No Way In...

I have been working on a story for weeks. Which is absolutely not my way. Normally I sit down and write for a bit and I'm done. Sometimes I have an idea when I sit down, sometimes I peruse a writing prompt list to get an idea, but either way I tend to write in a flurry. If I re-read it before I post it or send it to Dana I count that as editing. 

Even when it's a longer story, like Witches in the Wonky Tower, or Books, I write each section in a flash. I don't tend to plan any of it. And I rarely know where it's going. If I do have a final scene in my head I don't know how I'm getting there, just that that is where I'd like to land. And even that can disappear when I start writing. Like the Books series I've been posting on Sunday originally in my head was a totally different story. Different ending. Different type of story. And then when I found my way in it was through a different door that led to a different story. And even that all happened one weekend while I was writing something to send to Dana to start our swaps. 

But this one? I had a dream a month or so ago and when I woke up it stuck in my head so I took a few notes. I thought, this might actually be something. Then I let it just rattle around in my head firming up a little more. And yeah, I think there's something there. Then I started trying to write it into a story. 

And I'm stuck.

I cannot find my way in. That's the problem. I know the middle. I know the end. I know what the beats of the story are. But I don't know how to get in to it. Where do I start? How do I get the set up premise going? Because there is a set up and a payoff and I have to have those in or it's not really a story. 

And honestly, that doesn't usually bother me that much. I've written a ton of things that aren't really a story per se, so much as a scene. A section of a life pulled out and looked at. Things that could, if I were a different person, be part of a larger book. A whole big story. Some of you might even have said to me, "I want to know more about this person!" and I'm always like, "Good luck with that."

Because I write for fun. I write in a flash. I write as it comes to me. And if it's good then that's bonus. 

But this one? I really think it's good. Or could be good. I think there's something there for a little short story that will be good and creepy and fun. Just perfect for October. 

If I can figure out how to write it. How to find my way in. How to pick one of the multiple entry points and go from there. 

I've tried writing the middle and going back. That's a thing they tell you to do in those "how to write" books, but I need to know how I'm getting in. I'm blocked on the rest until I figure out how to get there. My brain just works that way. I'm almost at the point where it will just go away for awhile. If I get a flash of "Oh of course this is the way in!" then I'll come back. 

I don't want to do that just yet because I still believe in the story. I still think it's going to be good. But maybe I've put too much pressure on these poor guys to live up to the idea of them. Maybe they are hiding waiting for me to stop screaming LIVE UP TO YOUR POTENTIAL at them...

Which fine, that happens.

But now I need another story to send to Dana on Sunday. 

Damn it...

Sunday Starts...

Next Sunday that is. 

So I've talked about doing an exchange with Dana over the past year and a half. It's a way to keep us both writing. We alternate weeks sending each other work.

It's a space for me to try out some things. She's not my birth child, but she is my soul child. So sort of like Brent and Katie I view our relationship as she has to love me even if I send her totally fucked up fiction. It gives me a little more freedom. It might be terrible, or it might be too Mary Sue, or it might be brilliant. As long as it's writing, it counts. She might not view it that way, or she might wish I didn't, but it works for me. 

I just sent her the last piece of writing in a story I started last year. There are 23 sections to it. It's not my typical storytelling at all. And I have given up on it multiple times. And decided it was just crap more than that. But today I finished it. Like put a bow on it and it's done. 

And I decided that I will share it with you all next. To me it seems like a good Sunday morning story so that's what I'm going to do. Starting next week I'm going to publish a new chapter every Sunday (except a few where we will be out of town). Some of them are longer than others. You can sort of see where I got stuck and just wanted to move the story along, and where their stories were really flowing by the length of the section. I'm sure I'll also probably rewrite just a touch if I find things that don't work now that I know how it ends. But for the most part you'll get it the same way I sent it to Dana. 

Just every week instead of every other with breaks for other stories because I was stuck. 

Twenty three weeks of Sunday stories. 

Starting next week. 

Today you just get this little preview:

The story is about books. And friends.  And lives that are happy. 

It's not a conflict story. 

Don't wait for the twist, it's not coming. (I know, I always say never talk about the twist, but there really isn't one, just settle in and enjoy the story because it's all on the face, no subtle messages)

Dana described it a cozy. 

And the odds are strong I'll never write something like that again.

Though The Witches in the Wonky Tower was semi-cozy, so maybe...but it was only 8 parts, not 23.

I'm still not sure I like it, but I don't hate it anymore, so take that as the oddest story review you'll ever get. 

You can let me know what you think starting next Sunday. 

Writerly Stuff...

A few weeks ago I had the passing thought that maybe I should actually learn about the craft of writing a little bit more. 

Which is weird right? I mean I write all the time, it seems a little late to be worried about how to do it. 

But I had the thought that I should take it a little more seriously. Maybe even give getting published one more crack. 

Right at the moment that I thought about it someone I follow on Facebook who makes a living writing put out that they were going to do a series of writing workshops. One on fiction writing, one on memoirs, and one on getting published. Of course I thought well this is obviously a sign for me to take these classes. Then it ended up that the classes were going to be on a Sunday that we were already busy so nope, not for me. BUT then he decided to include replays with the purchase of a workshop so I could watch them whenever. Okay, so this is for me. Then when I looked at the price of them I thought, well, maybe not. Maybe I'll look at a different series. BUT then he did a one day "Pay what you want" deal. Which I thought, okay, I'm in. I have a price that I think a 6 hour continuing ed lecture should cost and I will pay that for these. 

So right now (as in RIGHT now) I'm listening to the playback. We are in the Q&A section for the fiction writing part and so I'm only half listening. For the most part people want to say "I've got a book about a sentient polyamorous Octopus who time travels and..." And I have no interest in your book idea and especially not that idea. 

So I'm half listening and checking back on the comments. And thought I should write since I've committed to writing a lot this month and year so instead of fully focusing on a writing workshop I'll do my own writing. 

I'm basically done with the memoir workshop and finishing the fiction one. I'll probably end up doing to publishing one tomorrow. I'm at the level of diminishing returns (clearly) and I think the one that I'm going to get the most new information about is that last one. 

Because it's been okay so far, but I've not picked up anything really new. I mean, find your voice, know what story you want to tell, don't write for anyone but yourself.

I already do that. 

I think I'm an intuitive writer. Like I don't know why or how I write the way I do, I just do. I didn't take creative writing specific classes. I've read a few books about writing but not many. I'm terrible at grammar (as you all know) and truly feel the rules are just barely guidelines. I couldn't tell you what tropes are tropes for the most part, or genre rules, or what have you. 

I just have ideas and scenes that show up in my head and I write them down. 

I have snippets of dialog that show up and I write them down. 

It's just the way it works for me. 

And, again, as you all know, I stopped worrying about being published because it's too much work and makes this fun thing I do a lot less fun. I write to keep my head clear. I really like when you all like what I've written. I also know that the more people who read what I write the more people won't like it, and I'm not sure I want that level of criticism in my life. 

But I'll listen to his publishing section tomorrow and maybe it will change my mind. 

Or it won't. 

