Writing Challenges!!!!

Ugh, for being a woman, I’m horrible at multi-tasking. 

I haven’t been posting on my blog lately because I’ve been writing another novella. I tend to have my blinders on when I’m writing something. Great for being a writer....bad for being a blogger.

I also have a couple challenges coming my way that I was trying to prepare myself for. The first being a new NaNoWriMo- like challenge. Not official like NaNoWriMo, I don’t think it’ll have a webpage or anything but still. I only started writing seriously in November so I came too late to the party to be involved in it but I really liked the idea. For those that aren’t familiar, it stands for National Novel Writing Month and the challenge is to write 50K words in November. 

So, I was recently skimming KindleBoards and saw a new challenge for February, write 60K words in 29 days. EEEEEEK!

Okay, if I thought NaNoWriMo was scary...this is crazytown.  Once you break it down though it’s only 2069 words a day. Normally, I write between 1000 and 2000 words a day but mostly only because I’m bloody lazy and love to dick around on the internet for hours. So...if I just cut out a little bit more internet-time-suck then I’ll totally be able to do it.

Right?

Hello???

Anyway, the other challenge I had in mind was Blogging A-Z in which you write a blog everyday of April, except for Sundays. Each day has a letter (starting with A) that you have to base your post on.

Again, I really liked the idea when I first heard it and immediately started planning for it. But now, after not really posting much in the past month because I was so task focused on writing a book, I’m reconsidering. After all, I want to be a writer, not a blogger. I blog because I enjoy it, not because I want to make money off it so I don’t think it’s a good idea to turn it into something I’m forced to do. Also, I really don’t want the blog to turn into “Oh look what stupid post she put up now so that she can get through a challenge she’s only half-assed committed to”.  No one wants to read that blog. 

The Hardest Genre to Write

I think it would have to be comedy. If you’re going to write something funny, first you have find a way to make a situation funny and next to write it in a way that the reader also finds funny.  Or at least gets that it’s suppose to be funny.

It sucks writing something you find hilarious only for the reader to think it’s sad or cruel (at least I imagine it would). I guess that’s the fine line dark comedies walk. 

It’s also really hard to write a punch line. I suppose it’s easy for someone who is naturally hysterical, but that’s not me. I’m funny, yes, well kind of, but I don’t always know why. 

I guess the trick is to write whatever tickles your particular fancy and if other people appreciate it then all the better. But isn't that the way with all writing? Write for yourself and you'll always have an audience and all that.

Ooops...there it goes

Does a story ever just get completely away from you?  Like, you start off writing something that you think is going to be totally, awesomely, A and then, eventually...over a period of paragraphs, it starts to feel a little more B-ish...and before you know it, the damn thing’s become full-blown C?

God I hate that! Take this damn story I’ve been writing for weeks now...It started as a writing prompt “Write a story about an uninvited guest showing up at a party”...awesome! I had some great ideas and I finally went with a funny story about unrequited love. It was going to be good. But then I started listening to a lot of Moist (as stated previously) and that shit’s anything but funny. So, feeling all dark and tortured, the story took on this new, sad...dark and tortured edge that I just wasn’t digging. I’ve since erased all that nonsense and gone back to my comedic roots (the stories comedic roots that is).

The trouble is now I don’t know where the hell to take it. I’m seriously stuck, I don’t know what the hell to do with these characters and even if I did, I don´t know if I’d want to. I’m just a little fed up with this story and I think we need to take a break. Give eachother some breathing room. See other stories.

Does that happen to anyone else? That you spend so much time trying to keep a story on track that any interest you had in it just dissolves?

The Thing With Poetry

I heard once that poetry is great to write and murder to read. I both love and hate this idea. I love it because it’s kinda true and hate it for the same reason.  A lot of poetry is so chock-full of allusions and vague metaphors that a huge amount of research and speculation (or presumption) is required to make heads or tails of it. And that just isn’t my bag.  I’m never going to be someone who sits down and invests a whole wack of time on something that I don’t even know is good or not.  I know, it’s probably my own loss.

     Unfortunately, that’s not all. It would be easy if I could just say, “Nope, sorry, poetry just doesn’t do it for me.” But the fact is, I like a lot of poetry...it does in fact do it for me. Only a particular type though. I hate the flowery stuff. I hate the convoluted stuff.  Just say what you want to say without bringing your cousin’s neighbor’s pet octopus into it and expecting me to understand the reference. Because I don’t.

     That being said, I do like writing poetry. Maybe it’s too simple for some people but that happens to be why I like what I write. So there. Take this for instance.

