Taking a break.

What to write? I don't do this daily as I'm supposed to but tonight of all nights I am forcing my self. Mostly because I'm burned out on writing for the moment. I need to read a good book but I have none on hand. Well, none that I haven't read recently. I haven't had time to stop anywhere to look for something either. I went shopping last week and stopped by some best sellers but nothing jumped out at me. Absolutely everything is about vampires and as big of a fan as I am, I'm burned out on those as well.

A new story idea popped into my head tonight but to be honest I'm not actually too excited about it at the moment. I think that comes from the burnt out place that I'm in. Can't write about it here...

What to do??????

I'm amazed at how few original stories there are these days. Of course most of what I have to go by is movies. It's easier than reading about every new book that comes out. Most of everything is a remake of some sort. Depressing really. The same goes for music. Love stories are all about the love triangles and the ungettable gets or about sex. All similar.

I wonder where Lewis Carol came up with the idea for Alice in Wonderland? brilliant. Or how did Jane Austen steal our hearts with all her love stories? I know they had to experience it to some degree or at least witness it from a distance. I need to free my head. My story doesn't excite me anymore. Hopefully it's just a phase. What will be will be.

My brain is empty tonight. For once I didn't start a blog with "So". Pat on the back to me. It is though, empty. I can't think of a single thing. Actually that's not true. The thought just crossed my mind yet again that I have no education. That I'm trying to "run with the big dogs". Now, granted, I'm not actually trying to run with the big dogs quite yet, I haven't even left the porch. I was watching Harry Potter today and the half-blood prince and I decided to look up JK Rowling on Wiki. Here I'd always heard of how she went from living in her car to being a millionaire all with in five years but when I look up her history,  there's a lot more to her story. She went to college or a "university" as they like to call them in Britain. She was a teacher and she was actually going back to school. I bet writing came easy to her. I bet she didn't struggle with spending half and hour to write the perfect sentence. I can't remember the exact time but I believe she banged out all seven books in less that ten years. Amazing and intimidating. I'm not ever usually on a soap box but I figure if this is my private blog I can certainly whine all I want.

Anyway, for some strange reason I'm not in the mood to write tonight. I know it takes me a while to get into the zone but my heads not in it tonight so I decided to blog instead. I'm looking into getting a new book to read. I think I've found one but it's not to be released until April 26th so I'll be waiting. The one thing I have a problem with reading while I'm writing is I don't what to be reading a book and have it worm it's way or it's story into my story. Or what about the type of book? What if it puts me in to an "action" type zone and then I take my story in that direction and it doesn't fit with the rest? I'm also afraid that reading someone Else's best seller will  intimidate me while I'm writing. Intimidated enough to make me give up. I don't know. It's just another one of my struggles.  Anyway, I'm tired tonight so I think I'll give into my body and call it a night.

next time.

My battle

So, I'm really battling tonight. Battling with insecurities and fear. I think of my story and I fear it's not original. I think of my writing and fear it's not up to par. I get on amazon and read about books similar to mine and theirs seem like far better stories. I feel inadequate and uneducated. I felt I'd possibly found my calling and once again I doubt myself. It's almost as if I need to learn a different language. Actually learning french or Spanish would probably be easier. I can see everything play out in my head from the tiniest detail to the smell of the air but I'm having problems transferring it in to words on paper. I know you have to start somewhere and I know no one begins perfect but I feel like a first grader trying to compete at Harvard. Sometimes it takes me forever just to write one sentence just up to my standards. Imagine how high everyone else's will be. The flow of the sentence has to be just right or I sometimes have trouble going on. I just need a short break. I need to read something inspiring.

A promise to myself.

