Sunday, May 1, 2011

"Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

In books, people fall in love helplessly, effortlessly and quicker than we believe to be possible in real life. They see someone from across the room, their eyes lock and in an instant, they both know it's love, they just need to figure out a way to tell them.  This scenario rarely happens in the real world, or ever. But fiction is based on reality, isn't it? So who am I to say it's impossible?  Do I, personally, believe in love at first sight? No.  Lust and attraction, yes, but love?  How can you truly love a person you don't even know?  Someone you've never spoken to, have no idea what their interests or hobbies are, or whether they even notice you at all. 

I've had my share of crushes on guys, most of whom didn't like me back or even acknowledge my existence.  I've also had guys who've been interested in me, but I didn't feel the same.  I think I've learned over the past few years when a guy likes you and when he doesn't.  I've also learned how guys are able to sweet talk their way into your hearts, only to break it once they've gotten what they've wanted from you.  What I, unfortunately, haven't learned yet, is how to tell the difference between sweet talk and sincerity.

So, what do you do when you start seeing your life turn into a book?  When the things that are happening around you are too good to be true and only happen in stories?  When do guys in reality say things like, "You're a breath of fresh air." Or ask, "Where have you been?" And because you're so thrown by the question, all you can think of to say back is, "Lost." So he replies, "I think I've found you."  Conversations like that only happen in young adult love stories about the beautiful, rich new boy in school who falls for the shy, quiet, emo girl who no one notices until he shows up. 

When did my life become a fairytale? 

I haven't even known him for two weeks, and I can already feel myself falling.  But I'm afraid to open my eyes because I don't want to know how much farther the drop is before I hit the ground, and I shatter into a million tiny pieces. 

So, I've decided to keep my eyes closed and enjoy the ride.  Let the wind carry me as long as it's going to and allow myself to revel in this feeling because it's too good to be afraid of it. What's life without a little risk?

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Eternal Hunger... (written 03.25.11)

I'll just stay hungry forever
I'll never be satisfied
I can ignore the pain I feel
Just as well as the lie

I couldn't scream
With my throat so tight
I felt it closing
All through the night
But when looked up
And saw the sight
My eyes swelled up
And I couldn't fight
All I wanted
Was something light
Just a little something
To make it alright
But instead I was left
With something so slight
I tried and tried
With all my might
To hold on to it all
Oh so tight
But it wasn't enough
It just wasn't right
And my mind and body
Couldn't handle the flight
Something was wrong
And it'll never be right
So I promised myself
I wouldn't take another bite
Until the day
I've become like a kite
Fly high in the sky
And be ever so light
I'll float away
And it will all be right
As I dance away
In the warm sunlight.

I'll just stay hungry forever
I'll never be satisfied
No dessert will ever fulfill
The hunger I feel inside

Thursday, March 10, 2011

*Insert Witty Quote Here*

Writer's block is when the voices in our heads won't talk to us anymore.  The usually friendly, lively characters we've created become our silent secret enemy who we want nothing more than to ring their necks and shake them until they finally speak again.  This is what I've been going through for the past month.  Aubrey's ignoring me, Azra has blocked all my incoming calls, Storm unfriended me on facebook, Vincent's blocked my tweets, and everyone else is standing in the same room talking amongst themselves and all I can here is the sounds of their muffled voices all going at the same time.  No words for Jess.  Just a bunch of voices talking together, making it extremely difficult for me to concentrate!!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

“Writing a book is like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

Writing is supposed to be a stream of consciousness.  It's supposed to flow and go with you.  You're in control of the story, not the other way around... So what are you supposed to do when your head gets ahead of itself and plans out the entire story before you have the first chapter written?

The Grand Awakening has been inside my head for four years now. Not the entire thing; that only came to me around two years ago, but still, at that time, I barely had the first eight chapters written, so why was I getting so far ahead of myself?

Apparently, my brain works faster than my fingers can type.  I feel like when I plan that far ahead like that, it causes a distraction because my brain starts jumping around from chapter to chapter deciding what's going to happen here, when it should be focusing on what I'm trying to write in that moment, not later on.  I know many writers write out of order, but is that really the best way to write?  I've semi-completed the first 19 chapters of my story that was outlined into 28 chapters, originally 30, I also have chapter 25 and 28 done.  How?  I have no idea... The numbers may change, but the gist of what happens shouldn't unless I decide to really change TGA.  Bits and pieces of other chapters are finished as well, but from where I am now, I have no idea if those will change or not.  I still have to fix the crap I wrote two, three, four years ago in the first few chapters. 

And to top everything off, I have four other stories I've started over the past few years, NONE of which I've finished; even the small supernatural/paranormal novella I began after last Christmas, "Calliope", about a man in search of the soul of his deceased wife.  The story I wrote for NanoWrimo this year, "Summer Storm", has around 46 pages that I wrote in the first ten days, and now it's just taking up space on my hard drive.  "Find A Way", which I honestly can't even remember when I started, has ten chapters done, some of which are online on my fictionpress because I really don't care about getting that one published due to the content. [I'd have to change too much.]  And THEN my totally mondo-fabulous awesome science fiction adventure about parallel universes and wormholes and authors and books and writing and truth and fiction... it's all too much for my brain to even compute right now. 

I just want to be able to finish something that I start.  I seem to have a problem with doing that, and not just in my writing, either. Just let me finish one of my stories, preferably the one I love the most.  The one with the most meaning to me.  The one I project myself into a little too much... I just want my life to have a little meaning...

Saturday, January 8, 2011

“Good writers define reality; bad ones merely restate it. A good writer turns fact into truth; a bad writer will, more often than not, accomplish the opposite.”

Lack of blog updates = more novel writing. YAY me! I made a semi-quasi-resolution to write more, but I wasn't going to pressure myself into doing something my head can't handle.  I have to remember that I'm flawed, just like everyone else. My flaws may be different - that's why they're mine - but they're still there and interfere with my life on a daily basis.  It's not easy to be an unemployed single mother who suffers from "severe recurrent depressive disorder and panic disorder with agoraphobia."  We went to the grocery store today (Wegmans kicks ass) but going there on a Saturday afternoon is like going to Walmart -- it's a panic attack waiting to happen.  But I needed to get my meds, so I didn't have a choice. I made it through, I think, pretty good, still avoiding people like the plague, but still, I got what we needed and got out.

Writing has always been therapy for me, whether it be poetry, blog/journal entries, or stories. They help me deal with and escape the thoughts that suffocate me, bringing me into a new world where I have control. 

The past few days I've been working on chapters 3 and 4 of my novel, "The Grand Awakening."  Reading over the story I haven't touched in over a year made me realize how much I've missed my characters.  For awhile, they were the only friends I had.  A part of this story is a reflection of what was going on in my life when I started writing it back in 2006; living in Binghamton, NY (the Vale), feeling like I had an obligation to someone,  feeling trapped and alienated by the people around me, not having anyone who truly understood me, and constantly being underestimated.  The origins of Aubrey's character come from me, but the person she really is is more than I could ever dream to be.  She's strong, smart, forgiving, loving, and, most of all, fearless.  She doesn't let anyone stand in her way or tell her she can't do something.  She does it anyway. She proves them wrong.  She may be nervous, but she doesn't let it overwhelm her from doing what she needs to do. 

That is my truth inside the lie.  I guess it's not really a lie, but it's my truth hidden behind a veil of fiction.