Category: personal reflection

From this week’s writing:

I am currently in the middle of writing the first draft of The Seer of The Wastelands, which is the direct sequel to Spirit Binder, and will be hopefully released this December. Here are some bits from this week that struck me as tiny pieces of gold among the dull, serviceable rock of the first draft.

Monday:

Jose stepped toward Ema. “You underestimated me, Seer,” he growled.

She shook her head sadly, “No, you underestimated the wolf.”

He glanced back at the wolf, it regained its feet with a shake of its head. A nasty cut sliced through the thick pelt of its broad shoulder.

“A second blow with finish the beast.”

“Not from your sword.”

He turned back to her, holding his bloody sword aloft. “And why not this sword?”

“Because its wielder is already dead.”

“What — ” He stumbled, and looked, rather belatedly, down at his leg. It was bleeding profusely. “But I heal,” he murmured, confused.

“Not this,” Reyes snarled, and stabbed Jose through the heart from the behind.

Tuesday:

Reyes snickered. “Let the Seer do her tricks if our host requests it. I wouldn’t personally believe a word out of her mouth.”

“A man like you wouldn’t want to believe in anything beyond himself,” the Rancher replied, calm but forceful.

Reyes narrowed his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. “We are your guests,” he growled, and then rose to leave the room.

Wednesday:

As he came to his finish he whispered, “Ema,” into her neck, and she realized it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. Later, when she cried his name again and again as his fingers brought her over the edge of bliss and beyond, she understood the need to name the source of that utter pleasure, that moment of utter freedom … no matter how fleeting it was …

Thursday:

“Get out of bed, Seer,” Wyn snapped.

“They will wait,” she murmured.

“You knew they would come,” Jared said, something dangerous not well-hidden in his tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he moved away from her.

“You knew they were coming when you came to me last night?”

A door click indicated that Wyn had retreated into the hall.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling up the sheet to try to dampen the chill that surrounded her now.

Friday:

“We are well met, Jared Null,” she whispered. “All will be well.”

“You are dismissed, Null. Run along after your friends,” the corporal sneered, and Ema suddenly hated him for his prejudice toward the mercenaries, even though his attitude was typical and expected.

“Ema,” Jared said, her name a quiet and desperate sound that seemed to explode from his chest painfully and without intention.

She closed her eyes and repeated, “We are well met.” Then she turned away.

Hmmm, bon bons …

I just exchanged the following series of texts with Michael:

Me: Finished the final pass on LLB*. It’s pretty clean. Only minor corrections needed. I should be able to upload it tomorrow.

Michael: Fantastic baby.

Me: Yeah!! Happy.

Michael: You should be. You’ve been working really hard this year.

Me: Really? Seems like playing. You work hard!!

Michael: Still. It’s not like you have a secretary taking diction while you lounge on the sofa eating chocolate. Oops. I hope I didn’t just give you any ideas for the future.

Me: Hmmm, bon bons…

Michael: Crap. Now you’re going to work twice as hard if you have that dream in your sights.

Me: Maybe I could dictate while knitting. Or doing Pilates. Maybe someone could just follow me around and record my every word. How riveting would THAT be??!

Michael: I’ve created a monster.

———

*Note: LLB refers to my soon-to-be-released novella, Love Lies Bleeding.

Insightful blog posts?

I don’t write insightful or instructive blog posts.

I read a lot of blogs. I follow all the news about filmmaking or publishing or writing – whatever I happen to be interested in that day – but I don’t write them. It doesn’t really occur to me to share my opinion on such things as self-publishing, or buying book reviews, or ebooks in libraries, or the latest controversy. I twitter or facebook the posts I find most interesting and then shut down my browser and focus on writing whatever I am working on …

It has just occurred to me this morning that perhaps this is odd. Is it odd that I am not more “opinion-ly” active? Is it odd that I while I appreciate other people’s opinions, and use their blogs to keep myself vaguely informed, I don’t offer any of my own insights in return?

It’s not that I don’t have opinions on what makes a good story (structure) interesting (action) and engaging (kick ass characters), but that I rarely think to share them beyond a few guest blog posts, etc. It’s not that I am not trying to figure out how to position myself in the market and get more readers’ eyes on my books. And it’s not that I don’t have any experience to bring to the table, though most of that experience is in independent filmmaking in Canada and screenwriting.

