The Fire in Her Eyes

A finished project: my husband's first demo CD!

2011-04-09T19:01:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that my blogs have been few and far between. I will admit that keeping up to date here in the blogosphere has not been one of my top priorities. I do still want to share with you all the happenings in my life and the latest big news is the finished CD project my husband has produced.

I don't know if any of you remember a few blogs back when I mentioned that my husband is a singer/songwriter and that we were taking a leap of faith by making a CD of his original songs. The project was started last September and the finished product was finally in his hands at the end of February. I am very proud of his work and would like to include some links so that any of you who are interested can see his awesomeness for yourselves. His musical style varies (which I see as a plus because it appeals to a broad audience) from blues to country to pop to folk. He hired a bassist and drummer to help out with a few of the songs, the rest are acoustic, and all of the guitar and vocal parts were done by him in the studio through layered tracks. If anyone really likes his music, we are selling CD's (they come in an eco-friendly sleeve) for $10 plus shipping.

His music page is www.myspace.com/jasonguill

He also has a couple videos on YouTube. One of his favourites, which is set to a montage of pictures can be found here:

Though my life has been incredibly busy over the last year, I still hope to finish my own project (my novel) and feel that incredible sense of accomplishment that comes with the seeing the realization of a dream come true!

'Blind' - My non-fiction short story that made the shortlist in the SIWC contest last fall

2011-02-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

Ok, at the request of a friend, here is the non-fiction short story I wrote last fall. It is based on an experience my husband had as a teenager. I actually want to write a book of short stories based on his life because, well, after reading the story, maybe you'll understand. So here it is!

Blind

The bus crawls over the pavement at a pace I am unsatisfied with. We have thousands of kilometres to go and I am already bored. My unread comic books are burning a hole in my bag as I glumly stare forward at nothing. It is hard to stare at nothing, much harder than one would expect. At first it takes effort and I wonder if they will catch on. After the first few hours I stop caring. I want my comic books. I want a normal family. I am fourteen and I am not blind.

The bus makes many stops between Quebec and British Columbia and I am always the first person off. It is company policy, you see, to let the disabled passengers disembark before the regular folk. I try to hide my embarrassment as my mom guides me down the aisle. They all stare and I know they feel sorry for me. How terrible that that young man is at such a disadvantage. Has he ever seen a sunset or a naked woman or his own reflection in a mirror? What would be worse, having seen these things and then losing your sight to never see them again, or never having seen anything in the first place? I want to scream, “I’ll tell you what is worse, having parents that are too damn cheap to buy a bus ticket.” In my resentment, I trip a little as I step from the last stair onto the pavement. My mom winks at me. She thinks I’m putting on a show for the benefit of our audience. I contemplate giving them a show they will never forget. Of course, that would be the end of our free ride. I regain my footing and stalk off at an appropriate pace.

My brother meets up with me in the bathroom. He thinks that I am not convincing enough as a blind person. “Give me the cane,” he says as he tries to tug it out of my hands. “I could do a much better job than you.” I know that he is my twin but I wonder if I somehow ended up with all of the brains, leaving him empty space where his should be. “Yes,” I say sarcastically, as I struggle to keep hold of the cursed stick of dishonesty, “it makes perfect sense for us to leave the bathroom in reversed roles, with you suddenly struck blind and me miraculously healed and able to see again.” It is not as if we are identical twins. I don’t know how I am even related to such an idiot. Maybe I kicked him too many times while we were in the womb. He grudgingly agrees that maybe a switcheroo isn’t the best idea. I refrain from hitting him over the head with my cane. It shouldn’t hurt that much, being as empty as a whistle and therefore devoid of any nerve endings. Instead, I do my business and then put my game face back on as I step out of the bathroom. My mom is waiting for me. I try not to glare at her. We continue our charade.

We are halfway there. The stuffy air in the overcrowded tin can is repugnant and I am thankful that I am not really blind. If my sense of smell was any sharper, I would probably lose my lunch in the aisle. For some reason, the other passengers seem to think that I am deaf as well as blind. “Poor thing,” they mutter to each other, “he is so young.” They stare at me unabashedly and when they address me, they yell in my face, their eyes wide as if they are making up for what they think I cannot see.

My mom has made a friend and they chatter like two hens about whatever middle-aged women talk about; I don’t pay attention as I really don’t care. My brother has the luxury of being able to watch the movies offered as entertainment by the bus driver. It is tempting to try and watch along with him, but I have already noticed people studying me out of curiosity, and I don’t want to be found out as a fake. Instead I look straight ahead and lose myself in my thoughts. I am surprised as the hours fly by. We have just passed Calgary and as I see the Rocky Mountains looming ahead in the distance, I think of new beginnings and maybe a chance for a more normal life. If this bus ride is any indication, I have little chance of that, but I still hope for what the regular kids have: a stable home, a warm meal each night, a friend or two to shoot the shit with. I’ve had it with the monthly visits to the Salvation Army and my parents making us move every time the rent comes due. I hope that maybe this time my brother and I will have our own beds instead of a mattress that my dad decides to cut in half. I absentmindedly rub my hand down my thigh, over the foot-long scar where the sharp end of a spring gouged through my flesh, down to the white of the femur. My dad failed to notice the sharp edges of the exposed metal springs, but then, he is the one who is actually blind. I am too self-conscious of my pasty white legs to wear shorts, but if I did, I would be tempted to tell anyone who noticed the scar that it was the result of a shark attack. That would be more exciting than the mattress story.

My mom’s new friend engages me in conversation. She asks about what it is like to be blind and how I came to be that way and I give her the scripted response. I am feeling a little more generous because we are now only a few hours away from Chilliwack. I add a few embellishments to make the story seem a heartfelt triumph of the human spirit over adversity. Later I will find out that my mom filled her in on our little scam on day two of the trip and that she was yanking me along for some kicks as she and my mom snickered behind my back.

We finally pull into the bus depot in Chilliwack. This time I don’t mind being the first off of the bus. As always, I shuffle my feet down the bus steps and reach my hand out to my mom so she can guide me onto the platform. She is tired after the four-day long trip and swears at me in annoyance as she bats my hand away. She seems to have forgotten that she is to be playing guide to her poor blind son. The passengers seated at the windows of the bus have not forgotten. They gasp at such a heartless gesture in dismay, the pity in their eyes painting my body like little red laser pointers as I try to shrink inside of myself to avoid the embarrassment of being related to such a bitch. I follow my mom and my brother to get our bags. There really isn’t any point in trying to continue with the act now. I grab my backpack and think about which comic I am going to read first. Probably Spiderman.

Change...at last.

2010-11-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

It has been a good month and a half since my last post, the one where I bemoaned my current living situation and announced my serious intent to find another home. Well...we did! After two weeks of intense apartment/house hunting, we found a place more suitable and have moved all of our stuff (lots and lots and lots of STUFF) in. Now I have the wonderful task of finding a place for everything. I guess I have been slacking because we have been moved in for four three days now and I still don't know where any of my pants are (thank goodness for hubby's old sweats that I found on top of a box of CD's), but I've been extra tired lately and the baby has decided to work on her audition for the role of banshee.

Regardless of the current chaos, I am very happy to have a place that is warm, carpeted, bug free (as much as any place can be), large enough to fit our incredible amount of stuff, and.....HAS A DISHWASHER!!! Though, the dishwasher isn't working right now. Hehe. Anyway, I am content.

I plan to give myself this week to clean the place up and get settled and then next week it is on to something I have neglected for far too long: writing.

