Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wow, I am flabbergasted at how fast this year has gone. I remember it went by at snail's pace when I was still in high school. After I graduated, that's when I realized that the world spun a whole lot faster than I could've ever imagined.
I decided to do some research on the history of the new year and its celebration. I was not pleased with what I found. It has to do with an ancient pagan holiday, Julius Caesar, later on an anti-Jewish campaign among other things . . . *Sigh.
I was actually hoping on something spiritual, uplifting, inspiring. The only way I think I can get all those elements down is to pray.
Bringing in the new year is very personal. It is the time when many of us set goals for bettering ourselves. A fresh start like a fresh day.
Though Easter is the celebration of life, Christ's resurrection, I don't think it would be wrong to liken Christ's atonement to the new year. The Atonement is a fresh start. It is a chance for us to repent of our sins. To shed the darkness from our spirits. To look to the future with hope and love and happiness.
I feel we should think of the same thoughts that cross our minds during Sacrament Meeting (a time to review our faults the past week and how we could improve upon them). These are mine every Sunday, depending on my struggles as I think to renew my baptismal covenants: I will practice better patience with my children, I will do my best to NOT suppress a generous thought, I will work harder on reading my scriptures on non-school days . . .
The most desired thing is to be charitable. Anything you can think of that reaches out to others is charitable. Saying hi to someone in church, especially someone you don't talk to on a normal basis. Sitting by someone you never had before, volunteering in school for your kids--if you are a grandparent, I don't think the school will turn you away. Bringing in someone's garbage can after pick up day. Smiling at someone. Making your child's bed as a surprise.
To throw in a few writing aspects maybe dedication to helping others with their manuscripts, query letters and/or synopsis with total honesty? Being a mentor? Reaching out to aspiring writers and help them understand that there is always hope in becoming published?
Going out of our comfort zones is one of the hardest things I know any one of us can do, but that is what being charitable is all about--if we are complacent in our lives, we need to reevaluate it.
This one of my favorite quotes by Souza:
DANCE--as if no one is watching you,
LOVE--as though you have never been hurt before,
SING--as though no one can hear you,
LIVE--as though heaven is on earth.
What are your goals for the year 2010? I would love to hear them!
Friday, December 25, 2009
"Ready for Christmas," she said with a sigh,
As she gave a last touch to the gifts piled high.
Then wearily sat for a moment and read,
Until soon, very soon, she was nodding her head.
Then quietly spoke a voice in her dream,
"Ready for Christmas, what do you mean?
Ready for Christmas when only last week,
You wouldn't acknowledge your friend on the street?
Ready for Christmas while holding a grudge?
Perhaps you'd better let God be the judge."
She woke with a start and cry of despair.
"There's so little time and I've still to prepare.
Oh Father! Forgive me, I see what you mean.
To be ready means more than a house swept clean.
Yes, more than the giving of gifts and a tree.
It's the heart swept clean that He wanted to see.
A heart that is free from bitterness and sin.
So be ready for Christmas--and Ready for Him."
I spent about an hour searching for a painting of the ten virgins because
I feel it would fit perfectly. Will we be ready for Christ when He comes again?
I came across the video below from LDS.org. It left me crying because it fits so
well both messages that I have written for this very special day.
The Christmas Spirit
Merry Christmas, my friends.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
On Sunday, I helped conduct Sharing Time for the Sunbeams. I had gone through many of my Ensigns and removed appropriate pictures of Jesus Christ. As I prayerfully prepared the lesson, I felt the sweet and tender strength of God's love for His Son. My heart was so full that I cried. I brought my chosen pictures to my team teacher and she played the primary songs I chose to go with each picture. We both felt the Spirit so strongly it brought tears to our eyes.
I want you to know how much I love my Father in Heaven and His son, Jesus Christ. I am so ever grateful that God loved us very much He was willing to show us mercy by allowing His only Begotten Son to come down to Earth to die for us. I have a testimony of the Atonement and am forever indebted to Him for His great love He has for me.
I hope you can feel the Spirit as you watch this special clip. Imagine being one of the people in any one given scene and feel the Spirit touch your heart. It is my prayer that the love of Christ abides you this wonderful time and forever after that.
