Cynacism come each time this year.

Last year I wrote a blog post dedicated to all those people out there that do not have a father in their lives. The ones that had been left behind by someone they never knew who had better things to do. The entire post is completely and utterly still entirely relevant.

I wonder if this hurt will ever go away.

Having had the life experience of a seed donor father and then the Earth-shattering experience of an adoptive abusive one, my views on fathers in general is tainted at best, mildly cynical and mostly sarcastic.

I wonder if I'll ever look at a father -any father, anywhere- and not immediately expect the utter worst.

I've also decided for both an opportunity for personal growth and to fictionally share my experiences I'm going to start writing some stories that have come into my head that deal with these issues. They will be adult content stories, the length will work itself out as I write. I might write about the same content: abused teen girls dealing with their situations. I might write long stories or short ones. I just don't know yet. But I have had a feeling for quite awhile that I need to share these fictional stories. Some things will be hard to read; they're supposed to be. But I hope that by my writing I can open up topics for discussions between children and their parents, show other adult abuse survivors that there is nothing to be silent about.

I started this a long time ago writing a short story about a girl named Krista*. It's free on Scribd. I hope you will read it.

*Krista is an adult short story that includes graphic material. Please be advised.

Me, Myself and the hundred other people in my head

I like to think that I am a creative person. Though, labeling myself in the positive is difficult for me -I'm working on that. Thirty years old (yes, I actually copped to it) and I still have a hard time with self-image and positive reinforcement of Me. I allowed too many people to put me down as an insecure and abused teen. I allowed too many people to use me.

I still have dreams, though. Lots and lots of them. But I still allow decade plus past put downs to strangle my desires.

When I was a kid -like early teens- I wanted to be a writer. Like professionally. With books. Written words have been my life before I started keeping memories. I devoured novels before first grade and haven't ever stopped. Just this past week I've read four books. My e-reader is my favorite toy. I read to put myself to sleep, to stop my ever-racing mind. It's a release from reality and I can't be without it.

I have always wanted to give that gift to others. I've always wanted to put my stories to print.

I hear a bit of music, an overheard line of conversation between two people, a painting, a photograph and my mind starts reeling with the possibilities. Characters come to life on their own; small acts jump into my brain, conversations thick with emotions play out in my imagination. They name themselves, they show me their faces, tell me a bit of their stories. Who they are and where they come from I can't tell you. They just are.

I try and capture them but so many times they slip away.

Sometimes I'm able to work on a story line, get down those words or write a character description but life constantly gets in the way. I would engross myself in my own words as I do so often with other people's. But I can't.  

I'm annoyed with myself and frustrated when the snippets of stories thrust into my skull don't want to work out in letters. I get to a point that I loose the objective and spiral into asking questions that may not even matter. Who are these people? What are they doing? Why does she act like such a bitch? Is this paragraph/chapter/description long enough? I've never been to Chicago, how can I write about it?

Nothing ever gets completed and I'm left feeling lost at the end of a tunnel I'd been led down and throughly abandoned. And still I walk around, garden, shop, shower with the ideas and lives of other people scurrying around in my mind. I wonder if it shows.

Is this how it is for all writers? I don't know. Do other people have this problem too? Do they reside in rubber rooms? My lack of completion makes me feel sketchy even considering myself a writer. My lack of devotion to the craft solidifies that feeling. Writers should write. Yes? But there is so much more to me than writing. So much more than comes before it.

So, I don't label myself. I don't commit. And life goes by as I continue to be just me, myself and a hundred other people.

It's that time of year again.

No, not Halloween or fall or autum or harvest or anything like that (though those are all happening here and are wildly important to us).

Nope. It's NaNoWriMo time again.

Let me take you back in time for a moment to November 30, 2009. Last year I was happy, optimistic and tired beyond belief. I have an OLL sticker on my car and a NaNo one on my laptop. I earned those last November.

After that day, I lost my novel for about five months. I missed the deadline to get my book edited and published into a softcover for free. I started six more novels and haven't finished a one. I failed miserably at Script Frenzy. I don't even want to talk about that. Forget I mentioned it.

And now, October 18th, 2010, my mind is racing with scenes for a new book. I actually have the thing mapped out start to finish, something I haven't really ever done before. I'm researching names, establishing hirearchies and developing a world unseen before.

If you click on the "Writing" hot link on the right you'll see some sporatic mentions of my creative writing side. I've always been interested in writing. It's one of those Must Do Before I Die things, to get published by an actual company and have my book present for sale at say...Borders.

High asperations? Possibly. But we only go around once on this crazy ride. I intend to max out my ticket.

I'm a contributing blogger

For those of you that like my writing and blog posts, I've got another link for you. I'm a proud contributing blogger on Project Laundry List.

Check out my writings and that of some very tallented bloggers with a lot of great information on the movement here http://www.laundrylist.org/blog2  along with my very first entry Diapers on the Line.

Script Frenzy

I just signed up to participate in April's Script Frenzy. 30 days, 100 pages. I've never written a script before. I've never even read one. Though providence stepped in for this one. Damned if I'm not gonna listen to her.