Speaking of which, I am pleased to announce that I entered the Surrey International Writing Contest again this year and made it to the shortlist. My piece was a non-fiction short story, and though I did not win (sigh), I did manage to make it to the top nine out of 300 entries. I may post the story sometime this week.

Now...to clean :)

Misery, sweet misery

2010-09-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

I. Am. Miserable.

Though I would love to blame my current case of the grumpies on my husband's excessive gassiness this evening, he is not to blame, though his foul stench is not helping ease my mood. Maybe I should just stop feeding him.

My crankiness is mainly due to my unhappiness with our current housing situation. Until today, I thought I could manage. I was prepared to be strong, suck it up, and savour these days as our 'trying times'....you know, the time in your life you look back on as character-building and all that crap. (well, its not crap, but I'm Miss Frowny-Face right now, a'ight?).

The last time I felt this glum, I downed my sorrows in a nice tall glass of orange juice and vodka, heavy on the vodka. I'm currently a breastfeeding mom, so that isn't an option. I have instead decided to gas myself silly by sitting downwind of my husband's toushy.

So...I hate my carriage-house/hastily-constructed part-garage/insect-infested house of horrors. I could manage to overlook the lack of a dishwasher, which has been taking hours of my precious writing time each day as I try to get all of the dishes done (seriously, where do they all come from?!), or the lack of any storage space whatsoever. I've tried hard to ignore the constant musty, moldy smell upstairs and the impossible task of keeping the floors clean because our front door opens right into the living room/kitchen area(s).

BUT. NOT. THE. SPIDERS.

Fighting the little ones for control of the kitchen every day is one thing (crawling across the stove, making webs from counters to the piles of dishes, making webs in the broom closet, making webs in every corner, playing tag on the stairs, making webs in my shoes) but the bigger ones have decided that 'tis the season to invade the Guillemette household and I'M HAVING NONE OF THAT!

#$%& you, spiders! I'm the freakin' spider-Grinch and I had no sympathy for Charlotte's Web.

Thus, I have decided, we are moving. I don't know where. I don't know if we can afford it. I don't care. I can't even open my front door anymore without the extremely bold ones dashing in, unannounced, a little smirk on the smug faces as they shriek in their little spider voices, "Catch me if you can, red!"

I'll squish you with a garbage can, I will. Of course, then I will spend several hours fighting off the anxiety attacks and tears and frantically scanning every square inch of my home for vengeful relatives.

For all of you who think I'm being dramatic and have that wonderful advice, "Just get over it," I tell you -- I wish. Do you think I like being subject to such a ridiculous phobia? Yes, they are a one-thousandth of my size. Yes, they are harmless. Yes, they are just as afraid of me as I am of them. If this were easy to accept, wouldn't I have done so?

Phobia = irrational fear

Guillemette family = looking for affordable, spider-free home

Taking a risk even when you are scared silly

2010-08-27T09:29:00.000-07:00

I think sometimes you just have to do it. Take a risk. Attempt the improbable. Fight the statistics.

For most of us, life is about working a job that we don't really care for but need to do to pay the bills. Inside we dream of doing something we really love, something that thrills us, delights us, makes this crazy world just a little more enjoyable.

We spend so much time dreaming about the what if's that I think it becomes easier to let our dreams stay dreams. Then they stay perfect, untarnished by reality and by the possibility of rejection and defeat. What happens if you take a risk, try to put yourself out there and then fail miserably? What do you have to look forward to then?

My husband is a singer/songwriter and has been dreaming about recording his original songs for quite a few years now. This year we decided to make this dream a reality. He is nearing the end of his twenties and as we start a family, we both know that if we don't make the effort now, it may never happen. I don't want him to be sixty and grumbling about that record that he never ended up making.

Now that we are only two weeks away from his studio time, the realization that he will actually be accomplishing a life-long goal seems to be a bit overwhelming. I've had to encourage him not to cancel the recording almost every day. You see, he keeps doubting himself. He doubts his ability. He questions why we are taking such a financial risk when we are already facing a bit of debt. He is afraid.

I told him this: You have to do it NOW. You have to TRY. The small financial risk is really nothing when compared to the opportunity to show a beautiful part of your self, your talents to the world.

And that is the truth. He writes beautiful music. What a pity it would be to keep that hidden.

There comes a point in our lives where we need to take a risk. How else are great things accomplished? It is important to believe in yourself, to see your talents as having a purpose, because without the beauty of art and self-expression, this world would be so incredibly bland and boring.

Delight in the passion that thrives within you. And if you get the opportunity to share that with others, do so. It is inspiring. It is beautiful. It balances out the tragedy and sorrow of this world.

Looking for tips on writing creative nonfiction....

2010-08-06T09:54:00.000-07:00

This year I plan to enter the SIWC writing contest again, though I am mixing it up by entering a non-fiction piece. I have never written non-fiction before, so if anyone has any tips or advice, or knows of a good website that explains how to write non-fiction, I would love the help!

Other than that, not much writing has been done lately. I started working part-time at a video store a month ago, so it has been an adjustment taking care of a four-month old and working a couple evenings a week. Plus I somehow managed to catch a cold. And I threw my back out. But...life is good! Being one who has always battled anxiety and a constant dissatisfaction with the present, I've finally reached a point in my life where I'm completely content day-to-day. I still have the nagging feeling of wanting my novel to be finished, but as a whole, I feel very complete right now. Becoming a mother is probably a large part of my happiness. There are still a lot of uncertainties (what do I do when my mat leave runs out next February and I have no job to go back to?!) but I have faith that things will work out.

Now if I could just get my back to cooperate.....

Still kicking around....

2010-07-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

I am truly horrible at blogging. Part of me thinks that I should just put my blog on hold and wait until I've finished my novel before starting up again. It has been tempting. I can't make myself do that, though, because I don't want to lose touch with everyone I have met here, and I am also really stubborn.

So...I will try and keep the postings coming.

Today I am in a rather melancholy mood. I just finished reading Stephen King's 'Under the Dome,' and as it happens with any other exciting read, I am experiencing the withdrawals of finishing a really good book. I also am not sure what to think, because although I loved his newest novel, I also found the end to go in a direction I wasn't extremely fond of. I found myself wanting to hold my daughter close and never let her go after I read the last page. Great novel, just very dark. I don't want to give anything away, so I'll leave it at that.

As for my own writing, I'm still plugging away, every so slowly. I have decided to enter the SIWC writing contest again this year, though this time I plan to write a non-fiction entry, a first for me. My husband is the inspiration for this piece. His experiences growing up in his family are so beyond anything I have heard before that I decided they should be captured in writing. This should be fun!

Well, I hope all of you are enjoying your summer so far :)

Biting my tongue

2010-06-16T10:31:00.000-07:00

What I said: "Beautiful day. Hope this weather lasts."

What I wanted to say: "You freaking idiot, you could have killed me and my family. What the heck were you THINKING!!!"

It took a lot of willpower not to shoot daggers (and I'm not just talking with my eyes...I have a collection of throwing stars and throwing knives that are just itching to be made use of) at our landlady's son last weekend when running into him after THE INCIDENT. I shall explain.

A few months ago we moved into a carriage home. That is a fancy term for a apartment-type unit built off of someone's garage. At least, that is what ours is. I have many likes and dislikes about the place.

Likes: not worrying about being too noisy for the neighbours like we had to in the apartment; our own backyard with a view of horses frolicking in the fields.

Dislikes: the spiders, the mold, the possessed heating, the lack of ample lighting, the lack of closet space, have I mentioned the spiders?

