words words words

Last night was the second in my series of four Young Adult writing workshops. But mostly, last night was the night I shared the first chapter of my book. Thom and Piper made a grand debut! I've never shown people my book (except you all seeing the little clips from November.... but you all aren't people. You are wonderful wonderful little gems who I love.) But last night I showed the first chapter to a successful current YA author and my writing group.

I have loved this writing group because we are all writing the same genre. There are a lot of variations in WHAT we are writing, but it's all YA. It's so helpful because you are getting criticism and feedback from people who know the genre and who are legitimately trying to help you. In my creative writing class at school, it's just an intro class so a lot of the people aren't literature majors or they are writing very different genres. Because the genres are so different, sometimes it's hard for them to critique my pieces because they are coming from entirely different worlds. But this group was tailor made for me. I really hope we can all find a way to keep writing together even after the four sessions are over. Input is so valuable.

But, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. Let's talk about the first week of the workshop. The first week we had an editor and literary agent come and talk with us. When sending out query letters to agents, most often all you are sending to them is the first five pages of your novel. And. That's. It. So what if your writing in chapter three is flawless, all they are seeing is the first five. Anyway, one of the first things they said to us was that prologues are NOT a good way to go. A lot of readers don't even read them (which ASTOUNDED me. If someone has written something in a book, I read from 1 to the end.) This was a crap sentence to hear because guess what my book starts with.... a prologue. Shit. They also said you can really tell when words are a writer showing off and which are for the characters. THIS. This was important. I can name so many books where writers are merely showing off.

All of this was a huge wake up call. I knew that I wrote the prologue because I felt the first chapter of my book wasn't strong enough on its own. I need to pad my first five pages so an agent would read it and see that I really do have talent. That's not right. It should all feel strong. I should feel proud of all of it and not try to sneak scenes through the cracks, hoping they won't be noticed.

I also realized that my prologue was so self serving. This book is based on an experience I had. And when I wrote the prologue, I wrote it as me, not Piper. It was me mostly saying, here's this story "not about me" and here's why it matters to ME so suck it. It was more like a diary entry. The farther into the book I got the less that part even sounded like Piper. It was pretty words but it was all for me, not the reader or the characters. That's not my job as a writer.

So this week before the session when I knew I'd be sharing my first five pages, I rewrote the entire first chapter. I kept a few snatches of conversation but I rewrote all of it. And the group really liked it! The visiting author (who was very cute and talented) said it felt like a John Green novel!! Getting a small comparison to my favorite author is something I'll take lovingly! The majority of the comments were about how authentic and real my dialogue felt and they liked the characters. I'm on the right track everyone!

After I got home last night, I read through the critiques they left on my pages and rewrote the first chapter AGAIN. So now the first 8 pages have been changed. Three times. And while I was changing those around, I realized there is an entire plotline in the book that has to be taken out. I'm finally starting to understand how hard writing a book is. And I'm so excited. That's the biggest thing I'm taking away from these workshops. I feel so inspired to keep writing. Critiques aren't discouraging but encouraging! Readers see things writers don't and when I see some of their critiques it's like a huge duh moment of "why didn't I think of that? That's so much better than what I had!"

I always remember John Green saying that in Looking for Alaska his plot element about his main character's obsession with last words didn't make it into the novel until the 10th draft. WHAT. That is a main theme in the book; the book doesn't work without it! But knowing that excites me. If I'm this proud of what I've written so far, who knows what this book will become by the time it is published? We will have to wait and see.

Thank you all for supporting me and watching me grow. I cannot wait until the day I can share this book with you all. I love you all.

via *

this is about writer's block

1234
12:34
A long day rings in a longer night.
It's hard to speak when the voice
squeaking out of your mouth isn't your own.
Are my poems working? Are they worth it?
I'm not writing about war. I'm not writing about Europe.
I'm writing about nostalgia, the taste of him
running along my collar bone.
I'm writing about love, lust, sex.
We can't all be Dickinson. Some of us are more Neruda.
Some of us can't shake Venus off of our shoulders.

1238
12:38
Too much culture can quiet a roar,
reduce it to a barely palpable huff at
a dinner table at an awkward family party.
Intimidation is the most powerful contraception.
I'll never write like them, I'll never paint.
Look at them float their words into my ear
like gifts while I scramble to remember what
rhymes with orange. Do I look like a writer?
Can I even fill the remainder of this line?
One more to make an even stanza. Cop out.

