Unfortunate Thoughts of Writers

Everyone has been let down by circumstances. We’ve all paid for the moment that turns into nothing more than a memory hanging on the hooks of hollow smiles and bloated opportunities. Thrown into the ring, heart bleeding, ripped from our cavernous chest, expected to fight for a strong finish only to be splayed on the canvass face down. Knocked out by self deprecation and fueled by the maddening ideas that everything is somehow built perfectly somewhere just outside our reach. Displayed just far enough away to make us ache and dream for the day we too will feel the eyes of acceptance, the warm touch of approval and credence ribboned throughout the words of our heroes.

Instead, we find ourselves tangled in the thick ropes of our own fears. Judged by fleeting utterances, that relentlessly keep feeding our doubts. Tied up and tortured by the few envious words infused with jealousy and fear from others. When did we stop caring? When did the fascination with people’s follies or their belligerent tirades become more important or meaningful than an offered hand or a string of encouraging words?

Bloodied and weakened by the constant pummeling of who we are expected to be and how we are supposed to act, time won’t stop marching across our battered bones and ripped skin until every last word of our lives shows up on the parchment of our soul. Only then will the fighter within us rage against the constant malevolence of few and change the heart beat of the discontented. Then we can rise to the occasion and script our pen to paper and pour the blood of our soul across the pages in a purge so magnificent, the world will have to wake up and listen.

It is time to reach for the bones of our predecessors and sculpt the stepping stones of greatness within the rooms of our own minds. It’s time to close the doors riddled and shaped with contempt and criticism and open the door infused with intuition and honor. We must rise above the fray of pugnacious hostility, fear, guilt, and jealousy, purge them from our veins, drain them from our hearts, and uproot them from our minds.

True Power occurs when recognized and harnessed for a purpose. When searching outside the walls of our own souls, we may stumble; even misplace the only key that unlocks the secrets to embodying our permanent balance. But never will we lose the ability to look beyond the limited idea of who we think we are, and be reminded that what we are searching for, we are searching with. We are the key to our own happiness; we are the key to our own success. We are the only keeper of thoughts that reside in our own minds. It is what we do with those thoughts and ideas that shape our experience and in turn shape the world around us that counts. Make your decisions count, without being smug. Let your voice be heard, without shouting. And let your love be felt, without limits. And always be grateful for the journey!

Thanks for hanging out and reading my ramblings!  

Oh Flippin' Fairies- Come On!

What is it about fairies that make you either love them or completely hate them? I might be the only person in the entire blogosphere (yeah it’s an exaggeration) that could give a rat’s ass about them either way.


Well, before you get up in arms, most of you who know me, know that’s how I roll. I’m not usually into fairies, or even read books about fairies. Actually, I don’t have anything to do with fairies. Let’s call a spade a spade; I’ve been surrounded by males including my dog, my entire life. Let’s just say, fairies weren’t on the top of my list.


So, I was more than a little surprised when a story came to me about a young girl who has to grapple with the decision of accepting her fairyism or not. Now I have a chapter done and part of a second, dealing with fairies. Grant it, I have to disclose it isn’t your typical fairy story, but still fairies? And what’s really trippy ←(a word from the 70’s) is that I am completely excited about it.


I find myself plotting what’s going to happen next, and I’m not a plotter. I’ve never outlined what’s going to happen to my protagonist. I usually write as it comes to me, then edit as I go back through it. I’ve found myself plotting. OMG- What does this mean?


Maybe it simply means the creative gods have smiled on me and I have been fortunate enough to have another story birthed from a place, I don’t question, but graciously accept when it flows from the depths of my mind. It also means my besties will be tortured with, chapter by chapter of another story, yet again. (only if they’ll let me)


Have I crossed into the world of fairies? Are people going to run into me with books of fairytales under each arm? Probably not, I’m really sorry to let you down. I will also tell you, I highly doubt I’ll be running out to my local tattoo shop anytime soon, asking for a tat on my ass of Tinkerbell.


But it does make me think… Nah, I don’t think I’ll get a tattoo. 

Really, It’s a Pattern?

Okay so it was brought to my attention that I have this crazy habit of creating new characters for new books in the middle of second books I am writing. I know it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, so let me break it down for you. (Believe me I didn't recognize it until one of my dearest friend pointed it out. Besides the fact she keeps telling me she just holds on for the ride!)

I wrote Prototype in a year. I started the next book for Prototype, Hindsight's 20/20 right away. It was about 5 chapters into that book when Wilson Mooney decided to be born. Six and a half months later I have a completed manuscript for Wilson Mooney. And again as patterns repeat, I started immediately on the second book for Wilson Mooney titled, Almost 18. Now I know what you're thinking, what about Hindsight's 20/20? Well, it is frozen in chapter 7(just until I can get back to it). Okay, so I started Almost 18, eight pages into to it to be exact, when Ophelia's Promise introduced itself.

