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Subplots and Storylines – June 2015

Tracey Dyck 10 Comments

I have accidently discovered time travel. How else could I have ended up on June 30, 2015 so quickly? Because, excuse me, last time I checked, June was just starting. So my theory is that, in my sleep, somebody threw me into a time machine and I ended up here.

Right?

Okay, no, June was just so full and intense and amazing that it zoomed right by. But the time machine sounds way cooler.

Work has jumped from moderately busy to almost-fulltime-how-DO-adults-do-it, and back to moderately busy again. I had a little stretch in which I worked six out of seven days. Great for the paycheck; a stretch for my hobbit (read: I love home) self. But I can already see personal growth, so that’s fantastic!

And I have been writing, but not nearly as much as I wanted/expected to. My writing progress notebook tells me I only wrote eight days this month. The result: a whoppin’ 5800 words collectively. Let’s hope July cooperates better, yes? I worked a little bit on book two early this month, but then, of course, that Rooglewood contest was announced and of course I had to start brainstorming for it! (I just realized that I have enough to say about that process to fill another blog post. Maybe in a week or two?)

Anyway, it’s going to have a very classic fairy tale sort of feel, but I’ve got a few twists stewing in the ol’ inspiration bog. As of now, I only have the first two chapters written. But my goal is to have the first draft finished before the end of July! When I set that goal, that broke down to an average of 500 words a day. So it’s quite doable. I’m just . . . heheh, a little behind at the moment.

Speaking of writerly things, I read some good books too!




The Chance by Karen Kingsbury: a heartrending story of forgiveness and restoring relationships. Allegiant by Veronica Roth: as I have stated before, I have no words for how this series ended. There were aspects of the series I disliked, but all in all, it was a great ride! And excuse me while I scrape my heart off the floor. The Anatomy of a Miracle by Dr. James B. Richards: I’ve been going through this one slowly, and happened to finish this month. Really eye-opening! So many things just finally clicked for me.

Eyes Wide Open by Ted Dekker: Wow. How does this guy manage to write such mindblowing stories? On one level, it’s a creepy, suspenseful tale of how 17-year-old Christy Snow and her friend Austin are mistaken for psych patients and get trapped in the ward–and on another level, it’s a sucker punch right to the heart, with raw messages on identity and perception. Go read it. Right now.


Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry: A quick dystopian read, and pretty neat too. I liked the worldbuilding, and how you could tell a person’s age by how many syllables were in their name. This is a sequel to The Giver, but I haven’t quite figured out the connection yet. Maybe the next two books will tie them together . . . ?

Life things. Those happened too. The first half of the month, I was “catching a healing” (as I like to call it) from a cold. So were the rest of my siblings. And then mid-month, my grandma developed an infection that resulted in multiple trips to the hospital and many hours waiting for doctors. So thankful that it didn’t end up being too serious. She’s well on the way to full recovery now!
A couple weeks ago, I went to the city with two close friends of mine for a girl’s day out. We went mini-golfing, which I haven’t done in years . . . went shopping and tried on pretty dresses . . . had a fancy dessert worth wearing heels for . . . had a BBQ supper at one girl’s place and then watched Pride and Prejudice together. Such a wonderful day! We had an amazing time. I always feel uplifted after hanging out with them.

(Now I see what the big deal is about Mr. Darcy.)

Just last week, one of those two girls and I went out for supper at a great new restaurant in town. She’s moving to Mexico in a matter of days, so having that one last (for now) outing together was perfect.

And I was going to get some more writing done yesterday and the day before, but . . . I succumbed to the pull of a story I’m beta reading, written by Mirriam Neal–an insanely talented girl with a penchant for heartbreaking backstories and vibrant characters. Needless to say, I was glued to her Alice in Wonderland retelling, This Curious Madness, and could. Not. Leave. But I caught up on roughly twenty chapters. Yippee!

Random other thing about this month: we painted our front door. No longer is it white–it now gleams burnt orange. Our home exterior renos that we’ve been slowly working on are looking more and more complete. Maybe I’ll post a picture of that eye-popping door once the second coat is done.

