Well well well.
I was excited to post once again and then I really took a look at my edits and realized I am only two chapters farther. The word count has climbed and I am proddingly working my way through. To think I haven't even come to the point that will involve far more work, that will come in a few more chapters. As is the case with me consistently- I have also been scribbling notes and ideas and concepts for further novels, namely novel two.
It seems with everything I am juggling so far this year I only have time for my edits when i'm alone during nap times and have finished everything else. Which really isn't a good amount of real time to sink my teeth in anyhow. And then there is reliably right before bed, my witching hour when it comes to reading. Sadly after a long day I am lucky to make my way through three pages before I have to give in and turn out the light. Plus side is those three little pages have been completely engrossing. A very good sign indeed.
And so I call upon my muse, submerging my body into other bodies- of water that is. I have taken to locking myself upstairs in the tub, trying to edit without inflicting too much water damage on my precious pages. As you see by my progress it is becoming a long road. And to think we haven't even come to the winding one yet. Until next time, loves.
~Eternally,
B.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
It can only last until it ends
I've been editing novel one, including a possible title change, and I promise to fill all those holes in once things are more established. I'm only on Chapter 3. But I have been thinking about novel two simultaneously. I have far more questions than answers and it's causing a slowly forming cloud over my inner perception.
I openly admit this undertaking has been nothing short of Cathartic for me, hence the blog title. What music and family couldn't do, writing has always been able to soothe like a sort of therapy. We always have these people we wish we could be and I decided to give her a voice. I'm not trying to cast any pretenses, novel one has become this thinly veiled biography of some sort, at least partially. But as with life itself it never is as simple as that, complication is the unseen framework of our lives- written, lived, fabricated, or otherwise.
Besides i'm sure it will be alot of fun trying to guess which parts are based on memories and which are concoctions of the thin ether air. I don't know any piece of literature that isn't infused with the writer themselves, whether in character or story, to some degree. Isn't that the nature of creation- it has to arise from a certain point. Where is this point and what is it composed of?
And from my wanderings along this expanse I return to my former thoughts and have to wonder where it all will lead. Impossible for me to know or premeditate, the characters lead and I follow. I remarked the other day that as much as novel one is cathartic by nature, so will be the novels to follow as well just to a lesser degree. I see novel one as the foundation, the solidity, the emptying of my soul. And all novels to follow, well- who knows where they will bring us?
~B.
I openly admit this undertaking has been nothing short of Cathartic for me, hence the blog title. What music and family couldn't do, writing has always been able to soothe like a sort of therapy. We always have these people we wish we could be and I decided to give her a voice. I'm not trying to cast any pretenses, novel one has become this thinly veiled biography of some sort, at least partially. But as with life itself it never is as simple as that, complication is the unseen framework of our lives- written, lived, fabricated, or otherwise.
Besides i'm sure it will be alot of fun trying to guess which parts are based on memories and which are concoctions of the thin ether air. I don't know any piece of literature that isn't infused with the writer themselves, whether in character or story, to some degree. Isn't that the nature of creation- it has to arise from a certain point. Where is this point and what is it composed of?
And from my wanderings along this expanse I return to my former thoughts and have to wonder where it all will lead. Impossible for me to know or premeditate, the characters lead and I follow. I remarked the other day that as much as novel one is cathartic by nature, so will be the novels to follow as well just to a lesser degree. I see novel one as the foundation, the solidity, the emptying of my soul. And all novels to follow, well- who knows where they will bring us?
~B.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
5 days early is better than 5 days late
I caved. Slowly but surely.
Each day a little writing on novel two here, a little character refinement there. Little scratches of the pen on scraps of paper began littering my desk again. And the bed. The dining table. Anywhere I happened to be really. It became a full out cram session in the mid hours of the night going over what notes I have.