But I'm counting it as a win that I thought about doing something like this, this thing popped up, I signed up for it, AND I remembered to do it. 

Even if it took me an extra week because I totally forgot last week. 

And even if so far it's been interesting but not incredibly helpful.

Or maybe that's the helpful part? Just another piece of reinforcement that what I'm doing, the way I'm doing it, that's the right way for me to do it. And nobody else's system, style, advice is actually going to work for me. 

Which is basically life right? 

You have to find your way, your own way. Nobody else's path is your path. 

So maybe that's the helpful part. Just reminding me of things I already know. 

And knowing that I am really not interested in a sentient polyamorous time travelling octopus. 

Dream Stories...

I had a dream last night that I thought, OH this is going to be a great story. 

Let me give you the highlights. 

It started with Brent and I looking through a back lot area of Lowe's. We were looking for some rocks for the yard and thought maybe they would have discount rocks back there. Yes, I was dreaming of cheap rocks. 

So anyway as we worked our way further and further into this back area it was getting darker and darker and spookier and spookier. I finally turned on the flashlight on my phone to look around. And apparently we had wandered off of the Lowe's lot and onto someone's private property. And they had spent years designing it to keep people away. 

There were tons of carved stones and wood work. Skulls and faces and dark craggy areas. Just really creepy. Finally we found the caretaker to have him show us the way back out. And as we were walking out I suggested to him that instead of trying to keep people away by scaring them they should open it up to the public and charge admission because a lot of people would pay for the experience. 

He said he'd take it as a suggestion. 

Which, of course generally means, yeah no. 

So I was telling Brent he was really missing out on a fortune and that's when we ended up at the house where the owner had gone missing. Everyone was pretty sure he had killed his daughter and then disappeared. Somehow Brent and I had been recruited to take a look around the house to gather clues for the police. 

There was a missing picture from their hallway of family photos. That was really about it. Except, of course, for the missing people. 

We were wandering around taking inventory of everything when THE GUY SHOWED UP! Oh! So we are in his house, without his permission, and we think he is a killer! How scary! Well, no. I mean, I was very nonplussed. He was there with his new girlfriend which made me wonder if he killed his daughter or if his girlfriend did. And the only thing I asked them about was if there was a cat. Because we were going to make sure the cat was taken care of since everyone had disappeared, but it looked like maybe they didn't even have a cat. 

While the girlfriend was showing me the cat food, I missed it because they kept it in a tupperware container. (Like we do, but somehow I didn't recognize that as cat food) the grand daughter and her new husband showed up. She had also gone missing. But apparently she was on her honeymoon. 

So the old man hadn't been missing, he'd just been out of the house for the day, the grand daughter was on her honeymoon and the daughter, well, we never got to the bottom of that but neither of them seemed concerned that she wasn't around. After all, she didn't live there.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was what I woke up thinking, OH that will be a great story. I was sure the missing picture part was going to be the linchpin in the whole mystery. Even though I knew there was no mystery. Just Brent and I breaking and entering an old man's house. This was story time gold. I didn't write down any notes because I've learned over the years that they never make sense. And usually if it's really good I remember enough of it to write a story from it. And it was 3AM so I really didn't want to wake up enough to write down the notes. 

But lucky you, I remembered it. It's stuck with me all day. With the added, What the heck? vibe. 

So what that means is there is something in there. I just don't know what. I don't know if it's something I need to pay attention to in my life that the dream is highlighting in some way. I don't know if it's something in the dream that really will make a great story. 

The only thing I do know is I got a blog out of it and I gave you all a little understanding as to why it's not terrible that I suffer from insomnia. 

Where Does It Come From?

I've had people ask that a lot. Where does the story come from?

Sometimes, okay often, I think it's asked with worry. Considering the number of dead people I write about I can sort of see that.

But sometimes I think it's just genuine curiosity. How do you make up a whole scene out of your head? I used to (and sometimes still will) do it as a party trick. When we were travelling during the summer with the church group I would tell stories on the bus. Just start one and go. Same as writing it down, but there is nothing left at the end except the memory of the story. The way stories used to be told before writing. 

I did it when Katie was growing up. First telling her stories, then telling stories with her. And we had stories we told over and over again. Things we had made up but became just as ingrained as The Birthday Monsters or Goodnight Moon because we told them over and over. But each time just a little differently I'm sure. 

I've done it at lunch with friends. Sometimes they've given me a brief "what about them?" nudge and watched as I spun a whole story about the couple at the next table. Or in New York, about the mafia squirrels in the park. 

I don't always know where the story comes from. It's just there. But sometimes I know what triggered it. What was the pushing off point. 

Today's story Shhh.... was one that started a couple of days ago. I was reading the comments on an ad looking to see if anyone had tried the product. 

It was for nonalcoholic tequila. I've tried the nonalcoholic bourbon from that company and it's pretty good. You wouldn't want to sip it straight but with a mixer? It's close. The challenge with nonalcoholic tequilas is that most companies add some sort of chile to it to get that tequila burn. I can't have nightshades so it takes it right off the list for me. This one doesn't have that so I was wondering if it was any good. 

It never fails that in the comments of any nonalcoholic drink there are people who are mad, like BIG mad that anyone would bother. If you aren't drinking for the alcohol why are you even drinking? Like just liking the taste of it isn't enough. Then there are actual alcoholics who are BIG mad about it because it could be triggering for someone to drink the nonalcoholic version and then just dive right back into a bottle. Both groups think there is no reason for these products. 

And in this comment thread there was a group listing their reasons for not drinking alcohol even though they weren't alcoholics. Family history was a big one. And I get that. I've always watched the amount I drink just because of that reason. Addiction is big in my family. Alcohol, drugs, shopping, food, we like to have those pleasure centers lit up, thank you very much. So over the years I've often just stopped drinking to prove to myself that I can. And then I start again when I feel like I want to. And stop again when I want to as well.

For instance, I haven't had a drink since last June. I did Dry July and never picked it back up again. I started Dry July because I was in one of my phases where the fact that your body processes alcohol as a poison, no matter how much or how little you drink, really bugged me. Like there is no other poison you would willingly ingest. Oh it's just a little poison, no big deal. Ridiculous. So I stopped drinking. Also alcohol makes my night sweats worse. And like I talked about yesterday I have a hard enough time sleeping, I don't need to do something that is going to trigger a heat wave that's going to wake me up. So why in world would I drink poison that is going to make me have a hot flash? Easy to stop. 

But during the times I'm not drinking people have opinions. And they get really mad at me for choosing not to drink. Like my not drinking is some sort of judgment on them. I don't drink. I'm not drinking right now. I might drink some other time but for now the whole hot poison thing is keeping me away from it. You do what you want, I'm fine. 

But if I were an alcoholic then people would be supportive of my not drinking. 

Like it has to be a disease before you are okay to stop. No preventative treatment allowed!

And reading all of the comments from people as to why they didn't drink made me think, what if someone pretended to be an alcoholic so everyone would get off their jock about not drinking? And then this story started in my head. The drunken confession of a nonalcoholic. 

I can't always pinpoint where a story idea comes from, but this time I could.

It was those damn ads again. 

It's a Surprise!

So yesterday's poem was a surprise to me. 

