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The Writer’s Life Tag

Tracey Dyck 19 Comments
Time to make a dent in my pile of accumulated tags! Way back in spring, fellow bookdragon Christine Smith tagged me for the Writer’s Life Tag. It sounded like fun, since who among the writing community doesn’t like chatting about each other’s methods and habits? Yet despite my enthusiasm, I somehow forgot about it, and went on my merry way for half a year. #oops
But here I am, digging it out at last! Pull up a chair, honorable questers, grab a cup of tea (or coffee, or juice, or Viking-worthy ale if that’s your thing), and let’s talk.
picture & graphic belong to Christine Smith

Write-fuel: What do you eat/drink while writing?

I’m don’t usually munch and write at the same time, because crumbs in my keyboard = blegh. But I often have water nearby, or sometimes tea. My go-to flavor is vanilla chai. If I’m really in the zone, I sometimes forget to drink, though.


Write-sounds: What do you listen to while writing?

Recently, I haven’t been listening to anything besides whatever background noise is going on. It’s been a while since I was holed up in my room in front of my laptop–these days I write wherever my family is (usually I’m curled up on the couch or parked at the dining room table) or during breaks in college. But when I do listen to music, it’s movie soundtracks or instrumental albums. Some favorites are the Narnia soundtracks, the Divergent soundtrack, Epic Music I and Epic Music II by indie composer Jonathan Maiocco, and music by Two Steps from Hell.

Write-vice: What’s your most debilitating distraction?

Emails, blogging, Goodreads . . . let’s just say the internet in general! There are always little things to check or take care of instead of writing those words, and they can either break my momentum or keep me from starting to write at all.

Write-horror: What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you while writing?

I know plenty of writers have horror stories about losing their work and whatnot, but that’s only happened to me once, and it was only a page or two. So I’d have to say the worst thing would be the times in high school when I got so wrapped up in my story that I lost track of time and neglected to put supper in the oven or change a load of laundry. My family has had to change supper plans at least a few times on account of me!

Write-joy: What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you while writing, or how do you celebrate small victories?

Every time I get caught up in a story, in a stream of words and images and emotions–when I’m so focused, the outside world barely exists–it’s euphoria. I will slog through pages of uninspired words for a moment like that.
It’s also very encouraging to receive feedback from beta readers or blog commenters, people who have read something I’ve written and care enough to share their reactions. It’s the best feeling to know that they’ve been made to think, to feel, to see things in a new light, or to draw closer to Jesus . . . through a story I penned. It blows my mind every time, and I have Him to thank.

Write-crew: Who do you communicate with or not communicate with while writing?

When I’m actually, physically writing . . . I speak to no one, if I can help it. Human beings are distracting. But outside of writing sessions, I talk with a number of friends online and “in real life” (I don’t like that term because it implies that my online friends aren’t real as well, but I’m too lazy at the moment to come up with a better name for it).
“In real life,” my closest friends aren’t even writers, but they love me enough that they’re fascinated by my authorial rambles and enthusiastically support these dreams of mine. I’m also blessed with a few friends who do write, and they’re fun to bounce ideas around with.
Online, my main writing buddies are most often these lovely gals: Christine Smith, Deborah O’Carroll, and Mary Horton. Not to mention my broader network of bloggers and commenters who are always up for a writing-related chat!

Write-secret: What’s your writing secret to success or hidden flaw?

Let’s talk about both, because while I certainly don’t possess the key to conquering the writing universe, I have learned a few things along my journey thus far. And contrary to the brave face I may wear online, I am flawed. (I try to be genuine, but it’s easy to highlight the good stuff and filter out the bad.)
Secret to success: keep at it. Yes, there are times to drop a manuscript entirely or take a break from it, but I see so many young writers flitting from one story to another with the attention-span of a butterfly. They’re missing out on what can be learned from actually finishing a story, typing The End, bringing character arcs to completion, and tying up a plot. And if you never reach the end, you’ll never edit. If there are things to be learned from completing a book, then there’s ten times more to be gleaned from navigating the editing process!
Hidden flaw(s): I’m a relatively slow writer (though I’m not sure if that’s 100% true or if I would actually be faster than I think if I could devote full-time hours to writing). I often find research to be a drag and may procrastinate in getting to it. I struggle with self-doubt–sometimes while pushing through a messy first draft, and sometimes while staring at the fifth-and-still-vastly-imperfect draft and hoping that if I stare hard enough, it will fix itself. I’m still finding the balance between beautiful prose/immersive description and action/dynamic plot. Perfectionism gets in my way. But I’m working on all these things, slowly but surely!