So, 5 days before intended shows remarkable restraint on my part if you know me well. Today I will begin my own edits to add among the two pages of notes already compiled. A few notes have been discarded or left for consideration but all in all I am excited to begin the next phase. A sincere thank you to my mother and megyn for their support. I can't remark on my mothers written input as I haven't seen it yet, but I really enjoyed our conversation over the phone. Hearing someone remark on the characters as *real* people set it further into my mind as a reality. I want to thank megyn for catching a few things I hadn't and telling me my inner voice had been right when I had turned in another direction. It was awesome that a few things that crept up for me she brought back to my attention. And especially thank you both for your enthusiasm and connection with the characters, your absorption into her world. I can't begin to describe how surreal the feeling is when I see the book mirrored back to me in such a way.
Well. The highlighter is in my peripheral vision and I can see the adorned binder to my left, waiting for me to submerge myself once more among her pages. But as the true nature of the devoted mother I see a beaming little face calling to me more. Who knew curling up on the floor with a few trains and a cup of coffee could be so appealing. Anything is worth those little arms tight around my neck and especially when the sound of his amazing laugh is ringing through the air.
Much love.
~B.
Each day a little writing on novel two here, a little character refinement there. Little scratches of the pen on scraps of paper began littering my desk again. And the bed. The dining table. Anywhere I happened to be really. It became a full out cram session in the mid hours of the night going over what notes I have.
So, 5 days before intended shows remarkable restraint on my part if you know me well. Today I will begin my own edits to add among the two pages of notes already compiled. A few notes have been discarded or left for consideration but all in all I am excited to begin the next phase. A sincere thank you to my mother and megyn for their support. I can't remark on my mothers written input as I haven't seen it yet, but I really enjoyed our conversation over the phone. Hearing someone remark on the characters as *real* people set it further into my mind as a reality. I want to thank megyn for catching a few things I hadn't and telling me my inner voice had been right when I had turned in another direction. It was awesome that a few things that crept up for me she brought back to my attention. And especially thank you both for your enthusiasm and connection with the characters, your absorption into her world. I can't begin to describe how surreal the feeling is when I see the book mirrored back to me in such a way.
Well. The highlighter is in my peripheral vision and I can see the adorned binder to my left, waiting for me to submerge myself once more among her pages. But as the true nature of the devoted mother I see a beaming little face calling to me more. Who knew curling up on the floor with a few trains and a cup of coffee could be so appealing. Anything is worth those little arms tight around my neck and especially when the sound of his amazing laugh is ringing through the air.
Much love.
~B.
Friday, January 14, 2011
A little more behind the scenes
I'm unsure if anyone else appreciates things like this but I like to know how a writer's process is, what is going on, and little inklings into their mind or what was happening at the time. Hence posting the playlist. I am struggling today to not only stay awake after a really late night, MEGYN, and not doing my second round of edits.
As a writer I have come to notice you either read the lines and feel the magic, feel that stirring YES as it leaps from your lips. Or you don't. Intuition, that gut feeling, whatever meaningless label you have set to that inner voice simply must be listened to.
To make a short story long that is what I intend to do. Follow their voices as they call to me through this ink.
I am type A, in fact i'm sure I may have been the inspiration for it. That's not entirely true. But really, I have concluded alot about my own process. I always begin by feeling something playing with my imagination, that little muse whose wings tickle my lobes as she flutters by my ear, whispering inspiration to me. And when she doesn't come water fills the void. My cure for writer's block is I always take a bath or shower and like the water the ideas simply flow. When I write I have music but when I do a read through I have silence. I read aloud in what I call my coffeehouse tease voice. I tried to use it for megyn on the phone but only got half way there, my pacing was off. I felt silly honestly.
And once that initial draft was done I said let your mind settle. I could feel the snap that was to come if i strained much further. So I gave myself a month to let it settle and go back when it was fresh in my mind. This notion I applied from reading Stephen Kings: On Writing. Even if you don't write, you simply can't miss out on this amazing book. But back on course. I also have my mother, husband, and best friend giving me their uncensored notes during this time. This is where we have now come along the winding process.