To me writing is intense, all-encompassing.

At first, it is just about getting the story out of my head with as much focus as possible, and yet also being free enough to let the character or plot take me where it will within the structure I’ve provided. I often feel utterly empty after a few hours of writing on this level. Devoid of opinion … or even complete sentences.

Then, the next drafts are about making sure that each beat rolls into the next smoothly … with just enough information but not too much.

Then, editing. Is this word the right one? Is it simple enough that anyone will understand what the character feels or thinks, but complex enough to encompass everything I am trying to say or imply?

I write my heart, my fears, my dreams, and my aspirations into each story. All cloaked in the fictional world I’ve envisioned. I laugh … I cry … I fall in love – just a little bit – with scenes I had no idea I was going to write.

I don’t try to be insightful.

I see the story. I write it. I refine it as best I can.

And, at the end of the day or week, that is all I have. Just whatever words have made it on to the page.

I have nothing else to give, but these stories or movies. No opinions or insights, no matter that I would love to write engaging and interesting blog posts. I guess I have nothing much to say about anything else other than whatever story I am constructing.

Unless it’s a picture of a cat attempting to impede my writing, I have been known to snap a few of those. Such as: Leo in the blueberry box, Darby sleeping on a manuscript, or cats ruling the world. But I have a feeling those posts don’t count at all … not on an “insightful” level. My Facebook friends seem to like these posts the best though, and honestly so do I.

I guess this makes me kind of boring.

Sorry about that.

Maybe you’ll find one of my books or films more interesting … that is always the hope.

Ah, Vancouver in the spring …

The sun comes out, trees begin to bloom, and my love affair with Vancouver begins anew. I no longer find myself rushing to and from the house, but rather taking little moments to wander through the garden to see what is new each sunny day.

Today the three-year-old dwarf nectarine tree is in full bloom, so I grabbed this picture right before I holed back up in the office for the remainder of the day.

While walking to Pilates this morning I found this lovely scene in my neighbour’s yard (I believe that is a weeping cherry tree?):

And, on my way home, I couldn’t help but grab a shot of this gorgeous white cherry tree in full bloom. I love the contrast of the almost fluffy blossoms against the rough, stapled wood of the electrical pole.

So with that indulgent morning walk to keep me going while confined to the office, I happily get back to writing.

All shots were taken with an iPhone 4s, and ever so slightly tweaked in photoshop.

—————

Writing update: just in case you were wondering about upcoming projects, Spirit Binder (Paranormal Fantasy) is currently with the story editor and cover artist. Expected release date is May 15, 2012. The sequel to Spirit Binder, Time Walker,  (Young Adult Paranormal Fantasy) is currently being drafted, with a fall release in mind. After The Virus should be available in paperback for it’s 1st anniversary in June 2012. YAY!!

Photos from the Seawall

It is a winter wonderland in Vancouver today and, with the forecast predicting pissing rain for the next couple of days, we decided a lunch time walk was in order. The photo opportunities were numerous and these are a few that I grabbed with the iPhone:

It is so strange – such a strange juxtaposition – to see snow on the beach. Beaches, even growing up here on the WetCoast, seem analogous with summer and sunshine specifically.

Here a fountain is almost completely crusted in ice… I imagine the city has the water on so the pipes don’t freeze…

Duck. Duck. Goose? I think this might be a goose – perhaps a domesticated type that was released into the “wilds” of Granville Island? Here he/she is chilling with the ducks. I have sent this photo to my Dad, who, I have no doubt, will be able to identity this water fowl.

Ah, a Great Blue Heron… while you can almost always spot these amazing birds down at Granville Island it is rare to get this close to one… at least for me… here he is eyeballing me pretty closely, but, based on the amount of water fowl we saw near shore on our walk, it must be a pretty good day for fishing so he put up with getting his picture taken.

Steven Pressfield’s, “Do The Work”

“A child has no trouble believing in the unbelievable, nor does the genius or the madman. It’s only you and I, with our big brains and tiny hearts, who doubt and overthink and hesitate.” – Steven Pressfield, Do The Work

This is not a review – yes I enjoyed the book, but, having just finished it, must let it distill, and distill and then? Spring into action! Just wanted to share the above quote.