Write-spiration: What always makes you productive?

Goals, just like Christine said for herself. A plan of action, self-imposed deadlines, the satisfaction of seeing progress being made. I’m always motivating myself, not necessarily with rewards, because the accomplishment is often enough for my task-driven personality. If I don’t set goals for myself, I don’t get anywhere and have little drive to keep writing when it gets tough.

Write-peeve: What’s one thing writers do (or you do) that’s annoying?

I am as guilty of this as anyone else out there: talking about writing more than actually writing. Whether it’s reading yet another blog post on the craft, or emailing a writing buddy, or coming up with a blog post about writerly issues–those are all good, helpful things, but they can take over the place of real writing. And the best way to become a better writer is to simply write.
There’s a place for talking, but if that’s all you do…

And now I tag . . .

And you, should you so desire! If you do the tag, leave me the link in the comments! Happy writing to you all, and especially those of you participating in NaNoWriMo.
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Subplots and Storylines – October 2016

Tracey Dyck 24 Comments
Well, hasn’t this been a packed month! I celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with copious amounts of turkey; went from eating outdoors at the beginning of the month (I don’t recall it ever being warm enough for that in October before!) to shivering in gusty winds near freezing temperature; and generally spent most of my waking hours in college.
I was looking back over my college notes to see what I all did this month, and I was surprised to see what I’d been learning at the start of October. It feels like so long ago that we talked about stress, attitude, belief systems of the heart, figuring out what you want in life, personal capacity . . . Looking back, I’ve learned a lot this month. More importantly, I’ve internalized a lot. The things I’m being taught haven’t fully stuck yet, but many things are well on their way to changing my thoughts. It’s amazing to see that.
Some other college highlights:
  • Allll the volunteering and being a part of awesome events.
  • My first speech in my communicators class! It was an icebreaker speech designed to give me public speaking experience and help my audience get to know me. It was fun and nerve-wracking, and I received great feedback/critique.
  • Loving my junior high girls small group that I get to help lead every week. It’s such a fun age group, and there’s a distinct mix of girls who have grown up in church, and girls whose only church is small groups.
  • One of my big college projects has been preparing a message for a high school chapel program. Three classmates and I have been working on this for weeks, and we just recently rehearsed our chapel in front of the class. Because I tend to prefer working alone, it’s been a great experience to work as a team. We got creative and filmed our own short video to introduce our message topic . . . a video in which I play a cheesy T.V. anchor. A male cheesy T.V. anchor, complete with a curly wig and mustache. (I am sooo going to regret this.)
  • Youth held a Halloween costume party (pictures to come in a minute), and featured two escape rooms! I got to help plan and build them, so it was fantastic to see them completed and ready to be used. We built a zombie lab where the objective was to find the cure, and also a Bigfoot forest with the objective of finding the dead researcher’s notes proving Bigfoot’s existence. Really fun!

Here’s a couple shots of my steampunk costume. It was quite fun putting it together. I already owned the vest, jewelry, one of the belts, leggings, and boots. I bought the shirt and the other two belts at a thrift store for a few dollars, the skirt at a different thrift store for $6, and the aviator goggles at a costume store for $14.

 
That’s actually a watch, not a choker–I used
thread to tie it around my neck. 🙂
 

October Films

 

The Flash
My siblings and I finished season 1. Oh. My. Goodness. This show is just amazing. I can honestly call it a favorite (shhh, I know I haven’t watched oodles of shows to begin with). This season ended spectacularly, leaving me satisfied and in agony at the same time. I’m really going to have to make a separate post on this show just to flail over the characters and twisty plot.