Two days ago, while driving back from the store, something I've grown to despise, I got an idea for a movie. Well, first off it was a book idea, since that's my first resource, but I didn't think I could adequately portray what I was envisioning with words. It's hard to capture small nuances of feeling on pages. So, the idea started developing but I had no real way to get it down. A friend of mine's husband just made a movie though. Maybe I could too? Not saying it'd be any good, or even get shot (shooted?) but I could write one, yes?

Pieces of it, a scene or a piece of music that might fit, started to form in my brain during the five minute drive home.

It sat there, fermenting on the dark edges of thought. Today I got an email from Chris Baty reminding me of Script Frenzy. Huh, how funny things work in the world.

My Muse is Singing

Yesterday I pulled up Scrivener on my Mac emulator (don't ask me any more technical things about it, that is all the smart I know) after a quick 13 minute tutorial on Literature & Latte. As a reward for finishing NaNoWriMo, I was able to download it for half price. Woot!

Wow. What a fine piece of software. I spent a little bit outlining a new story and writing a tad on the first chapter. I can see me really getting into writing this way. It is just so much easier than trying to tackle a 50k document in one chunk. Why don't they have this for Windows?

I'm at an impasse right now with the new story. It can go any way. I can currently easily change a species to align with two different stories, thus making this new story the first in a series. I'm not sure. I haven't figured it out. Maybe if I write a little more the characters will tell me what species they are. Sometimes writing just works that way. You think the ones doing the writing are in control. They're not.

I also subscribe to a few sewing bloggers* and have been lusting craftily over some of the projects I see going on. It's making me want to take out the bags of projects I have waiting and get down to serious business. I even went so far as ordered a few import supplies to make some things for the new Etsy store. The chair recovering paired with the fabric porn is making me desire some quality time with my Babylock.

That's good. I need that creative outlet. I get cranky -just ask Rob- otherwise.

It would seem that I'm also hearing the Muse that was singing to the kids the other day. That's just fine. Bring it on, maybe I can get something accomplished.

*Kitschy Coo and Trina's Doings are the ones responsible for my renewed obsession

Werks in progress

My NaNo novel is finished but I'm taking a break from it before delving into the editing process. Possibly, even until February. I know it has huge gaping plot holes and wild inconsistencies. I'm not really ready to explore them yet. I will though. I promise. As added incentive a company will publish one softcover of my novel free as a NaNoWriMo winner if I get it to them by June. That's some incentive.

I'm considering finalizing it and sending it out to a friend to read and having them pass it along to others where people can possibly send a note along with it, adding to the note for everyone to read with their thoughts and finally, at some point getting it back to me with all the feedback and the crazy path of it's passing.

That would be some chain letter. Though the anticipation might kill me.

I'm working on another story, it is currently actually TWO stories centered around the same group of people...er, vampires. Katrina and Davis in one, Cooper and Cassidy in another. There are a few other story lines tumbling around in my head to go with this. So far they only make up about 9k words between the two but it's a start. This was a story that my muse threw my way in the middle of NaNo and now that I know I can finish a novel, I'm excited to see where this leads.

I have two short stories up on Scribd. Both have a combined read of almost 200 which both scares and excites me. I also have 2 subscribers which is humbling. Someone (actually sometwo) want to know when I write something new. Wow. There is another story centering around an elevator, hiding away in the corner of my mind which will probably get up there on Scribd as soon as it introduces itself to me. It's a love affair story so they must just be being discrete. I might poke them later to see what they have to say.

I'm considering trying out Script Frenzy in 190 days but I have a feeling it might be out of my range. Learning how to novel write is still on the front burner. So, there you have it. Lots of new stuff churning in my brain, slowly making its way through my hands to tap on the keys and get delivered to you.

My greatest wish for writing is to create a product others can enjoy. I hope I can do that for you. And I hope I don't disappoint.

I'm Validated

Over the course of the next few hours many aspiring novelists will be seeing the picture to the left. It's not without sacrifice that these simple words grace their screen as thousands of people rush to the finish line to validate the work they've done over the past thirty days.

Your humble narrator is among them.

This was my first year participating in National Novel Writing Month, warmly known to its participants as NaNoWriMo or just Nano. The principle of this challenge is to write a novel in thirty days. Yes, you heard me right, an entire novel. Fifty thousand words to be exact.Thirty days total.

A month is a precarious thing and tends to slip through your fingers at an alarming rate. Let's recap what has happened to me over those short thirty days.

Besides the usual care and keeping of five kids there was, homeschooling, caring for my pathetic garden, grocery shopping, holiday shopping, a three day trip for an Army function, shopping and packing for said Army trip, a visit from an out of town friend, Thanksgiving and corresponding Back Friday, we were sick for about a week plus a few days, a baby was teething or constipated for the majority of the month, my MP3 player broke and hours were spent researching new ones, winter clothes were brought out and sorted, donations dropped off to the thrift store, there was a three day Woot off, a new school chair was ordered, egg dinosaurs were hatched, solstice presents hid, church attended, some college exams taken, Ikea furniture assembled, three pies made and lots of car repairs done.

