About Writing

Lost Whimsy

Lately YouTube has been recommending videos about ‘The Witcher’ to me (totally didn’t watch ’em).

It’s a title that I’ve known for several years because I dabble in video games, but it’s not something that I’ve ever been personally interested in. Basically, I know enough to understand the parody reference in ‘Graveyard Keeper’, but I’ve never considered playing ‘The Witcher’ myself, let alone reading any books.

I assumed that the title had been made into a movie or something, and once again dumped it into my “don’t care” bin.

The other day my husband and I decided to watch an episode of ‘Sherlock’, so we ventured outside of Netflix Kids for the first time since . . . ‘Stranger Things 3’ came out. Lo and behold, there was a giant advertisement for ‘The Witcher’! Mystery solved, it’s a Netflix Original.

Instead of watching ‘Sherlock’, I launched into a rant: “You know what I really hate? The fact that the mass media treats the fantasy genre like its synonymous with dark, gritty violence.”

Seriously.

The Chronicles of Narnia and the Hobbit have been reduced down to endless war scenes in their latest Hollywood remakes. Heck, even Twilight and Harry Potter end with drawn out battle scenes. All of the online Originals seem intent on portraying the most graphic violence they can. Game of Thrones is . . . what it is.

I miss the old fantasy movies, where everything is covered in glitter, unlikely characters protect babies, True Love conquers all, and David Bowie serenades a wide-eyed Jennifer Connelly while she’s wearing the most beautiful ballgown ever created.

I miss the whimsy that fantasy used to represent.

My umbrage isn’t even ‘for the children.’ It’s for me. I grew up in a world full of wars, mass shootings, terrorist attacks, and endless news stories about people dying in horrific ways. There’s only so much a person should be expected to take, you know? I’ve reached the point where I really want to escape with my escapism. I don’t want the endless reminders of how dark the real world can be. I don’t want to watch graphic violence and death. Enough is enough.

I want to laugh. I want to feel inspired. I want to swoon over how visually pretty that scene was. I want something to be excited about. I want Jennifer Connelly’s ballgown.

And I’m a fantasy geek, so I want it wrapped up with fairies and magic. Is that really too much to ask?

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About Writing

Almost there?

And just like that, the rewrite is done.

Time for more editing and proofreading, LAWL.

The bulk of the hard work is finished, and now I get to sit back and experience my novel from the perspective of a reader rather than a writer, with mostly nitpicky changes rather than anything major. It’ll be fun.

And

Very shortly, I will start promoting my novel instead of being so darned secretive about it.

Exciting!

About Writing

New Decade

Since it’s a new decade, I have been thinking a lot about what I want out of the next ten years. The themes that kept me occupied during the 2010’s are (hopefully) over and done with, and at this point I feel established enough as a wife and mother that I don’t need to wonder what the heck I’m doing anymore.

I definitely want to write more fiction. I would very much enjoy publishing a new book every year, as well as writing more novelettes — heaven knows it would enable me to get more of my creative ideas out there, instead of having them perpetually on the back burner while I focus on bigger projects. Bonus: I’m more comfortable publishing novelettes as I write them, as the shorter length makes them more manageable and less prone to “I changed my mind.”

I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and I feel that this is the decade to really put myself out there. I’m not going to expect instant results, but hopefully by the time 2030 rolls around, I’ll have an established audience for my stories.

I’m going to make the most I can out of the 2020’s.

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About Me

The Accolade

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Wikipedia Link

I first saw this picture during one of my babysitting jobs as a young teenager. I don’t remember much, but the dad had been one of those geeky sorts who liked computers, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars, so a large copy of this painting was hanging in the front room that was intended for guests (not children).

After putting the kids in bed, I tiptoed downstairs to study it. I loved the solemnity of the scene, the folds of shimmering fabric of the woman’s dress, and the way her long hair caught the light. It was beautiful.

