A

Agog, adj.

I cannot imagine how hard this is for her. To hear me down the hall and remember how my skin looked when it was pressed against him instead of her. And then she goes and lets me into her room and starts to dance. She moves her hips and sways her head. She grabs my hands and makes me move with her. She makes me let go and she lets me be with her dancing our hearts out.

Agglomeration, n.

The whole world is made of bones and crushed flower petals and empty bathtubs. His hands on his back. His nails already had bits of my flesh underneath them, why not add more skin from another to help bury me further.

I never made you love me. I never made you pretend. But you're the one who said it first. You threw me in the air and dropped me in the puddle and you said it. You forgot to take me out of the puddle before you hydroplaned right through it.

via *

drinking shocktop on the hill

The raccoons fighting outside of my window sound like children being lowered into vats of boiling water and the sound of this song reminds me of your face in my hands. The indent you left on the pillow and the smell that rubbed its way along me as I curled into the sheets on your bed. Over shitty diner coffee you come alive for me and I feel sixteen again with your name on my lips. The tears never dried and the rip inside of my vocal cords has never healed quite right after all of those lonely nights screaming into my blankets.

I told you once what you did to me. I told you of the six year marathon I ran to get to you. I told you everything and no one stopped me, even though they knew it was meaningless. But at least you know. You know I loved you and you know what you were to me. You were golden days and painful nights. You were tears never wasted and the reason for years of sad poetry. You were a novel waiting to happen that people will read and see you as I did.

Once you said you'd loved twice in your life and that I was one of them. That was a pretty lie.

via *

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 *

echoes in the hallway

Voiceless echoes are coming for us.
They're crunching leaves and bones
against their molars and ripping jugulars
with their canines,
stabbing at the only flesh not burrowed
under dreams and blankets.

I can smell the sulfur. I can smell the heat.

Every waning fairytale on its last leg
hobbles back into the pages
and yet you stand. You. The unlit cigarette
hanging off of my lips, the funeral of smoke
strangling my uvula.

You hug me, the hole inches onward
toward six feet. A foot per year.
You loved me once.
You buried me forever.

via *

i am nothing without pretend

It's amazing how crushing you still feel on top of me,

even if it really was only once that your body weight

pressed into mine, made mine
 inconsequential.

This was the real first time, with love

and all that. A dorm room, plastered with childhood

and that beer pong smell. I only smelt turquoise and 

baby teeth.

We were babies swinging from monkey bars,
hanging by our chests and swinging
from our middles, eyes locking on
different points.

Fumbling for what was trying to come naturally, but
only as time wore onward would
we learn was only natural for
 one of us.

Even when we reached connection, you
pushed as deep as a needle inside of me,
my arms gave out from under me and
you faltered.

We moved independently together,
moths circling the same flame before death,
my right wing caught fire first, your left
burning just as quickly.

I still have burns and scars on my arm,
blisters and boils grow where they touch me.
Staying alone lets me stay with you, pretending
you wanted me. 

Via *

Inspired by:

remembrance and morphine

I'm not ready to write him.
Not ready to let him come
back to life.
I don't want to remember the good.
I don't want to relive the bad.
If I don't cry about it soon,
tears will have to start seeping
from every pore
and fall from my lashes like
snowflakes blown off of telephone wires,
buzzing, alive, alone.

I miss the beautiful destruction.
I miss throwing myself onto
hot coals for another human being.
Feeling another's glowing embers
embedded into my flesh,
eating it away.

But I do not miss any of them.
I don't miss the first one I loved,
his turquoise smell or loaded kisses.
I don't miss the second,
his day-old scruff and deceit.
I don't miss the third,
lovely and loving and lost.

Even though I don't miss them,
there are some I cannot bring
myself to write.
Still too fresh, still too bright,
still too real and sharp.
The pen has turned into an IV,
and it's full of remembrance
instead of morphine.

via *

prologue

More Thom and Piper today. This is the prologue to their story. Enjoy, lovelies.