It wasn't a month of me sitting in a bubble cranking out word count consuming scenes. Though all the madness I created an entirely new work of fiction. Is it Hemmingway? No. Is it Tolkien? Not a chance. Hell, Dr. Seuss' works are probably more inspiring but guess what? I don't care. There is now a completed novel with my name on the front. I did it. No one else.

I can't wait to do it again.

Only a few days left

We're coming down to the last laps here guys. I just broke 30,000 words, the most I've ever written in a single story and there is still so much more to go. Thankfully (and It's Thanskgiving too so double Thanks) I have a supportive husband who, while I cook and let him work on car repairs, will let me hide out in the bedroom a good portion of the next few days in order to get my purple bar. I told myself, "self, you may buy the badges to sew onto the new laptop bag you bought a few weeks ago, if you make it to 50k by the 30th." I intent to win.

Relationship Problems

Sewing (my long time lover) and I are at an impasse. I really want to continue the relationship but I feel we need a break. I haven't been very good about attending to Sewing's needs. I leave our dates in the middle, unfulfilled and incomplete. You can see the remnants littering the house, forgotten and collecting dust. I've become preoccupied with other things and Sewing's whirring call is just a din in the background of my life. It's too much work to get everything out to be with Sewing. Takes too long to thread Sewing's needle, so many other things come first. I look at Sewing longingly, wanting to reconnect, desperate to rekindle the fire of creation that ignites between us whenever the stars align and we finally get together.

I've stopped communicating and that's a big problem in a relationship.

Sometimes people ask me why I want to be with Sewing. I need it, that's why. It's funny but being away from Sewing makes me nuts. I need that outlet, the companionship Sewing gives. Sewing is a gentle lover but can be harsh too. It can make me bleed if I'm not careful. One thing about Sewing is that I know it can keep a secret. Those times late at night while I run Sewing too hard for too long and things don't come out right, Sewing never judges, never tells anyone of my mistakes. Never complains about my impatience.

I miss winding Sewing's bobbin. Being the one to push its buttons and step on its pedal. Sewing roars to life under my ministrations; light on, eager to run. The things we create together, well...it's just magical. Somethin' special that's for sure. I want the product of our combined energies but am too lazy to do the work right now. I'm selfish that way I guess.

One thing I know for sure, Sewing will wait for me. Even as I now jaunt off on this new love affair with Writing, Sewing sits silently in the corner. Beckons to me in its own creative way. I'm not sure how long Writing and I will last. So far the words flow easily between us. It's exciting and exhilarating, the way Sewing once was and will probably be again when the tides change in my fickle heart.

Following artistic callings

So today's posting is just something I've been pondering for awhile and thought I'd share. I've been thinking about artists. What makes people artists?

I know from my own personal experience that creating things is just part of who I am. I have to have an outlet. Whether or not I excel at that art is moot. I just have to follow what I've been inspired to do. No matter the time or place. Many times I'll just seek out a pen and paper to put down what has attacked my brain and maybe later I'll look it at and develop it. I've been known to wake up at night to jot down a stanza or idea or sketch something out. That's when the muse just happens to throw me an idea. Other times, it's a full out compulsion, hours upon hours are spent on these thoughts and time slips by me unawares.

I've dabbled in painting, sewing, fiber arts, sketching, writing, and cooking. Some I've excelled at and continued, others just mediocre, a passing fancy. When the feeling hits me that I have to, that tiny spark of creation is inside me, I have to let it out. It's almost a compulsion. If I don't have the ability to create when I need or want to I actually feel emotionally bad. I'm irritable and cranky.

I wonder if this is how it is for others? Does a muse overcome them and practically force creativity to flow through them? Does an artist have to have angst to create? I seem to feel most creative when I have turmoil in my life. The plethora of drawing and painting and poetry I did as a teen was my most artistically productive and most emotionally scarred time so far in my life (so far). While all of the paintings are gone, I do still have some of the works of poetry and drawings. Looking back, it seems almost like a completely different person did it, though I do remember with painful clarity the exact times I composed some of those writings.

Maybe that's what I felt the compulsion to do; to form a portal on paper to a world I left behind. Even if at the time I had no realization that was what I was doing. When I look back now, I remember things about my situation and surroundings with more clarity than I had being in it at the time. I am able to sort out my responsibility in what happened and know that I survived that life and was able to forge a new one.

Though I've been able to create art through love, most of those things have been specific for a certain person, mostly my children. Those times they have been my muses and I revel not in the relief of creation but from the happiness I create for them with my art. It's a different muse that directs those crafts. These types I can pick up and put down at my leisure. Still sating the need for creativity, but not the hot, firey compulsion that sometimes hits me. I wonder if that's the same for others?

A few weeks ago, a muse threw at me the plot for a story, enveloping some of my own experiences into the mix. It happened at about ten one night and I've been called back to that muse many times over, spending hours and hours at the computer writing into the wee part of the night. Whether or not the story is any good, if anyone else would want to read it isn't the most important part, though I would like to share my art with others, it's just the act of creation.

So to those of you out there that have a desire or even a raw need to create, I ask you, where does your inspiration come from?