 
 

Once Upon a Time (Seasons 1 and 4)
My sisters and I almost finished season 4 during October (!!), and we’re about a third of the way into season 1 with our parents. So much is happening in 4, and it’s still fun going back to the first season and getting a “before and after” snapshot of the characters.

 
 

Tron: Legacy
My brother’s college ministry area is media, so he has a number of movies to watch as homework. Tron: Legacy looked like one of the more interesting ones, so I watched it with him. It had some cool things about it, like the main character being a young adult rather than the typical teen, going into a digital world, Light Cycles, identities contained in discs, etc. But the plot itself was rather clichéd, and the only main female character was pretty two-dimensional.

October Reads

The Dream Thieves // Maggie Stiefvater
I loved this one, but not . . . completely. It’s a complicated issue, much like the first book. I adored Maggie’s writing style. I loved the characters. (Gansey and Adam, man.) But the language bothered me again, and Ronan–who was more of a focal character this time around–did some stupid things. There was a middle chunk of the book where I was fed up with him, but then things turned around and made more sense and he made better decisions and a certain somebody got what was coming to him. So yeah. Also the occult stuff from the first book was less occult-y in this one, with more of a fantasy flavor to it, which I appreciated. (It’s less real and less weird that way.)

Honestly, though, aside from Ronan’s temporary stupidity and the foul language, THIS BOOK IS BEAUTIFUL. I’m so excited to keep reading the series!

Into the Wild // Erin Hunter

This was a reread. The first time I read it was yeeeaaars ago, and I remember loving it until I read further in the series and realized that the astrology-type thing with StarClan was not the best thing to be reading about, and quit. (The idea is that the warrior cats become stars when they die, and living cats seek guidance from the stars.) The only reason I picked up Into the Wild again was to screen it for my youngest sister. It’s been a long time since I made the decision to quit these books, so I thought it might be wise to re-evaluate, since she wanted to check them out . . . but I don’t think my conclusion has changed.

I will say, however, that the writing was less wonderful than I remembered, but the plotline–once it got past the initial tropes–was still fairly engaging.

Writer to Writer: From Think to Ink // Gail Carson Levine

I have been slowly picking my way through this book for an embarrassingly long time. I think it’s been a year? Maybe more? Not that it was hard to read–quite the opposite, in fact. I was just reading a couple chapters at a time here and there between novels.

Anyway, this is Gail Carson Levine’s second writing advice book. (I also have Writing Magic: Creating Stories That Fly on my bookshelf.) Writer to Writer is written simply, but in an engaging way that boils down the elements of storytelling into easy-to-grasp sections. I found plenty of good reminders within these pages. Unlike the first book, a lot of the material was adapted from her blog, a valuable resource I’ve been reading for years.

Eagle Strike // Anthony Horowitz

As the fourth installment in the Alex Rider series, this one broke the mold in some ways, which was a nice change after three very similar books. It still required some suspension of belief when fourteen-year-old Alex runs around pulling James Bond-like stunts (this kid probably should have died three books ago), but it’s still an entertaining read. I enjoyed the video game element, which I can’t elaborate on without spoiling things, and I had the satisfaction of halfway predicting a plot twist.

 

Book Haul
Three cheers for second-hand books! I shopped around at the annual book faire, and came home with some fabulous finds.

 
  • The Lost Road and Other Writings // J.R.R. Tolkien
  • A Hero’s Throne // Ross Lawhead (I forgot that I already own a brand-new copy of this book. *sigh*)
  • Inkdeath // Cornelia Funke
  • Mockingjay // Suzanne Collins
  • Allegiant // Veronica Roth (I guess it was the day for YA trilogy finales!)