So that was June. A conglomeration of books, coughing, social outings, paint, general busyness, and a dash of writing. How was your month? Any plans for July? Have you set any goals for yourself, writing or otherwise?

I will leave you with a collage of the gorgeous flowers blooming at my place. May your eyes be open to see the beauties God is displaying right in front of you, even through the veils of sorrow or weariness.

And to all my fellow Canadians, in anticipation of tomorrow:

Happy Canada Day!

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On Dystopias

Tracey Dyck 9 Comments

I can’t help it.
I analyze books.

It may have
started out as an intentional thing, but these days, I can’t help but pick
stories apart. I used to think such a habit would ruin the pleasure of reading,
yet I’ve found that, for me, it only adds to the experience. With most books I
sink into, I automatically look for what works, what doesn’t work, why
something does what it does. Why do I love this character? Why does this other
one fall flat? Why does the pacing feel off? What made that plot twist so
incredibly surprising?

Not only do I
find myself studying books, I find myself studying genres, too. What makes me
love fantasy so much? Why is dystopian so popular? I look at the categories
from my own personal viewpoint as a reader, and also try to see it from the
perspective of a wide audience.

I don’t know—maybe
it’s the writer in me.

 

I was thinking
about dystopias the other day. I’d just finished Allegiant (OH MY GOODNESS I
HAVE NO WORDS) and thoughts on the ending led me down a broken concrete trail
to the idea of dystopias in general. I don’t know if it’s coming or going, that
trend, but it has produced some insanely popular stuff. The Hunger Games,
Divergent, The Maze Runner, etc.

So what’s the
appeal?

I’m sure that
answer is as multi-faceted as the genre’s readers. But a whole lot of the fans
are teens. And maybe all those teens identify with Katniss, who’s forced into
something she never wanted. Who can’t trust those in authority, or even the
friends around her. Maybe we readers see Tris, struggling with identity and a
choice that will determine her entire future, and we feel, “Yeah, that’s me
too.” We watch Thomas try desperately to figure out where the blazes he is, and
who put him there, and what he’s supposed to do . . . and those questions
resonate.

Because those
are our questions.

“What am I going
to do with my life?”

“What will I
choose?”

“Who can I
trust?”

“Why am I here?”
We reach for
independence, sometimes too quickly, and strain against the bonds of childhood.
The fictional cast of characters strives to break the bonds of a despotic government.

We see myriad
choices—big ones—looming in our futures, and we wonder, doubt, panic, analyze,
dream. The characters’ big choices mirror our own, but in a warped mirror that
expands and extrapolates those decisions. A city rests on the choice; lives depend
on the action taken.

We look around
at our world, the dimensions of which have suddenly exploded, and we feel
increasingly small. The characters peel back layers of story and discover all
is not as they once thought.

This relevance
can be true of any story, any genre. These tales echo in the chambers of our hearts
because on a certain plane, they are real. They are our very own
stories, played out with different names, different locations, different
circumstances . . . yet with all too familiar themes.


And so when
Katniss fires a well-aimed arrow, we cheer. When Tris faces her deepest fears,
we pump our fists. The victories of these characters help us realize, “I can
too.”

In a
progressively secluded society, where we can so easily hide behind screens, it
is even easier to feel that we are alone in our struggles. That we must be the
only ones going through this. In books we find companions with whom we
empathize. A poor substitute for real friendship, I suppose, but nonetheless
encouraging. Somebody else out there feels the way I feel. They are facing
worse, and yet they still get up in the morning, they still press on. They lose
and fail and shatter into a million pieces, but they put themselves back together
. . . and they make it.

I can too.

Herein lies one
of the mysterious powers of story—to use an untruth to reveal truth. To use
fiction to shed light on reality. Through fabricated hardships, a story
comforts us in our trials, and inspires us with the courage to walk through to
the other side as a stronger person.

Yes, dystopias
feed on the fears of today and paint grim pictures of tomorrow; of a fallen
race, a broken planet, a corrupted government. Yes, dystopian authors sometimes
write with a societal or environmental critique in mind.