I spot him the moment he walks in to the room, his Gatsby smile as bright as ever. His eyes scan the room, barely resting on one face for longer than a moment before moving to the next one. Until his eyes find mine. His charming smile becomes smaller, sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling with memory and time. I return the smile and raise my hand in a wave, bringing my hand back on to my heart. His hand finds his heart too as he offers a small bow in my direction. I chuckle and hold his gaze until someone grabs his arm, pulling him into a noisy conversation about his latest achievement. 

A small infinity had passed between us, a roller coaster spanning years. Although much had changed, I was still seventeen when he looked at me, nervous and loving- an old friend who had been there through it all. Although the love had changed and shifted, the tiny string still held us together. And as he continued his conversation with another old friend, I watched him talk, watched him work the room. The piece of hair still stuck up defiantly from the back of his head. I knew he would be livid when he glanced in a reflective surface to find his hair out of place. 

I’m glad it is over. I am glad I have moved on. I am also glad that there is still a tiny ache in my heart when I see him. That ache is pure and real. I earned that ache.

via *

let him in.

There are less than 24 hours of NaNoWriMo left. Here is another little peek of my story.

Current Word Count: 48,400

via *

lightning rod

I like him, I think.

I don't remember how that feels.

The tripping trepidation,

the bubbling bewilderment,

the thought of someone new

on the horizon. 

A few weeks back

he told me he was ready to

give up on love.

He's been so hurt,

his care never being returned.

He says my friendship means the world.

How do I tell him

I've been hurt too,

I've given all of myself

and lost every inch of who I was

for love.

His words always inspire me,

his last name sounds like adventure,

his first name sounds like hope.

He is an artist.

I'm weak for artists.

His mind is marvelous.

He makes me feel creative.

Heard.

Understood.

Worthy.

Talented.

I don't want to see our 

friendship disappear. 

I can't make him ready if he's not. 

But every time his name flashes

on my phone screen,

my heart flips.

I told him not to 

give up forever.

Just for now.

Wait it out,

love will strike again.

How do I tell him that he

has become my lightning rod? 

via *

fragile and new

More of Thom and Piper today. This scene is special. Achingly personal and tender. This is the song used. Start the song, then start the scene.

Current word count: 30,505

via *

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

via *

sharing headspace

I'm a few days into NaNoWriMo now and so far it's going pretty well. I've beaten my daily word goal, and I've failed making my daily word goal. I didn't stay too mad at myself for not making my goal some days, but as the days go by pressure is increasing in my own head. It's getting easier to slide back into this world of my characters since I am spending so much time there but it feels like running a marathon. During the writing I get an intense runners high but the moment the writing stops I want to sleep for three days and never write again. This is an intense challenge. It's testing me and pushing me a lot.

It's an interesting feeling to feel like I never really leave the world of my characters. I feel constantly inspired and I see them moving around in my head constantly. They are becoming more real in my head. I feel Piper, Eli, and Thom sitting on my shoulders whispering in my ears for me to write. "You have to tell our story, Emma. Why are you watching Reign (WHICH BY THE WAY IS AWESOME) at a time like this? Get my story on that paper, damn it!" That's Piper. She's needy. Eli is more forgiving. He lets me take coffee and reading breaks.

Rainbow Rowell talked a lot about staying in the world of her book during the time she did NaNoWriMo while she wrote Fangirl, which I talked about in this post. She said it helped her to never leave their world for too long because it kept her in the zone. She said, "During NaNoWriMo, I never left the world of the book long enough to lose momentum."

She also said this gem:

"I mean, I still didn't know if what I'd written was any good. (I hadn't even read it all in one piece!) But I was so excited about the novel, I wanted to write every day. And even when I wasn't writing, my brain was still working on the story." 

Same here, girl. Same here. I'm excited to be writing this novel finally and pushing all of it out onto a page. I'm following Rainbow's lead and not rereading my story at all, just keep pushing forward. The month is barely beginning and I'm already growing in motivation and fear that I won't possibly find energy or time to keep up with writing about 2000 words a day.

But these characters are not leaving me alone. Sharing headspace with them is exhausting and thrilling. They feel so real to me. Their lives feel real and powerful. I can't wait to share more with you :)

Current word count: 10,206

My mind after writing all day. What even is sleep?
via *

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.

via *

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