Merry Christmas! :)
Saturday, December 19, 2009
On December 18th Mormon Mommy Writers' post, Nikki wrote about having split personalities as a writer--I am sure we all have experienced this interesting little phenomena at one time or another right? Oh yes. It is called . . . writer's block! Tada!!!
Well, I had lots to say about it and left a comment there for her. I thought it would make a very interesting topic to discuss on my blog (thank you Nikki for the idea!).
Her post was about our creative selves conflicting with our logical selves, hence, resulting in writer's block. Gotta love it. Well, for the first time I suffered major writer's block. I was so worried and sad that I couldn't and wondered if I would ever be able to write again. I asked for blessings galore. I prayed tons. I fasted lots. I even attended the temple seeking answers.
Do you know what it really was when it came down to it? The simple fact that my logical side did not agree with my creative side.
It was over the urban fantasy romance I had finished the first week into November for NaNoWriMo. My problem was that I had never written just a plain story without a villain. There has to be a villain to taunt, torment, tease my MCs at all costs! This particular novel has no villain like that. It doesn't. It is a normal romance with internal conflict. Whoa! So new for me, that's for sure.
My logical self argued with me that it could not be done because I have never done it and that it would be so borrring without a villain. My creative self mulled and batted and debated just how I was going to accomplish the never-done-by-Elizabeth feat!
After much thought and prayer, NaNo came around and I decided to take the challenge full force. I have never done this crazy thing of writing 50K words in one month and was even afraid of the task. (My problem is that I always underestimate myself but have learned that I usually excel to my surprise!)
Well, with NaNo, I told myself it can be done and I won't stop to contemplate the difficulties of writing a story without a solid villain. I simply gave myself permission to write the novel with pure internal conflict.
As I mentioned a few paragraphs above, I finished that novel the first week into November and started another book (the one I mentioned in my last post and I am nearly done with it! I am on my last chapter and it ends with a Viking wedding!) Well, ahem, their wedding night actually! ;)
I now know that writer's block is as simple as what Nikki had said. It is logic conflicting with creativity. The angel and devil on each of our shoulders screaming opposing thoughts and sending conflicting messages--our brains don't work that way. It's very hard to serve two masters!
Well, tell me how you deal with your writer's block? Maybe it is not as simple as I had just defined it. What is your opinion and thoughts on it?
Let me know!!
Friday, December 18, 2009
I thought it might be nice to write about what I am writing about, and what interests me.
Right now I am in near completion of my 8th novel. Several of my other novels which have been revised to death and others still in their first draft stages. Who would've thought that I still have a long road ahead of me to have them submission-worthy? It feels intimidating and a bit overwhelming, but I know that it is what Heavenly Father desires of me so I will not stop here.
My current MS is about a man from a different world where his queen rules unjustly but he does not realize that until she sends him on a mission to slay an ancient colony on Earth. After destroying a small hunting party, he finds a village and falls in love with a human woman. Everyone is scared of him but for the woman. Her love changes his heart and he vows to right the wrong.
The thing that I found most challenging in this story was having the two MCs communicate without knowing one another's languages. But as I wrote, it flowed and clicked into place. :) The most I have enjoyed about writing this story is the journey. It is such a joy to create new worlds and governments and people for me.
Three of my novels are fantasy romance(can't stay away from it!), two are historical romance (one taking place in the Victorian ages and the other sometime in the distant past of Vikings), two are urban fantasy romance, one contemporary romance and the one I am currently working on with probably a thousand words left would be considered science fiction/fantasy/historical romance (LOL! It involves all those elements, but I am not sure its exact genre).
I have to admit that writing can be very isolating when one does not have a group of friends that all share the same love for it. I am grateful for my writing group, Scrawl, and everything they have done and are yet to do to help me out the door into the wild blue yonder.
Thank you, guys!
OH! PS--I'd like to thank all of you who are following my blog, it feel so nice to have fans! (hugs) :)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I just had a good friend of mine pass away. I was so shocked to hear the news this morning at Sacrament meeting. (I write my MMW posts every Sunday). I was devastated to hear that and did my best to keep my wits about me as I led the music during sacrament meeting.
