fun this friday”
http://writeanything.wordpress.com/fiction-friday/
***********
2 Comments
Shelli says:
March 26, 2010 at 5:08 pm
Ooooh, nicely done! I like it! You took the prompt in a different direction, and I like that. I wouldn’t have expected a romantic twist.
Adam Byatt says:
March 27, 2010 at 4:49 pm
A great romantic vignette without being cloying.
I loved the description of the boy’s change in how he shows affection. And Grandma’s bowl of oatmeal made me laugh.
Great dialogue. Very natural.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Research
Books, Google, friends, experts…all sit in that great well of information available to writers, ready to be drawn upon and utilized to quench our thirst for knowledge on a subject that we may know little about but need to have in order to add credence to our words, or life to our story. Sadly, our research sometimes stems from a different source…a painful one at times…and can be difficult to draw from without drowning in it first.
I’m talking about the personal experience aspect of research.
When I began writing my current WIP, I wasn’t drawing from any direct personal experience though I had done plenty of research and could imagine perfectly what each event and emotion would feel like. Then life happened. Real life. My story took on a whole new perspective as I began to actually experience the realism of my story. In the last two months I’ve found my research coming to fruition and I’m a little frightened to have it manifested so very near what I had written as to begin wondering whether I had fallen into the movie “Stranger than Fiction.” `I thought the movie was incredibly funny at the time. Funny…strange…sad…and perhaps a little frightening at times. Welcome to my life right now.
I’m living my research as I experience the very real grief from losing a parent, and as I write this…sit in the hospital with my six year old who is being treated to reduce her chances of a heart aneurysm from 25% to 3%. I didn’t want this. I wouldn’t have wished this on anyone. But it does validate my research in a very real way and has added a dimension to the emotions my characters are facing. I’ve also begun to look at the story as a whole and found that it parallels a lot of my life in so many ways that perhaps I have been writing my own story for a long time.
And what better research could I have? I guess if I had to draw from anyone’s personal experiences to help them find their way through the grief and sadness to find hope and courage it might as well be me, myself and I.
What about you? How much have your own real-life experiences influenced your writing? What are the benefits? The drawbacks? And do you find yourself changing the story to fit what you would love to have happen? Or are you true to realism in order to share the true heartache, no matter how painful?
I’m talking about the personal experience aspect of research.
When I began writing my current WIP, I wasn’t drawing from any direct personal experience though I had done plenty of research and could imagine perfectly what each event and emotion would feel like. Then life happened. Real life. My story took on a whole new perspective as I began to actually experience the realism of my story. In the last two months I’ve found my research coming to fruition and I’m a little frightened to have it manifested so very near what I had written as to begin wondering whether I had fallen into the movie “Stranger than Fiction.” `I thought the movie was incredibly funny at the time. Funny…strange…sad…and perhaps a little frightening at times. Welcome to my life right now.
I’m living my research as I experience the very real grief from losing a parent, and as I write this…sit in the hospital with my six year old who is being treated to reduce her chances of a heart aneurysm from 25% to 3%. I didn’t want this. I wouldn’t have wished this on anyone. But it does validate my research in a very real way and has added a dimension to the emotions my characters are facing. I’ve also begun to look at the story as a whole and found that it parallels a lot of my life in so many ways that perhaps I have been writing my own story for a long time.
And what better research could I have? I guess if I had to draw from anyone’s personal experiences to help them find their way through the grief and sadness to find hope and courage it might as well be me, myself and I.
What about you? How much have your own real-life experiences influenced your writing? What are the benefits? The drawbacks? And do you find yourself changing the story to fit what you would love to have happen? Or are you true to realism in order to share the true heartache, no matter how painful?
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