As I grew, I learned to hide a number of things while out in public. No one knew that I liked The Chronicles of Narnia, Neopets, or The Legend of Zelda. I wasn’t outgoing enough to obtain any sort of popularity with the normal kids, but the stereotypical geeks saw me as too “flighty” to have anything to do with me. As an outcast, I did everything I could to blend in and be invisible, because, as I so painfully learned, people are capable of enormous cruelty towards each other.

The image of the woman and the knight was permanently in my head. I wanted to grow my hair out, but was too scared. I bought shirts with flouncy sleeves whenever I could, but always defaulted to t-shirts when it came to school or work. The idea of being Obviously Different on a daily basis was terrifying.

Until skinny jeans and messy buns came along.

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

It was too far away from what had literally taken my breath away several years before.

I KNEW what I thought was beautiful, and fashion was moving in the exact opposite direction. I balked at the idea of following along just to be invisible.

This happened during a major transitional period in my life, so while I was busy dropping out of college and eloping with my soulmate, I embraced being Different. I quit wearing jeans and t-shirts altogether, and that opened the floodgates for everything that was me.

Video games, fantasy novels, horror movies, sewing, pink, glitter, etc. All of it. I became myself, inside and out, no matter where I was. I quit hiding.

Sometimes it’s still awkward. I’m still introverted, after all, and people can’t help but notice me out in public. Not only do I wear unique clothing, I have a growing number of children running around me as well. I often don’t know what to say in reply to the comments I get — especially the compliments. One thing is certain though: my family and I are memorable.

And I still aspire to be that serene woman draped in shimmering fabric with cascading locks.

About Me

The Doldrums

Every single year, January finds me feeling sluggish and unmotivated. I prefer to hibernate on cloudy days, and avoid having anywhere to go or much to do. I don’t mind — its nice having a break from the usual activities that keep me occupied throughout the rest of the year.

But it also means that I’m not in the mood for blogging.

Cuz meh.

I’ll be in my sewing room, learning how to make smocked bishops.

About Writing

Inspiration and Blocks

The other night I had a dream that can be best summarized as a thoroughly awesome expansion of my Dragon King writing prompt story. The dream had a rich fairy tale atmosphere, and plenty of back story to really get the imagination going. As soon as I was up, I pulled out my binder with the intention of writing a prologue to lock in the idea — and yes, I was going to share it too.

The best I could manage was a rough outline.

Le sigh.

At the very least, the idea is solidly recorded, and eventually one day I will transform it into a proper story. But for now, I have nothing sharable. In all likelihood, it will be about five or so more months before I return to posting any short stories or novelettes. It’s honestly a bit disheartening to feel like that part of my brain is shut off for the moment.

I’m thankful that the first draft of my novel is finished, and I’m editing/rewriting rather than trying to come up with sentences from scratch. On the bright side, I won’t have any new ideas distracting me from finishing it. Just fatigue, lol.

So far I’m on track for finishing by the end of this month, but I’ve also caught a bad case of the gremlins, so fingers crossed and knock on wood. Maybe I should buy a second flash drive to save more back up copies . . . just in case.

About Me

Birthday

I’ll be turning 32 at some point during this month.

I grew up with the whole, “Hide your real age and try to look younger,” shtick, but I’m really enjoying the whole process of growing older and more mature. It wasn’t until my 30th birthday, for example, that I decided I didn’t care what sort of hairstyles everyone else said would look good with my face type, and that I would do what *I* thought was pretty instead. Personally, I like the way I look much better now than I did ten years ago.

I enjoy being a weird homemade bohemian goth with a gazillion kids WAY more than I ever liked wearing t-shirts and jeans, and working a full time job.

Other benefits of being in my 30s include finally working up the courage to self-publish my fiction, without taking it as a criticism when I didn’t instantly turn into an overnight success story. I’m rather glad I don’t have that burden right now.