She was a part of our ward choir and a faithful member of our ward. Long before, she was a primary teacher and my children loved her. It was only last Sunday I gave her a ride home after choir and she commented on how she missed being my kids's primary teacher and how fun it would be to be in the primary again.
She had made a great impression upon me. She embodied strength, faith, courage. Those were her qualities that I will always treasure.
Bearing this in mind, I prayed on how I could turn this into a valuable lesson. What kind of impact do you want to have on others? What about as a writer? What kind of writer are you now? What kind of stories are you weaving?
How will your readers remember you? Fulfilling? Thoughtful? Inspiring? Will they put your book down after finishing it and say, "Wow, she is an awesome writer! I can't wait for her other book to come out," while she gazes at her bookshelf lined with your books?
We have a wonderful opportunity and privilege as writers to make an impression with people everywhere. We are leaders in chaos. We are the light in the darkness. We are the voice of the Lord as we create our stories with His help.
I know without a doubt that if we live the way God desires, He will bless us beyond measure and surely we will touch the lives of many through the written word. Our qualities will leave an impression.
That's how we will be remembered.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I got this from a fun little handout about friends and friendships for my kids. You can print it up and have it for Family Home Evening, think about all your friends in your life and see where they fit. OR, (I like this) you can have this as a checklist for a your main characters as you write. You choose! Here it goes!
Here are a few helpful hings to making new friends:
1. Listen when someone is talking to you.
2. Ask questions to find out more about the person.
3. Give sincere compliments to others.
4. Don't be afraid to speak in front of a group. This is a good way to share with lots of people at once.
5. Share your ideas with others. Don't be afraid to speak up.
Are Your Friends Cool or Cruel?
Cool kids: ............................................................Cruel kids:
Keep secrets ....................................................... Share your secret with others
Keep promises.....................................................Don't listen to you
Really listen to you..............................................Talk behind your back
Stand up for you.................................................Leave you out
Include you in a group........................................Are jealous when you do well
Are happy when you do well................................Complain about others
Are fun to be with...............................................Are not aware of your feelings
Think of your feelings.........................................Want to get you into trouble
Care about what happens to you..........................Make fun of you
Are nice to you.................................................... Are stingy
I honestly feel that these traits apply to adults as well. I hope this has been helpful and fun as well! :)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
"...the crisis doesn't create one's character it reveals it."--Lynn G. Robbins. Guess what the first thing was when I heard this quote given on Sunday on tithing? I thought writing! I was so impressed by it I pulled out my program and jotted it down. Wow. Isn't it powerful? How does your character react to crisis? Does she wilt? Does he flee? Does he become stronger? Does she hold fast? Does she weep? I would be remiss to continue on without mentioning how the quote really fits. There is an article in the 2005, May Ensign about paying tithing. Tithing is for the rich as much as it is for the poor. It is not unkind of our Heavenly Father--or leaders of the church--to expect that out of us even with our economic crisis! In fact, do you remember the story of the widow's mite? She gave her all. I ask myself, how can I not? With all the blessings the Lord has so generously bestowed upon me? Giving the Lord ten percent of our earnings will bless us beyond measure. Here is the quote again: "...the crisis doesn't create one's character it reveals it."--Lynn G. Robbins.
Bearing this in mind, what strengths will a crisis bring out in you? Or perhaps even weaknesses? Will you panic or crumble or weaken? Will you be calm, hold tight, and stand firm?
I know one thing is for sure, the closer to the Lord you are, the stronger you will stand during the crisis--I promise.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Chengral lowered his weight upon his heels and closed his eyes. He cleared his mind from all distraction and thought. Willing his heart to a slow rhythm, his breath evened out to match the flow in his veins. The forest sounds hushed all around him, as if aware of his meditative state. He listened to every whit of the nocturne’s symphony—one by one, the notes dismembered.
Which resonant chord would reveal the pathway of his mark? Which—
Chengral opened his eyes, deciphering a cleft in the harmony of the night.