The names of lovers and losers

litter the walls and stalls

Scribbled in pen and passion

Scratched with pins and sins

Whispered in ink and

hushed in paint

Ever remembered though long erased.

     I quite like it. I know I’m not supposed to say that since it’s mine but it’s true. I usually feel pretty proud once I finish a poem. Unlike when I finish a short story at which point the overwhelming feeling is usually frustration or disappointment or general self-loathing, but that’s another story.

Do you want to know what the underlying message in this poem is?

     Nothing.

     This a poem about people writing shit about each other on bathroom walls. It sucks and no matter how much paint is used to cover it up, the person will never forget it.  I think (and correct me if I’m wrong) that part is pretty clear. Does that make it bad? For that matter, what makes a poem good? Maybe I’ll enjoy it more once I know if it’s good or not. 

Lessons I'm Learning

  Writing is definitely a learning process. Not just style and grammar either. In the few  months I’ve been writing, I’ve changed the way I write. It’s much more structured now.
       Something I’m learning is how important it is to write with the internet turned off!  Between youtube, CritiqueCircle,  my blog roll and CNN (no, not the intelligent stuff, sadly) I can dick away hours and get zero writing done. But once I disconnect the internet, it’s like Boom! Take off!
       It’s also important to know more or less what I’m going to write about. Staring at a blank page is more terrifying for me than exciting. Is that wrong? I remember when I was looking at university programs and totally intimidated by the situation and my father couldn’t understand why. “This is exicting,” he said, “you can choose anything...blahdiblahblahblah”. And you know what Dad? No, it wasn’t. It was awful.
It’s like that with a blank page too. What if I start with the wrong premise, what if it leads to a bad place that I can’t get out of, what if everything just falls to shit and I quit before I can finish. And sure, you can go back, fix some things, make adjustments, but you can never really start again can you?
        I also know, that for sure I can't listen to music. When there's a good song on, I just can't concentrate on something else. For instance, if I'm driving in the car and a good song comes on, it's a huge pet peeve of mine if someone wants to talk during it. So, unless I listen to boring music, tunes are out of the question. And really, who wants to go out of their way to find boring music to listen to?
Maybe I’m putting too much thought into this. And no, writing is not really as stressful as I make it sound. At least not always. I’m still just beginning.

Maybe You'll Live Forever

“Mind if I join you?”  the girl from across the bar hollered. She had arrived alone. Kevin had watched her sitting at the bar, trying to catch the bartender in a conversation.  

“Seat’s all yours,” replied Kevin, gesturing. They’d been collecting strays all day at their table, what was one more.

                She made her way over. “I’m Violet, ” she said, sitting down.  She was cute with her dark eyes and short hair. Her clothes were simple but hugged her figure in a pleasing way.

                “I’m Kev, these are my buddies Andrew and Len. That’s...” he began, pointing to the girl across the table. Shit, he couldn’t remember her name.

                “I’m Kelly,” she said, saving him with a playful look.

                “Sorry, that’s Kelly.”

                The two girls at the end introduced themselves, letting Kevin off the hook.

                “Are you all in the same program?” she asked.

                “We are,” Kevin said, flicking a hand between himself, Len and Andrew.

                “I’m in economics,” Kelly said and rolled her eyes. Kevin barely knew her name but already had a thorough understanding of her distain for her program.

                “You’re in bio-med right?” Andrew asked the two girls at the end, showing them that they weren’t forgotten. Not by him.

                They nodded and whispered behind the backs of their hands.

                “And how’re you guys gonna die?” she asked, looking around the table.

                Kevin was slightly taken aback by the question.  It wasn’t unheard of, but they’d just met this woman. It was a bit sudden. Len put down his drink for the first time and the girls at the end stopped talking.

                “I just found out. Yesterday,” she said, cheerfully oblivious to the rest of the table.

                Kevin shifted forward in his seat. “Yesterday? How old are you?”  Her abruptness made more sense.

                “21. I’m a late bloomer,” she said with a smirk and shrug.

                “Jesus,” said Len. “All this time you had no idea?”

                “Nope. So come on, I showed you mine. How will you die?” she asked looking  into Len’s eyes.

                “Heart attack,” he gave up.

                Her eyes moved to the guy sitting beside him.

                “I get shot,” he said.

                “Wow, that’s dramatic,” Kelly said.

                “And you,” Violet asked the next person. They went through the rest of the table, learning all their deaths. It was Violet’s turn, “I’m going to drown.”