Right now it works for us and I deal with the little quirks. Last week I didn't want to deal. I wanted to cry, and so I did, and then I wanted to start looking for another place to live. What happened? The house owner's son decided to kill the weeds surrounding their house and the garage (which is us). Since Round-Up didn't work, he did what his dad used to do--sprayed everything with gasoline. What was even worse was that I had been smelling the gas for a while, and thinking it was coming from the garage I opened the windows to air the place out, but it only let more in. Within a few minutes, our place was filled with fumes and we were forced to call up my family to ask if we could stay with them for the night.

Now, this obviously wasn't some malicious attempt to gas us, but being a new mom, my instincts swung into full force and I really just wanted to hit the guy. It was late at night and he didn't even think to warn us. Had we already been in bed, we may have slept through as the fumes filled our place up. It may not have harmed my husband and I, but in no way was it safe for our baby.

It is instances like this where words must be chosen carefully. I know it was not his intention to harm or inconvenience us and so I chose to be forgiving and cordial when inside I still simmered and wanted to say some sarcastic comment.

The nice thing about the written word is that you have time to choose your words and edit them so that they sound the best they could be. What is unfortunate about the spoken word is that there is less of a filter. This is an area where I am extremely weak, and it was put to the test last week.

Even though she had to sleep in her bouncy chair, our baby slept well that night. I didn't, of course. I think I woke every hour to check on her. Ah, being a new parent. So much fun and so much worry :(

A good, swift kick in the behind.

2010-06-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

So my husband and I went for a walk this evening. We started in a great mood, enjoying the sunshine and beautiful scenery. Unfortunately, it ended with me pushing the baby stroller back home in a snit. I know, I tend to get offended a bit easily at times, but my hubby telling me that I need to finish my book sometime before I turn 90 was not what I wanted to hear at the moment.

I am an ARTIST. My creativity does not work on demand. I cannot just spit out a grand epic fantasy in a couple of months. I need time to mull things over....character arcs...plot devices...wicked cool action sequences. I know I procrastinate a bit more than I should (and I DID waste five months of medical leave playing online poker...BAD Lisa!), but great things take time. Had I tried to write the book in a year, as he insinuated I should have done, I would have ended up with crap that would in no way resemble the masterpiece that I am so carefully crafting--complete with heart and wit and a dash of FABulous.

Ok, I'm being a bit touchy. I just hate it when people think that writing is easy and can/should be accomplished like a certain Twilight author who wrote a complete bestseller in three months while running a household of growing kidlets. I am not that amazing. I DO, however, admit that I could be making some sacrifices to see my goals achieved. This means that sometimes the dishes won't get done or dinner might not be some grand, three-course delight. I may not even take a shower that day.

My husband did have a point. I can try harder. I can let less important things take a back burner for now (just please, not the sleep!) while I try and finish this great novel that is going on, ahem, four years to date. It is incredibly hard with a two month old who hates to take naps and likes to be attended to almost every hour of the day, but it can be done.

Sigh. I guess it is good that I married a man who can goad me into achieving my hopes and dreams. I hope he likes Kraft Dinner :)

A little bit of progress

2010-05-12T09:23:00.000-07:00

So my goal of writing 1500 words a day was a bit of wishful thinking, but I am pleased to report that I was able to get in 600 words yesterday. It has been a bit difficult to find a regular routine so far with the new baby, so I am trying to write whenever I get snatches of free time. Some days are better than others, like yesterday, when I was able to do a load of laundry, go for an hour-long walk, do the dishes (we don't have a dishwasher in the new place!), make dinner, and get in a bit of writing. I have set a goal of having my rough draft complete by the end of July, which is perfectly reasonable, even with my new responsibilities as a mom. I may be asking my husband for two nights a week where I can lock myself in our room while he takes care of the baby. So far she likes to fuss from dinner time to midnight, or sometimes later.

I find it a bit interesting that I had all this free time to write before the baby arrived, and I could not make myself commit to it, and now that I barely have a spare second in the day, writing is all I can think about.

Well, this is a short post because I need to get writing!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful day :)

Back after a bit of a break....and I am now a mom!

2010-04-15T11:54:00.001-07:00

So I logged in to my blog account today after taking a rather long break (two months to be exact) and I did wonder if I would have any followers left!

I do! A big thank you to all of you for sticking around.

The last few months have been crazy (two hospital visits and a scare that the baby was coming at 34 weeks, a hectic move while I was on bed-rest, and our baby coming 10 days early through an emergency c-section), and I would love to say that the craziness has ended, but as any other mom can attest to, life with a newborn isn't exactly easy. I have to admit, I love my sleep...or at least, a little bit of sleep...so not getting much of it at all has been hard. I love the new role of mom, though, and I have been assured that it does get easier as the weeks go on.

Writing has been put on hold for now, but I feel hopeful for this summer. Our new home is in the country, overlooking fields with horses, and is a perfect place for writing, and my new little muse has already proven to get my creative juices flowing. First, I must catch up on my sleep! Until then, blogging and writing might be sporadic, but I am still around :)

Olympic Inspiration

2010-02-15T14:04:00.000-08:00

I have never really paid much attention to the Olympics. I don't mean to downplay the hard work and self-sacrifice that the athletes endure in order to compete, I just care more for the arts than for sports, and I think that the billions of dollars spent on a two-week event could be put to better use.

That being said, I've given them a little more thought this year, mainly because I am only an hour out of Vancouver, where the current Olympics are taking place as I write this blog.

While watching the opening ceremonies, I was struck with a bit of inspiration for my current WIP. I am writing a trilogy (I know, bad for a first time author) and though I have figured out the main plot for my first novel, I hadn't given much thought to the rest. Last Friday, while watching the hour-long march of athletes from every single competing country make their way around B.C. Place, I had a 'eureka!' moment. I don't want to say much (because I'm still nervous about giving away too much of my story idea online), but the thought of a competition of another sorts, one that gives prestige to skills that are not sports-related, fits perfectly with my story.

Inspiration comes in a variety of forms. My favourite is when you aren't even looking for it and it smacks you in the face :)

Here's to more face-smacking, 'eureka' moments!

Quirky? Neurotic?......Just plain imaginative?

2010-02-11T11:31:00.000-08:00

Last night my husband told me I had 'issues.' He was referring to what I think of as my quirky personality and numerous phobias, which of course, he doesn't understand, being French and male and perfect. I rolled my eyes and told him to deal with it since I am the one that actually suffers.

My two major phobias are arachnophobia (fear of spiders) and claustrophobia (fear of suffocating). Occasionally a myriad of other minor fears show their face and make me feel slightly neurotic...some legitimate (like heights and death) and some just plain silly (sharks in swimming pools, evil leprechauns in the kitchen, my husband becoming possessed and stabbing me in my sleep).

I blame my phobias/fears on my imaginative mind. Did you ever experience those moments as a kid where you were playing hide-and-go-seek and you hadn't yet found a spot and the seeker was heading your way....a great surge of panic and adrenaline fills you and you dive for the nearest safe spot, heart pounding as if you just evaded certain death, and in that moment it wasn't a game, but a struggle for survival? Yes? No? I've never quite grown out of that phase. I still feel the surge of panic after watching a zombie movie when my husband decides to be a jerk and shuts off all of the lights and makes groaning noises to scare me (and he very much succeeds) or when I am at the pool and think of that scene from Jaws where the girl is swimming and you can see her legs in the water and then a bit further down, the gigantic shark coming her way with its mouth wide open and teeth gleaming. I know sharks can't get into pools, but that still doesn't stop my mind from panicking for a few seconds.