1249
12:49
She says to me, people want to hear the
shitty things that happened to you. She's right.
People want to hear about love, lust, sex.
People want to hear the memories I can tell them,
full of MY voice, MY thoughts, My words and sounds,
not theirs. I cannot be them. They cannot be me.
Screw the deadlines I set for myself, the lines I
draw in my own metaphysical sand. There are only
so many words you can surround yourself with
a day until your own words start to become muted.
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW.

1253
12:53
Is it broken? The hammer? Did it fall?
Have words coaxed the words from their mousetraps?
Is the Great Wall of China truly visible from space,
or is it only visible in China when you stand
bashing your fists against its blocks?
We will give it a try, as always. Break it out.
Thom is talking, tall and true. Piper pleads and pines.
His hands find my hip, his eyes flash honey.
I'm 14, kissed for the first time. I'm 22, reflecting in my bed.
I can hear me now.

via *

females of the world interview

Hello lovelies! Last week I was asked to do an interview about my writing over on an amazing blog called Females of the World. I talk about my inspirations, offer some advice to other writers, and talk a bit about my NaNoWriMo project. Please head over to their blog to see my full interview, but here's a little snippet :)

(1) When did you first realise that you wanted to be a writer?

I’ve always loved to read. When I was little my favorite part of my house was a corner nook wedged in between our bookshelf and the couch. I’d curl myself around my favorite pillow, snuggle under my blankets and read for hours on end. Words have always transfixed me and haunted me even from a young age. I remember writing little bits of my imagination on pages in my room and during school even when I was about 6 or 7.

I guess the real catalyst was in the fourth grade. Every day we had “writer’s workshops” where we had free time to write whatever we wanted, get two peer edits, and submit a final draft that was laminated for a portfolio. It felt so good and so natural to feel words spilling out of my fingertips and I always felt so proud to get those laminated pages back. I even wrote a longer book called “The Test” that was bound for me. Feeling a book that I wrote in my hand and being able to take it home and set it on the shelf next to my favorite books was the best feeling in the world. I’ve been writing ever since.

(2) We’ve read your novel excerpt on your blog and are already totally gripped by your story. Is this the first time you’ve taken part in NaNoWriMo? How long have you been working on this particular story?

Thank you for reading my blog! I always planned to give NaNo a try for years, ever since I heard about it. I tried my first year in college but couldn’t find the time to write among the drudgery of my actual homework. This is the first time I’ve given my all to NaNoWriMo. I decided to do it this year because this is probably the only year I’ll have that I am only working and not trying to balance school as well. It’s been very challenging but somehow I’ve kept my word count up!

I’ve been working on this particular story for a few years. I hadn’t written anything prior to NaNoWriMo but I’ve had the entire story on my mind since I was 17 and the events I’m writing about began happening. I knew it was meant to be a book. I’ve outlined the story and drafted the characters intensely since I turned 20. Outlining stories and getting characters exact before I begin the writing process has been a hard process. But now they feel so entirely engrained in my mind. They are more real to me than some people in my life.

Be sure to go check out the rest of my interview here! Go leave this great blog a little love and enjoy the interview :)

act three scene one

Here's my second little preview of my Nano project :) Enjoy the scene and let me know what you think.

Current word count: 17,108

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NaNo Preview 1

Here is the first snippet of the novel I'm working on this year for NaNoWriMo! Let me know what you think. So far, so good!

Total word count to date: 8,179 of 50,000 words completed.

*a note about this selection. Thom is not a vampire. That right there is a metaphor. Taking things out of context is hard sometimes. I will not be writing Twilight the sequel. K. Back to regularly scheduled writing.

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Two Hearts

Enmeshed in each other,

violet eyes locked, 

your heart beating against my palm

Your scent lives in my lungs,

huddled into my chest,

hugged by my ribs. 

Em

via WeHeartIt

september orange

A gasp of sunlight pulls through

the September orange coating the walls,

curling with the winds and rains

of an approaching storm.

The eloquence of your heartbeat

grows stifled and changed,

enumerating your fears,

encapsulating them,

dragging you down.

A moment of grace deflowered by regret.

A breath of tomorrow exhaled by desire,

inhaled by reality.

Em

via Tumblr

Work in Progress

Here is the start of a short story I am currently working on! I'm excited to share some of my writing on this blog other than just personal stuff. I'd love to hear some comments from you all :). The story is based on my favorite work of art by my favorite artist, Banksy. Perhaps you know it. This story is far from over but here is the start of it. Enjoy!

Early in the spring of her 21^st year, Heidi Chapel reclined gently in a meadow of baby’s breath and lilacs. The clouds hung lazily in the indigo sky of the early May evening. She reached her hand out to her side, running her fingers through the grass, letting it tickle her arms until goose bumps rose up like tiny anthills along the smooth pavement of her flesh. Her breath came out in slow easy sighs, blending with the music of the wind combing through her hair.