I think it will be an absolute blast when I hit middle age and start speaking my mind without worrying about what everyone will think of me. Hopefully for everyone else, leggings will have fallen out of fashion by then.

Truthfully, sometimes I fantasize about being more publicly visible and influencing people away from that particular trend. Because seriously, it’s a pretty stupid when women dictate to me that leggings are more “comfortable” when I’m wearing culottes. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that attributes like “breathable”, “nonrestrictive”, and “flattering” didn’t count as comfortable. My bad.

Besides, I’m nearly 32 and I have a gazillion kids. I have no interest in trying to flaunt every detail of my body like I’m 22. I’d like to age with dignity and keep my cellulite to myself.

Lol, tangent.

Anyway, I remember being that t-shirts and jeans person, lying on the floor of my studio apartment, staring at the ceiling and wishing more than anything that I could quit my job and be a full-time author. I wanted it so badly it hurt, but every inquiry I made to publishers went nowhere and I was too terrified of failure to strike out on my own.

I wonder why, when I had all the time and energy I could possibly need, my approach to the world was so limited and fearful.

Oh, my darling young self, you have no idea what could have happened if you had been courageous enough to create your own path.

Live ‘n learn. I was the best I knew how to be, and that was enough to lead me here. After all, 32 is hardly decrepit.

When I think about the future, I see myself overflowing with creativity and surrounded by a gazillion loved ones. I look forward to my birthdays, and marking another year of growing and maturing with the people who matter the most.

About Writing

Back to writing

Now that the holidays are (mostly) over, my delusion is that I’ll be able to jump back into writing and finally finish that novel I’ve been working on for the past 18 months. If I religiously devote just an hour a day, I should have the rewrite done by the end of January.

You know, provided that the sky doesn’t randomly open up and start raining killer sharks or anything like that. Life knows how to be a bitch, so I’m always reticent to make any sort of announcements about the future, only to follow up with a “Lol, jk.” I guess this reflects how many killer sharks I’ve dealt with over the last umpteen years.

But anyway, tentatively speaking, I should start “promoting” in February, and let slip what all my vague references were about all along. That way, this novel can be over with and out of my hair so I can have my new baby in peace.

And start my next novel during all those hours I’ll be off my feet with a newborn. What can I say? My mind is always brimming with stories to tell, and sleep deprivation is a fantastic channel for inspiration, lol.

About Me

Journal

Christmas is looming ever closer. We’ve started the official countdown.

Finally feeling ‘second trimester-y’, which means less gagging and more energy. And baby wiggles.

Wanted to make coffee this morning, but discovered that we forgot to clean out the french press from . . . forever ago. Yuck. Chai tea instead.

Spent the entire weekend making gingerbread houses with my husband and kids. Still haven’t cleaned up the dining table. So. Much. Candy. We had tons of fun.

Christmas sewing. The pants I made for my son are absolutely perfect and very dapper. I’m not sure why I decided to do puff sleeves on the girls’ dresses when I have such a tight deadline, because going sleeveless would have been considerably faster. Maybe because puff sleeves are just too adorable. With any luck, I’ll get them finished in time.

Child #2 came down with a fever. I’m expecting everyone (myself included) to get sick before the end of this week. Might throw a wrench in the works. Curse you, cold and flu season!

At the very least, the next eight days will be interesting.

The Scion Suit

The Scions – 1

Don’t get excited.

Seriously.

I wrote this section because of insomnia, but for the time being I have no intention of continuing the story for at least several months.

Like I said, I wrote this because I couldn’t sleep, so it definitely could use plenty of refinement. But for the moment, I’m busy with preparing for Christmas/managing kids that are growing exponentially excited every single day, so I don’t really have the brain power at the moment.