Not that I wrote it. I mean I want to write 8 this month. 

But the last stanza. 

I pulled a twist out on myself!

Which happens sometimes in writing fiction. I say sometimes because most of the time the twist is planned. I know how the story ends. I know the "oh this changes everything" moment. But sometimes when I'm writing what I think is going to be a straightforward easy story something twists at the end surprising even myself.

That was yesterday's poem.  

I had been out digging up daffodils to make way for some bushes we are having planted today. And I went between aggravation that they DID NOT WANT to be dug up and enjoyment of that freshly turned dirt smell. 

I love that smell. 

And when we lived on the urban growth boundary I'd get it in the spring and in the fall in LARGE doses. They turned fields for planting and then after harvest and all of that really rich soil would come to the surface and...ahhh....

Wet dirt.

Seems an odd thing to enjoy the smell of but I know from posting about it one time and the response I got that I am not the only person who thinks it's great. 

As I was digging up the daffodils I was trying to think of something to write. Couldn't really make it poetic but thought, well, maybe it will come to me as I go.

And as I started writing I thought oh maybe I'll tie it into golems. We are all made of earth sort of thing. But then my line about eating it gets really morbid. And then I wrote that line about mouths filled with dirt and...

The images from the bombings and total destruction in Gaza came forward. Ten thousand children dead. Trying to wrap your head around that number is impossible. Looking at the houses just laid to waste and thinking, what if? What if it was your family? 

Bodies of parents lying over their children trying to protect them from the bombs and the rubble. But one frail body is not going to protect another one. Though you would still try. 

Fist fulls of dirt in their mouths. 

It ended up turning the poem on it's head. 

Sometimes when you surprise yourself it's not all that great. 

April Musings...

Yesterday as I started National Poetry Month with a whimper I thought, why is this not coming to me at all?

I mean last time I did it, it was hard, I remember it being very hard, but I did a poem a day. Yes, a few days were Haiku, Sundays especially seemed to be good Haiku days, but I wrote a lot of free verse and structured verse. I even wrote a freaking sonnet. And...a lot of it was good.

I know I always say I write Bad Poetry, but that's more of a joke than a reality. Because poetry is hard. Let's just start there and acknowledge that it's hard. Anyone who writes poetry can tell you that. You need not only mastery of language but one of feelings as well. And GOOD poetry? Well that's even harder. Because then you need a mastery of language and a mastery of feelings AND a way to convey both of those things in a way that is general enough for public consumption but feels personal to each person reading it. 

So a lot of poetry seems mawkish or worse, boring. 

And a lot of creative people have a phase of their lives (generally middle school or high school) where they crank out a TON of really bad overwrought poetry. Because you are dealing with a lot of really overwhelming emotions around that time and have no idea how to process them. 

I always get a little bent when people try to discount young love as just not that serious. "Oh it's just puppy love" well have you ever loved a puppy? It's one of the most heart filling experiences ever. And it doesn't even have to be your puppy. Now imagine you had never ever seen a puppy before and suddenly you are exposed to a fluffy golden retriever puppy who wants to do nothing else but be your best friend. It's overwhelming because you've never experienced it before. 

First loves. First breakups. First loss of friendship. All of that is so hard because it's new. You have no defenses against it. Like an immune system facing a brand new virus for the first time. That shit can kill you. Or at least feel like someone has ripped out your heart and shredded it. 

And we don't take it seriously enough. If a friend gets divorced or even ends a long term relationship that wasn't a marriage we have all of the appropriate sympathy, or at least fake it for them. We know that it's hard for them. We don't say things like it wasn't serious, you don't feel what you think you're feeling. So they can mourn and move on.

That doesn't happen in middle school and high school. People discount those feelings, and we don't even have the right words to talk about them. So it overflows into really bad poetry. 

But to write really good poetry you need to have a different grasp on language and emotions. Like now. I'm a full grown adult person who happens to be pretty fucking good with words. I can even make you feel things about pretend people.

So that explains why in 2016 I able to sit down and write a poem a day. But why can't I seem to tap it now? What was different in 2016?

I was depressed. 

Like normally my swings are mild. Manic and depressive but on a small pendulum and a consistent swing. And I manage it all without medication. I use workouts, sunshine and saltwater. And it keeps me in my swing arc and I do okay. Sometimes up, sometimes down, a lot of time in the middle. But 2016 was a long stretch of down. 

The politics were awful. As if you need reminded. And it was the first really big wave of anti trans bullshit. It was all around bathrooms. And it really pissed me off. I even addressed it in a blog with a short poem at the top to make it count. I was angry about it all. Now, of course, I'm angry and scared. It went from being none of your fucking business to none of your fucking business yet entirely my family's business. And because at the time I was unable to break out of my depressive cycle it just added to it. Not only did I feel like shit personally but it felt like the whole world was a dark place.

Looking back at it I realize I should have asked for help and gotten some professional assistance. But I thought I could manage, and I thought it would surely get better at any moment. I also hid how terrible I was feeling from everyone. I never said, hey look, I would rather just sit in a dark room by myself and try not to think about anything at all. I put on that pretend EVERYTHING IS FINE face and soldiered on. I was the only one who knew and the only really strong outward sign was my writing. Or lack of writing as it were. 

Except for April. Where I was able to write every day. 

Poetry. 

It was a good place to put all of those messy extra feelings. 

So now to try and figure out if I can tap that swirl of emotions when I am actually fine. 

Or it will be a month of Haiku, and that would be okay too. 

Short Story...

She had steeped the tea for two hours. Strained the water three times. Mixed in a cup of sugar. Reduced it on the stove for another hour to get an Earl Grey Tea syrup to use in her cupcakes. Every step took so long. Sure she could have just bought a box of cake mix and made those but with the thunderstorm raging outside she might as well do them the right way. Today she would bake, yesterday she had found the text messages and told him, "Get out of my house." This morning she had started to wonder if that had been a mistake, if she should have waited. But he would be back, he needed to get his things. And he couldn't resist her cupcakes. Taking the time to make them this way he would never taste the poison. 

Dana sent me a list the other day:

Write a scene in a novel, using these words:
1. Cupcakes
2.Wonder
3.Earl Grey Tea
4."Get out of my house."
5.Thunderstorm

I smarted off that that wasn't from a novel that was just a paragraph. And apparently my head has been thinking...hmmm...ever since. So today you got the paragraph.

And of course it was poison and death. I mean Dana knew when she sent it that it wouldn't be Betty Crocker. And the last two items to include in your scene kind of lead you that way anyway. Or at least me.

I haven't really gotten back into the swing with fiction lately. I can feel the starts back in my head though. I'm hopeful that some salt water and sun will get them to the surface. I'm also thinking about doing poetry month for April again. That was one of the hardest challenges I've ever done with my writing. It really makes me think in different ways. I'm not a great poet, but I'm not a great fiction writer either and I do that anyway. 

Skippy, you can just take a month and work with your horses. 

I'm not sure I'll do it, but I'm tossing the idea around. 

This next week in Hawaii is going to be time for all of the ideas to settle and form and get tossed around and resettle. We have fewer things planned than normal so a lot more time to sit and watch the waves. And to swim. And to feel the whale song in my chest. 

