Just Keep Writing

Hello!

So, writing has been insanely slow lately. It's like I'm trying to force words where there aren't any. It's okay though. I read a quote (and if I wasn't so lazy, I'd get you the source), that basically said, a page that you've written is better than a blank page. You can't edit a blank page.

AMEN! I am writing and trying and squeezing out sentences. In the end, it doesn't matter if a single word stays because it's more words than I had yesterday, or last month.

It's September.

I began writing this novel that I'm not completely REwriting last November. I've been at this for almost a year.

And I still don't have a finished project.

I can't get discouraged. I can't. I just have to keep going.

(See Morgan. See Morgan be her own motivational speaker. Go Morgan go!)

What's up?

I've been working pretty consistently on le novel, and also on a nonfiction book for the LDS church membership. That book's working title is PRACTICING PERFECTION. It's about LDS women and their need to be "pefect" when in reality that is absolutely impossible to achieve. This project has a blog all it's own, found here. 

It's been crazy to try and balance all that writing with the house, the kids, the animals, etc etc etc. It's all going well, and there isn't much to complain about, except maybe the lack of 28 hours in the day and the energy to use it!! :)

BELONGING has gotten three new chapters in the last little while too. The characters are always on my mind. I'm always writing snippets here and there.

I need a body double.

Peace out.

An Excerpt From BELONGING

“Please don’t let them see me,” she whispered to herself running full-speed now, dodging trees and brush at every step. She hit a hole in the ground and went sprawling, her ankle twisted painfully. The people were coming directly at her. She could make out what looked like a few men walking through the thick trees a hundred yards away.  After her experience with a strange man in her bedroom the night before, the idea of being alone with multiple males was beyond terrifying. “I need to hide!” she said to no one. Suddenly, to her left, she saw a small crevice beneath a huge boulder. Without thinking, she crawled toward it and wedged herself between the muddy rotting earth and the rock. Charlotte’s twisted ankle throbbed painfully.

She watched as they crashed nearer, and she held her breath. They were going to pass by her! Everything was going to be fine.

Then right in front of the rock, they stopped. She counted three pairs of legs, all clad in what looked like leather leggings and brown, old-fashioned looking boots. “Why are they stopping?” she thought desperately. She tried to make herself small and invisible.

“We know you’re under that rock,” said a funny lilting accent. “You may as well come on out.”

Crap.

Crap crap crap.

Charlotte didn’t move. Maybe they didn’t actually know she was there. Maybe they were just trying that trick at every crevice they came to.

A bearded face appeared at her eye level. “Come on Miss. You’ve got to come with us.” Charlotte screamed as loud as her lungs would allow. She wasn’t going anywhere with anyone, especially not three dudes she didn’t know. She sucked her breath in and started to scream again, when another face appeared. This face was younger, no beard and she recognized it, she thought his name was…

“Charlie?” she asked, bewildered.

“That’s me. You know me from school,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, I know,” Charlotte said, suddenly extremely embarrassed to be seen screaming her guts out hiding like a wounded animal under a rock.

“Come on out. We don’t bite. I promise.”

“Um. Okay.” She clawed her way out from under the rock and pulled herself into a lopsided standing position, her ankle refusing to hold her weight.

“You’re hurt,” said the first voice. It belonged a small, stocky fellow with yellow gold hair and beard to match. Charlotte was struck with how ridiculously dressed all three of them were. In leather leggings, linen tunics and leather breastplates with a lion wearing a crown burned into the center, they looked like they were bound for the renaissance fair.

“I’m okay, I just twisted my ankle,” Charlotte mumbled, looking at the ground. It was an understatement, standing up had hurt so much, Charlotte’s breakfast rumbled in her stomach, nausea rushing up her throat.

“Come here,” Charlie said kindly. Charlotte looked up at him. She knew him only barely, having had a couple of classes with him the year before. They’d never had a real conversation before. 