He turned over his shoulder, his nostrils flaring wide as he inhaled the faint scent of his preys’ warmth. They were not too far. He listened to the silent passageway the insects had painted from their fleeing a day ago. He rose to his feet, chin down, heart growling.
Blood. He could hear the sounds of their roaring Letys blood . . .
Every particle of his being sprang to life and he flung himself into a full gallop. The thought of the hunt ignited his craving. He tied his cape around his waist, his wings spreading wide either side of his body. With one mighty leap, he sailed through the dark, his fists splitting the wind in two.
Unused to flying, Chengral would mull over this amazing feat a different time. The drive to hunt down his quarry burned deep in his skull. Their bonfire, like a lone beacon in a sea of void, drifted far below. His rage kindled.
“As to your bidding I go, my queen.” Desire twisted in his loins with the thought of Tanchaa’s promise.
The Letys would be no more after this hour. They would regret their barbarous deeds of devouring their young and slaying their old. They would taste the suffering his people endured when they sneered the chesdin way. They would lament the moment they dared to settle alongside the inhabitants of this world. A soft hollow melody from a crude whistle reached him, their restless animals barked and howled.
Anger. Hatred. Disgust.
The voices of his emotions tore through him with one mighty roar. Chengral heard their panicked silence. He smelled their fear. He felt their souls. He tasted their blood. They were aware of his incursion. One more sniff and he knew without a doubt. They were Letys. A rush of fiery anticipation lit his veins.
He saw their terror.
With feral vigor, Chengral retrieved his sword and dagger mid-flight. He descended upon the fire’s glow—the impact plunging them into immediate gloom. Six. He could hear every one of them. They screamed, jumped to their feet, eyes wild. Their bodies trembling and thrashing and falling. Fear had them in its grip.
Chengral snarled and lifted high his powerful sword. He slashed through the air with the pure voice of metal. A wet gurgle. Then silence. He swung around, promptly locating the others as they raced into the darkness.
Dangerous. Cannibals. Heathens. All deserving of chesdin justice.
“For Tanchaa! For Choldra!” Chengral howled. He sprung upward with one mighty thrust of his wings and landed in their pathway, his impressive wingspan barring the trail. The whites of their eyes shown, their teeth flashed, their arrows pointed.
But Chengral was faster. His blade slashed and forever stilled the movement of three with one unexpected sweep of his arm.
He sneered. Cowards. All of them. They had forgotten the chesdin path. The Choldra way of life. Truly Tanchaa stood correct. They were merely animals and nothing more, having mated with the denizens of this world. His fathers long forgotten—paling their veins to nothing more than water.
A shriek split the night followed by sharp stab.
Chengral cried out and whirled around with a quick release of his dagger. It sang through the air. Clear. Fast. True. The Letys stared powerlessly at it and dropped its crossbow, its eyes wide with a muted scream. A thud. Chengral marched onward and retrieved his dagger. He wiped away the filth on the creature’s leg.
He remembered the arrow in his shoulder and wrenched it from his searing flesh with a cry. Hot blood oozed down his back. He growled and searched for his last victim.
It fled on a beast of four legs.
Chengral laughed. Would the Letys creature be foolish enough to lead him back to its nest? To where he could finish off their wretched existence? He decided at once a hunt without mystery would spoil his pleasure. Let it be done with now. Soon enough he would find joy in ridding the burrow of its paltry creatures.
He vaulted into the heavens—his billowing wings captured the wind and drove him through the black sky. The Letys mount blared, the beating of its hooves quickening. Chengral readied his blades, holding them out at his sides, his eye fixed on the traitor’s form below. He threw the dagger. A sharp whistle. A thump. A shriek. And still, it clung for its life to the mount.
With a smile, Chengral quickened his pace, easily gliding past the horrified Letys. He followed pace, basking in its terror as it sent many glances his way. He could hear its breath. Hard and grating in its body. He could smell its terror. Hot and blind in its thoughts. He could taste its blood. Fast and wild in its veins.
A swift flight of sound split through his hair and Chengral knew. The Letys attacked with its arrow. Time to end this child’s play. Coiling quickly in the sky, he kicked the weapon away from its grasp. Its cry music to Chengral’s delight. He arched and circled back, his claws hooking and lifting the creature into the blackness. Higher and higher.