Let's hope it's as rejuvenating as I want it to be. 

Ideas...

I had an idea for a short story. It came to me in the middle of the night. I rolled it around in my head for awhile and thought, yeah, this is a good one. 

I didn't write it down.

I used to keep a pad by my bed and would write down those ideas. But too many mornings of being excited to start on my next brilliant story to be met with a note that said something like "Strawberries don't roll because of their noses" and I realized that most middle of the night ideas only make sense in the context of being semiconscious.

But sometimes you do get a good one. A really good one. A this is going to be brilliant good one. 

Those I repeat to myself a few times to lock them in, then write them down in the morning.

Sometimes it even works. 

And sometimes I have mornings like this one where I know the idea was good. I can feel that it was good. And I can ALMOST remember it.

It's like it's hiding around the corner.

I keep getting fleeting glimpses and almost remembering it. Like I see the shadow of it running away from me while I chase it. 

So I've stopped chasing it. 

I wrote a new section of the story I was writing all last year. I reread it all yesterday trying to figure out where the wheels came off. And I found that I had written a piece setting up the place I am right now and had just forgotten. I mean I wrote it back in June last year so it's not that big of a shock that I had forgotten, but it did make me feel better that I really did sort of have a plan.

So I wrote a new section. It's still clunky but I think it's just going to be clunky. I have to get past it to move forward and sometimes in stories there are clunky parts. 

Fiction and nonfiction.

So right now on my computer are two sections labeled NotChapter18 and NotChapter19 as I rework them into Chapter18 and Chapter19. 

Wouldn't that be great to be able to do in real life? Figure out that something was the wrong direction and back up to rework it? But keep the ones that you think aren't working, just incase those were the right ones after all. 

Of course, I've written those short stories as well. I really do like the idea of a do over and then exploring what all of the horrific ramifications of that would be.

I'm pretty sure that wasn't the idea from last night. I'm pretty sure it was something new that I haven't taken a few different angles at. 

Maybe. 

Just that shadow tail there right now. 

Hopefully it will come back out later and I will have a chance to write down a few notes. And hopefully those notes will make sense when I get around to writing the story. 

Because...honestly... it's not just the middle of the night where I end up with notes like strawberries don't roll because of their noses. Sometimes the middle of the day notes are just as cryptic and just as weird.

I told Dana the other day that I sometimes think Brent has learned how to forge my writing and is leaving these random "story ideas" just to amuse himself. 

Which would be amusing. 

But much more something I would do than he would.

Hmm...maybe I should learn how to write like Brent. 

That would be a good story. 

Talismans...

Eight years ago a car manufacturer issued a recall for one of their brands. 

It was Kia, it was on Friday the 13th and it was for the Soul. Kia is Recalling Souls was the headline and it amused me so much that I made it my status update. 

Dana turned it into a writing prompt and posted that as the first comment. 

I was in the middle of a NaNo stint where I was writing fiction every day. Either working on my long story WIP (that I've never finished and probably never will, totally fell out of love with it) or writing a short piece for the blog. I ended up writing 21 different short stories that November. Which is pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. 

So anyway, when Dana wrote that sentence I heard the bell in my head but was busy with another story that day so I made a quick note to come back to that post, that line, and that story. The note was "Dana's Defective Soul." 

Once that notebook was full and I needed to start another one I did my usual routine of paging through to see if there was anything that I wanted to copy from the old pages to the new. A quote I liked. A story idea I had never gone back to. And there is was: Dana's Defective Soul. It made me laugh out loud. If you didn't know what it was about it was a great non sequitur. And if you knew Dana, and specifically the fact that Brent and I often call her some variation on the daughter of my black soul, it would make you laugh too. 

So even though I wrote the story right away and didn't technically need the note I copied it over anyway.

And 8 years later it's still on the front page of my notebook. It's become a talisman of sorts. Something that makes me laugh and also something that reminds me that I can write. I do have moments of raging creativity that can be sparked by something as simple as a headline on a fortuitous date. And that I have people around me who are also crazy creative who I can lean on when I feel I need some creative help. Dana writes. Like capital W writes. I love everything she does. I feel sorry for all of you who don't get to read her stuff and I am her biggest cheerleader for getting published. 

She also sends me writing prompts when she sees ones that are in my wheelhouse. We have similar tastes but her writing is more grounded than mine. (And more technically proficient, I don't think I've ever read a piece of hers where she switched perspective in the middle and then claimed it as a style choice instead of a mistake, hypothetically of course...I mean I would never...) And most of the time when she sends me a prompt it does cause that bell to ring and I'm off to the races.

I love that bell ring moment. When I hear something or see something and it resonates in my head. THIS WILL BE A STORY. It starts the gears turning. The dialog, the scene, the feeling. Whatever it is about that moment that spins out into a story. Depending on if I can sit and write right away or if there is enough there yet to sit and write right away I start working it out in my head. Often I've "written" a scene or a piece of dialog multiple times while cleaning a bathroom, or washing dishes, or going for a walk. I know that I've written really great stories that became sort of okay when trying to remember them to write them down. Or at least that's what I tell myself...

I think that's what I'm looking for in 2024. More of those bell ring moments. Not just with writing but with life in general. Those moments where you know that this is the right path. This is what you should be working on right now. This is your story. 

And speaking of stories, here is the link to the story I'm talking about. The opening line is what Dana wrote in response to my post, without the "and go!" part. 

So Inspiring!

If you haven't read the short story Rebellion that I posted early this week then you should read that before you read this blog. 

Last week while I was talking to Katie she was telling me about a show she watches and two characters trying to get matching tattoos. One is a living piece of gum and the other a vampire. Princess Bubblegum kept "gumming" up the needle and the vampire kept healing before the tattoo would take. And hilarity ensues...

While she's telling me about that a part of my brain clicked into action. The cogs starting spinning. The whirligigs started whirling. And I said, "I don't write alternative history type stuff but how cool of a WWII story would that make? Someone gets outed as a vampire because the Nazis are trying to give them the identifying tattoo and it keeps healing? Then they take out that camp and keep taking out Nazis basically being the turning point in the war and that's why we won WWII. Vampires."

Katie listened to the random rant and even gave me a some sort of supportive sounds.

Then I said, "You must wonder what it would have been like to be raised by normal people. Though your dad is sort of normal so maybe you got a taste of it?"

This is not the first time I've apologized for being not typical. And she knows I'm not really sorry. I mean, I am who I am and I like me a lot so I'm not sorry about that. But there are times I do think it might have been nice for her to have people who didn't think sideways as her parents. Stability is highly rated, I've heard. But I'm not really sorry. I mean...she's great and she got that way being raised by us so...

Writing for Dana right now for our exchanges; I've mentioned that I'm sort of stuck with the longer story I have written most of the year. I'm bored with all of them so I've been doing one offs. Things that will most likely hit the blog later so they are bonus pieces for the weeks that I don't have any ideas. What I've been doing is opening a random writing prompt generator and writing whatever it gives me. 