Do you see the pattern? Finish the first manuscript start the second one then start another story. A pattern I was totally unaware of. Now what causes that? Burn out of the characters I've just poured my soul into? A continuum of ideas that force you to tell the story of a character that isn't like any of the others? Different perspectives? You're inner voice that tells you every day, write something better? Who knows, all I can think of is that breath of fresh air when creating a new character. It invokes an unexplainable excitement to see what story is about to unfold from my mind.

You can call me crazy but when I get into a writing frenzy I lose track of time and space. I don't know where the characters come from, and I really don't care to know, as long as they continue to present themselves. It starts with a feeling that they need to be born and their stories have to be told. I don't dream them or outline their stories; instead they just come to me as my fingers type on the keys of my laptop. Maybe they are created from the feelings that lurk very shallow and extremely deep in the crevasses of my life experiences and serendipitous thoughts.

So I figured out what I need to do.

I have to take a mental step back from my pattern, finish my seconds, all while I keep editing my firsts, and just hold on firm to my third.

What kind of pattern is that called, Writer's ADD?

The Creeper

Damn it, I woke up this morning in a panic. It just crept up on me. I was minding my own business when it blind-sided me into-- freaking out. Deep breaths, visualization, anything to get it to dissolve back into the place from where it came. Nothing a little sorcery, coffee, and a horoscope couldn’t fix.

Let me rewind, last night one of my good friends read my story, Wilson Mooney, to me. I like to hear it out loud, so I can experience how people read it. See if it makes sense, right? Well, she read the revised chapters 17 and 18. Now some of you haven’t seen the book, so let me just say it is a pivotal point in the story where Wilson and Max (her government teacher)... how do I say it…um, well… let me just put it out there- they hook up, but not in an all the way hook up (pretty darn close though).

I know, I know, but come on- He is this totally gorgeous guy, who’s older, smart, and sensitive to Wilson’s inexperience. How could I deny her someone like that? Anyway, work with me here.

So my good friend was reading the story to me, and I was feeling pretty good about the flow and timing. It was making sense, and with the exception of some awkward phrases and words that tend to be repeated, I think she was able to visualize what she was reading. I knew I wasn’t done with my edits, by any means, but I felt like I had made some progress. I came home pretty late and went to bed confident my book wasn’t crap.

Now let me fast-forward, I wake up this morning with a complete 180 of emotions. Suddenly, I wasn’t good enough and everyone who has read it must be lying to me, they just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Publishable? Not even! (Get my mood?)

**Disclosure** I know this is just a feeling I happen to be having at a particular moment in my life, and I’m not telling you this to get sympathy comments.

Negative creeper feelings suck! They thrive on bullying your positive emotions and beating them into submission. NCF’s (Negative Creeper Feelings) work to convince you that your positive flowing thoughts (PFT’s) of accomplishments are dirty little whores that only want one thing from you, space in your mind. I know NCF’s are born from all the doubts that pluck at you until you’re willing to hand over the belief in yourself on a golden platter of self doubt.

I write this today to convince myself and warn other positive self believers- we need understand where our NCF’s are and keep them at a safe distance. Don’t embrace and coddle them or feed their insatiable appetite for negative attention, but file them away in a safe place. There will be a time when they decide to creep into our consciousness and we will need to hammer them back with our dependable club of self-assurance. We need to tell them they have no place in our minds and to crawl back into the dark vacuous hole they came from. We need to keep our eyes on the prize.

*Note to self: Apple seeds- grow apple trees, tulip bulbs- grow tulips, facts that are undeniable and nobody can argue. So I ask myself, what am I planting in the garden of my mind? And where did I happen to leave that dependable club?

Cut and Paste

In the last couple of days I have cut and paste chapters of my book so I could chop them apart, change language that I didn't like, descriptions I wasn't happy with and conversations between characters that just didn't work.

Sometimes I wish I could do that to my life. Wouldn't that be great? Oh the things I could do with that ability!

Oh my, I started my day dog-tired; I'll cut and paste a better beginning. Hey, I didn't like the way my son talked to me earlier today. Here, let me just cut and paste what I would like to hear come from his mouth. Fight with my spouse? Not even, totally backspaced. Stubbing my toe on the boys' crap left on the floor? That wouldn't even exist in my world, deleted. Long days watching my boys do what they are passionate about, Heck yeah! Dates with my husband, dancing without my feet hurting, eating whatever my hearts desires and lose weight at the same time, my bank account so flush with funds, my only worries were how to spend it, I could live with that. Added details in my manuscript of life, just make sure to show don't tell.

But would life be really worth living if I could do that? Isn't it life experiences that make me who I am? What if I never experienced failure and pain or excitement and success? Could I truly write about it? I don't live in a bubble. Bubbles burst, wobble and as much as I hate to admit it, when people look into them, they magnify and extenuate every detail about your life.

So if I went around re-writing my life, deleting and adding, cutting and pasting, working dialogue into what I wanted to hear, I would never be who I am today. And I have to say, right now, my life isn't half bad!

I can't wait to write about how amazing it was to have the perfect agent who fell madly in love with my work and sold it to the perfect publishing house for the perfect book deal. (So magnify on that my iridescent bubble and act as if!)

Now it's time to go out, write your life and be okay with the typos.