Writing Excuses

One of my favorite authors is Brandon Sanderson, and for many years he, along with Dan Wells, Howard Taylor, and Mary Robinette Kowal, have been hosting a podcast called Writing Excuses, all about writing. I recently started listening to it, and I'm hooked.

All the authors are knowledgeable about their craft, and about others. It's amazing to hear how often they can quote other authors, without any hesitation or indication that they're reading off of anything. They also use their own works quite often, including stories about their own mistakes and beginnings. It's great to hear, to bring them back down to human level from where we placed them as gods of the writing world.

They give great advice, often addressing listeners as new writers, as most listeners probably are, or if not, they understand the challenges of a new writer. The speakers sound natural and humorous, so it's easier to listen to than a lecture. Each podcast is also only fifteen minutes long, so they pack each episode full of advice and anecdotes, and concentrate exactly on what the subject is for the week. It's like a concentrated dose of a classroom lecture.

Their main piece of advice is always "keep writing". Like any authors, they know that the only way to get better is to always be writing. They say to scrap almost everything you first write, either because it'll only be practice, or you'll be too attached to it to make the changes that need to be made. Maybe what you scrap, whether it's a plot point, a character or a witty line, can be used later in the series, or even in another book.

So far, my favorite piece of advice has been about beginnings. They say to not worry too much about your beginning, not when your first write it. Because that beginning that you first write will probably either get deleted, or get moved so that it's not longer your beginning. In fact, the beginning could be the very last thing you write. As someone who has always struggled with how to start, this is great. Now I just need to learn how to end things.

Sestinas...

Reading breaks are fabulous... I should really be doing more reading...

I actually only have three days off this reading break, because I was working on Monday, and I work Friday and Saturday... And I kind of wasted those three days off. I did do homework. I'm working on my poems, and all but one are coming along very well. I really hate sestinas. I really, really do. I just cannot get a nice flowing poem when I'm forced to reuse words. I cannot get a narrative without it sounding choppy and repetitive. And I'm having a lot of trouble just fitting imagery in, though the form isn't completely to blame for that.

And I still have an essay to write. I'm struggling over that even more. Poem has too much structure and form, but English doesn't have enough. The guidelines for the essay is to write an essay on a poem we've talked about. I know this is fairly normal for higher level courses, so be able to see a theme and write an essay around it. But we're not supposed to use outside sources, and I'm assuming it has to be on one poem, not a poet or a collection of poems. Ugh. Poetry. It'll be the death of me.

So I'll try and get at least the sestina done by Tuesday. What I have so far is already better than my previous one, but I know it's just going to crumble as I struggle to come up with new things to say... I never thought I would miss free verse so much.

Publication Number Two!

Good news, everybody! A while back I mentioned that I had a short story that was supposed to be published in my college's anthology, but because of a miscommunication, it never got in. Well guess what! They have room in this years anthology, so it's getting in!

I'm no longer attending the college where it's being published, but if I'm not working on going to school, I might attend the reading night for it. I haven't actually gone to one of them yet, despite being published before. It might be fun, and a hear there's free food.

So that's been my highlight of the week so far. Let's see if it can get any better. I have Friday off work, which is pretty rare, so it's turning out pretty well.

In Reply

(read this post first)

In Reply

Hello Brain. I'm sorry I left. I wandered off, and just kept wandering. I got lost, and no one came. But I've been pointed in the right direction, and I'm coming back. The road is long and I've accumulated some thorns, perhaps more than is justified. They can be broken, much easier than I will be. Because you see, I'm not afraid anymore. I'm out of practice, but I will learn. I have forgotten, but I will remember. I was content, but now I am happy. Thank you.
-Heart

The Long Lost Roommate

Whoops, I forgot that yesterday was Thursday. But believe it or not, I actually had a social life! It was kind of an accident, actually. But onto some writing!