It kicked and squealed and howled. And still higher Chengral rose.
“For the young you have slain!” he bellowed, releasing the Letys into the living night. A yowl. Then silence. Silence but for the furious pounding of Chengral’s heart. His breath hard in his lungs. His body tight.
And still he rose, his talons clawing the moon. His body taut and sultry with Letys blood.
Chengral gazed into the shadows below. With an aerial somersault, he found it. The Letys mount. Foam in the mouth and rearing with piercing shrieks at his nearness. His dagger jutted from its back. He swooped down and pulled it out. The beast wailed.
With his free hand came down his sword.
Friday, November 27, 2009
My first impression when I first picked up this book was: Is this an inspirational story about a mysterious person doing random acts of kindness?
So I snuggled into bed and turned to the first page and read.
All at once, I was whisked into a boy's world where he struggled with previous life's choices and made the commitment to walk brighter pathways. Suddenly, he is faced with many trials that could possibly lead him into relapses while others believe he has lost his way. It wasn't until I was five pages into the story that I realized that I did not know his name! As soon as that thought hit me, I put the book down, surprised.
Yes, Kathi is that good a writer. I felt as if I knew Micah Conners already without the introduction of his name. I was already drawn into the story, the characters, the setting, the theme. I was hooked.
As I read, I hoped that Micah would make good choices so as to avoid the heartache of consequences that follow from poor decisions. I cheered him when he had the strength to walk away from potentially precarious situations. I wept with him when his heart broke from lost hope. My heart warmed for him when he finally found faith and peace in his shambled world.
I am rather impressed with Kathi's gift of slipping into Micah's head and making him come alive. His emotions and thoughts and feelings remained true and so believable it had me laughing in certain parts and crying in others.
Just as in real life, the closer Micah drew to his goal, the more tangled life became. With the stout heart of a warrior, he fought for his beliefs and grew stronger from them though he felt lost and alone and afraid.
This story is so wrought with faith, courage, and strength, that I am making it a part of my family's Christmas celebration this year.
So, where does the angel part come into play you ask? Find out for yourself and add this wonderful story to your family Christmas tradition!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I used to think how lucky certain writers were when they signed a contract and became published authors. I would compare myself to them and even murmur, thinking that they had a timely break and hope that I would have an angel swooping down and magically turn me into a published author over night.
I felt forlorn until I took a look at the marketing plan. I thought, wow, of course one would need to work to promote the book to real success!
Since then, I've decided to take one day at a time. I can enjoy the freedom of writing without a deadline--and after doing NaNo (already done my 50K + words), boy I can surely feel the pressure of that.
Why bite my nails and think, "Rats! I want a contract right now! I want my book published right now!" Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Well, I want to be like the tortoise, enjoying every step of the journey and getting there when I get there. Not to rush the Lord's hand in these things.
That's what it boils down to, is trusting the Lord in all things--even in regards to when I will be published.
Tell me how are you enjoying your journey with writing, where ever it may be?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I completed an entire novel and started another one. It's truly been an adventure in writing. I love to write and look forward with the same comparison as child does to Christmas morning. I can't wait to crack open my magic box and start bringing out the gifts my muse helps me to create!
It was literally six whole days of literary abandon! I loved it! I hope we can do this again sometime in the future, thank you Karen!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
and it has been a writer's haven of heaven. I am so very grateful for Karen Hoover's generosity
and love by inviting me along with our most treasured writing group of awesome sisters to come
over so we can reinforce our already strong bonds of friendships by doing what we love best:
My heart is very full as I express my gratitude for my wonderful critique group because we are
so much more than that--we are sisters in Zion who love one another and who build one another
up and who cheer each other on. Talk about major support group. I have to be forthright and
honest, but I wouldn't be where I am right now without them (and I am not referring to Park
Finding that it's a writer's blood life to connect with other writers, how are the dynamics like
with your writing friends and groups?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
muse was hiding so very well in me but I dug her out. She has been an awesome companion as I've
written over 7,000 words yesterday and a roughly 26,694 since this month has started. I still won't
write on Sundays and I know that my commitment to keeping God's sacred day holy will shine
How is NaNo going for you and where are you at?