This week as I started writing I had to stop and think...wait...this prompt is basically the same prompt I got a few weeks ago. Just a slight variation. That one was "an unexpected letter" and this one is "a surprise package." Well fuck. I'm not going to write the same story twice so... Then I was stuck. Got two paragraphs in and... nothing. I shut everything down, told Brent I couldn't unlock the story and would have to let it sit for a bit and went to do chores. 

Which is a great way to get things to unlock. Take a walk. Clean something you don't have to think about while you clean it. Just get busy enough to distract that part of your brain and your subconscious will take over noodling on the problem. I was washing dishes and thought, "OH! That's it!" 

When Brent wrapped up for the evening I told him I didn't have it all yet but I knew who was dead now so I knew the story. And he told me he almost said, "Figure out who you are going to kill and you'll know what to write."  (Poor, Katie) 

Then when we were talking about the story at dinner he said, "I think that's the agreement Good Denise must have made with Bad Denise to let her take charge. 'You'll still get to kill people, just with less chance of going to jail.'"

It made me laugh. 

And made me realize Brent talks about GD and BD as if they weren't the same person as well so maybe I'm not the only, let's say unique, parent afterall. 

Sorry, Katie.

Keys...

When I'm writing a fiction piece I am often looking for that click moment. When the right key hits the right lock and everything opens up. 

Yesterday I posted an older story of mine on my main page. I can remember writing it. The end scene had actually been in my head for a long time. I could see the car, I knew what she was going to say when she got to the door. I had all of that. But what I didn't have was a story. 

I was washing dishes when the scene with the woman in the car became a story about a great grandmother and her great granddaughter. Though, in actuality I wasn't sure right at that point how they were related. I had tried on the idea of a retirement home and caretaker, but that didn't really click. It sort of fit, I might have been able to wiggle it around enough to unlock, but there wasn't that moment of  CLICK!

A lot of you (2 out of my 3 readers) have been reading this blog for long enough that you've seen me post bits and scenes that weren't really stories. Things that never had that moment where they clicked in someplace else. That's always frustrating to me. And normally when I go ahead and posts those bits and bobs it's because it's been days, or weeks, or months, that that one piece has been bumping around in my head trying to find the right key and lock. 

As I've mentioned, I'm writing a fiction piece for the blog every week and sending another fiction piece to Dana every other week. Right now she's getting a ton of those scenes. Just pieces of conversations that characters are having in my head. And the majority of them are from the same two "people" and even with a small handful of these scenes written I still haven't had that CLICK moment. The one that ties it all together as a story. I thought I had one at the beginning, I thought I had an endpoint I was aiming toward but then when I started writing that wasn't it. It was a false click. 

And that happens too. Where I think I'm writing one story and halfway through I realize that nope, that's not it at all. If I'm lucky a better one shapes up, but sometimes it just doesn't. It just becomes what it is and that's the way it goes. (How's that for a sentence that has a lot of words but doesn't really say anything?)

What I really love is when I have an ending line to a story. A very ME story. One that you are pretty sure you know what's going on right until you hit that line. Then it changes everything. My hope is that as soon as you hit that line and think...mother fucker...you go back and read the whole piece again to see how it was really there all along. That's my favorite type of story. The one that starts with a CLICK in my head, the click of the lock opening but I have to find the rest of it. 

And even that doesn't always happen. I sometimes have an ending line that I think would make a great BOOM! moment in a story but I can't work the story around to get there. It's either way too obvious what is happening or there is no subtle way to work all the details. So I have an open lock just sitting there. Those I can't even post as a get it out of my head moment because "And it was a seahorse all along" doesn't make any sort of sense without a full story. 

Now, the whole reason you are getting this post today is because I was dreaming last night and the me in my dreams kept telling everyone about this click theory. This moment of keys and locks and how that's when you know you are on the right track. And when I woke up from that dream I thought, yep, that's exactly it. That's what it feels like. That's what it is. And I fell back asleep only to have her pop back up in another dream talking about those keys and locks again. 

So today I'm writing about it, because apparently, this is the bit and bob that is going to bang around in my head until I get it out. 

Hopefully tonight she shuts up about it. We've all got it, Dream Denise, it's a key and a lock and it has to fit together to make a story. Now, if you don't HAVE an actual story to click into just shhhh and let me sleep peacefully. 

You'd Never Believe It...

When you are writing characters one of the harder things to do is creating personalities. It's really easy to fall into the trap of making someone a caricature instead of fleshing them out a bit more. We use shorthand in fiction a lot to let you know who you are dealing with. Who is the good witch and who is the bad witch. But it's easy to get sloppy and go over the top. 

Reading about a slew of things former President Trump did over the years this morning and was reminded of the number of times I would preface a news article that I linked with, "You wouldn't believe me if I wrote him this way."

Because that's the biggest part of fiction, right? You know I'm making it up. You know I'm lying to you the whole way. BUT you have to believe it for it to work. You have to agree to suspend disbelief and act like I'm telling you something that happened. And as soon as my character becomes a caricature you're out of there. 

It's a struggle. Because it's just easier to give you all the short hand clues as to who someone is. To get around it I generally paint really light strokes of personality on my people. You get flashes of who they are with what they are doing. But they tend to talk a lot and do less. (Hmm...I wonder why?)

I also like to tell stories that don't go the way you expect them to all of the time. For that I have to really be careful not to give too big of a tell in my character's personality. I can't pull the twist ending out of thin air though either. There has to be something there that when you go back and re-read it (if you go back and re-read) you will see, oh there it is. I see now... If I just write a straight up story then take a left turn it doesn't work. You don't believe me. 

Talking to Dana about some research she was doing into the science for a story she's working on and told her that was our biggest difference, she researches and I just "sounds about right" it. She does the science research for the same reasons I was talking about characters. If the science is wrong, and you know it's wrong, you are pulled out of the story and that's that. You have to trust the story, the science, and the path to keep agreeing to believe the lies you are being told. 

It's all a bargain we make. Reader and author. You believe me. I will try not to make the lie really obvious.

And people who read, watch, consume in any way fiction all make that deal. And we are all really willing to go far to make it. I go to musicals. I like musicals. I am fully willing to believe that people break out in song and dance routines to express how much they hate the traffic on the 405. Yup. I'll buy it. I watch some science fiction. I am fully willing to believe that the majority of alien races speak English and are bipedal. Okay. Works for me. I mean, I might just make the excuse that there is a universal translator involved but that actually gets more murky for me when those are introduced. Like how would you get a universal translator that works with an alien race you've never encountered before? That doesn't make sense...and I am out of the story for a moment. Best to not address it and let it just wash over me to not think about until later. 

Because that's the other piece. I can think about something later and still have enjoyed the story while I was in it. 

SPOILER ALERT FOR WAKANDA FOREVER:

The princess goes to the underwater kingdom. She is told she's the first outsider they have ever let be there. So why did they have a dive suit for her? 

It pulled me out of it when Katie and I saw it in the theater and again when Brent and I watched this weekend. But there were other things that didn't bug me at the time that after watching it I thought about and thought, well that doesn't make sense.  But they didn't pull me out of the story at the time. 

BACK OUT OF SPOILER ALERT

You have to be careful with the agreement. 