A conversation with Leo…


“What? What are you talking about Feeder? A Christmas scarf for your sister? Your loom?!”

“Human insanity. This clearly a cat bed. With yarn toys conveniently attached. Now let me sleep in peace. Can’t you see the sunbeam I’m soaking?”

Texting while married…

Just had the following text-ersation with Michael:

Me: 2736 words. Brain suddenly feeling a bit mushy.

Him: Sounds like it’s time for a workout.

Me: I was thinking of baking. Which is probably the exact opposite.

Me: Also, are you calling me fat?

— LONG PAUSE —

Him: Absolutely not.

Me: That’s not what it sounded like. It sounded like you don’t want cookies.

Him: I would never say no to cookies.

Me: Okay. As long as you have your priorities straight.

Him: Straight as the line between the back door and cookie sheet.

That, btw, is pretty damn straight. Poor Michael — the trials and tribulations of being married to a writer who bakes. Not that he seems to mind. Upon reflection, perhaps this is simply funny to me because I have a case of mushy brain right now… okay, off to bake… another flash fiction friday instalment coming this week.

#whyiwrite? In 140 characters or less…

According to an email in my inbox this morning from She Writes, today is The National Day on Writing (in the USA – officially declared by Congress). One of the sponsors, the National Council of Teachers of English, posed the following question to the world at large: Why do you write?

So, after a bit of thought and some rather picky editing, here is my answer:

Stories haunt me, clamouring to be told, to entertain and, hopefully, reveal some truth, such as my belief that love conquers all #whyiwrite

What about you?

#whyiwrite?

#Trust30 – Image

Image by Matthew Stillman

Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Mess up your hair. If you are wearing makeup – smudge it. If you have a pair of pants that don’t really fit you – put them on. Put on a top that doesn’t go with those pants. Go to your sock drawer. Pull out two socks that don’t match. Different lengths, materials, colors, elasticity.

Now two shoes. You know the drill.

Need to add more? Ties? Hair clips? Stick your gut out? I trust you to go further.

Take a picture.

Get ready to post it online.

Are you feeling dread? Excitement? Is this not the image you have of yourself? Write about the fear or the thrill that this raises in you? Who do you need to look good for and what story does it tell about you? Or why don’t you care?

(Author: Matthew Stillman)

__________

I absolutely loved today’s prompt, and though I was supposed to devote the morning to pitching, After The Virus, and the afternoon to writing, I’ve decided to briefly – if I am actually capable of being brief – respond to this above idea.

I spent the majority of my childhood and teen years attempting to be perfect, as anyone who still knows me from those days can attest too – there are not many of you around anymore! Now, in deference to brevity, I shall not get in to the reasons I constantly strived to project this “perfect” image, just that it was what it was. My mid-20s were spent in-between callings (I had thought to be an actress my entire life previous) and in a relatively dark place (in my head), and this, in hindsight was a particularly difficult period for me.

Right around my 25th year I was treated to a couple of actual epiphanies. One was a difficult pill and the other was much more affirming (and a completely different topic).

The difficult pill to swallow was that it was currently I, rather than some previous outside force or forces, who demanded this constant perfection. The dusting of make-up, the waxing every 6 weeks, the cute haircut (no bangs in my eyes!), the with-out-a-single-chip manicure and the parade of pretty dresses where my entire construct. And, of course, I always had to be polite and sweet as possible–my opinions constantly tempered (even to some degree today I still attempt to not just simply attack people willy-nilly with my opinions, etc).

So, after many racking sobs and a few terrible fights with various people, I just backed off. I eased off my personal pressure cooker. I only did such things as make-up if I felt it was necessary or polite–dressing up is also a sign of respect.

Yes, I do fall back into this personal pressure cooker, especially with the writing, all the time, but at least, to extend the metaphor beyond comfort, I don’t slam on the lid for a decade or two.

Right now, I have nail polish on my fingernails that is WEEKS old.

Take that perfection – I DEFY you with the very tips of my fingers.

You don’t own me.

I CHOOSE.

And f*ck anyone who asks/expects different of me, including myself.