October Writing

The Prophet’s Key advanced by exactly 1,911 words this month. Yep, that’s it. I also started working on a character questionnaire by Kristen Kieffer @ She’s Novel for Aileen, but didn’t get very far. When I actually have the time/take the time to fill out those questions for all my main characters, I have a feeling it could rescue my novel. I’ve been strangely struggling to connect to my characters, so reviving them should revive me.
And I wrote The Cage, a 1,612 word spooky story. Quite fun to exercise my writing muscles on something with no expectations put on myself!
Altogether, this adds up to only 3.5k words written in October. Of course I would’ve liked to have written more, but at the same time, I’ve been doing lots of living lately, and that’s just as important. (Not gonna lie, though, everyone’s NaNo excitement and wordcounts and progress makes me a teensy bit jealous! One day, you guys, one day I’ll join you . . .)

And that, questers, was October.

I’d say it was a pretty solid month. Many subplots going on, lots of personal growth, some good books and shows . . . just very little writing. But Christmas break is coming. Eventually.
How was your October? Did anybody dress up? What’s one
thing you learned last month? And who’s all participating
in NaNoWriMo? (You guys rock! Keep pushing on!)
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The Cage // a spooky story

Tracey Dyck 27 Comments
Hey, all! Subplots and Storylines will be a bit late this month, but I aim to have it ready for next Saturday (November 5th). In the meantime, I’m participating in Jenelle Schmidt’s Spooky Stories link-up.
I really don’t know where this short story came from. It’s strange. And obviously creepy. So yeah. Here you go. (My apologies for posting a day late once again!)

The Cage

I always knew something was wrong with my
basement.

Maybe it was the smell of sickly sweet
rot that first clued me in.

Maybe it was the darkness that clung to
the corners and hung from the low-slung ceiling like the swooped top of a gypsy
tent.

Or maybe it was the iron bars forming a bizarre,
door-less cage in the middle of the room.

Nevertheless, I didn’t think much about
it. I left it alone, content to confine my evenings of chemistry homework, root
beer, and softly droning radio news to the main floor. The basement, though
strange, was merely a quirk of this old place. Other people’s houses creaked in
the night. Mine smelled funny and seemed stuck in a horror novel. No big deal.

Or so I told myself.

It was a damp October night. I was nested
in swaths of afghan in the corner of the couch, surrounded by sheets of
unbalanced chemistry equations, when the radio clicked off by itself. In the
sudden silence, a humming started. I glanced up. The single lamp behind me
flickered, disturbing the pool of yellowish light for a moment. Nothing else
stirred in my living room. I swallowed hard to pop my ears, the way I fix the
pressure changes when driving in the mountains outside of town. But the soft
hum continued, an undulating wisp of sound.

I sat very still for a few minutes and
watched beads of condensation roll down the root beer can at my elbow. I couldn’t
pin the gender of the humming voice. At times it sounded like a low female
croon, but then it seemed more like a male tenor. There were no words. Just a
rising, falling string of vowels. The more I listened, the less it sounded
human. An ethereal echo wrapped the voice as it filtered through thin walls.

My arms prickled with goosebumps.

I hear people get nervous being at home
alone in the dark—not that I have any friends to confirm it. But I like the
solitariness and the darkness. It’s better than Dad tearing through the kitchen
cupboards in search of food to settle his stomach swirling with alcohol. Better
than screams berating his disappointment of a son. When he’s gone, it’s
just me. And that’s just fine.

So when the humming began on that lonely
October night, I wasn’t immediately frightened. But I should have been.

I don’t know when I left my nest of
blankets, but all of a sudden I was standing in the dimness beyond the
lamplight, at the doorway leading to the kitchen. A cool breeze brushed my
face.

A breeze indoors?

The echoes expanded. They filled my ears,
my head, my bones. The edges of my vision softened. My knotted shoulders
relaxed. I found myself smiling—then wiped it away with a frown the minute I realized
what I was doing. What was the matter with me?

The humming floated up the stairs and
into the kitchen. It’s coming from the basement. So was the breeze, I
realized. Without thinking, I wandered to the top of the stairs and peered into
the deepening shadow at the bottom, where the door that should have been closed
hung wide.

I stood on the fifth step down.