And that means writing realistic characters. 

What I really need is the republicans to get better at it.

The Tucker Carlsons and Donald Trumps and George Santoses are pulling me out of their story and I just can't buy into the lie they are trying to sell me. 

Not that I have ever agreed to buying in to it, but come on...at least try. 

WARNING

Okay, you all know I don't usually give trigger warnings. In fact you know I don't like them at all. I've talked about it a lot. That for the style of writing I do a trigger warning could absolutely wreck the story. Ruin the twist. Give away the ending. They don't work for how I write. 

I also don't like them because I think they can make anxiety worse. For instance we saw Jagged Little Pill last week and there was a trigger warning (quite a few warnings actually) about sexual assault. So I knew it was coming. And I worried in almost every scene, was this it? What this the person who was assaulted? Was this the person who assaults someone? Are they going to show the assault or just talk about it? How traumatic will it be? Did I bring tissues? Is it going to trigger a new round of nightmares?

So not only was there the actual event and fall out there was the added bonus of knowing it was coming and laying that over everything else. 

And I get it for a lot of people they don't want to be reminded of trauma and a trigger warning would save them. But for me? It just makes it worse. 

So I tend to not use them. 

Except today I am.

I told you all that I write to process and that I would be writing about Kevin for a long time. Today is no exception. Except it is. 

The problem with being friends with a writer is that they write. Every situation that you are in with them gets tucked away and used. It could be something as simple as an expression on your face or how you order your coffee, but it all becomes something else. The short story I'm writing today could not have been more tailor made for me as a writing prompt if someone had tried. I'm not even going to change Dana and my names. I mean, partly because I fucking hate making up names, but partly because she's going to recognize the conversation anyway so why try to pretend? I mean, honestly when we were having it she was probably thinking, "oh this is a Denise writing prompt for sure."

And it's not going to be the last time this happens. 

Another mutual friend of ours wrote about Kevin that he had inspired a character in one of her books. I could see that. I've written characters that had a lot of his traits as well. I am sure that he will pop up in a lot of my future stories. And probably Dana's as well. He would fit in her fictional universes perfectly. Because Kevin was the best character in real life. He just was. And the Kevin Architype will live on in the fiction of his friends.

But this piece? This coming short story? It's probably too soon. And it's fictionish. I mean it's going to start with an actual event and I will be filling in people's feelings and thoughts. Like anything I credit to Dana thinking is just me living in her head for a bit. So don't blame her. 

I could save it for later. I could tuck it away for a more appropriate time. I could try not to offend people who will think it's too soon to turn an aspect of his death into fodder for fiction. But anyone who is worried about other people being too soft and easily offended didn't really understand him anyway. So...

Or I could just be justifying it. 

Or I could believe in a part of my brain that he gifted me this. I needed one last fiction piece to reach my goal. This is in my wheelhouse so firmly that if you know what I am talking about you already know how it ends before I've even written a word. (the problem with trigger warnings) I know it's not logical at all but it feels right. 

It feels like as I was debating it a gravel throated voice said, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. We think we're fucking hilarious."

And we do. 

It won't be the last time he shows up. But next time I'll change his name. Maybe he'll become Mac. Nobody would get that connection right? 

New Theme!

This week's theme will cover: Trigger warnings, safe spaces, PC, woke, cancel culture and other things that a certain type of conservative twists to mean something bad and a certain flavor of liberals use to beat other liberals up with.  

I wrote about safe spaces and trigger warnings a few years ago. Mostly that old blog is still my opinion now. I think you need to be able to defend your ideas and know why you hold them, so banning all speech that is not what you believe is a bad idea. I know at the time the push was from liberal colleges banning conservative speakers who were pushing pretty awful ideas. The thing is that banning them from speaking didn't stop those ideas from spreading, it just fed into their victim narrative. It ended up giving them another platform from which to spread their bad ideas. "They are so worried about what we have to say that they won't even allow you to hear it!" Ooh...that sounds like something fun to hear!

I thought at the time it was a bad idea. Debate them. Show why it's a bad idea. Sharpen your own ideas and reasoning. But banning speech is almost always a bad idea. Yes, I do have areas where I abandon this stance, the whole yelling fire in a crowded building line. There are things that if you choose to say them, you should face consequences for that. Calls to violence, inciting a riot. But for the most part I think that free speech is too important to hamper. Though it's government interference that we are speaking of when we talk about the right to free speech. Governmental consequences, banning speech and books by government control is where problems lie. Personal consequences are different. You are never free from consequences of your speech. 

But right now we are seeing the right pulling in the force of the government to curtail speech. You are seeing schools being stopped from teaching about racism. You are seeing teachers told not to talk about LGBTQIA+ issues. Or if a student tells them they are in the rainbow they have to tell parents. You are seeing Governor DeSantis waging a tax war with Disney for objecting to the "Don't Say Gay" bill. Even though the Supreme Court decided years ago that corporations were people and had freedom of speech as well. These are clear violations of the Constitution. But as we now have a court who makes decisions based of the law of "because I can" there is little hope that anything will be done about it.

I am going to revisit a lot of those original thoughts separately this week. Updating what I think now on some of it, touching on how it's all been weaponized as well. But today I'm going to talk specifically about trigger warnings. 

I mentioned in that blog a few years ago that I appreciate when friends warn me that a movie has vomiting or hand injuries because I have a really hard time with those. They make me nauseated. For different reasons, but still, ick. But a lot of entertainment and think pieces come with a whole list of trigger warnings now. Does it deal with rape? Does it deal with suicide or suicide ideation? Is there questionable language? Is there smoking? The list of trigger warnings is long. And people will for sure jump in your shit if you don't include them. 

I do not include them in my writing.

At least not in my fiction. 

I sort of feel like maybe I should put a general trigger warning on the description of my blog, or on my Facebook page for my blog. "Trigger warning: I won't give you one."

Because trigger warnings ruin the story. The way I write my fiction pieces I don't want you to know right away what I'm writing about. For instance if yesterday I had opened the story with a trigger warning about suicide the whole story would have hit differently right from the start. I wanted that to be a reveal. The fact that her grandmother had killed herself and then why. I want you to come on a journey with me, I don't want to spoil my own story. 

You know how I feel about spoilers. Very triggering...

It's hard to write the way I do if I'm worried about posting trigger warnings. Or worried about triggering people in general. I write a lot about death. I feel like once you've been reading me for awhile none of that is shocking, but at the same time I have had people reach out to me asking why I didn't warn them. Well, because I didn't want you to know.

And I do know that that means for some people my work can be really disturbing. And I'm sorry about that. But only a little. I am sorry that they felt discomfort and were upset. But I'm not sorry that my work can sometimes be disturbing. I think, for the most part, I'm actually a pretty optimistic writer. Even if it's a story where the main character ends up having been dead for 30 years and just didn't realize it. Or if the story is about getting ready to sell the house that your grandmother died in. I am not for everyone. Hell, I'm not for most people, but that's just it, I'm. I am. This is my writing. My place. 

My space. 

And it's not always safe. 

And it never comes with a trigger warning. 

And I'm not likely to change that. 

Follow Up to Not Giving Up...

