Inspiration

Three weeks ago I took my daughter to see Frozen II.

The entire Frozen series has brought me immense joy.  The characters are memorable and we adore them, the stories are full of relatable materials- and Frozen Fever is so cute.

The Dragon Prince on Netflix has also been a fun and enjoyable series to watch.  There is evil, there is sunshine, there is darkness, there is light.  It’s a journey, the characters have personalities, quirks, interests–

In Eldegras, these are qualities I wish my stories to have.  I’ve read so many fantasy books and so few of them have the same interest in their characters that I wish to have.  My rough drafts sometimes feel like scripts, as I am very invested in dialoguing and conversating.  If the characters never talk, how can we grow to love them?

The Mandalorian is on Disney+ and my author husband loves it.  However, I’ve not enjoyed it as much, because in the beginning there was a great deal of staring into nowhere and not talking.  You don’t really know what’s going on, or what they’re doing, they never say anything.  I imagine this is how many Fantasy books would play out as well.
Show don’t tell is a big thing with many writers.  Robin Hobb, RA Salvator – they go pages and pages painting the imagination with what is happening, but never interacting with the characters.  It’s frustrating!
However on the flip side, Robert Jordan popped several characters in and out of his first scene in the Wheel of Time series, and while I’m more into those kinds of memorable moments I need to remember NOT to do such things so we have a better understanding of what’s going on.
Or there is Terry Goodkind, who breaks down into an emotional scene between two women during a torture invested interrogation……

Back to Frozen and The Dragon Prince, these two joyful series alone have rekindled my imagination for my books, however, even right now as I try to compose this blog, my child is crying for my attention and I need to get up and do things.

As a mother of 3, one being 10 months old on Friday – it’s been so hard to write.  I long to express myself, but without letting the words free, they get blocked off and the inspiration dies.

Part of the long drawn out attempt to write this- it’s a fourth rewriting of this series.  After all of these years, sitting on my computer harddrive, you’d think one would be published?  No.  I’ve written and rewritten this series to the point of frustration, and let advice and opinions slip into my writing.  Being a people pleaser I’ve allowed the opinions to drown out my joy.

But Frozen is so similarly expressed with it’s characters and storytelling that I really want to pursue writing mine again.  And therefore, I am.  We’re trickling out words oh so slowly, but they’re coming!
I’m writing two in the series at the same time, and it’s been quite fun to do.  One is brand new to the series, and the other collectively rewrites about four books.  Four.

Yes, I’ve invested so much time and world building into this series, and revamped it, and am starting over on a new spark, and let me tell you everything is harder with kids and husbands!  Stopping the flow to take care of kids, stopping the trying to flow to take care of the home, stopping the flow to go shopping, to make dinner, to have space in my own head to decompress for the day–

Last night I spent some time recreating hair color.  One day a few months back, my husband was playing Fire Emblem, and I decided my high fantasy realm would be a world of unusual colors.  Hair color changes took place in my elves.

My mind is always brainstorming in this world, even if the writing is not happening.
Once a writer, always a writer.  Once an artist, always an artist.  We’re constantly enveloped in the worlds our imagination creates, this will never die within us.  The words might not come, the art might not come, but it’s always there.

What inspires you today?  What are you writing?

Creative Energy

I have so much creative energy swirling in my head, and not the slightest idea how to let it out.  I pick up my sketch book, and it doesn’t help.
I open up a WIP document, and that’s not where it wants to flow either.

I open up my blog, and spend the next twenty minutes organizing blog posts so my flash fiction, Faet & Fantasy reads in order.  The first two episodes weren’t in the line up so I had to go fishing for them.  Now, they are ALL only categorized under ONE category.

After that, I had to take my son to martial arts, but my mind is a bursting flood of energy refusing to calm.

Perhaps it has to do with recent ignition, though I don’t know where the inspiration came from, however it has not stopped.  Meanwhile, I have little to show for it, though I direly wish to ride the wave where it will carry me!

Especially if it means I finish my first write so I can start editing it….  Though, this is a way off to finish, if I keep the energy up, perhaps the book can be done by the end of this year?

Many people are waiting on me to finish something, I don’t particularly know why I haven’t.  Maybe this Christmas I’ll sneak a peak into Eldegras for everyone with my Yule story finished.  Publish to Wattpad, get a few more short stories out there as teasers, and viola, the series comes along?

It sounds like a good idea in theory.  The execution is where I have trouble….

Today I miss having a piano.  I miss writing songs and poems.  Why have I stopped?  What possessed me to close up and hide within myself?

It surely hasn’t been a good thing, and only left me feeling directionless and without purpose…..

Here’s to purpose and raising more blog posts and stories again.  Once a writer, always a writer.  And I have most definitely always been a writer.

Blank Page

Hello white screen.

I’m here to stare at you again.

I have hopes that your magic powers of illumination will draw the Words from my brain.

Pulling them from the core of me, as my eyes stare beyond you into Universes still unknown to the world.

Yet you sit there.  Empty.

You are the one with greater power, scaring my ideas away.

Intimidating me, with your flashy white teeth, the ink wont bleed and discolor your face.

Perhaps we need to chat about my pursuits.

You see, I am trying to write a story.

As you flash the cursor line at me, blinking anxiously as my fingers wait to patter away at the keys…..

This is nonsense.  I should be greater than you!  I can slay you with that tiny little X at the top corner!  I can will you to go away!