Last week I was swimming and I had to duck under the lane markers to get out of the pool. I have never liked to put my face in the water but figured a quick dunk under wouldn't kill me. Well...I swear I have suffered post-traumatic stress from that incident. Just the few seconds of being completely submerged set my mind into sheer panic because of my claustrophobia. Ever since then I have had a hard time drinking water because all I can think about is drowning, of the water never stopping and there being no breaks for oxygen, and my lungs filling until they can't hold any more and yet it keeps coming and I have to keep drinking....you see where I am going with this? Completely irrational and probably just perfect for a writer. If I think of something, it is real to me in that moment. Slashed throats in movies make me grab my own throat. Looking at my husband's huge scar on his leg from when a bedspring ripped his thigh open to the bone makes me almost faint from just imagining what it felt and looked like when it happened.

I find my imagination both a blessing and a curse. It makes life interesting for me and gives family and friends reason to think I am an absolute nutjob. It also makes writing a very real experience because I can fully immerse myself in my scenes and feel what the character is feeling in a deeply personal way.

Any other creative brains out there who suffer from this?

Distractions, distractions, you enemy of writers!

2010-02-01T20:01:00.000-08:00

I've been a bit absent from the blogosphere this last week or so. A bout with the stomach flu kind of put me out of commission for a few days, leaving me particularly unmotivated to write or blog or really do much of anything--except watch movies. It has been ten years since I have shared such intimacy with the toilet bowl (thank goodness I cleaned it that morning!) and I hope another good ten years goes by before we are forced to endure each other's company again. Enough said on that front :)

My writing progress has staled but I am still stubbornly trying to eke out whatever I can manage before the baby arrives. Ten weeks to go and fifteen chapters to write!

Today I planned to finish a chapter, which would not have been unreasonable had I been fine with sitting on my rump and ignoring the phone, but I guess I had an abundance of energy. Making up for the time I spent on my rump watching movies while sick. So...I dropped hubby off at work and went to the gym for an aquafit class for an hour then scooted over to see my doctor for a regularly scheduled appointment. I've hit 30 weeks and everything looks good (yay, no gestational diabetes or Factor Five blood disorder!). By then it was practically lunch so I picked up hubby, fed him, shipped him back to work, then sat down for a good four hours of writing!

Ha!

My mom called, we chatted, then she mentioned they were going to the pool to swim. I thought, 'hey, I should be keeping active, a trip to the pool sounds great!' so I went along. When I returned home I still would have had at least two hours to write. Then my friend called and invited me to go to the mall to look at baby stuff. How could I resist? We got back at five, just in time for hubby's return home from work and of course I now had to make dinner. Then we watched a movie (we don't have cable). After the movie, hubby decided to read 'The Hobbit.' I decided to write. I stared at my computer screen then closed the half-finished chapter and decided to blog.

I guess I shall write tomorrow.

Road Map Required

2010-01-19T13:04:00.000-08:00

I was ecstatic when I finished chapter five of my WIP last week, especially since it has taken me a good long year to accomplish this.

Onward and forward to chapter six! But wait...after all I've learned about trimming the fat and keeping things succinct and relevant, I realized today that I'm going to need a chapter outline before I can really get into it. Geez. Way to put a halt to the flowing creativity :)

I guess this is where the practical planning side of writing comes in. For instance, I know the basic events that I want to happen in chapter six. I know that I want to keep my word count to 5000-5500 words (or my book will be over 175,000 words long, and no agent will touch it). I also know that because I am writing from two characters' perspectives, I have to know when I will switch perspectives, and how much of the word count each character gets. This chapter will probably be split into an even two (whereas other chapters switched back and forth about four times). See what I'm getting at? I have to know what I want to accomplish, how many words I get to accomplish this, and still make it sound as action-packed as I can.

Last night I wrote the opening scene and it used up almost a thousand words; that's not even getting to the more pertinent information. I guess I really like to write with detail.

So, I'm taking a break to go to the gym, but as my legs are walking on the treadmill, my mind will be whirring, setting up a plan to follow. I would like to finish this chapter today. Ahem, that's a good 4500 words. Better get to it!

Small Accomplishments

2010-01-14T20:36:00.000-08:00

So...I didn't quite write 1500 words a day this week, but I managed another 4000 and as of ten minutes ago, finished chapter five. Yay!! I had already written this chapter (it was actually two chapters) about a year ago but then went back and started to revise everything. That's the perfectionist in me. But, things are much better in this new draft and I'm finding that my writing is a lot more focused.

One word to describe my new method: succinct. It is true that less is more. I used so many unnecessary words before realizing that the extra weight was bogging my story down. Now things move more swiftly, and in cutting out the flowery adverbs and adjectives, I think I actually sound more professional in my writing.

Ok, so this means...on to unchartered territory. Things may get tricky, as I am now writing from scratch (no more revisions to hide behind) but this is also where the story really takes off.

Right now I'm going to take a well-deserved break and play some online poker.

Off to a sluggish start....

2010-01-11T10:06:00.000-08:00

Bleh. Terrible, TERRIBLE sleep last night. Bad dreams...tossing and turning...worrying I was squishing baby and that every time she kicked it meant, 'I'm suffocating in here, mommy!' It really didn't get me off to a good start this morning. AND it is raining buckets outside, which the forecast has said will last all week. I guess this is a week for some major writing.

I got off to a slow start last week (1500 words), but I was happy to have at least accomplished something. I calculated that if I can eke out a good 1500 words a day, I will have the rough draft of my novel written in eight weeks. It is more than possible and makes an entire book seem less scary when broken up it bits and daily goals.

So, the writing board!

The Goosebump Factor

2010-01-06T10:59:00.000-08:00

Recently I discovered the goodness that is Paul McCartney. I've never been very familiar with his music or the music of the Beatles, and after my husband bought a dvd of a Paul McCartney concert a few days ago, I've since been listening to it nonstop. I REALLY love his voice. Not only can he sing exceptionally well, but he really knows how to let loose, and whenever I hear someone giving their full power in a song, I get goosebumps (so long as they actually hit the notes).

Goosebumps are cool. I'm not talking about the scary movie goosebumps, but the 'OhmygoodnessthatwassoamazingthatIheldmybreaththeentiretime!' goosebumps, of when the artist has captured your full attention and you cannot look away, or if you do, it is to close your eyes to listen and feel the intensity permeate every cell in your body.

About six years ago I attended a Sarah Brightman concert and though the experience was enjoyable, I also found it to be a bit frustrating. For those of you who are not familiar with her, Sarah Brightman is an opera singer and she has this delicate, soothing voice that is great for bubble baths and relaxing drives. While at the concert, I found myself getting a bit tense. I realized that what I really wanted was to hear her belt out a song, or even a few notes. She was so restrained in her singing and though it was beautiful, I NEEDED to hear her let loose and sing with her full power. Thank goodness she finally did and I was able to relax. Why was this? I'm not sure. It could just be my musical preference (I happen to like a lot of singers who really belt it out) or it could have been a desire to know that she was capable of singing with power, of giving me goosebumps.

Not all great singers/writers/artists of sort give us goosebumps, because you don't have to feel the tingles to enjoy someone's work, BUT when that work sends the tingles through your body, you know you are hooked. They have grabbed your attention and maybe made you stop breathing for a second, and THAT is powerful stuff.

What do you think the key is? I think it is not being afraid to push your talent to the limit. It is easy to play it safe, because when you step out of the realm of comfort and safe, you become vulnerable--what if my voice cracks when I try to hit that high note?!--but when you explore the depths of your talent, that vulnerability becomes power. I think that the ones who are truly great at what they do have not been afraid to give their all, even if it takes hard work and practice, and even if they don't always first succeed. Raw talent is precious and it should not be hidden.