So I told someone else about my book last night. She's the one person that I decided from the get-go that would be the only person I could trust to read it and give me constructive criticism. It was so nerve racking. We'd gone to see a movie (The new Jane Eyre, which I loved) and we were having dinner afterward, I'd been considering telling her since the night before. I went back and forth, back and forth. Afraid that if I told her I'd jinx myself that somehow all the ideas would drain from my head and then it would be as I feared just a phase. Not something real. So as we sat there munching away on our salads watching everyone cruise the loop, I began to sweat and I told her, "I have a secret I want to tell you." Her eyes were huge with wonder. Immediately I eliminated one of her thoughts, "and no, I'm not pregnant." I think she'd been holding her breath the way she exhaled. So as I sat there mustering up the courage to finishing telling her my secret she waited almost becoming impatient. I apologized and said it was just hard to say but assured her it wasn't anything bad then she corrected me, "what might be great for you could be bad for everyone else. You're not moving are you?" I laughed and told her no. I told her that my secret would not affect anyone or change anything. So as I sat there taking a deep breath feeling the breeze under my arms grow cooler against their sweating I began, "Now, I'm sure you're first response would be to laugh at me because I would certainly laugh at someone who told me this. Not in cruel way but in a "sure you are... " kind of way." Her eyes begged me to tell her already. I told her "I know, I know, I'm getting to it. Now I've built it up to be this big thing and it's really not." I took one more deep breath and closed my eyes, "I'm writing a book." And of course her response was supportive and happy, she thought it was great. "Why would I laugh at that?" she exclaimed. I told her because in my mind if someone told me that I'd think "sure... and next week you'll be a sculpture artist and the week after that you can be a cowboy." But she was supportive as I knew she would be and asking what the book was about. I told her I'd started it last July and the first couple of months just seemed to be research. I told her I only had fifteen chapters, that when I hit a wall I'd have to do more research. I confided in her my fear of lack of education and poor writing abilities. She urged me to not let my fear of that stop me and to  keep reading other books and reminded me the best writers are readers. So as she drove me home I told her about my story. Now the only other person than myself to know the story. I was afraid to tell anyone premature, afraid they would only think I was doing it for the attention. I babbled away on the drive home, jumping from one detail to the next, from one character to the next. She would occasionally ask questions about my story and I always had an answer. I almost felt like I was telling her a story of something that happened to me. So as she dropped me off at my house I asked her what she thought of my story. She told me she loved it and looked forward to reading it. She said she was impressed with all the research I'd done and how many actual historical facts I'd included. I was relieved. Not at her approval but that what I thought was a great story, indeed sounded like a great story to someone else. We said our goodbyes and I walked in my house, anxious to write. I think I only banged out a couple pages but it was a couple pages more than what I had. And when I finally went to bed, I tossed and turned as the ideas floated in and out of my head the ideas turned to dreams but of course when I woke they were fuzzy and random only bits and pieces of the ideas they started as. But that tells me one thing, my subconscious is as excited as my conscious...
I'm reminded now of last week when I googled for more help on  writing and I came across a blog by Scott Berkun. The blog was titled "Is your book idea good?" His answer? Yes, I promise. If it excited you and captivates you  it will do the same to others. As I went back over the evening in my mind listening to my story being told out loud it excited me all over again and confirmed my feelings and now only drives me to finish it. I know it won't happen over night and it might take another year but I will. I'm promising myself.

rush, rush, rush...

So I'm limited on time to blog. (Did you pick up that this one also started with another so?) I have the rare opportunity to blog my hubby and son come home. He offered to pick him up since I had to run an errand. So now t hat I'm rushing there are far more spelling and grammar mistakes and no time to correct them but now... on to business. So the other night I banged out a chapter. I was totally in the zone a luxury I rarely have. I don't usually have the time to sit down, reread what I've done recently so I can get into the "zone" but I did and it just flowed it was great. It barely seemed to take any effort at all and that is what I imagined writing to be like. I even read through today to do some editing and very little was needed I felt. But I do feel that my writing is very amateur and raw. I read and article today that Stephenie Meyer is working on two new books and finishing up the Host trilogy. Well I absolutely loved the host and I really love Stephenie but then all the pride I felt the other night after finishing a chapter was completely stomped on when I started thinking too far ahead. I want to be a writer like that. I want to band out 2 or 3 chapters a day and have it be effortless. Just my hands and mind being the interpreters for my imagination. But I still feel so dumb for lack of a better word or uneducated. I'll have to stop my train of thought because sometimes I can't form the right sentence or I can't get the words in the right order. I'm having a hard time projecting the feeling in my head into words I can put on paper. Now, I know that this will not happen over night. I know this. The hard part is reminding myself and believing it. It's like any skill, drawing, piano, base ball ~ practice makes perfect. So with out trying to burn myself out I take every opportunity to try to better my vocabulary. Word exercises. I mean that's the whole point of this blog. And then I feel guilty. Guilty that I should be spending more time with my son instead of pursuing selfish interests but then I try to justify that I need something for myself and I already spend a lot of time with my son. But can you ever really spend too much time with your child??? It's a battle. Then I look at my story. I feel inspired by other stories but is it too similar to anything in particular. what if it becomes a best seller then it's picked apart and I'm called a plagiarist? what if the story's not good at all and I'm the only one interested only because it's my break from reality? I have one person in mind that I would want to critique it. My husband is the only one who knows about it right now but to be honest I don't think he'd be the best judge. He's not into and kind of love story. But my friends has one pace for everything ~ slow. And is easily distracted ~ "squirrel!". So I don't know what to do. I don't know any legitimate writers other than the one and only one I'm friends w/ on face-book. I dunno, I guess I'm just doubting myself a lot right now. I guess I can say one good thing: I typed out this entire blog before going back and correcting any spelling errors. Progress!

Faux Pas?

