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The Return of the 777 Writing Challenge

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.

Father

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

Beautiful People Parental Edition – Josiah Williams

How many orphan Annies and lone Tom Sawyers have you encountered in fiction? A lot? Me too. There are many orphaned children in literature, and I’m just as guilty as the rest of you writers for adding to their population. Not that parent-less characters are badnot at all! They’re often fun to write about, partly because they have no one to stop them from going on their death-defying escapades, partly because they come with ready-made sad backstories. But sometimes it seems that complete family units are a little lacking in books.

Which is why this month’s Beautiful People is so brilliant! Cait and Skye have concocted a set of questions revolving around parents. You may think of said parents as those pesky individuals who are ridiculously hard to deal with when your main character is underage (“No, you are most certainly not invading the bad guy’s fortress with only a gun and your boyfriend to keep you safe! You have a curfew, young lady! Where in the world did you get that gun in the first place? And excuse me, but that boy never asked for my permission to take you out.”) . . . or perhaps you see them as those helpful beings who provide your character with lots of angst and emotional ammunition . . . or maybe they’re part of a supportive cast for your main. Or all of the above? Anyway, parents play such a vital part in our own lives. It only makes sense that they affect novels too.

As soon as I found out what this month’s theme was, I knew instantly who I was going to pick. I later had a secondary idea come to mind, but felt that option #1 was significantly more interesting. (No, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my knowledge of option #2’s characters is about the size of a pea. Not at all.)

Josiah Williams

(Regrettably, I have no picture to show you. I don’t know enough actors/faces, nor do I have a Pinterest account. Help! If you think of anyone falling under the “16-years-old, brown-ish blond hair, grey eyes, intense gaze” category, tell me!)

Swinging the door open, Josiah peered out again. The hall was empty. He treaded softly toward the kitchen, his socks noiseless on the hardwood floor. The ting of cutlery and the upbeat melody of a song on the radio filtered down the hall. Mom hummed along for a few notes. Josiah paused at the entryway. What’s my problem? Why won’t I just go ahead and tell her? He leaned against the wall and called to mind an image of Mom’s face, framed in loose, dark curls, her sparkly eyes laughing at the world. Her face shrank to give room for the rest of herarms quick to pull him into a hug and fingers ready to muss his hair or flick his arm just to get a silly reaction out of him. Her concern over his disturbing dreams wouldn’t merely provoke a phone call and a psychologist appointment. She’d be absolutely sick with worry. Fear would silence her song and wrap her heart in its icy clutches. How could he subject her to such imprisonment?

1. Does he know both his biological parents? Why/why not?
Yes. Josiah’s grown up with both parents (whose names are Robert and Jessica Williams, in case you were wondering), along with his three younger siblings.

2. Has he inherited any physical resemblance from his parents?
He has his dad’s grey eyes and brown-ish blond hair, although his dad’s has darkened with age. Josiah’s facial structure is more like his mom’s though: well proportioned and not bad to look at.

3. What’s his parental figure(s) dress style? Add pictures if you like!

Robert, who works at a bank, dresses very businesslike. Suit, tie, the works. This adds to his already strict appearance.
Jessica, on the other hand, prefers soft, flowing materials. She’s creative and fun-loving, and it shows in her wardrobe.

4. Does he share any personality traits with his parental figures? And which does he take after most?
He makes quick decisions and is very passionate about certain things, which are traits his mother gave him, along with imagination and a love of life. And Josiah may not realize it, but he and his father both have a deep-seated desire to protect those they love. They just express it in different ways.

5. Does he get on with his parental figure(s) or do they clash?
As you may have guessed, he gets along with his mom really well. The two have an easygoing, loving relationship. They banter back and forth together, and she seems to understand his soul. But things are strained between Josiah and his father these days. Robert has high expectations of his son, who doesn’t feel he measures up. From Josiah’s perspective, his dad doesn’t listen, doesn’t hear when Josiah tries to show him who he really is.
As I planned book two’s rewrites, this father-son conflict unspooled even more in my mind. When Josiah comes home after book one, full of stories about his adventures, and Robert doesn’t believe him . . . well, let’s just say things get simultaneously very cold and very fiery between them. Josiah’s relationship with Jessica also takes a considerable weight, because she has trouble believing him too.

6. If he had to describe his parental figure(s) in one word, what would it be?
Dad: rigid.
Mom: uplifting.

7. How has his parental figure(s) helped him most in his life?
Robert has instilled in Josiah strong morals (perhaps not in all areas, but some—I have to give him a bit of credit). Although rare, the words “Well done” spoken by his father have impacted Josiah as well.  Jessica has always given him a safe place to be, all while encouraging his various pursuits.

8. What was his biggest fight with his parental figure(s)?
As I was saying earlier, the beginning of book 2 will see a lot of conflict between Josiah and both of his parents. Jessica honestly doesn’t know what to think of her son’s claims, and Robert angrily labels him a lunatic, yet still hopes to shake his son out of his ‘delusions.’