So belt it out! Give your all! Seek to shock and awe!! In whatever your do, whether in music or writing or other arts, or in any other aspect of your life, be beyond mediocre, beyond simply enjoyable. That is my goal. It is a hard one, but for those that succeed, the feeling of accomplishment must be great.

The End is Just the Beginning

2009-12-31T09:49:00.000-08:00

So I just realized that my last posting was the first of December and it is now the 31st. It has been a busy month and I won't really elaborate much further than these excuses: monstrous Christmas party my mom and I planned for 90 people, holiday craziness, a short-lived addiction to online poker and a need to just relax and do nothing.

It is safe to say that I have relaxed enough and I am ready to get serious and accomplish some goals in this year to come.

1. Prepare myself for the birth of my first child (mid-April!) through a daily routine of exercise (especially since I am not working) and healthy eating, and to start reading the many books borrowed to me about pregnancy and newborn care.

2. Learn how to overcome the need to spend money on frivolous, unnecessary things, especially since hubby and I are now living on a tight budget. Credit cards are not my money, just debt!!!

3. Master the art of home-baked bread so that hubby will actually eat it!

4. Complete my WIP and possibly even polish it enough to send in to an agent. I'm only a quarter of the way through with three and a half months before baby arrives, so I'm trying to stay realistic.

I think I'll leave the goals at that. I have to say that I actually like the start of a new year. I always feel this sense of hope; so much seems possible and even if my last year hasn't been the best, a new year is a reminder that every new day is a blessing, and an opportunity to make one's dreams happen.

My problem has always been finishing what I start. I know that getting published is pretty much out of my hands, but I can at least finish my book. That will be an accomplishment in itself.

Good luck to the rest of you in all of your endeavors! I hope that 2010 is a year of good things for everyone.

Happy New Year's Eve!

Love and Hate (& Puzzle Pieces)

2009-12-01T09:36:00.000-08:00

I realized recently why I have such a difficult time making myself sit down and write. Daydreaming about my story is no problem. Coming up with scenes and dialogue is fun, and I haven't really had a problem with writer's block when it comes to the creativity side of writing. I think my problem/issue is that I am impatient. I am not one of those people who can sit down and tackle a 1000-piece puzzle. A few years ago I thought I would give one of those mammoth puzzles a shot. I sat down for all of thirty seconds and stared at the pieces and then put them back in the box. The unfinished puzzle bugged me. It actually made me feel stressed out and anxious. I wanted it DONE NOW!!! I have not tried another puzzle since....unless it is one of those thirty-piece kids puzzles.

Now, I know that as a writer, this is a problem. Can I really expect to sit and write a 120,000 word book when I can't even commit to a puzzle? Am I doomed?! I am going to be optimistic and say no. I have always believed that the ones who succeed are the ones who TRY and TRY and TRY and NEVER give up and push past their human failings. I believe I can succeed (at writing the book, anyway...being published is kind of out of my hands) because even though I hate the long process of an unfinished work, I also love the process once I force myself to get started. It's kind of like going to the gym. You hate to go. You force yourself to put on the workout clothes and drive or walk yourself there, but once you step on that treadmill and start to get your blood pumping you realize, 'Why was I fighting this? This is great!'

I hate having only five chapters written out of twenty. I hate having the story in my mind and not on paper. Putting the words to paper is the hard part. But...I love seeing the words materialize once I force myself to sit and move my fingers. It truly is a love/hate relationship. So long as I love it more than I hate it, I think I am on the right track.

In defense of my method

2009-11-17T12:02:00.000-08:00

I'm sure I've mentioned before how my husband loves to tease me about this book that is 'always talked about but never gets written!'

I know. I've been working on this thing for a good three and a half years now, with only five chapters actually written. The thing is, my story is still being figured out. I've had to research (quantum physics, guns, musical science) and I've also been figuring out my 'voice.' I'm am pleased to say that after about half a dozen rough drafts of my first few chapters, I've finally found a style and voice I am pleased with. And I am confident that my prologue (rewritten at least a dozen times) could be sent in to an agent as is...that is how confident I am in it! Now I just have to write and polish the remaining 16 chapters.

My goal this week is to do a few more edits on the chapters I have already written and then start into the rest, hopefully knocking down at least three chapters a week. The good part about having three years to stew over my story is that I have worked out so many details, I can practically see it like a movie in my head. I also have a deeper understanding of each of my characters (two main characters and four secondary characters), and a chapter outline for the entire book.

After learning A LOT by reading blogs and books on writing techniques, I think that I've come a long way since I initially put pen to paper. I may not have a lot to show for my work in words, but the depth and quality of my writing has drastically improved and I have learned some important tips. Best of all, I am now surrounded by like-minded people (on the internet, that is!), and I love this process of growth as we all follow our dreams and do what drives us: write.

Now to the editing board.....

Onward and Forward!

2009-11-02T13:13:00.000-08:00

It's official. I am currently on medical leave and will not be returning to work. I know I should feel relieved, but my head is still processing. It seems too good to be true! My doctor has not put a time frame on my leave (so I may run into some bad luck and end up on regular benefits with the expectations to find a new job as I enter my third trimester) but I am hoping and praying that everything will work out. I am DONE with stressing and look forward to starting this new chapter in my life.

The theme, 'Beginnings,' has been strongly on my mind, so I thought my postings for this week could focus on that.

I feel like I am very much at the beginning of my career as a writer. I may never be officially published, but that does not lessen the validation of the term, 'writer,' nor does it weaken my resolve to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and let the imagination take hold. I know I have so much to learn and an incredible need for improvement in my writing (ESPECIALLY when it comes to grammar). This does not daunt me. In fact, I say, "Bring it on!"

I currently have a novel in the works. I have titled it, 'Anymus,' and plan to seek representation once I feel it measures up to publishing standards. That part will be the tricky bit, but I am willing to work hard and receive as much constructive criticism as it takes to make it a truly stellar novel. I am hesitant to reveal the plot and theme, but I will reveal that it is a fantasy with a twist. Picture 'Heroes' meets 'Lord of the Rings' meets 'Rock Band' (yes, the video game).

I should mention that this novel breaks the beginner's publishing rules (epic fantasy series where the first novel is not stand-alone) and so I am taking a risk and following my heart. I should also mention that I am really stubborn and have never liked to go about things the way everyone else does.

So...the day has arrived and I can no longer procrastinate. I am not participating in NaNoWriMo by the conventional standards, but will be using the 50,000 word challenge to apply to my own novel. I have 25,000 words written with approximately 80,000 to go.

Tomorrow I will be posting the short story I entered for the SIWC writer's contest. It was not short-listed (but my poem was, yay!) and since I doubt I will enter it anywhere else, I would like to share it with you all and give you an idea of my writing 'voice'.

Cheers!

It has to get better, right?!

2009-10-26T15:30:00.000-07:00

So...where to begin?

Today hasn't been the greatest day. In fact, this last week and a half hasn't been the greatest either. The confident calm I had bragged about a couple months back has disintegrated into blubbering chaos, and I have unfortunately turned into one of those women. You know...crying in the doctor's office, crying when I run into my grandma at the grocery store. Crying. All. The. Time.

Just admitting this is embarassing. I cringe.

I had thought that seeing my doctor would make things better. I would tell her my problems (anxiety, depression, inability to live up to my supervisor's expectations at work, fear of contracting the deadly H1N1 virus running rampant in our region right now, especially because I'm surrounded by sick people at work all day, getting an average three hours of sleep a night...) and she would be sympathetic and put me on stress leave. Well, she did and she didn't. Instead, I was prescribed meds and given a week off work. From a job that is laying me off in four weeks (yes, last week WAS supposed to be my last, but there have been delays, AGAIN).