Monday, November 2, 2009
When we are so focused on writing and expect to get some in and find that we can't because of spontaneous events such as the needs of our children (even if they are regularly scheduled like making dinner) or maybe other things that are out of our control, it is that the beast of impatience, frustration and quick to anger, erupts.
I know this happens to me for sure. I feel awful when I do that because my family needs me and I let my writing take precedence over them at times and it causes problems--especially when I put my writing first. It is so hard to put it aside since I love it so much and yes, I guess I am addicted to it!
The Lord counsels all things in moderation. And we can't serve two gods. Ahem. (I'm hiding my head here!) I have pondered the importance of controlling my worldly passions (writing, writing and writing!) and the only thing I can come up with is to put a tight leash on the times when I write.
I've made it a point to keep to writing when my kids are at school and or when they are all in bed. I have to force myself to resist the temptation go past a decent hour as well. All this is done through the Lord's help of prayer and scripture reading.
I hope that I don't fall into that trap of writing over family or over the important things again (the Lord, church, friends). I don't want it to overwhelm my life and have me forget what life is really about!
I'd like to leave you with this neat verse of scripture that isn't exactly related to the topic above, but oh so fitworthy of writing--if you keep in mind your critiquing group as both receiver and contributor.
It is found in Mormon 9: 31
"Condemn me not because of mine imperfection, neither my father, because of his imperfection, neither them who have written before him; but rather give thanks unto God that he hath made manifest unto you our imperfections, that ye may learn to be more wise than we have been."
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
My cutest little boy with eyes of emerald honey
hair of burnished gold and skin soft like Heaven
A voice, full and strong.
How he turns castles from nothing and tales from a single toy,
his creation is magic to lose myself in.
Though words seem to fail him at times, he has found hope.
With actions and tones can he say his heart thoughts.
Strength form above, pours into his life--what an example this little boy is.
His sweet tender spirit, like a honeybee to flower,
touches others with his shining example.
Little Dallas--how full my heart is.
How I love you as I hold your softness to my breast.
I love you, my little Dallas
(turned four September 13th)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
It is only a tiny rosebud, A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals, With these hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers Is not known to you and I.
GOD opens these flowers so sweetly,
While in my hands they fade and die.
IF I can not unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I think I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for leading, Each moment of every day.
I will look to Him for His guidance, Each step of the way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments, Just as his He unfolds the rose.
This was a beautiful poem given to my daughter in YW. How do you think it applies to us as writers?
Friday, October 9, 2009
My writing life has been extremely lonesome. I've prayed and prayed and prayed, wondering if my drought would ever end. So many tears have I known.
I started my writing career way back in the early days of my youth. I started my first full blown manuscript in 1991. I started searching for writers who would welcome me warmly into their arms.
I've searched high and low. Far and wide. Near and yonder.
And I prayed some more.
Then, slowly, one by one, the Lord has generously provided me with wonderful friends until so many poured in all at once, my cup is running over. So wonderful that I think to pinch myself and ask, "is this real?"
We have recently formed a critique group, today being our 3rd week anniversary!
I am humbled to be in the company of such artfully talented writers who love me as much as their writing!
Love you, guys!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday was my Dallas's fourth birthday. I have thought about how sweet life is and a gift it is being a mother. The thing I am thinking about now is what heirloom can I leave my children when I leave this world?
My journal. My art. My books and poems?
It's been a very long time (highschool in fact, when I was a love-besotted girl) since I have written a poem. They don't have to be about love. They can be about how crazy a mother goes with each child she has. How her house turns from clean to chaos with one flick of her childrens' lashes. How fast the kids grow. Each of their milestones. How lonely it might be once the kiddies grow up and move out? How promising the future will be with bright hopes of grandchildren? Maybe of all the regrets of things left undone when they were young and demanding?
I will make a goal and try to write a poem at least once a month. I will keep the focus around my children. I will print it up and frame it in each of their bedrooms as it will pertain to them individually.
Let's see how much I have gained with experience of parenting along with writing? I shall publish a poem here in this blog when I am done.