About an hour after I posted yesterday's blog I got the feedback portion from my submissions.

That was actually part of what made that last contest entry really intriguing. You were promised feedback on your writing. Which doesn't always (or even often) happen when you submit something. Sometimes you'll get what is clearly a form letter, "Not what we are looking for at the moment but keep submitting!" Even though they asked for a story about a black cat named Esther who had 6 toes and you sent them a story about a black cat named Esther who had 6 toes. 

Anyway...

I got the feedback portion yesterday. Feedback from four readers. Which made me laugh out loud since I had just upped my tally for my blog readers from three to four, and now here I was, still with four! The breakdown was two got what I was doing, really enjoyed it, never saw the twist coming and felt it landed exactly like it should have. One who felt kind of meh about the whole thing but liked the way I did it. And one who absolutely did not get what I was doing. Didn't know what a school pickup line was so did not understand the ending (why would two people be at a school pickup? Is it a driving school?) and felt like I shouldn't have repeated the mirror sequencing like I did. I mean he got it after the first time, why would I keep doing it? (I'm assuming it was a he, not knowing what a school pickup line is and not understanding the repeating the words was a style choice to build the tension just seemed really masculine energy to me)

Now I know why I didn't move on to the next round. Only 50% unabashedly positive reviews aren't going to cut it. But...I got 50% positive bumped up to 75% it was at least fine and only 25% you are an untalented hack who shouldn't ever type another word. Or at least none that repeat. 

I'm not really mad about that feedback. 

Because at least they read it. They had things to say about it. There was some constructive feedback in there as well as the positive and negative portions. And it kind of fits my general feelings about writing as a whole. 

I am not for everyone. I never will be. Hell, even the four of you that read all of my stuff don't always get what I'm doing in a story. 

And most importantly to me, it reinforced my feeling that I don't want to submit anymore. I don't think getting published is really in the cards. I think the idea of holding onto a book that I wrote was a great dream, but it's not really my dream anymore. I don't feel the same desire around it that I did. A few years ago getting actual feedback, and honestly the majority of it was positive, would have been enough to spur me on to keep trying. But this time? I read it. I sent a snarky response to Dana about the negative one and then...nothing. I barely remembered to mention it to Brent at dinner last night. But no feeling that I should try again. 

I just felt like what they said was what they thought. It was nice to hear the positives. It was helpful to get some style feedback ideas. It was amusing to roll my eyes at someone who didn't know what a school pickup line was and so assumed what I wrote didn't make sense. Which, to be perfectly fair, if you don't know what a school pickup line is, it wouldn't make sense to you. More than two people at a school at the same time for pickup? Whaaaa?

But I'm still good with not doing it anymore. I didn't give up. I didn't fail. I just don't enjoy it or feel a need for it anymore. 

But if you four stop reading me I might just go into an existential crisis tailspin and wonder what my place is on this Earth so don't do that, okay?

Not Giving Up...

So if there are any of you that are watching Drag Race Canada and aren't caught up on this season you should back out now so you don't get any spoilers. Not sure if there are any of you out there, but you know how I feel about spoilers so I want to make sure. 

Okay, good?

Good.

So like three episodes ago Kimora Amour told all the other Queens that she was ready to go home. That she had done everything should could and there was just no more to give. 

The other Queens were really upset with her. They kept telling her not to give up. And she was trying to make it clear to them that she wasn't giving up, she was just done. There was a difference. And I really understood what she was trying to say. Maybe it's due to age, the other Queens are all younger and still doing that "Meet My Potential" drive. Kimora is a little older. She is happy with her life and where she is. That striving part of her time is done. 

I'm older than she is and I really feel that. Which I know sounds odd in a way since I'm always coming up with little games and challenges and goals to keep reaching for things but...

I know who I am. I know what my limits are in certain areas. I know where I want to be. And sometimes I realize that what I was reaching for doesn't actually serve me. So I stop. It's not giving up. Or giving in. Or settling. It's knowing who you are. Knowing what is important to you. Knowing what is worth your time. And continually butting up against a wall you are not going to break down doesn't serve you.

And honestly at some point you realize that if breaking down that wall had really been all that important to you, you'd have done it when you were younger and still full of striving energy. 

I reached that this year with my writing. You know back in like September I decided I wasn't going to submit anything this year. I didn't submit last year, 2020 was not a year that needed more rejection. And 2021 was just shaping up to be a year that wasn't lending itself to a lot of quality fiction and maybe fiction all together was off my radar. 

And as soon as I let that go I had a little flourish of inspiration and I wrote a few pieces and then a new contest that seemed pretty tailormade for my fun zone dropped into my lap. (Things that sound dirty, but aren't) So I went ahead and entered. Which put me down one for contest submissions and one for other submissions. And the contest that I entered had multiple heats. The second part starts this weekend. Same sort of format, they give you a genre, an action and a word that must be used in the story and you have 24 hours to craft a micro fiction (250 words) story. So I was counting that second round as my second contest submission. 

Except I didn't make it out of round one. 

Got the news last night. There were 48 people in my group, the Top Ten advanced. I wasn't one of the top ten. There were five honorable mentions as well. I wasn't one of those. Forty eight stories, fifteen got kudos, thirty percent of the stories submitted were good enough. I was not in that 30%. It stung last night. A lot. 

I mean, I can absolutely justify it to myself on one hand. Even when I submitted I said I didn't like it. I thought it wasn't my best work at all. But, honestly? I thought even not being my best work I'd at least make it out of round one. The genre was not one I ever write. The prompts made it really difficult. But at least everyone was in the same boat right? Except clearly some of us were in a different storm...

So last night I looked over the titles and wished I could see the stories. Wondering what those stories were like. The ones that made it out. And then I had a realization. I didn't really actually care. I mean I would look and I would either agree or disagree but it wouldn't change what I did. What I was able to do. What I want to do. I've reached the max for myself with writing. I'm not giving up. I'm just done running into the wall over and over. 

I do not have the energy or the self confidence (delusion?) to self publish. I don't want to spend the time necessary to push my work out there through all the socials and book stores and everything you have to do to try and sell books when you don't have a publishing house behind you. I'm not going to pay a vanity press to put out my stories when I have my own vanity publishing platform right here. I'm tired of submitting to contests and anthologies only to keep being told my stuff isn't good enough. I have my own inner critic for that.

I have a little bit of talent. I'm not going to say that I don't. I enjoy getting feedback from the 4 people who read my stuff and enjoy it. I'm super excited that I have four when I used to have three. That's like a 30% increase in audience size and that's pretty damn good. But I also know that as soon as I said I wasn't worried about it I had a rush of ideas and when I went back to focusing on what I "needed" to submit they were gone. I've had enough. 

I totally get Kimora. I know who I am. I know what I do well. I have no desire to keep trying to push out of a space where I'm actually happy and proud of what I do. 

So here you go, enjoy the last (as far as I can tell, you know me, I might completely change my mind some point in the future) submission from me. It's not really a Denise type story. It's not really something I was super pleased with. But dammit...I still think it was pretty good. 