This might sound ok, but it really isn't. Upon leaving her office I did some research and discovered that I don't have any sick leave and my work has cut out the short term medical leave option in our most basic of basic extended medical plan. As it stands, my doc has to agree to give me what I originally asked for, which was a 15 weeks medical leave that would carry me into my maternity benefits, or else I don't get paid for any of this time off, which I obviously can't afford.

So I sit here, trying not to stress--which is impossible, of course--and I wonder why things have to be this difficult. I have even started to wonder if I am a bad person...is this karma?...am I being irrational about this?...does my doctor's office now think I am crazy for calling so many times today to get a straight answer?...am I going to end up back at work tomorrow, emotionally unstable and prone to throwing things?...why isn't this EASY?!

I try to remember those wise words, "This, too, shall pass."

Needless to say, no writing has been done :(

Desperately Seeking Zen

2009-10-13T11:10:00.000-07:00

I have been living in my housecoat for the last two days, sans makeup, with a roll of toilet paper at my side. I hate being sick. I tried everything in my power not to get sick (handwashing to the point of dry, scaly, skin) and yet, here I am, stuck on the couch, praying that I only have a cold. All this hype about the deadly flu that kills pregnant women has gotten under my skin. Where, oh where, did my super-Zen state of mind go?

It probably didn't help that last week was stressful enough, with everyone at my work calling in sick and leaving us short-staffed, and then I was scheduled for an emergency ultrasound (I'm only thirteen weeks pregnant and already I've had TWO ultrasounds....and both times were probably completely unnecessary) which only added to the craziness. I'm looking forward to actually enjoying this pregnancy. Well, luckily, everyone is back at work (except for me) and my ultrasound results came back excellent, so my baby is probably inside me right now thinking, 'Would you just chill out already, mom!'

I think I will just be relieved when I'm done work for good--two weeks left!--and I can get away from all of the sick people. Besides the abundance of germs and viruses, I truly love the fall season...the changing colours...the leaves on the ground. And this year, I will actually get to see it (!) instead of being stuck in a windowless building with oodles of spiders and enough dust to build a replica of a snow-man. I won't have to live in constant darkness, getting to work just as the sun comes up and leaving when the sun has already sank below the horizon, not to mention the fact that I currently work in a darkroom, breathing in chemicals and keeping an eye out for the cousins of the spider I just squished. I can't wait to be unemployed!!

Granted, I know it is easy to fall into the trap of lethargy and sloth-like behaviour, so I have started a list of everything I want to accomplish. Mainly, I think a structured plan will be ideal: morning workout at the gym, housecleaning, blogging, working on WIP, afternoon walk for exercise and inspiration, more writing, making dinner. I really don't think I'll have time to be bored.

But, first, I need to get over this darn cold.

Three Weeks To Go!

2009-09-30T19:42:00.000-07:00

You'll have to excuse my absence lately, I've been a bit overwhelmed with my impending layoff. Ok, and lazy. Definitely lazy. An unfortunate character flaw I've discovered about myself is that when I get stressed or nervous, I tend to shut off my brain and, therefore, accomplish very little. So much for the 'zen state' I had achieved. Maybe I can blame this abrupt change in temperament on my pregnancy hormones. My husband has been keeping his distance -- and so he should ;)

As nervous as I am about being unemployed (effective Oct. 24th, unless the new equipment is stolen by pirates, which I think would be extremely fitting at this point, since we've already been delayed a month due to losing the equipment somewhere between Ontario and British Columbia), I look forward to setting my own schedule and getting my creative butt in gear. Fall seems like the perfect time to settle in, drink a nice hot cup of steamed milk (but oh, how I crave a latte!) and focus on a project. Besides getting the rough draft of my novel finished, I also want to get a little more serious about this blog. You know, maybe post at least TWICE a week, minimum.

To kick things off, I've been re-reading one of my favourite series, the fabulous 'Harry Potter,' complete with magic, humour, and my favourite wizard, Dumbledore. Few stories have had the ability to completely suck me in, making dinner time, coffee with friends, and even snuggles with hubby seem like torture as I try not to think of Harry, Ron and Hermoine, and how I would rather be spending time with them. Pathetic? I say no. I actually applaud J.K. Rowling for writing such an imaginative piece of work. I can only strive to do the same.

Books are so awesome. I only hope my children love them as much as I do :)

Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself...

2009-09-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

I have a confession. My name isn't really Morgan Xavier. You see, when I started this blog, I wasn't keen on using my real name, especially since it is kind of boring and most people can't seem to pronounce it, anyway. I tried to think of a pen name--and if I ever get the chance to be published, I am going to BEG for a pen name--but nothing seemed cool enough, so I ended up using the name of the main character in my novel. She is actually based on me (which annoyed my husband when he read the first few chapters of my rough draft, but he's a bit of a literary snob, and NOTHING can measure up to the great Tolkien, and besides an affinity for mushrooms, I don't quite resemble anything hobbit-like) so it wasn't a far stretch. Thus, I became Morgan Xavier. But I would like to share my real name with you, since I feel that I at least owe you all that much.

Ahem. I am really just Lisa. So there you have it. Oh, and another small confession. That picture of me is at least seven years old. I just really like it. And it really fits this post because it was taken back when I was the confused and naive girl that Morgan is based of off. Plus, my hair was really cool back then. Now it just sits and gets frizzier every day, forgetting that it used to have zest and body and curly goodness. Sigh.

So now that I've introduced the REAL me, I will share a bit of what I am facing in my life right now, because it seems that I am in the middle of quite the transition period, and quite frankly, it terrifies me. I am 28, going on two and a half years of marriage, a little plumper than I am comfortable with (another reason I showed you that old picture), newly pregnant, and about to be laid off from my job of four years. All in all, I am at the beginning of a new chapter in my life, and if I wasn't so nauseous and exhausted from morning sickness, I would probably be more excited.

My husband and I are ecstatic that we are going to be having our first child (ok, he's ecstatic, I'm a little grumpy and bloated), and we spend hours talking about our future, and our dreams and aspirations for our family. The thing is, we are both artists at heart, lacking any sort of formal education, and as our family expands, we are trying to be realistic in our goals. My hubby is a wonderfully talented singer-songwriter by night, and an apprentice signmaker by day. He dreams of being paid to do what he loves, but knows that the music industry is one tough cookie. Likewise, I have spent years trying to find my niche, first as a missionary, then a foster care worker, then as a drywaller, then a student, until I landed my current job as an assistant at an x-ray clinic. All the while, my dreams simmered under the surface, begging to be released, but I never believed that writing was something I was truly capable of. It was my hubby that encouraged me to try, and so here I am, a couple years into my goal, a manuscript in the works, and no idea of what I will do when my maternity/EI runs out.

I wonder if getting laid off from the clinic is actually a blessing in disguise. Sure, it means that money is going to be really tight for the next year or so, but now I will actually have TIME...that precious commodity that will allow me to write and follow through on my goal. I don't want to bank on winning the jackpot by writing that super-awesome novel that will land me a brand new career as a published author, but it is sure nice to dream, isn't it? I'm trying to be positive and see my impending layoff as a chance for something better instead of panicking and wondering what the heck I am going to do next. So I take it one day at a time, keeping my dreams and goals firmly in mind, finding a balance between being realistic and optimistic. Maybe writing will only ever be a hobby. The roles of wife, mom, and friend seem fulfilling enough to me. And if I finish my novel, only to have it sit in a drawer, unwanted by any agent or publisher, I will still feel a deep sense of accomplishment knowing that I reached my goal.

