Writing Mood: Content

Its day 19 and betweens the blogs, notes, and novel I’m at 35,000 words. Yay! My novel is at 25,715 words which awesome for my 30,000 word goal. Again, I would love to reach 50,000 words, but if I don’t I still did really well. What counts is that I got parts of my novel written.

Lately, I’ve been in a writing and very creative mood. I feel like myself. . . like I can face the world with pen (sword) in hand.

Only frustration is when I get interrupted, it gets hard to get back into a drama scene. I sometimes have to reread my work and notes a dozen times. However lately its like my head can magically go back.

I still snap when someone interrupts me, and then I feel bad. Like the other night, I’m in my zone and I was sitting at the edge of my seat, and kept asking me “what are you doing?”

Now I could have gotten sarastic, and said “winning fake money at slots or petting my monkey. . .” but then he will just ask more questions.

He kept asking my mom until both her and I were irked. I snapped. I wasn’t mad. I was irked, annoyed. If he stood up, he would have saw the the pens and notebook out.

Even today the drunken neighbor asked “What was I do with the notebook and pen?” I could have said ” I am your new ruler, and I’m just now working on your million rules.” However I just said “I’m a write, and I write stories.”

I’ve learned that sarasm just isn’t that nice anymore and makes me sounds more like a cranky b*tch.

The thing that my uncle said the other night did get to me . . . “why aren’t you happy?”

Actually, minus a sleep issues, I’m pretty content right now. I don’t have to be explosive happy all of the time. I’m content writing in my own world.

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Writing Mood: Content

Its day 19 and betweens the blogs, notes, and novel I’m at 35,000 words. Yay! My novel is at 25,715 words which awesome for my 30,000 word goal. Again, I would love to reach 50,000 words, but if I don’t I still did really well. What counts is that I got parts of my novel written.

Lately, I’ve been in a writing and very creative mood. I feel like myself. . . like I can face the world with pen (sword) in hand.

Only frustration is when I get interrupted, it gets hard to get back into a drama scene. I sometimes have to reread my work and notes a dozen times. However lately its like my head can magically go back.

I still snap when someone interrupts me, and then I feel bad. Like the other night, I’m in my zone and I was sitting at the edge of my seat, and kept asking me “what are you doing?”

Now I could have gotten sarastic, and said “winning fake money at slots or petting my monkey. . .” but then he will just ask more questions.

He kept asking my mom until both her and I were irked. I snapped. I wasn’t mad. I was irked, annoyed. If he stood up, he would have saw the the pens and notebook out.

Even today the drunken neighbor asked “What was I do with the notebook and pen?” I could have said ” I am your new ruler, and I’m just now working on your million rules.” However I just said “I’m a write, and I write stories.”

I’ve learned that sarasm just isn’t that nice anymore and makes me sounds more like a cranky b*tch.

The thing that my uncle said the other night did get to me . . . “why aren’t you happy?”

Actually, minus a sleep issues, I’m pretty content right now. I don’t have to be explosive happy all of the time. I’m content writing in my own world.

Camp Nanowrimo July Update

Its almost half way through Camp Nanowrimo July 2018.

My word count so far is 23,057.

My goal is 30,000 words,

but it would be nice to get up or pass 50,000 words. I’ll still be happy if I get between the two goals.

I got part 1 out 5 finished in my book.

I’m excited about part 2, because I’ll be working on urban legends and horror stories.

Every time. . .

It seems every time I give myself writing goals something always happens. . .

First nanowrimo I got two weeks of migraines

Whenever I give myself a personal goal, I’ve had . . .

  • family issues
  • mental break down (unrelated to writing)
  • I was in a car accident
  • Headaches
  • Sinuses
  • Depression
  • Hand cramps
  • Sleep issues
  • Moving
  • Female issues

However I always seem to manage to get my main word count in. It is what I want. . .

This month not any different, I have my anemia (from endomentrial hyplasya I know I didn’t spell that right, its a fancy term for very heavy female periods) mixed with my sleep apnea. I slept the last 40 hours out of 48 hours. I can’t think straight or get my process muses. They are sleepy too.

I need to stop giving myself personal goals and simply write.

I’m taking today off to see if I get my mind to work on its own. I’m over 17,900 words, so I’m very ahead.

I’m tired. It’s sleep time.

Write about what you know

I’m writing a few scene where my main character meets her favorite author. . . her author gave her tips.

I decided to post these tips. . . I either read about them or experience them myself. . .again write about what you know.

My main character is in Los Angeles and runs into her favorite author, and here are the tips I gave my main character wanting to be a future author.