9. Tracing back the family tree, what nationalities are in his ancestry?
He has British blood somewhere on the Williams side, and a trace of Jewish ancestry on the Soloway’s side (his mom’s).

10. What’s his favorite memory with his parental figure(s)?
Right before he hit his teen years, Josiah and his dad went on a weekend fishing trip in the mountains. Robert seemed lighter then, as if by shedding his suit jacket, he’d put off his unyielding ways. The two of them actually connected that weekend, actually laughed together and had a good time. Unfortunately, the connection faded afterwards.
His favorite memory with his mom was when she helped him with a school project in middle school. Together they built a model castle, complete with working drawbridge and miniature knights. She surprised him the day before the project was due by giving him a homemade dragon to add to the display. That whimsical touch has stuck with Josiah. He still keeps that dragon on his desk.


~*~
That’s the Williams parents for ya! So what are your thoughts on fictional parents, either as a reader or as a writer? Are they a nuisance? Do you enjoy reading about them? Do they add depth? And hey, can you think of a best and worst set of parents?

To Live a Creative Life

 
I sat down to begin chapter one of book
two last week. The blank screen looked back at me . . . well, rather blankly. I
had a three-page outline sitting right next to the computer, with all the
important plot points so neatly delineated. I had envisioned the beginning
multiple times in my head. Characters and voices and emotions and undertones
and plots sang in my ears.

But my fingers, poised above the keys,
were frozen.

What was I missing? This wasn’t writer’s
block. I knew what should happen, or at least had a rough idea of it. The
screen was blank, but my mind wasn’t. Hesitantly, I typed out a few sentences.

Beginnings are hard. You have no momentum
yet, nothing tangible to spring off of. Even if an outline is in place, the
question of where and how and when to start a story is a challenging one.

The sentences morphed into a few
paragraphs. It felt odd, because I was juggling more characters in an opening
scene than I was used to, and they all had specific emotional and mental states
to bring across.

Is this too much of an info dump? I wondered. Should I have started
with this character by herself, alone with her thoughts? Is lumping an entire
family together at the start a bad idea? Does this sound right? Is this
character being proactive enough? It seems like everything is just happening to
her so far; she’s not taking action.

I deleted half of what I’d written.

A few days later, when I had time to sit
down in my writer’s chair again, I picked up where I had cut the scene off. I
tweaked things a bit and typed on. It felt a little less odd, but the questions
and doubts still poked at my thoughts as the words spilled onto two pages . . .
three pages . . . four.

Am I doing this right? Is what I have in
my mind translating properly onto the page?

I fumbled around, feeling the scene out
like a blind woman introducing herself to a new room, unsure if I was
perceiving things correctly.

Book one has spent a long time in
the editing stage. It was a baby born prematurely, and so required plenty of
care and nourishment to bring it to full health. It’s almost ready now, and I
don’t regret a single hour spent poring over those tattered pages. I grew so
much
as a writer through that
process.

That being
said, I’ve been in editor’s mode for quite some time. I drafted a novella or
two in between edits (and those novellas were revised too!), but overall, my
biggest writing focus of the last couple of years has been on editing. So to
sit down and try to draft something new feels a bit strange.

But it’s a bit
like riding a bike—you never really forget how.

It usually
takes some time for me to slip back into the groove when I’ve taken a long
break from writing, or when I switch gears. I’ve learned to be lenient with
myself when that happens. This time, however, I had to do more than just let
myself progress slowly—I had to turn off my inner editor.

With everything
I put on the page, I struggled with the impulse to change it, to rework it. To
make it better. This is something many writers struggle with, this voice of
perfectionism in their heads. That voice is crippling, because it prevents
progress, inhibits creativity, and stifles the story. First drafts are messy.
Unless you’re the sort who makes a fifty-page outline, your first draft will be
rough.

And that’s
okay.

Accept that.
Embrace it. Don’t be afraid to write messy—the beauty of the first draft is
that it’s not final. The point is to get it onto the page, however ugly or
sloppy the words are, so that you have something to work with later.

I saw a sign
in a greenhouse a few days ago, and if it hadn’t been $23, I would’ve taken it
home with me. It read:
 

To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.

 
That resonated
with me, because that was exactly the problem with my most recent writing
efforts—I was scared of doing it wrong. Scared to skew the image I had in my
head of the perfect story. Scared to see the words fall flat. Scared of not
living up to the book before, of creating something that wasn’t better than its
predecessor.

I’m telling my
inner editor, in no uncertain terms, to shut up for now. “Go to your room. I
don’t want to hear a peep out of you until you’ve thought about what you’ve
done.” (More accurately, until I’m finished playing in the mud and I need some
help fashioning the slop into pies!)

So who’s with
me? Have you been listening to that voice that insists on immediate perfection?
Are you ready to kick it in the teeth and write freely? Let’s do this together.
Let’s lose our fear of being wrong, and live creatively. Polishing can come
later.