The Long Lost Roommate

Hey Heart, it's me, Brain. I know you've been off chasing wild dreams and fawning over useless junk, but I need you to come back now. Dreams are great, but should really be left to me, and I know you just absolutely love that video game, and all those books, but you really need to get focused. You're a Heart. You were meant to love, but objects and dreams cannot love you back. I know you're a little out of practice, but take it a step at a time. Then start running. I know you can do it. You were so affectionate when we were younger, what happened? And don't give me all that bullshit about no one loving you, or that you're just too shy, or that you have no time. You have a great life, you're really not that shy, and you have more time than you think. That is, if you don't waste it. Time is passing, we're aging, and it's only going to get harder. So come back to me, Heart. Listen to Brain for once. Love isn't that scary.

A Note from Me to You

I realize it's been a while since I posted any of my writing. So I'm going to crack open the ol' 'Things to Write About' book and start at it again.

A Note From Me to You

It's been a long time.
I would say six, maybe seven years?
Of course, I'm still here.
You give me a nod of acknowledgment
every time you laugh
every time you cry
every time you make a fool of yourself.
But I'm dying.
If you do not let me back
the person you are,
who you used to be,
will die too.
All you need to do is
remember
the long summer days
and cold winter nights.
When time was judged by breakfast, lunch and dinner
or the setting of the sun.
You remember what the sun is, right?
You hide behind a glowing screen now.
Your laughter is three letters long
and rarely more than a smile.
You remember what a smile is, right?
It's not a colon and a sideways D.
It's a brightening of the eyes
and genuine happiness made visible.
You remember what happiness is, right?
It's your childhood.
And I'm dying.

Whoops

So I guess yesterday was Thursday, wasn't it? I have class on Thursday, so when I finally get home I'm just tired. I'll try better to get posts in on time though. For now, I'm just going to post a link to my school blog. This is because we had an assignment that we had to do that I can't duplicate here.

http://talesofanormalnorman.wordpress.com/projects/digital-fiction-2/digital-fiction-portfolio/red-dead/

It's called a hypertext story, and yes, it is confusing. Basically if you follow the links on the main page, you'll read it as it should be. If you follow the links from each page, it'll get more confusing. I did try to write it so that you can pretty much start anywhere, but I still suggest starting from the beginning.

Laziness and Poetry

I tried to update the blog this morning, but for some reason Blogger wasn't working. It's running fine now though! I wrote several small poems for school a few days ago, so I'll share them now. They're not my best work, I know, but I seem to have trouble writing small things.

For some background, the first three poems are Tankas, which are traditional Japanese poems similar to Haikus, but a bit longer.  The final three poems are much more modern and came about because of Twitter. You basically have to write a poem in 140 characters or less.

That was a venti

decaf two thirds sweet no foam

one and a half shot

one ninety degree skinny

peppermint mocha with whip

when the late sun sets,

the winter winds start to gust,

and heat drains away,

that is the magical time

when frappuccinos come out.

sickly sweet syrup

steaming milk and grinding beans

overflowing pots

and crash there goes the tower

of precarious dishes

One hundred and forty characters do not add up to much, so better not waste them on idle thought. I can write an inspirational quote or a beautiful rhyme. But here is the e-

The true meaning of sacrifice is going without a scarf in the middle of winter to make room for a book in your bag.

The smell of ink and untouched paper, the crack of a spine and smooth jacket under your fingers, the odd look from strangers as you bury your face in a book and sniff.

Norman/Norman

It's Tuesday! I nearly forgot... And I'm tired, so let's get back into the swing of me posting school work! It's a good thing I'm a creative writing student, or that would be very boring... Here is a quick poem I wrote for class. We were supposed to come up with an ancestor and write five lines with as much detail as possible, then the final line is supposed to link myself to the ancestor.

He stands straight as the mast of the ship beneath his feet,

calloused hands clasped behind his back and legs apart to stay balanced upon the rolling grey sea.

The steady wind tugs weakly at the snarled mess of a red beard and plucks at the hair dull with brine.

His blue gaze remains fixed on the speck of land in the distance

with narrowed eyes and the small grin of a conqueror before a conquest.

I wobble uncertainly on a moving bus, my eyes darting frantically about for landmarks on the route. 