When I allow myself to curl around those pages once more, there is a process to be found within the process. I will be taking a highlighter before I use anyone's notes and going through every page as simply a reader and not a creator. This will be extremely difficult seeing how I all but bled over every line. I wanted to stay as true to catharsis as possible in this first novel and find more freedom to let them run free in those to follow. The only lines that will glow are the ones infused with magic, that have my inner voice calling yes!
In the aftermath it is my intention that any line not glowing a obnoxious yellow simply must be changed/altered. Obviously. And then I will sit with my notes in addition to the other three and go from there by comparison. I highly value the opinions I have sought, whether I agree with them or not, and I really hope each of them knows that.
I leave you with a few pictures of me hard at type. Much love.
~B.
As a writer I have come to notice you either read the lines and feel the magic, feel that stirring YES as it leaps from your lips. Or you don't. Intuition, that gut feeling, whatever meaningless label you have set to that inner voice simply must be listened to.
To make a short story long that is what I intend to do. Follow their voices as they call to me through this ink.
I am type A, in fact i'm sure I may have been the inspiration for it. That's not entirely true. But really, I have concluded alot about my own process. I always begin by feeling something playing with my imagination, that little muse whose wings tickle my lobes as she flutters by my ear, whispering inspiration to me. And when she doesn't come water fills the void. My cure for writer's block is I always take a bath or shower and like the water the ideas simply flow. When I write I have music but when I do a read through I have silence. I read aloud in what I call my coffeehouse tease voice. I tried to use it for megyn on the phone but only got half way there, my pacing was off. I felt silly honestly.
And once that initial draft was done I said let your mind settle. I could feel the snap that was to come if i strained much further. So I gave myself a month to let it settle and go back when it was fresh in my mind. This notion I applied from reading Stephen Kings: On Writing. Even if you don't write, you simply can't miss out on this amazing book. But back on course. I also have my mother, husband, and best friend giving me their uncensored notes during this time. This is where we have now come along the winding process.
When I allow myself to curl around those pages once more, there is a process to be found within the process. I will be taking a highlighter before I use anyone's notes and going through every page as simply a reader and not a creator. This will be extremely difficult seeing how I all but bled over every line. I wanted to stay as true to catharsis as possible in this first novel and find more freedom to let them run free in those to follow. The only lines that will glow are the ones infused with magic, that have my inner voice calling yes!
In the aftermath it is my intention that any line not glowing a obnoxious yellow simply must be changed/altered. Obviously. And then I will sit with my notes in addition to the other three and go from there by comparison. I highly value the opinions I have sought, whether I agree with them or not, and I really hope each of them knows that.
I leave you with a few pictures of me hard at type. Much love.
~B.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Playlist Example
I consistently listen to music when I write, so I thought I would give a short sample of what I was listening to when I wrote novel one.
The List of 25:
1. H.I.M.
2. Slipknot
3. Killswitch
4. Straight Line Stitch
5. In This Moment
6. Manson
7. Rob Zombie
8. Flaw
9. Evanescence
10. Otep
11. Mudvayne
12. Silverstein
13. Armor for Sleep
14. Taproot
15. Bullet for my Valentine
16. My Chemical Romance
17. The Toadies
18. Breaking Benjamin
19. Hatebreed
20. Rockstar Supernova
21. Hole
22. The Crow Soundtrack
23. Pink Floyd
24. Alice in Chains
25. ...and alot of burnt cd's
What put you in the mood to create?
~B.
Edits?
Somewhere in the in between of 2-3 weeks final edits will be made. I'm nervous, excited, and impatient all at once. A peculiar feeling. I put so much of myself into this endevour. There were many points of overly emotional displays and me speaking to myself when I was proud of a certain tryst with the words. On more than one occassion I found myself exclaiming "That's so damn good." and doing a little jig I can only hope was cute in case anyone was secretly witness to it.