Just like that, with no recollection of
standing on the four steps before it. I was just suddenly there, the
same way I didn’t remember leaving the couch. Heart thumping behind my ribs, I
turned and leaped to the top of the stairwell again. A sick sense of something
horribly, dreadfully wrong crawled down my spine and settled in my gut.

But the strange voice swirled anew,
louder and fuller. Its echoes overlapped each other, a layered miasma of sound.
The sick feeling left my stomach, and the shadows downstairs turned into
honeyed light. I smirked to myself. Don’t
be stupid, Derrek, there’s nothing to worry about. What was so strange about the voice that had always filled this house
and always wrapped me in safety? What was so strange about the way it turned
darkness into golden brilliance? Wasn’t this the lullaby that filled my dreams?

I pinched
myself. The shadows blackened again, though the voice continued. Always filled
this house? Had it? My memory seemed patchy. I couldn’t recall whether I was
hearing the song for the first time or the thousandth.

I blinked and
took a step down, but found myself nearly at the bottom of the stairwell. This
didn’t concern me in the slightest. Two more steps, and I stood in the open basement
doorway. Here the humming intensified, a beautiful orchestra contained in one
voice. The flowing vowels began to make sense in my head—they didn’t turn into
words so much as meanings.

Come.

Come.

Come
in.

And like the
voice was a current, I let it sweep me gently into the basement.

Time abandoned
me for a brief moment, a moment in which I couldn’t tell if I’d been walking in
the basement for a split second or a year—but it mattered little because standing
before me was the iron cage in all its splendor.

And splendid
it was, for gleaming vines of cast metal wound up the bars, decorated by
metallic blooms that seemed to shiver in the breeze blowing through the
basement. Silvery gold light streamed from within the cage—no, that was the
wrong word for it. Cage was confinement and closure.
This . . . this masterpiece of metal wrought by inhuman hands, this was
perfection.

This was
glory.

As if in
agreement, the song swelled.

Come.
Taste the glory.

Syllables
streamed faster and faster, a crescendo of impressions: Safety,
safe here, come, enfold, be enfolded, light, protection, beauty, ease, come,
come, come.

I touched a
bar, solidly anchored from the floor to the ceiling. The metal seemed to
vibrate beneath my palm; it nearly purred with pleasure.

Dimly, I was
aware of my unawareness—the way I feel when I’m half-awake and know that I’m
wavering between a dream and reality. But this reality was so much better than
the dream, because in the dream, the basement was wrong. It was smelly and dark
and off. That was the
nightmare, the fantasy of a dreaming mind. This was reality—this magnificence
calling to me, drawing me with its never-ending song.

Come.

I don’t know
when the song merged with my own thoughts, but my own voice somehow joined the
other one. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right. Just quiet
down. Relax. Everything’s okay. You’re okay. Just step inside.

Some little
needle of unease poked the back of my mind. Why would I reassure myself when
the safe haven of iron was here before me? That made it sound like the haven
was bad. It wasn’t bad. I needed to step inside. It was good. It was glorious.
Safe.

Come.
It’s okay.

The needling
thoughts bothered me. They disrupted the euphoria. So, to shut up that tiny
voice, I smiled . . .

And I stepped
through the iron bars to taste the glory.

The bars had
always been spaced wide enough apart that I could fit between them. But the
instant I stepped through, the singing broke off. The silvery gold light
vanished, leaving me in the dusk of an underground room. It was as if the
carved vines and flowers had never been, and now rough iron poles surrounded
me, speckled with rust.

Clanking,
creaking, the bars thickened. They swelled to twice their diameter, leaving no
room to walk through.

My heart froze.
My breathing thinned.

Then blinding
panic erupted, and I threw myself, screaming, at the grid of iron. My fists met
solid iron. My kicks couldn’t even vibrate the cage. There was no door, no
lock. No way out. I shouted for help, but there was no one in my cold, empty
house to hear me.

Sobbing—and hating
myself for my weakness—hearing Dad’s derogatory tone in my head—I backed into a
corner of the cage and sank to the concrete floor. The odor of rotting meat
thickened, and the already-dim room darkened further. Why had I let myself be
lured inside this prison? And more importantly, what had drawn me here?