I'mma Astronaut

"You are an astronaut. Describe your perfect day."

Dear Diary,

Best. Day. Ever! I'm writing this entry from space. From SPACE! I know, right? The ride up was amazing. Kind of bumpy, like a roller coaster, but it was fun. Everyone else gave me crazy looks when I raised my hands and started laughing. Jeeze, they really need to loosen up. Now that we're up here, I'm having so much fun. I got someone to film me 'swimming' in air. It was hilarious. I posted it on Facebook and got a ton of likes. Oh, and the view! Who knew that the Earth has phases, just like the moon. And the sky is so dark, all the time. It's like permanent night. But it's day. I think. Oh it's too confusing. I'm going to go eat food out of the air then do some gymnastics. I can't wait for tomorrow! I'll never get tired of this! Never ever ever!

((Note: Yes, it is supposed to sound stupid and fun. I'm not actually that ditzy.))

Don't Worry

Time for another poem! This isn't from the book, just something I came up with last night. It's still in the first draft stage, so there are a couple stanzas not finished, and I feel like there is a lot more I want to add.

Don’t worry about me.

Don’t try to see my future,

or tell me what will happen.

Don’t tell me I chose wrong.

And most certainly don’t give me that look.

The one you always try to hide,

but shows all your doubt.

Because I have it all under control.

I don’t know what will happen.

All I can do is hope

that my plans work in my favour.

And if I get lost

I will shift my direction

and keep going.

I can open a bookstore café

in a sleepy old town.

I will greet each customer by name

and spend more time talking

than it takes to drink a coffee.

I can start a magazine

for the average person.

No hidden meanings or convoluted messages.

No high standards or special degrees.

No philosophy or phycology.

Just stories on happy for enjoyment.

I can be a teacher

to pass on my knowledge of words.

You may see it as a failure, a last resort

but five succeeding students are better

than one successful me.

I can be an editor

to just read what I love

and help others to love what I read.

I can be a critic,

if I just steel my heart

and stop loving these words too much.

I can be so much more than you expect,

because I can read, and I can write.

So please, don’t worry that I chose wrong.

My path of life is not a path at all,

but a wide open prairie,

and the only obstacle

is the reach of my vision.

Future

Back to my book of things to write about!

"Write Facebook status updates for the year 2017"

(Note that I will be 24 years old in 2017)

"One more year for the Evergreen line to be finished, so they say."

"I just bought a new video game system. There goes my last couple hundred bucks."

"Is anyone hiring..."

"I should be finished with school any year now... Maybe."

"Five years at Starbucks and I'm starting to like coffee."

"Maybe being a writer isn't for me..."

"My funny. I think I lost it."

"Guys! I got my N!"

"Just got my first cat for my collection. I shall name him Sir Hairball the Fifth of Meowington."

"Holy shit, someone just asked me out. What do I do?"

"Well, time to get writing. I feel all inspired and motivated and- Oh! A notification"

"I sold a book! I think I'll spend my royalty cheque on a chocolate bar."

You Heartless Bastard

Sorry for missing yesterday's post; I didn't have much time between getting home from work and going to bed so that I had enough sleep to wake up at five this morning. Since I'm tired and getting sick, I'm going to use another Writing prompt.

A House plant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live

I know I've only had you for a week, and that I may not have given you as much attention as you deserve, but that is no reason to start dying on me. It's not my fault I have to work. All you do is sit at home staring out the window. No wonder you're withering away. Get off your lazy ass and do the dishes or something. Okay, okay, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I just don't want to lose you. You're all I have. You don't even seem to notice when I'm gone. Do you even care about my feelings, you heartless bastard? How can you let yourself die? What would I do without you? Please, just think about me, because I think I might really like you.


I think that was the most dramatic thing I've ever written...

Kwantlen Questions

I know it's Saturday and I said  was only going to post on Tuesday and Thursdays, but I've been looking at the courses I can take at Kwantlen, and I was hoping I might be able to lure in some students from there to answer a few questions. (I know you're out there, you've answered my questions before!)