……however, this causes me more problems than it does you.  You will smile one last time with a wicked laugh as you flash away victorious.

How do we meld our minds so that we might summon the words peacefully?  Drawing from my inner pool of creation as one might a fountain?

Blank page, I think of you all the day long.  I think of the words I might put to you.  The stories I anxiously wish to tell…..

And yet you remain.  Here.  Untouched.

Intimacy we should share!  My heart would overflow to you in a precarious romance, in which I slaughter my soul at the eyes of the world.

Summon from me words.  I beg you.

Draw each of them out.  Rend my soul if you must.  Just let them flow.

Blank Pages

Glaring white stares blankly at me.

The pages beg to be filled, and yet the words don’t come.

Nothing comes.

A jumble, a mess.  A train crash of thoughts scattered about.

To have sanity.  A semblance of direction, even just a moment when everything might be still.

Transitioning, they call it.  Becoming something new.  Entering something new.  Stepping out in the world alone.

But not so alone.  Compassion guides with a steady hand, and two young ones depend entirely on me.

And still the page stares blank.  The pen wont move.  The words don’t form.

How is one to write fiction, when surrealism has taken over?  It all feels as fiction might.  Pushing against the fourth wall, trying to break free of the confines one has fallen into.

When will security come so Creativity might flow?  When does anything make sense again?

And still the page stares.  Empty.

What Words Are These?

Writers Block might as well be called “Writers Constipation”.

I know, its rather gross an image.  But work with me here.  All blocked up in every project you’re working on, oh honey you’re just doomed.  Forever.

I’m there.  Blocked, flowing, blocked, flowing.  It’s an on/off relationship with Words.

Friends of mine are taking off by chapters and word counts, and I’m sitting here mournfully, wondering when the right concoction might cause the words to flow again.

After 13 years, SURELY my fantasy world had produced physical evidence in the real world?!

Technically, it has.  I have written five books quite successfully that are so poorly executed they will never see light of day.  For the best interest of anyone involved.

JP Haldenwang, a good friend of mine, has so sweetly volunteered to read a book I need to rewrite, for the beautiful sake of feedback.  Is the plot worth salvaging?  What parts should I drop altogether when I start over?

I am successful in my own way, I suppose.  My children are fed, clothed, bathed, happy–  and my proverbial children are dancing gaily in my head spinning new books ((One of which I am trying to write….)) and stories in my imagination.
Meanwhile, I work on art projects and make maps, beta read, read for reviews.  As a Multi-talented artist, and a supportive friend, I seek to help further my successful writer friends in their endeavors!

How wonderful it is to watch their blogs I share be viewed, and shared, knowing they’re getting exposure to the world in whatever tiny faucet I can offer.  My following is small compared to the wide world their books are apart of, but every ounce of promotion counts.  Who knows how many sales I have helped them receive by sharing their books and faces on my blog!

Perhaps one day, I will finally have my own published book to join theirs.

Meanwhile, it’s the little things that count.  Force yourself to write.  Start small, keep a commonplace journal, but whatever you do WRITE.  And don’t stop when the trickle turns to running water.  Let it all out.
It’s not good for your mood, your inner peace, how you view yourself….
Blocks don’t make you a failure.  They make you human.

And we are that, dear writer.  Humans with evolving emotions.  Our minds open and change year after year, experiencing so many new things.
Let the stories grow with you.
We all start somewhere.

“Verbs?  Those are what, remind me?”
“Adverbs?  I certainly never knowingly acknowledged their existence.”
“What do you mean people don’t talk like that?  That’s how it sounded in my head….?”

JUST WRITE.  Relish the beautiful thing you did in finishing a book.  And then when you go back to read it and edit it, REMIND yourself that it is beautiful, because YOU finished it.
Now perfect and polish it until it gleams.  One. Scene. At. A. Time.
We become overwhelmed when we allow the negative thoughts to tarnish our success.
Writing a book is an incredible thing.
Perfecting a book is a difficult, and still incredible thing.

Only YOU can stop YOURSELF from finishing it.  So don’t.
Block out all of the noise around you, and tell your story.  It is worth telling.

Writers Block

For some reason, I’m suffering from unshakeable depression.  It’s as though there’s an unsatiable chasm in my chest, draining away all of my energy, creativity, and distorting all of my emotions.
This is also affecting my ability to write, and make beautiful things come to life in words.  Which causes further frustration, leading to more wilting away of self.
I’m finally home with my husband again – there’s no desire or longing for our relationship to improve, I wonder why it even exists.
I’m finally back in my house, to do as I please – and the reminders that I am literally alone in this empty part of the country creep in, shadowing the gratitude I have to being home.
I’m finally able to sit down and write my story for an upcoming anthology – and nothing feels right.  Nothing desires to be written.  The story I am working on I am going to shelve, and see if something else comes up.  I have until mid-May, surely there’s a story floating out there wishing to be told.  I hope very much that it jumps into my head and allows me to bear it witness.
Story telling is my life.  Without it I am nothing.  My religious convictions are my life, without them I am nothing.
Today, I lie in bed – my mother tending my son, both thinking I am asleep – as my emptiness lends to the withering of my soul.  I must find something to slay the beast, in order to perk my spirits!  Alas, is this depression debilitating.
And I roll over, closing my eyes, wishing the world away.