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.