When I commit myself to something I do so wholeheartedly. And I can be like a plague that cannot be overcome. I told myself when I was letting the first draft sit I wasn't going to write anything at all, perhaps not even journaling. And that was the first thing to go and closely followed by the half finished first chapter of novel two. What was I supposed to do, that feeling propeling through my body wasn't something within my control. As so many factors of the heart never are. I must admit I am very proud of my restraint on novel one, I haven't flipped through so much as the cover page.
Enjoy my lovelies.
~B.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Waiting for the Balance
But the second week of January may never come.
I had every intention of writing a bit today on the second coming but life likes to happen to you. Perhaps later tonight. Of the many pieces I have written, this one has a way of stirring inside me like the others never did. It's a peculiar feeling but never fails to bring a smirk to my lips.
And i'm absolutely filled to the point of overflowing by this vibration.
I was always a bookworm, still am. I always longed to have an entire room with nothing but floor to ceiling bookshelves along every wall. But I was a bit creepier. I love the feel of a pen or pencil between my fingers. I love flipping through notebooks and seeing all that potential, hearing the rush of the pages. Every stretch of white along those careful little lines makes my hands itch and my mind begin to turn. I have always loved collecting anything that slightly pertained to books, writing, reading, journaling. I have boxes in my attic full of papers waiting to be beconed.
I can hear them calling my name, begging me to give them a story to tell. Until later, loves.
~B.
I had every intention of writing a bit today on the second coming but life likes to happen to you. Perhaps later tonight. Of the many pieces I have written, this one has a way of stirring inside me like the others never did. It's a peculiar feeling but never fails to bring a smirk to my lips.
And i'm absolutely filled to the point of overflowing by this vibration.
I was always a bookworm, still am. I always longed to have an entire room with nothing but floor to ceiling bookshelves along every wall. But I was a bit creepier. I love the feel of a pen or pencil between my fingers. I love flipping through notebooks and seeing all that potential, hearing the rush of the pages. Every stretch of white along those careful little lines makes my hands itch and my mind begin to turn. I have always loved collecting anything that slightly pertained to books, writing, reading, journaling. I have boxes in my attic full of papers waiting to be beconed.
I can hear them calling my name, begging me to give them a story to tell. Until later, loves.
~B.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Quick Update
I rang my mother yesterday- she finished the book last week! Downside is I can't get my notes from her like I thought this weekend.
I finished the initial draft on the Solstice 2010 so I plan on making my second round of edits and churning those frothing pages into my masterpiece around the end of the month/ Feb. 1st-ish. Especially in light that I have been dabbling with the beginning of novel two already.
Well my pretties- thank you as always for your time and those wonderful peepers. I leave you with a little humor from last nights conversation with my mother:
Mom: Windows ARE the eyes to the soul.
Myself: Well people need to quit peering in my damn windows!
Oh lovely soul peering, peeping toms my readers must be. Much love.
~B.
I finished the initial draft on the Solstice 2010 so I plan on making my second round of edits and churning those frothing pages into my masterpiece around the end of the month/ Feb. 1st-ish. Especially in light that I have been dabbling with the beginning of novel two already.
Well my pretties- thank you as always for your time and those wonderful peepers. I leave you with a little humor from last nights conversation with my mother:
Mom: Windows ARE the eyes to the soul.
Myself: Well people need to quit peering in my damn windows!
Oh lovely soul peering, peeping toms my readers must be. Much love.
~B.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Amid Absolution
The heading isn't entirely true. Is such a thing actually possible? I often doubt it.
I haven't done much writing as much as the urge has been driving me to. My son has taken to a roll-of-the-die occurance to napping, you never know if he will or not. I haven't been feeling well. Pairing that with how hard I am on myself and here I sit in the hours of stillness- alone, cold, and thinking too much. I don't have alot to report really.