So, with five out of twenty chapters written, I look with delight towards this fall season, hoping that as my belly begins to expand, so will the pages of my novel. And as Morgan embarks on an amazing journey, so will I. Though her adventure is filled with monsters and magic and rave-loving fairies, the latter of which, I kind of wish were real.

And they lived happily ever after...though greatly scarred and in need of counselling.

2009-09-07T10:39:00.000-07:00

I love this picture. I don't know how I came across it, but I've had a copy of it on my fridge for the last couple of years. In fact, I'm trying to figure out a way to incorporate a character based on Fluffy into my current WIP. You know.....a cuddly, adorable little fluffball with the wicked cool ability to make bad guys run a'screamin.

The power struggle between good and evil has been largely on my mind, especially since I saw 'District 9' last night. It was an excellent movie, very well done and VERY thought provoking, as it pointed out some of the great flaws of human nature. Walking out of the theater, I found my mind consumed with a myriad of thoughts, most importantly, this: we want to see the good guys win. We feel a sense of victory when the antagonist gets their bad-a$$ beaten down. We feel a sense of loss when a movie, or book, does not always favour the righteous or the good-hearted.

In my own writing, I've determined to make my story realistic. Bad things are going to happen to good people. Some of my 'good' characters may not always remain good, and some terrible, horrifying events will happen that will make readers want to kick me. I'm sure of it. I want to kick myself just thinking about those scenes. As much as it pains me to include these heart-wrenching scenes, I know I have to do it because my story is intended to be believable.

Despite my earnest desire to produce a story that is believable, I feel that I owe it to my readers to resolve the story with a happy ending. I know life isn't a fairy tale, but I think that most, if not all, people have a deep need to see a resolution that favours the protagonist(s). We need hope, we need to see justice done, we need to exhale that huge breath of air we've been hanging onto and cry tears of relief, because if there is hope for these make-believe characters, then maybe, just MAYBE, there is hope for us in our own lives.

As much as I hate violence, I cheered along with the rest at the movie theater last night as the bad guys got splattered all over the screen. Was such an end harsh? Yes. Am I going to splatter my own bad guys all over the pages of my book? Yes...mostly. I also believe in redemption and forgiveness. But for that ultimate bad guy who will never stop hurting people and who delights in torture and pain, they are going to face to meet a very karmic end. And my protagonists may be battered and bruised and emotionally scarred, and very much in need of counselling, but they will survive (well, most of them) and will be stronger because of it.

I'm back! And I'm entering a writing contest!

2009-09-01T20:50:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I've been noticeably absent and there is no excuse. I apologize for my lack of blog postings, and especially for the lack of comments on all of your blogs. You are all amazing, and I aspire to be as dedicated to the blogosphere as the rest of you have proven to be. I salute you!

Now, for one of my many excuses as to just where the heck I have been, I blame my reticence to post on the exciting fact that I am entering a writing contest. This is the first contest I have ever entered. I can honestly say that I am scared spitless and have been fighting a good case of writer's block. August was not a very creative month for me. I've finally had to sit and make myself write, forcing what I hope is a pretty cool poem, as well as short story, out of my terrified brain. The contest deadline is this Friday, so I have been working feverishly on my submissions, dreaming of actually being awarded an honourable mention. Ack, that would be SO COOL!

Originally when I heard about the Surrey International Writer's Conference, I planned to attend, and boy was I excited! Authors! Agents! People as obsessed with writing as I was...and in person! Then I saw the price of the conference and realized that there was no chance of that happening. I settled for entering their annual writing contest, which, really, is an excellent idea anyway, because if I can actually win a prize, I will have some publishing credibility to mention in a query.

I had a good laugh tonight, when after emailing the contest coordinator about, oh, five or six times, she mentioned that my obsessiveness with getting the submission guideline details right (cause, seriously, who else wouldn't be a bit afraid of screwing that up....just look at how many people mess up on their queries!) had prompted a blog topic. I blushed. And giggled.

Well, wish me luck! I've got to get back to editing my work....and maybe I should give some attention to my neglected husband. I think he is sulking right now.

Oh, the life of a writer....

The Addiction that is Fantasy

2009-08-04T21:31:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've become quite enamored of a television show called, 'True Blood.' It has everything that appeals to me: vampires, romance, and an element of comedy beneath the darkly twisted horror that gives life to each episode. I finished watching the latest two episodes this weekend, and I practically have the addict 'shakes' as I wait for my next fix.

What is it that gives a fictional world that desirable quality, that emotional connection that sucks us in as viewers or readers? Whether the world of Middle Earth, Harry Potter, or Bon Temps, the fact that these settings were created by someone's imagination does not seem to diminish their quality or influence in our lives. We love to leave the mundane and the ordinary behind. We love to lose ourselves in someone else's story. The richer the landscape and characters and conflict, the greater impact it has on our lives. It is always hard to get to the end of the story and realize that that is it, there is nothing more, and you must move on and get back to the 'real' world.

Sigh.

What an accomplishment it must be for the author/creator to fully realize their dream world on paper only to see a following of adoring fans spring up and cry for 'more!' I felt a definite loss when the television show 'Firefly' did not make it past its first season. It's final chapter as the movie, 'Serenity' was a nice treat, but it only cemented the fact that the show was gone for good, because unlike 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer,' dead meant dead. Or the world that Terry Goodkind created in the Sword of Truth Series. When I finished the seventh book, I almost shed a tear because my journey alongside Richard Rahl and Kahlan Amnell had now come to an end. (Little did I know, Goodkind would go on to write at least four more...and man, what an end!)

I would love to create a world as addictive as those I've mentioned above. That is my goal for the novel I am writing, and if no one but myself falls absolutely, truly in love with it, that is ok. Of course, fans would be cool!

It is a pretty sweet role to act as Creator. It almost seems like too much responsibility at times. Then I remember that I'm doing it because I love to dream and imagine and inspire, and my fear of insignificance is overshadowed by the sheer joy of doing what is in my heart and mind to do.

Plus, it's just fun!

Four Mexican grannies, a dog and a cucumber

2009-08-02T09:21:00.000-07:00

Today I've been thinking about communication. It is so easy to misinterpret what someone says. Or to conveniently forget a verbal agreement that has been made. Or to speak without first thinking carefully about your choice of words.

My husband has informed me, many times, that I need a social filter. I've known this pretty much my whole life. When I get comfortable, I say the first thing that comes to mind, and this generally leaves my audience thinking I am a bit weird. I blame my imagination for this. The curse of a creative soul, I call it.

What I love about writing is that it usually allows the author to fully express themselves in language so rich and thought out, it leaves no room for misinterpretation. Well, if done well, it shouldn't.

As a terrible verbal communicator, I love being able to write and express my thoughts and ideas in a way that comes out looking....well...coherent! None of this babbling craziness that leaves me looking like I'm new to the English language, wanting to scream, "THIS is what I'm trying to say!"

Here's an example. Not so much to do with babbling craziness, mostly just my inability to regain my dignity after a circumstance regarding language barriers. Rather hilarious, I might add. I get the giggles every time I remember this wonderful moment in my life where I ended up looking like a complete idiot.

About seven years ago I took part in a missions trip to Tijuana, Mexico, and Los Angeles, California. This was actually my fourth year participating in such an expedition (I live in British Columbia, Canada, so it was a 24 hour drive to reach our destination), and though I didn't know much spanish, had a small understanding of a few key words.

Now, I don't know if any of you like to make up your own nicknames for things, but I have a habit of doing so. And once it is in my head, it sticks there. Such as my rather creative nickname for dogs. I like to call them 'pepinos.'