Without further ado,


The Scions

Lambert had opened the curtains of the cabin to let in the morning sun, only to discover that a Suit was casting its shadow across his window. He gave himself a moment to let the sight sink into his mind, knowing that it meant Carol had come through for him, and that the Aurigans had accepted his proposal of joining them. Although there had been no other communication, this new Suit was obviously meant for him to climb aboard and pilot back to meet them, wherever they were hidden. His retrieval was nowhere near as grand as Carol’s had been, but it was still happening.

He realized that he was laughing. When he had first seen that mouse of a woman, flustered and nervous as she sat alone in that tiny interrogation room, he hadn’t the slightest inkling that she would one day take him to the stars – literally. The best that he had hoped for out of the acquaintanceship was a promotion in the military.

Instead, Carol had cost him his position as captain. Her following absence had made her encroach increasingly into his thoughts, until he had found himself drunk and alone in his hunting lodge, and she had unexpectedly flashed back into his life. The Suit outside was proof that they would be reunited again, and much sooner than he had hoped for.

Lambert thought about whether or not he should put any lingering affairs in order, or if he should simply disappear without a trace. He had no family, and had ranked everyone he had known as either ‘subordinate’ or ‘superior’ rather than by any metric of friendship. The material items in his life would not miss him.

He walked silently to the bathroom, where he showered to rinse away the sluggishness of a hangover, then very carefully shaved the stubble that had grown over the past few days of apathy and booze. Finally he dressed smartly in civilian clothes, choosing a well-pressed navy button-up shirt and slacks. After giving himself a thorough examination in the mirror, he went outside and hesitated as he breathed in the fresh morning air, marveling at how real and vivid nature around him felt now that he was leaving it forever.

Then he climbed into the Suit.

The interior whirred to life after the door closed, and a computer voice chimed, “User detected: Welcome Guest. Run autopilot program ‘Return home?

“Yes,” Lambert answered, his throat tight. He hated the way the Suit squeezed when it adjusted itself to the user, and had passed over his chance to pilot the original to avoid the repeated sensation of claustrophobia. In retrospect, after it became apparent that unintended side-effects had damaged MSG Hartmann’s brain, it had been a fortuitous decision for him personally. He wondered how the Aurigans would deal with that complication once he joined them – he wasn’t going to spend a second longer than necessary inside the Suit until he knew the answer.

There was a jerk as the jets kicked on and the Suit flew upwards, higher and higher than Lambert had ever imagined himself traveling before. It was surreal to watch the curve of the Earth grow wider and deeper, until it took his breath away to realize that he was now viewing a complete circle. And still, the Suit traveled onward.

As the Earth grew smaller behind him, the moon grew larger before him, and he unconsciously noted the rocks and hills of the surface before the Suit zipped him out of the light and into darkness. There, on the far side of the moon, the Aurigan ship was waiting.

Lambert half expected to discover a hodgepodge gathering of alien ships lurking unseen in the shadow of the moon, all of them secretly observing the nearby Earthlings as they swapped stories and goods with each other. In contrast to his imagination, the single ship was a lonesome sight. However, although the angle was different, he recognized it as the one that had hovered above base, the one that Carol had been sent to investigate then never returned from. He would later learn that it was a simple research vessel, a common and unassuming ship for the Aurigans, but it was impressively larger than any aircraft that existed on Earth.

As his Suit approached the ship, doors opened and he entered into what looked like a cargo bay. When his feet touched the floor, the Suit relinquished control back to him, and left him free to move about on his own. As he flexed, trying to feel natural inside a giant mechanical body, it struck him that his muscles were stiff and sore. A quick check of the Suit’s chronometer revealed the journey had taken close to five Earth hours, and a strange jolt jumped through him. He hadn’t been remotely aware of that much time passing, and wondered how on it had been possible. Had the Suit messed with his brain?

A door on the far end of the room opened, and two more Suits entered, slowly coming toward him. In many ways they were visually identical, and if they had been standing still he would have never been able to guess at who could have been piloting them. But one of them moved with a body language that Lambert would recognize and know on his death bed.

Carol had come to greet him.