I can't quite figure me out.
There are parts of me that have been stifled over the years and they cause me such sadness it is almost palpable. But I keep on behind the mask and the frosty air, the formidable wall and iron gate. All that symbolic crap. Sometimes I wonder if the things which ail have gotten worse. Or if I am led to believe so. Maybe it is really I who have led myself.
Well, I know the muse will always win over my weak will. I will need to purge with my pen in hand, it's as inevitable for me as breathing. So many things seemingly beyond my control. Until then.....
~B.
I haven't done much writing as much as the urge has been driving me to. My son has taken to a roll-of-the-die occurance to napping, you never know if he will or not. I haven't been feeling well. Pairing that with how hard I am on myself and here I sit in the hours of stillness- alone, cold, and thinking too much. I don't have alot to report really.
I can't quite figure me out.
There are parts of me that have been stifled over the years and they cause me such sadness it is almost palpable. But I keep on behind the mask and the frosty air, the formidable wall and iron gate. All that symbolic crap. Sometimes I wonder if the things which ail have gotten worse. Or if I am led to believe so. Maybe it is really I who have led myself.
Well, I know the muse will always win over my weak will. I will need to purge with my pen in hand, it's as inevitable for me as breathing. So many things seemingly beyond my control. Until then.....
~B.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Recollections of a beloved friend
I think I will always think of her every time another New Year begins without her. Jenny was one of those rare people who you instantly loved. Seeing her smile was like feeling a hug wrap around you, she was amazing. Incredibly beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, and just a little raw. She was a pleasant surprise once she unfolded new things to you. I met her when we worked together. I miss our talks so much and goofing off. I never got to see her one last time.
It's been seven years. Absolutely doesn't feel like it. She was only 21. Damn.
My grandmother, my entire heart and soul before I knew my son, and Jenny share a birthday. My grandmother passed in 1994, Jenny in 2004. Little peculiar. They say time heals but not in every case. My heart still aches thinking of my grandmother, I miss her as much as I did that November day.
So, in memory of my ladies....I began reflecting on life. My gram died unhappy and never wanted to, always said the point of life was love, happiness, joy. I think i'm missing the point of life, have missed much of it over the years. Feeling time slipping away from you is terrifying once you become a parent. It's more pressing.
And the fact that you no longer have this existence to live makes me feel foolish, the way I have let things become. Decisions I made. But reality is the resulting view. I could be more grateful for what I have. I've always made a point to cherish every moment with my son but the rest of my life is sadly lacking. I miss my family. I miss the taste of freedom, the feel of it on my skin. The most I had done last year was apply myself with my writing. I was given a life and i'm not really living it. Depression and matters out of my hands withstanding, change needs to come. As much as I dread her little pointed face.
I love you, J.
~B.
It's been seven years. Absolutely doesn't feel like it. She was only 21. Damn.
My grandmother, my entire heart and soul before I knew my son, and Jenny share a birthday. My grandmother passed in 1994, Jenny in 2004. Little peculiar. They say time heals but not in every case. My heart still aches thinking of my grandmother, I miss her as much as I did that November day.
So, in memory of my ladies....I began reflecting on life. My gram died unhappy and never wanted to, always said the point of life was love, happiness, joy. I think i'm missing the point of life, have missed much of it over the years. Feeling time slipping away from you is terrifying once you become a parent. It's more pressing.
And the fact that you no longer have this existence to live makes me feel foolish, the way I have let things become. Decisions I made. But reality is the resulting view. I could be more grateful for what I have. I've always made a point to cherish every moment with my son but the rest of my life is sadly lacking. I miss my family. I miss the taste of freedom, the feel of it on my skin. The most I had done last year was apply myself with my writing. I was given a life and i'm not really living it. Depression and matters out of my hands withstanding, change needs to come. As much as I dread her little pointed face.
I love you, J.
~B.
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