                Andrew shifted in his seat. Len and Kelly looked away. The two friends at the end of the table exchanged a look. Only Kevin spoke. “Shit....that’s-”

                “Yea, I know right?” she said, all the humour gone from her face. “Do you guys ever wonder if maybe it would be better...easier at least, if we didn’t know.”

                “Never knowing how you’re going to die?” Len asked.

                “Yea, leaving it a mystery,” she said.

                “And spending your whole life wondering how it would happen. Worrying every time you jumped out a plane or raced a car, smoked a fucking cigarette?

                “Or  whenever you got in the car or walked through a dark alley? Sounds fucking awful.”

                “I wouldn’t want to live like that. Christ, could you imagine?” Kelly asked. No one spoke for a moment.

                “I don’t know,” Kevin finally said.

                “Don’t know what?” Len asked.

                “How I’ll die. I still don’t know.”

                “What? You never told me that.”

                “You never asked.” The truth was, he’d never told anyone that he didn’t know. His dirty little secret.

                “Cause I assumed...I mean, you’re so much older.  How do you not know?”

                “How do you know?” Kevin said, defensively turning the question around. No one wanted to be the one to explain it to him.

                Violet took a deep breath. “You just...feel it,” she said, looking off somewhere.  “When I close my eyes, as I’m falling asleep, I imagine the water all around me, filling me. I suck it into my lungs. It’s there every night. Like an old blanket.”

                “But it’s itchy,” one of the girls added.

                The rest of them had stopped shifting in their seats. They looked down into their beers or over to the wall. Anywhere but at Kevin while they nodded.

                Violet turned her attention back to him. “So what does that mean, then? That you don’t know.  Are you lucky?”

                “Maybe I’m just a late bloomer too.”

                “Maybe it’ll be a surprise.”

                “Maybe you’ll live forever,” Violet said sadly. 

That's so 15 years ago...PSYCHE!

I’ve recently began reliving my teen-years and man am I loving it. What does that include you ask? Well, not insecurity, apathy and pimple cream I assure you. 

 It all started with re-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I have no idea why I started watching it again to be honest. It’s been years since I even thought of the show and I didn’t even watch the whole series when it was on. I think I stopped watching it in the beginning of the 6^th season. It got a little bit...heavy later on though.  But start watching it again I did and man is it good shit. How is this show is not still on? I see 90210, Mad About you, hell even M.A.S.H. is still re-running (and yes I understand that there is a big difference between MASH and Buffy but it’s also been a lot longer people). As if!  So where’s the Buffy??

I think I even enjoy watching it more now than before cause I get all the blink-and-you-missed-it dirty jokes and more of the references (my favourite being Trogdor the Burnator....I’m deep I know).  As goofy as the title sounds, it was a great show that had a lot of really significant story lines. It’s amazing that it’s still worth watching and relevant even after 10 years. 

I can’t say that for all the shows I used to watch though. I tried to get into Ally McBeal again. I remembered it being really funny and I loved it as a kid. I was really sad to learn that the show sucked. I watched a whole season before throwing my hands in the air in defeat. It wasn’t good.

Also, I started listening to music from the 90’s and omigod does that bring me back. Where did all the good music go? The 90’s were awesome for alternative rock. That’s what it was called at least...alternative. I don’t know what exactly that means or what the difference between that and regular rock is but that’s what we called it. These are the things I’m listening to the most right now:

Moist  (Creature) This was my very first C.D. I remember sitting on my bed and popping it into my little blue C.D. player and listening to it over and over again. I also remember feeling like the lyrics were vaguely sexual without really understanding why. I still don’t know what the fuck he’s singing about but damn if it doesn’t sound good.

Our Lady Peace ( Clumsy)- Anyone else remember when you couldn’t have the radio on for 10 minutes without hearing something from OLP?  This was a great C.D. I’m not a fan of the stuff they’ve done recently but this was the shit.

The Tea Party- nuff said

Silverchair – This band was the shit. Didn’t hurt that Daniel Johns was crazy hot

Econoline Crush- I totally forgot about this band until I started looking for 90’s music. Thanks to the “Big Shiny Tunes”, I managed to find a ton of old music.

Collective Soul (Precious Declaration, Smashing Young Man, Where the River Flows, Gel)....good gravy that’s good stuff!

                Oh man, this list goes on and on. 

                Now I just have to start drinking gut-rot inducing amounts of Rev and hanging magazine cut-outs on my wall and my regression will be complete.  I don’t think my husband would have the same enthusiasm for having Jason London, Skeet Ulrich and James Marsters plastered all over our bedroom as I do though (pouty face). I’ll ask.

Peace Out Peeps