Charlotte was struck with how ridiculously cute he was. Tall, broad and tan, he looked like a surfer, with light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. He had perfectly shaped red lips and…woah. Charlotte was completely distracted for moment, just staring at him.

“Can you walk?” Charlie asked warily.

“Uh. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Charlie sounded highly amused at something. It irked Charlotte. A lot. He strided over to her and squatted down next to her foot. He gently placed a hand on the bone. Pain shot through Charlotte so intense she nearly toppled over. The nausea returned. She was going to puke if he didn’t stop.

“OW!” she hollered.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not the best at healing spells. Kent! You want to try this? I think it’s broken.”

The darkly bearded one hurried over to Charlotte and bent down next to Charlie. He softly placed his own hand on Charlotte’s bare ankle. Instead of pain, which Charlotte was expecting, she felt warmth and a weird tingle in her ankle. Then all the pain was gone.

“Um. What did you just do?” she asked.

“Can you use it?” the blond-haired man asked.

“I…think so.” She took a tentative step. All the pain was completely gone, and her ankle felt fine. “How did you do that? What do you mean, ‘healing spell’?” Charlotte was feeling a bit dizzy.

“Yes, like I said, you’ll have to come with us,” the blond one said, sounding bored.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Charlotte repeated empathetically. She turned on her heels, grateful for a newly fixed ankle and started running in the direction she hoped was the road.

She had made it all of ten fast steps when she hit an invisible wall and bounced off it, hard, falling on her butt to the ground. She heard chuckling behind her. Standing up, she started forward again, only to run into the invisible wall again. She turned 90 degrees and started again. Once again, she found the way blocked. She turned around furiously. “Let me go!” Her mind was reeling. How were they keeping her here? How had they fixed her ankle? She started to scream again, desperately hoping someone would hear her. Immediately, the dark haired man waved his hand and her voice was silenced. Panic and terror were rising up in her. She was trapped. Trapped, and she couldn’t even yell for help. 

Good Things!

Things are going GREAT with the rewrite. (I feel like I might jinx myself saying that, but it's true!) I got a ton done yesterday and am finally getting to the point where I'm not mourning the first version...as much.

I'm happy with the new way it's going, and the main bones of the story seem to be finding their back in. THAT was my fear, that everything I loved about version 1.0 would be gone, and that doesn't seem to be happening.

A friend and I have been exchanging chapters (she's writing an awesome book too!), and that has helped motivate me to keep at it.

Good things!!

Writing a Hard Thing

In the newest attempt at novel writing, I came to a bumpy spot. Not bumpy because of difficulty... but bumpy because I didn't want to write it.

The story absolutely had to go a certain way. But I didn't want to write it. The subject matter was a bit delicate, and well, I just didn't want to do it.

So much in fact that it took me almost a week to get the guts to write it out.

As I was writing it, I nearly chickened out. I literally paused, my hands over the keyboard, and almost, ALMOST made it different.

But I was brave. I swallowed my fears, and I wrote it.

It was the right move. What's strange to me is how personal it felt, writing that tidbit. I just can't describe it, but it was a challenge.

This being-a-writer-thing is weird. And kind of hard. And good.

A Spark

Truth: I got really grumpy at my novel.

Like so much that I haven't touched in almost a month.

It's SLOW work, and I feel frustrated trying to balance the "right" way to "write" a novel, so that someone will want to publish it, with the story that I want to tell how I freaking want to tell it.

Ya know?

So. I'm taking a step back from it. I need to let it be. I was trying to force it, and it was coming out garbage.

I have a new idea that is percolating. It's going to be fun. Publishable? Maybe. But I feel that spark of inspiration. I haven't been feeling that lately.

Over and out.

Okay. I'm Back.

I had to take a break. I was becoming SO overwhelmed with rewriting, and frustrations about "what the publishers want" verses "what I want to write."

It's a tricky tricky biz.

But I'm at peace now. I'm cool. I'm writing again after a week off. I got this.

I can do this!

I am doing this.

(Forget writing. I should be a motivational speaker.)