What, you might ask, is a pepino? Well, in spanish, a pepino is a cucumber. I first heard the word on a Veggie Tales movie, and I guess it just stuck with me. Why I decided to translate that to equal a cute and cuddly canine friend, I'm not sure. Maybe it was the similarity to 'puppy.'

Anyway, in my mind, pepino = dog.

In Tijuana, there are a LOT of dogs. It actually broke my heart to see the little scruffy creatures in such a state of despair, and how the people down there treated them like rats, not pets. I do not judge, for the people there live in extreme poverty. I just love animals and hate to see them suffer any type of cruelty.

So here I am, in hot and dusty Tijuana, and our team has gone to a little village on the outskirts of the city to play games with the kids. It is a bit chaotic with kids running around, and their parents and grandparents joining the fray to inspect what all the fuss is about, and of course, a thousand dogs (almost) yipping and yapping and stirring up the dust so that it is even harder to breathe.

I'm watching the craziness and trying not to faint from the heat (I'm a redhead, white skin, unaccostomed to the sun), when the CUTEST little dog trots by and gets my heart a-fluttering.

"Oh, pepino!" I squeal in delight, for this little fella is adorable in every sense of the word, despite his flea ridden fur, or the dirt caked all over his face.

Immediately after uttering such a declaration, I turned to see four little old Mexican grannies who were within earshot, clutching their bellies and laughing at this ignorant, white foreigner who had just called the dog a cucumber. My face turned crimson (more than it already was from the sun) and I sputtered a few intelligible protestations before realizing it was a lost cause. Skulking away, I debated whether to drag our one interpreter from his more important duties so he could come and explain the misunderstanding. I wanted to shout, "I KNOW that pepino means cucumber!!" They probably would have still not understood.

Oh well. Maybe I at least gave them a good laugh, and a story to tell their children as they tucked them in that night.

I still call dogs, 'pepinos.' And the trend is catching.

Show your colours

2009-07-07T18:33:00.000-07:00

I admit that I am a 'manic-depressive' writer. I either love my writing or hate it.

The extremes change daily and without warning, and lately I've been getting tired of the emotional rollercoaster. This journey is HARD. You want to believe in your talents and your ambitions, but there is always that nagging voice in the back of your mind that says, "Think of everyone else out there...they want this as badly as you...look at all that competition...who do you think you are to believe you may succeed while the rest don't?...why is your story any better than theirs?...stop wasting your time...your days on this earth are numbered...blah...blah...blah."

It is true. Our days on this earth ARE numbered and as a reluctant hypochondriac who is undergoing faith issues, I want to make sure that this existence (the only one I can be sure of right now) counts for something. Does this mean seeking fame or notoriety? As nice as all of that would be, I've come to realize that what I want is to accompish SOMETHING. That something doesn't have to be recognized by anyone other than me, so long as I know that I achieved a goal that I set, and that I am proud of my accomplishment.

How many people go through this life, merely living to get from one day to the next, dreaming of what might be, but never really trying anything because they are afraid, because they are lazy, because they are distracted? How many people regret never taking the chance on that desire that they just couldn't shake? How many people never discover their true potential?

I believe that we are all gifted with an intrinsic set of talents and skills, and that ignoring them means ignoring our very nature. If we are not doing what we were 'made' to do, can we ever truly be happy? Whether you believe in creation or chaos, I'd think we can at least agree that all living beings tend to have a purpose. Why shouldn't that apply to us, the individual 'souls' of the human race? I know it is a romantic notion, but if I've learned anything, it is that all things are possible, and that life is even more wondrous than we can possibly imagine.

Some people are great musicians and make beautiful music. Some people have a unique understanding of this physical universe and invent amazing devices. Some people have an outstanding amount of courage and fight our battles as policemen or soldiers. Some people are able channel passion and life-changing truths through the written word.

I think we all feel the call. Few have the conviction to follow it. I don't even know if I will succeed, but I have to try. Trying is better than giving up. Stubborness comes in handy. So does chocolate.

Believe in your story. Believe in your talents. Maybe success won't necessarily come as you expect. Maybe the process will be the reward--because the person you discover is a person of strength and honesty and wisdom.

The ones who succeed are the ones who didn't try to please the crowd...they did what came naturally, and the power of it shook the world.

One of my favourite bands, Prodigy, says it well: show your colours.

Shake the world with your natural beauty. Whether it is expressed as a story or a song or a picture or even an outfit, let it flow from you. My story has been simmering under the surface for about ten years now. It took the mocking quips of a husband ("Are you going to keep talking about this wonderful story, or are you going to actually WRITE it?") to get my butt, rather my hands, in gear. I was afraid. I still am. But I don't like being mocked. So I have to try. And so do you :)

That's my encouraging rant for the evening. And yes, I am Canadian.

When adults throw temper tantrums

2009-06-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

I overheard a conversation at work the other day. A lady was upset that she was being turned away from our clinic because she lacked the proper paperwork. Even though my co-workers were just doing their jobs, this forty-something year-old woman threw a hissy fit. This got my brain a-thinking....it's times like this that I wish I had super-powers.

The characters I am writing about have some truly stellar abilities. As I write their really cool ass-kicking scenes, I cannot help but think, as Dane Cook so adequately put it, "Why not ME!"

You think the earth revolves around YOU, lady. Well....let's just see you get all up in my face when I'm all shimmery and shooting fireballs from my fingers. That would shut you up. And if you can't seem to appreciate how easy we really have it here in North America, I might just have to 'poof' you to Africa, or some other place where people are happy just to get through the day alive, so you might understand that having to wait in line, or drive across town to get a doctor's signature really isn't that bad. Then, you can TRULY understand suffering.

Ohhhh....and the people who are rude to the waiters in a restaurant. Don't get me started. I know that spanking is a taboo subject, but come on, and little bit of a paddle on the bum with a couple of soup spoons isn't going to harm 'em, just tenderize them a bit, until they apologize and repent of their snooty ways.

My husband says he would love to have Magneto's power to manipulate all things metal. Then, when some idiot driver cuts him off, he would lift the guy's car into the air and flip him around a couple times before smashing the poor fella into the ground. A little extreme for my tastes. But, hey, to each his own!

My introduction

2009-06-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

I did not think that I would be the type to write a blog. I haven't really had the time for it, and what time I have had, I've spent reading other people's blogs. But the idea has grown on me, so here I am, sharing my thoughts with whoever happens across this page in cyberspace (thus far, it is only you, Purple Clover, so thank you for your support!).

As an aspiring writer...well,ok, technically I already write, so I really mean, 'as a writer aspiring to be published'...I have done some research and learned that it is good to network, and put yourself out there. I have to start somewhere, so here it is, an online journal of my writing journey, as I search within myself to learn, and discover, and convey my deepest passions and fears to all who will listen.

Let me start with a passion. It has always been a desire of mine to make people care. Life is busy, stressful, even agonizing at times, and so often we have just enough energy to get through the day. What I have always enjoyed is when a book or a movie has awakened that part of me that FEELS, that GASPS, that CRIES, that HOPES, that makes me feel loss at the end, because it was just a story, but yet it made me feel so alive.

I want to write such a story. I want to make people cry (sounds horrid, but I say it with the best intentions). I want to make people laugh, then a few pages later, hold their breaths in wicked suspense (and maybe put the book in the freezer, like Joey from 'Friends,' because the tension is too much to bear). I want to make people think, make them examine their own lives for the truths that we so often ignore. I want to help people see that there is a hope for all of us, that we are capable of so much more than we can even imagine, and that our beauty is stronger than our weakness.

I will either succeed at this this, or I will at least succeed at trying. And trying is better than wishing, and doubting, and doing nothing.

So here I am....and it is way past my bedtime. But I did something. It's a start :)