But under the
agendas, we might find sparks to feed our own dying flames. In the bleak
landscapes, we can rediscover hope. And that, I think, is the reason we are so enraptured with these fractured tales.
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The Return of the 777 Writing Challenge

Tracey Dyck 11 Comments

Over a month ago, I became one of the “seven souls doomed to be tagged” over at Stori Tori’s Blog. The reason I waited so long to walk to my doom was because . . . well, I had no project to drag with me. I had just used book one for this tag, and book two wasn’t exactly at a good stage for it. (I’d prefer to post a snippet of current writing, as opposed to terrible, three-years-old writing.)

But I am happily going to my doom now, because, ta-da, my entry for Rooglewood’s Five Enchanted Spindles contest is being written!


So. Onto the rules of doom.

The 777 challenge requires you go to Page 7 of your work-in-progress, scroll down to Line 7 and share the next 7 lines in a blog post. Once you have done this, you can tag 7 other bloggers to do the same with their work-in-progress.

My entry is yet untitled, which makes for clumsy reference. “Five Enchanted Spindles entry” or “Sleeping Beauty retelling” don’t quite roll off the tongue. But I’m sure something will float to the surface of my inspiration bog, and I shall wash all the boggy goop off of it and give it a nice home at the beginning of my Word document.

Ahem. On with the show. This scene is from the perspective of Aleida (pronounced Ah-LIE-dah), the fairy steward of the nation of Iror.

~*~



But death?
Could such a thing be softened?


[Aleida] clenched her eyes shut. I am not skilled enough. I can barely monitor Iror’s
borders, much less reverse the spell of a fairy so powerful. A trembling
began, starting in her hands and moving up her arms, down her body. If the
princess would die in sixteen years, there would be no heir.

~*~
Thanks again for the tag, Victoria! I shall leave this ‘doom’ floating here should anyone care to walk the plank themselves. (I don’t know why, but the whole doom thing brought a mental image of a pirate’s plank.) Let me know if ye should choose this fate, matey!*
*Ayiyi. What is with me? Doom and pirates and bogs of inspiration?

 And not to worry, I still have a post scheduled for tomorrow morning.

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Father

Tracey Dyck 11 Comments

Tomorrow, as you all know, is Father’s Day! Dads, and all father figures in general, hold the power to make such an impression on their children. I am ever grateful for my amazing father, who has made an imprint of love and strength on my heart. I wrote this poem last year for his birthday, and thought it fitting for this holiday.

Father                   (July 4, 2014)



See
the fire burning bright
The
blaze that warms cold hands
It’s
a wall of flames at night
A
wolf-repelling brand


See
the bedrock ‘neath the soil
Bearing
a castle great
It’s
a compacted vein of strength
That
none can penetrate


See
the sails of the mighty ship
That
catch the southern breeze
And
direct the noble sailors
Across
calm or stormy seas


See
the rushing woodland stream
Bringing
life to what grows near
Its
waters reflect the lights above
The
stars feel closer here


All
these things are in one man
The
fire, rock, and sails
Rivers
run through my father’s heart
So
let me unwind the tale


He’s
a warm, protecting fire
That
keeps the beasts at bay
He’s
a strong support beneath us
Steadfast,
come what may


He’s
the sail of a family vessel
Guiding
us over the waves
He’s a
life-giving waterway
Reflecting
the One who saves


But
how can one possess all these?
How
can a mortal man
Be
fire, rock, and sail, and flood?
I’ll
tell you how he can


The
fire was sparked by holy flint
God
forged the vein of stone
The
Word directs his willing sails
The
waters flow from Christ alone


If
not for that, he’d be as lost
As
any other soul
But
thank the Lord for saving grace
That
bestowed on him this role:


Father – my
Daddy, now and always
He
belongs to me
He’s
head of a precious household

To
our hearts, he holds the key



Lord,
thank You for my father

Who
protects, upholds, and leads

He’s
Your warrior, through and through
With You, he does great deeds

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