(Hopefully I won't chicken out!)
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Yes, it has been a long time since I've visited you. I am suffering writer's block and now I am relenting. No fighting this time.
I will nourish my writer's side by helping others with their wonderful works. They are awesome writers and I feel very privileged to be a part of their processes and successes! Woohoo! Along with that I am also diving into my Deep Editing Course by Margie Lawson deep.
She is an awesome instructor teaching how to empower your words. How to weave in internalization with emotion. How to create punch with every paragraph. Heighten emotion with simple techniques! After I am done with her 10 lectures, I am going to register for her other courses.
I can't wait!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
To make it worse, my laptop's motherboard decided to stop working on me. I am so out of sorts I am not sure what I can do!
I put my mind on vacation by reading a full blown 500 paged novel, thinking that would do the trick. Nothing. Maybe another book and another until I feel my creativity creeping up on me?
What do you do when you encounter the writing blues?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
“I swear, I’m going to get you,”—he kicked and pummeled the door—“once I bust this open!” He had to get in and didn’t care how. He staggered off, in frantic search of something sharp. The floor whirled. The music rattled his head. He stopped, clutched his ears, and roared.
There! Beside the useless fireplace, was his promising weapon.
He dashed away, rammed into giggling groupies who streaked after Block, and swore. “Outta my way!” A slithery grin then split his face. Two pokers . . . even better. They were heavy and cold and deadly.
Moggie hefted them. How he loved their feel. Invincible. Euphoric. Powerful. A quivering rush flooded his muscles. He hurried to Mirah’s door and wedged a bar into the jamb. And pried. The gold molding ripped with a splintered crack. His laughter boomed—a horrible and wild sound. He strained until the fury gave way with a loud groan.
“Hey!” someone bellowed. He stiffened, sparks of outrage tore up his spine. Who dared stop him now? His jaw locked and he pivoted. It was Lyssa—her face scarlet as she charged. His fists quaked. She better stay out of his way. She flew into a dark corner, the girls in Block’s arms skewered by her fiery stare.
The door creaked open, calling him. The handle sagged like a worthless eyeball from its hole.
Heat coiled up his throat and exploded with a shout, his foot through the door. It bounced off the wall, stopped with his bar, and shattered in half. He twirled the pokers like handguns in the Old West. High on the murky loft perched Mirah. His temples throbbed. He stomped forward, blinded by ripples of anger.
“What the . . . ? I said get out!”
“No, Mirah—you get out. I’m tired of you. You’re outta the band; I don’t want you no more!”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I have made my list of agents he will be sent off to.
Good luck, baby!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
There are times when I have written a story sketch and stashed it for a later date that the characters and plot awaken from their crypts, begging me to venture into their world. If I am in the middle of editing my manuscript, I will not weave another tale. I force them away and refocus. I can feel them calling out to me—imploring me to write their story, to write their say, to write their song.
I must confess that I have ignored their siren call to complete one project before moving on to the next.
Am I mistaken for that?
As I have learned, when I am ready to create that world, their voices have fallen into silence. I bemoan the death. Would I have been able to create one realm while I reconstructed another? Can I divide myself like that? Can I slip into an undead character one hour and then faerie the next?
As of now, I am facing that dilemma. I am working on my MS, preparing it for submission. Paranormal Romance. And now a Science Fiction story sketch is submerging from its catacomb, begging to be explored. Recorded into words.
Along with the listed items at the beginning, can I truly squeeze in creating another world? I can feel the magic stirring behind my thoughts. Do I tell my hero and heroine to wait another day until I am completed with the quest of other things?
How do tackle your erupting magic?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
If so, I would love to hear from you!
E-mail me (elizabethmueller6 AT gmail DOT com) a bit about yourself along with your photo and the very post you want everyone to read!
For your entertainment:
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Thank you and let the fun begin! :D
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The sunshine--nurturing loved ones.
A sprout--recorded thoughts.
A seedling--a structured plot.
Roots--strengthened with appraise.
A tree--completed story.
The fruits--your labor.
The next step is to believe in yourself. If a baby listened to criticism, would she walk? What about the writer?
Believe in your work.