The barest
echo of the voice came drifting back. This time, it was as if I could see the
sound floating just beyond the cage. I squinted, but the more I focused, the less
I could make it out and the quieter the voice became . . . until it was silent
again. I closed my eyes and focused on listening. The voice returned in pulsing
echoes. Cracking open one eye, I heard rather than truly saw a swirl of
red vapor.

Everything’s
okay, Derrek. Surrender.

Knives
appeared—blades pushing through the bars, all pointing inward. One scraped my
backbone, and I dragged myself into the center of the cage. The knives
lengthened. Closing the distance. Nearing my skin. A panting whimper sounded. Is
that me?

You’re
all right.

The singing
vapor grew denser and louder. It sang in triumph. I clung to my fear, and
curled into the smallest shape possible. The knifepoints hovered inches away on
all sides. I covered my mouth to smother my cries. No. No. No.

Don’t
worry, the voice sang wordlessly. It will be over in a moment.

As the vapor
surrounded the cage and continued to sing, my pulse eased. My thoughts settled.
I relished the damp concrete against my face and the comforting bars of safety
surrounding me, keeping out all that was wrong and evil.

It’s
okay.

The first cold
blade pricked my neck.

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Let It Go (and I don’t mean Frozen)

Tracey Dyck 35 Comments
We’re nearly two months into the school year, and I’m sure for many of you, things are piling up. Homework, projects, extracurricular activities, work . . . not to mention that relationships take time, and so do hobbies (for myself, that’s writing and blogging). We complain that life is busy, and it is. When is it anything but? I know, I know, some seasons of life are busier than others, or they’re a different kind of busy, but the fact remains: there is always something going on.
Some of those things we have control over. Many things we do not. Things like school and work are musts. Relationships are the biggest things in life, and so we don’t want to sacrifice time spent building them. And if we neglect recreation for too long, we burn out. So what in the world do you do when life gets crazy and there’s just nothing you can cut out?*
*I would first examine if that’s really true, because chances are, there is something you can minimize or eliminate or postpone. Really.
Most of the time . . .

We. Get. Stressed.

And we blame the circumstances for our stress. But actually, those things that keep us busy, those deadlines and requirements and must-do activities, are just stressors. How you react to them is completely up to you.
Stress is actually low-level fear. It’s not a red-hot explosion of panic, but a constant drone in the back of your mind. It’s the constant nagging, the to-do list digging its claws in, the underlying buzz of thoughts saying, “Can I do this? Will I make it? I don’t know if I can. There’s this, this, this, and this to do today, and all of THIS to do tomorrow. I don’t have enough to give. I’m going to disappoint people. I’m going to disappoint myself. I’m failing. I’m buried. I’m overwhelmed. I’M STRESSED.”


Something I’m learning is that I need to let go of the things I have no control over. Sure, there’s a lot I can change–I can adjust my schedule, I can work on my beliefs about a situation so that I don’t stress out as easily–but there’s always lots in life that I just have no control over. So there’s no point in freaking out about those things.

So what if there’s an accident on the way to school and it’s slowing down traffic, making me late for class? That’s an extenuating circumstance. If I gave myself sufficient time to get to school, and something like that makes me late, that’s not my fault. So in the middle of the backed-up traffic, I don’t need to panic.

So what if a customer issue comes up at work and I don’t have time to finish the cleaning project my manager gave me? A more important issue came up, so the project will have to wait for another time. And that’s okay. I don’t need to feel guilty about it.

So what if you have to go to school or work or any other number of obligations? Yes, it limits your free time, but you’ll just have to accept it and work around it. Don’t put needless pressure on yourself to accomplish more than you have time for.

When you brush all of that aside, your mind is suddenly a lot freer to start focusing on what you can do, and what you do have control over. It’s a lot less stressful. A lot more freeing.

So relax, friend. Life may be full of stressors right now, but it doesn’t mean you need to be stressed. Shift your focus, release what you can’t control, and just figure out what the next step is. That’s all.

You’ve got this.

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