  1. The first draft is always confusion, and never perfect. (Those who wrote a prefect rough draft, may throw an empty pen.) My first draft is always a chaotic mess. Check out picture above.
  2. Research and outlines or notes are just important because good research really does set up you up to make the best draft you can. Note: you never stop researching, even if you know the subject.)
  3. Write about what you know or are interested in. It will keep you interested if you like what you are writing about.
  4. When it comes to the first draft give yourself a time limit. . . . like 6 to 8 weeks. If you give yourself more than there is a high chance you’ll lose interest. Try to have research and outlines or notes written ahead. (Even if I lost interest, I never throw anything out. I file it away.)
  5. I have better times when I write and other times when I edit. I’m usually most inspired to write between the hours 5 pm to 3 am especially if I am working on horror or paranormal stories. I usually edit the best between the times 8 am and 2 pm.
  6. When I edit and rewrite, I pull apart each scenes and I determine if that scene is important for character building or storyline.
  7. I reread my work out loud while editing.
  8. I give my self goals and rewards for editing, because I hate editing compared to writing.
  9. I keep praises.
  10. I try to criticizing words with a grain of salt. I know not everyone is going to like my work.

Her Path to Hell

 

Normally, these get posted on my blog site http://rqshortstories.wordpress.com However I clicked on the wrong blog. I’m working a few short stories over the weekend to wake my muses up for Camp Nanowrimo July.

Now onto the fictional story. . .

 

She shouldn’t have done it. Stress killed her rational thought, while she was still shattered and crushed from the breakup. She was in pain and still helped him. It was just type of person she was . . .loyal and devoted.

One half of her family yelling at her feeling used, but it was not her intension. It was never her intent, but she is not going back to the looks of bitter disappointment and half yelling lectures of being used with half rolled eyes watching her on her knees while telling her “we told you so.”
She also was not going to cause wedges between members, so she left and didn’t look back. It was best for everyone. She just didn’t know she was going down the dark path.

Everyone yelling at doctors. . . specialist telling everyone different things. Some days she had three or less hours of sleep. She was sleeping in the hallways of the hospital waiting for answer. Then a weak voice ask to go home, and he listened to her advice. The final few days everything declined making her feel like a useless liar.
He left the earthly realm, and so did part of her heart and soul. She felt empty and purposeless. She was simply a walking hallow shell of a human. The dim light of her soul barely sparked, and she bared got out of bed. So many pushed her, encouraged her, but by the time she woke up and everyone was gone. They all moved on with their own lives. She instantly felt lost and alone.

Drama with landlord. . . rules upon rules, she felt like she was in a prison not a rental. There was a prison of her heart and mind locked in her cautious and scared soul. She was locked with “what ifs” for bars. The endless verbal rules made her even more alone. . .
No cats, shoo away the stray cats, fees if you feed them, no guests after ten, payments by third, keep windows close, don’t talk to neighbors in the middle of the sidewalk, do not discuss rent prices.

Soon she just locked herself away until one day the nightmares got louder, scarier, and more confusing.
So she ran, but turned the wrong way. The lifted truck came out of nowhere, she had no chance. Secretly, she didn’t want one.

Extreme scream pain coursed throughout her body with seconds, and then instant black numbing silence.
She waited in a line only to greeted by her ex with the words “What are you doing here?”

Then he begins to step back and panic. . . “It’s too early, you are not supposed to here.” A siren blares hard and like a mixture of flat angels singing blended into bitter souls screaming and slowed aged bells.
“Oh God, gun, what did you do?” his eyes got large in terror as armored angels grabbed her both sides and pulled her out of line.
“You are the wrong location, miss.”

They drug her away and pushed her into a slide. . . whispering words and thoughts twisted.. . .it was bright turned into a redness, crimson shadow into a darker blackness. . .lacking light and warmth. Whispering word of gossip and lies turned into harsh shrieking, blood curdling screams.
She landed on a hard black slab or cold rock. The only thing she could hear was the arguing bitterness and cries of old friends and separated family blaming each other for her death. . .

Time went by . . she wasn’t sure how much because she was alone in her darkness with her past playing over and over in her head.

Finally there was a candle. . .although it was a dim light it was enough to burn her delicate eyes. Her head felt as if someone drilled a screw in her head through her eyes. She squinted and lowered her eyes to the harsh yet dim flame lighting most of the room.
Then a slim man walks into the room, she saw his dirty feet. She looked at him and instantly looked up and memories of her childhood crush replayed in her head.
He was still beautiful with his dirty skin and greasy hair. For one second she was stunned. . .
Until said “no, I cannot do this.” There was no sorry just a look of unattractive disgust.

 


At that moment, she knew she was in hell.

Camp Nanowrimo July Survival list

Every year in Nanowrimo forums they always ask you what is your survival list. . . Things you need to get through the month of writing your Camp Nanowrimo project.

  • Outlines
  • Notes
  • Character sketches

Most of this is my notebooks

  • Colorful pens
  • Tyneol (between hand cramps and headache)
  • Empty notebooks
  • Backpack (so I can take my writing every where I go.)

As I am writing 30,000 words by hand

  • Calendar (for word count and appointment)
  • Coffee with my creamer
  • Caffeinated soda (I write weird hours)
  • Candy or a treat (word sprints can wear you out)
  • Timer or clock for word sprints
  • Mom to go on walks with. . . (Too much writing can strain my eyes)

I’m keeping it simple this year.