It was amazing to Heidi that being alone could taste so sweet. But only by being alone could she truly feel connected to anything anymore. With her mind silenced and the grass pressed against her cheek Heidi became part of the Earth. She sank herself deeper and deeper into the ground until she felt roots spring from her mind anchoring her to the world.

The wind stood still for a moment as a voice rose up beside her. “Haven’t seen you here for a bit, Heidi. Welcome back.”

She tilted her head toward his voice as he sat down next to her. A smile flirted onto the corners of her mouth. “Speak for yourself, Andy. I never left Wonderland. I’m here in my mind all the time. Where have you been?”

“Oh, here and there.”

“Doing?”

“Oh, this and that.”

Heidi chuckled and turned away. “Always the enigma.”

“Yes of course. But not today. Today is a special day, Heidi. Today is-“

“I know what today is, Andy. How could I not? But please, let’s not talk about that. Let’s just rest here a minute.” Heidi closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it fall out of her mouth in a heavy sigh.

“Heidi, we-“

She put her hand up to stop his words, before lowering her finger to her lips, shushing him. “Don’t ruin today, please. Just let me fall asleep in the grass and don’t wake me up,” she whispered.

“Ok, Heidi. Rest easy. I’ll stand watch, just like when we were young. I’ll keep the monsters away.” He looked at his sister lying in the grass, the wind now a velvet blanket easing her to sleep. “The monsters won’t find you here. I’m King Arthur, remember?”

“I’ll fight the monsters, my lady! I’ll chase them away, for I am King Arthur, brave and true!” Andy was ten and sporting a bright yellow cast. Tromping through the bushes, he swung his sword gallantly.

Over on the other side of the yard, Heidi held down tree limbs forming her prison. Her eight-year-old voice called out to her brother in alarm, “They are coming closer, Arthur! Don’t let them eat me!” Her pitch grew as she continued crying out support to the brave soldier battling the invisible monsters invading their homeland.

Her knight fought bravely. The trolls were toppled, the sea monster shamed, the dragon defeated, and the goblins groveled on their knees to be spared. “I am a merciful King, you beasts! If you promise to serve no one else but me and my sister, you may live.”

“PAUSE!” Heidi shrieked as she ran from her prison cell and feel onto her knees in front of her brother. Scrunching her face, and shrinking her arms until she resembled a newly hatched T-Rex, Heidi presented herself before her King. “We the goblins promise to be loyal subjects! I will take out the garbage for you and your sister and… and… make all of the beds!”

“You must shake my hand for the deal to be good, you disgusting creature.” King Arthur extended his good arm out to his sister. Slowly, she gripped his hand as he shouted, “From this day on this girl shall be my slave! Heidi Chapel will forever serve me, the mighty KING ANDY!”

“That’s not the game, Andy! Let me go!” Andy tightened his grip on her hand as she struggled to pull away. She toppled him, pushing herself on top of him, still trying to free her hand. The two twisted and turned about the yard, grass stains piling up on Andy’s cast and Heidi’s new white summer dress. With angry tears flowing down Heidi’s face, her throat sore from shouting, the fighting wore on until a voice sounded from within the house.

“ANDREW DANIEL CHAPEL! What do you think you are doing? You know you have to be more careful with that cast! Get up right now before you need a matching one on your right arm! Heidi, look at your dress! What are you, a barn animal?” Their mother was an imposing woman in her cream-colored blazer and navy dress. She had her hair twisted into a tight bun, not a hair daring to move out of place. Her kind eyes, revealing an inner child that couldn’t be deterred from playing just by wearing stiff clothing, softened her imposing air.

“MOM! Andy says I have to do all his chores for him because I shook his hand! But I wasn’t shaking his hand, Mom! He was being King Arthur and I was being a goblin!”

“But you always look like a goblin, stupid! That’s why the trick worked,” Andy laughed.

“MOM!”

“Andy, be nice to your sister! Playtime is over. Heidi, you don’t have to do any chores but your own chores. Andy, apologize to your sister. And both of you get in this house right now. You both have to change now before we go to lunch with your grandmother. Hurry up.” As she turned around, her motherly scowl turned into a smile that reached from ear to ear and warmed her soul.

Apathetically, Andy rolled his eyes toward his sister. “Heidi, I’m sorry I said you looked like a goblin. And I guess since you’re a baby who got mom involved you don’t have to do my chores.”

“I’m NOT a baby and you’re NOT sorry! I hate you forever and I’ll never talk to you again!” Heidi ran off into the house, leaving King Arthur defenseless and alone in the golden afternoon.