So this is my third blog and I'm noticing that I start them all with the word "so". I don't know if that's a writing faux pas or if that's acceptable. I keep reading all these ehow articles to help improve my writing and it just keeps talking about how all through life we're taught proper punctuation and grammar and in the end if you actually decide to become a writer you can throw that all by the way side because a career in writing means there are no rules. You can have fragments galore! I find that hard to believe. I find that I judge my sentence structure just on what flows. If I reread it and it just seems to go on an on and makes me want to stop reading all together then it's not only a run-on, it's a run-on gone bad.Like lyrics to a song. You have to keep a rhythm, that's what makes it flow. Fragments which end up framed in that hideous red squiggly line once again scream at me "wrong! Wrong!" But when I'm reading a novel it's the fragments I love. They are so simple, to the point but powerful among all the long winded trains of words. So if we spend the first half of out lives being taught all these rules only to ultimately break them, should we choose a career as a writer, why teach them in the first place? Just one more thing to make me question the American educational system. But I actually have a real dilemma and I'm hesitant to write it in my blog for fear that someone may read it even though I turned a lot of my settings off for others to see it. I'm afraid if I hash it out here in what I set up to be my personal journal that someone will come across it and steal my idea. I think a lot of myself don't I? Assuming that my story is so good that someone would actually want to steal it? Honestly, I think that I have a great story idea and the more I research and develop it I think it could be great. The dilemma I"m having now is that some of my side characters seem to be developing a story of their own that I feel could out shine my main character and that's a no-no according to ehow.com. But I think it may actually help to type out my thoughts. When I start going through everything in my mind I just get off course, distracted by something else. Maybe I'm finding my side character more interesting than my main character and they're developing a voice of their own maybe I shouldn't fight it. Maybe I should let it flow. Maybe that's the real story?Actually just sitting here deciding if I did want to type anything specific about my story I just realize what would be a brilliant way to give my side story a voice! And I can do it in the sequel! I love it when I'm caught off guard by a brilliant idea! So I'm off to make notes! ~later

Sleep baby, sleep.

So I haven't blogged the last couple days like I was supposed to. Partly I think because I didn't have the time and partly because I didn't know what to write about. I mean, as practice I'm supposed to sit down and type for twenty minutes, no corrections, no stopping. Can anyone really do that? If I have a spelling mistake I must go back and correct it other wise that red squiggly  line just seems to be yelling at me, "you screwed up" "Mistake! Mistake!" Maybe that's one of the things I'm supposed to work on? Just getting the story out as quickly as possible while it's there. Not worrying about spelling and grammar and punctuation. But then what to write? I'm supposed to just keep flowing, jumping from one thing to the next even though one thing might have nothing to do next. Right now I'm having trouble focusing because I'm letting my sixteen month old child cry out in his crib. It's his nap time and up until this last week he's napped on the couch or the floor or in someones arms. I know, I know. But he fights ridiculously hard napping in the crib. Not at night though. At night as soon as he starts rubbing his eyes I can lay him down and walk out and he won't make a peep. I hate listening to him in there, yelling, throwing his fit to be out here with us. Even though if he were out here with us he'd be trying to fall asleep. You'd think considering how ready he is for a nap he would embrace just sleeping in his crib. He knows what its for, he sleeps there every night. He's been crying for fifteen minutes now. He can go over an hour if he's up to it. He doesn't seem to fight it as hard or as long at home as he does at my in laws. I'm sure they give into him more than we do. He's taking more frequent breaks between crying now, just two or three seconds but that's the first sign that he's beginning to give in. But it's not soon enough for me. I hope that it only takes a couple of weeks to break him of this but deep down I think it'll take closer to a month. He's such a fighter when it comes to anything. That's a good thing I think. Of course it will have it's down side. I blame my husband for it but I know he gets it from both of us and I really see a lot of myself in most situations. It's weird being a mom. Weird in the sense that I still can't believe I am a mom. That I'm responsible for another human being. I wonder if he'll be easier to sooth when he can start understanding me. I'm hoping so.He's been crying for nearly twenty-five minutes now and his cries seem to be angrier. Quick burst of screams between sobs. I can almost picture him reaching up on his tip toes, clenching the top rail of his crib, his little body shaking with fury during those quick screams. I hate listening to it but not as much as I hate that he has to go through it not understanding why. My mothering instinct wants me to go running down the hall into his room, scoop him up and rescue him. Rescue him from the anger and misery of it all. But I know that will only make it worse. If I go in there now after more than thirty minutes of crying it will have all been for nothing. A waste. It's quiet now. He must have closed his eyes for a few seconds too long and succumbed to the sand man. We'll see how long it lasts. Sometimes it's only fifteen minutes. The quick recovering gasps being the after effects of his traumatic nap experience jolting him as he sucks in that air. I've spoke too soon, the screaming is back but only for a minute. I hope the final result will be long uninterrupted afternoon naps. A more sound sleeper. Comfortable in his crib. It no longer being a scary place during the day.  I hope my goal is reachable. It's been fifty minutes now and though his sobs will briefly get weaker he seems to still have the energy for the occasional angry sreams. It has to get better. Right?