Working on Nonfiction

I wrote 30,691 words on Camp NaNoWriMo. I wish I wrote more, but I’ve been battling with my muses.

So I decided to write some personal articles.

(Since my mom is getting hernia surgery this month, I’m using this to write and learn about myself and be a distraction.)

I will be posting on these blogs

http://Rebekah1213.WordPress.com

http://beckyms1213blog.WordPress.com

http://rqshortstories.WordPress.com

Please read and enjoy.

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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.

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 NaNo

I plan to continue my writing project from Camp Nanowrimo July 2017.

I’m giving myself the goal of 30,000 words in 30 days. I did it in April. I can do it again.

I have to reread my previous work, notes, and outlines. I know my characters too well.

If this project goes the way I want. . . I will have a short story project for 50,000 wod goal for Nanowrimo in November.

April: Camp NaNoWriMo, again.

I’m writing an adult piece since most of my muses keep pushing that way.

I working on the title.

I plan to publish but not under this pen name.

My goal is 30,000 word by April 30th which is 1,000 per day. Its a reasonable goal with my health.

I’m writing my colored notes and outline now.

Good luck to my fellow writers.

Writing Challenges (possible fixes)

  • Internet which can be a list of distractions
  • Chatting
  • Gaming
  • Facebook stuff
  • Blogging
  • Looking websites
  • Emailing
  • Personals

(I can give myself internet time for reward for reaching a certain number count. Note: buy a timer or use a timer on tablet.)

  • TV

(Writing sprints during commercials if show doesn’t re-air. If the show re-airs, then watch it later, write first.)

  • Health
  • Depression/anxiety/worry (write out feelings)
  • Nightmare or dreams (twisted them into stories)
  • Sleep issues (if you can focus write or write notes)
  • Pelvic pain (see a doctor soon.)
  • Hands: swollen/ painful joints (Writing sprints and take breaks)
  • Errand (bring notebook for notes, scenes outlines etc.)
  • Friends (notebooks or write before or after visit.)

Note: not I have possible fixes there are no excuses

Muses vs what I want to do vs inspiration

I wanted to work on this dragon story for my brothers. I used Tom tell them stories at bed time. The stories were about Star wars, dragons, Harry Potter etc. Whatever story I made up, I would put them in it. I would make my special effects, sounds and I would add some humor relief.

I always wanted to write a story about dragons and add them in it. . . Bring my brothers to my created world.

However my sci-fi and fantasy muse Luna, is not that loud, busy or strong. . . Not confident as those are not my natural genres. It hard for me to get that genre because I have my head filled with horror, thriller, paranormal, drama, romance, and erotica. (My muses really have been pushing the drama and erotica.)

I guess I just miss my brothers. . . I know my inspiration will lead back if I am truly meant to write it. . . But I can’t even figure out a villain or an outline.

I feel it’s not right to fight it. I’m not giving up, but it needs to simmer in the inspiration pot some more. I learned when I push work, especially writing, I just end up stuck, in a writer’s block.

I’m just going to give my muses a chance to lead me for a while.