The rules were 24 hours to write the story
Micro-fiction 250 words not including the title
Prompts were:
Genre: Action and/or Adventure
Action: Winning a bet
Word: Scrap

The Chase

 Passenger mirror. Windshield. Rearview mirror. Windshield. Driver side mirror. Windshield. She repeated the words to herself as her eyes scanned the road ahead and the road behind. Something she had learned from her father. Keep one part of your brain busy and another will notice things you wouldn’t have otherwise.

And there it was. How long had it been there? She made a mental checklist. Red Subaru. Two cars back. She changed lanes. The Subaru changed lanes as well.

Traffic was picking up now. She needed to get further ahead, trap the Subaru behind her. Passenger mirror. Windshield. Rearview mirror. She slowed and changed lanes again. Tucking in quickly.

Driver side mirror. Windshield. Passenger side. Subaru.

One more lane change, then a burst of speed. Rearview mirror. The Subaru was now 5 cars behind, but she could see the driver scanning the road, trying to find a gap to catch her.  Driver side mirror. Windshield. Rearview mirror. Windshield. Passenger side mirror.

She turned right and tucked into a long line of cars. She was stuck now, and so was the Subaru. Traffic stopped. Engines turned off. Rearview mirror. The door to the Subaru was open and the driver was walking toward her car. She reached into the glove box and fumbled around until she found what she needed.

As the Subaru driver slowly walked toward her window, she made a mark on the scrap of paper. The tally was 14-5.

“You win again.”

“Double or nothing for tomorrow’s school pickup?”

More Writing Process

If you haven't read the second half of job security go back and read it first. 

Okay, now...

Faye's dream. She dreamt of an office where as she entered the head of a department was being dragged out and beaten. And it turned out that all heads of departments served "for life" and also had to choose how they would die. Crazy. 

And totally right up my alley as far as weird stories go. 

Now I'm going to give you a little insight in choices I made. 

You all know me, you know that stories go certain ways, so I wasn't even going to try and fool you with wholesomeness. The Institute can never really be a good place right? And I also went with just dialog until the very end, and even then it was kind of dialog between the new employee and the employee manual. 

The just dialog makes everything seem kind of unfinished. Kind of off kilter. Like a dream would be. 

Think of all the details you just kind of fill in in dreams. Big and small things. And no names. Because I'm bad at names for one, and I also liked that it left things even more discombobulated. 

Which became a challenge when I introduced two other characters that would only pop in for a second in the middle of another scene. How do I get you to understand that they are different people? 

Well...

Maybe you do or maybe you don't. Maybe you have to back up and look again. 

Which, again, to me, added to the feeling that this was all a weird dream someone had. A dream that needed to become a story. 

Nothing realistic. Nothing that would actually be handled so calmly. Dream logic. 

I had a different spin on it for awhile as well. A super short story with a book of choices and egos and how big of a splash (so to speak)you wanted to make on your way out. But I ended up liking this skewed view a little better. And to be honest, was kind of hoping I could stretch it to three parts, but alas, there wasn't enough there. 

So now I am down to needing four more fiction pieces. I will know by next Wednesday if I made it out of the first round of the contest I did last month (month before?) and if that happens then I have my second submission locked in and will still be looking for either one rando submission or two more contests. That is, if I complete the year.

Still might not. I've got a lot of check marks and trying to learn how to live without getting all of them is always a decent goal in and of itself so...

We'll see. 

So I hope you enjoyed the off kilter dream story and I hope you were able to follow it and were a little disturbed by it as well. 

Now to think of something sweet and holiday themed with only happy endings...

Right...

Background...

Writing a multipart story right now. Just put the first part up. It's a short piece, but an establishing piece for me. I want to get the flow started. I don't want to forget about it and let it fade away. So you get that really quick little establishing scene while I try and decide exactly how the rest is going to go to hit all the beats I want to hit. 

I know, you are shocked, or at least some of you are, because I usually work without a net. No outlines, no idea what's going to happen. But this story isn't like my usual things. Because it's not my idea.

I mean like the whole thing too. Not just it's a writing prompt I found someplace but the whole story is from someone else. 

See my friend Faye had this completely batshit bonkers dream the other night and the whole time she was dreaming she was thinking, "I have to tell Denise about this." Which, Yay! One yay for lucid dreaming. I'm a big fan. The other yay that when people have really batshit bonkers things happen they think of me. I'm a unique flavor but if you get me, you really get me.

But anyway...she sent me a message with her dream in it and I agreed it was awesome and totally right up my alley for weirdness. 

Then I couldn't get it out of my head. I kept trying to decide things about it. The when and the where and the why. And I finally sent her a message and asked if I could take her dream and turn it into a story. She was all in and here we are.

Now, I'll be honest, even though I know how the dream went and what I thought was great about it and what I think I'll be lifting and putting into my story it might not go that way. The people sometimes change their stories when they start talking to me. 

Which in a way would be kind of fun as well. I mean, if I can surprise Faye with how the story goes when she already knows how it ends? Well that would be pretty cool.

So here we go. I should get at least two pieces out of this. Maybe three. How great would that be? Get half of my fiction out put for December off of someone else's subconscious? Nice....

NaNoWriMo

On my "On this Day" posts right now I have multiple years where and I so close to being done with NaNoWriMo. That crunch time of trying to get it all finished before Thanksgiving or before vacations started. 

It's the opposite end of the "Yay! This will be so fun!" spectrum that the end of October looking forward to NaNo are. These are the reality ones. The ones where I've squeezed every drop of creative juice from my brain and I'm still 10K words short. 

I didn't do it this year, haven't done it in a few years. I'm pretty sure I'll never do it again. I've done it three years, in three different ways. Each time was interesting and kind of fun at times and also kind of horrible and draining and made me think I'd like to never write another thing again. 

I'm sort of there right now with writing as a whole. 

I talked about it awhile ago. That I've written so little, and more importantly had such a low urge to write, that I didn't even feel like I was really a writer anymore. And then, of course, as soon as I wrote it down I had a little flurry of posts and even a submission that made me think, well maybe. Maybe I'm over the drought and I' will make all of my writing goals this year. 

Or maybe it was just a little hiccup of creative and I'm dry again. 

Could be that. 

I'm looking at the end of the year looming and I need 14 (13 after this) more blogs and 6 of them need to be fiction. I also need to figure out a submission for something that isn't a contest and one that is. Now if I make it out of the first round of the contest I entered last month half of that would be sorted, but I can't really count of suddenly doing well in contests so probably not. And I've got 5 weeks to get it all done. Over the holiday season. 

Sure. 

I mean I totally could, and if you were a betting person you'd look at my track record with hitting my made up goals and probably bet that I will. But still...

It's been a rough stretch again. 

In November I am usually wrapping up current goals and planning the next year's round. Just not this year. 

Which is fine. I think the first quarter of next year will be so wrapped around everything we need to do for the move and getting this house ready to sell that I'm going to be too busy for extra things. And then once we move it's going to take a bit to settle in. I might actually end up back on my old goal schedule of setting them on my birthday once all is said and done.

Or I might hit a moment of inspiration soon and lay out the next year in glorious detail and close this one out with a giant victory flourish and with a lot of filler pieces.

Like this one.