First off, how is the commute from, say, Braid Station to the Surrey campus? Or even better, from the Douglas New West campus to the Surrey campus. (No matter the commute, it looks like I'm going to be taking courses in Surrey, as those are the only ones appearing on the list of classes. I might be doing the class search wrong though...)

I'm thinking of taking an online course. Any opinions or suggestions? Easier or harder? What about when we actually need to meet up, or if we need to meet up?

How are the professors? I've noticed there's only a small handful for all the classes, so I'm likely to have the same professor more than once.

I'm planning on taking fiction, poetry and creative non fiction, but how is screen writing? Easier or harder than fiction? Also, my real passion is speculative fiction, but I know that many programs shy away from it because it's not considered a serious genre. Is there anything like it that's taught, or even accepted, at Kwantlen?

Any other things to mention that I should know about? Hints or tricks for surviving?

"The Worst Thanksgiving Dish You've Ever Had"

Onto the next thing to write about!

To be honest, I've never really had anything bad for Thanksgiving. I mean, I know I don't like stuffing, and I'm pretty picky when it comes to vegetables, but I know what I like and what I don't like, so I chose my dinner that way. As far as I can remember, I've never actually eaten anything terrible. Of course, it helps that quite often my birthday weekend lands on the same weekend as Thanksgiving, so I pretty much get to pick what we eat, or where we eat.

Well that wasn't very interesting, was it? How about a life update? We got a new desktop computer because our old one finally crashed permanently, or at least to the point that it was too much effort to fix it. Our new one has windows 8.1, and I've actually learned to use it fairly quickly. My mom still seems to hate it, and I'm pretty sure my dad is avoiding it. More time for me to play the Sims though. Which is running so fast that I forget that I don't need to give it ten minutes for my sim to sleep. I normally have to bring a book or my ipad down while playing because there will be long stretched of time where nothing happens because the game keeps pausing. Now I keep forgetting that my sim needs attention, and I've nearly killed her a few times because I haven't let her eat...

Let's Get This Started

I'm going to start working my way through the book that my friend gave me, titled "642 Things to Write About", starting from the very beginning. (If I don't keep an order, I'll never remember what ones I've done) Some will be poems, some will be prose. Don't expect a whole story, unless it's very short.

What Can Happen In A Second

An idea.

The blink of an eye or two

A frown turned into a smile,

or vice versa.

The flash of a lens

and the snap of a photo.

The choice between yes or no.

The inhaled breath after a long wait.

The thump of a heart,

an electrical shock.

A scream.

But it’s not the second that counts

but the before and the after.

An idea to take life or create it.

When the eyes open again,

or remain shut forever.

When the tear-stained face of a child lights up,

or the hopefully look of a parent is crushed.

When the photo is placed in an album

or in a record.

When the yes is a yes

and the no doesn’t matter.

When the wait is for a loved one

or simply one of desperation.

When the heart beats for the first time

or for the last.

When the shock saves a life

or takes it.

When the scream is of joy

Or cut off after a second.

I'm Saying it Again...

I'm sorry for missing the Monday update. I sat here for hours trying to think of something to write about, and came up with nothing interesting. As it is, I still haven't come up with much.

But I have the day off work, so that's exciting! There was a little complication with the schedule, and for a while this morning I wasn't sure if I was going to be called in. It appears my co-worker showed up to work after all, so I have a whole day to do chores and catch up on things I've left hanging.

I've said this before, but I'm saying it again. I'm going to start entering my work into literary magazines. I sent in a short story to a speculative fiction magazine, and I should be hearing back within a few weeks. The problem with literary magazines is that there are very few that have to do with speculative fiction, and that's where I'ms strongest. I write poetry, but from what I've seen, it's nothing compared to what gets into magazines and books. It seems you have to make absolutely no sense to the average person to be considered a good poet. Unfortunately, I either write cliché poems (about the female image, fear, writing, ect.) or I write comedy poems, neither of which appear to be popular in magazines.

But I'm going to join this writing group. It's only $20 a year, and I'm hoping it'll give me some help when it comes to publishing, or submitting stories. Maybe even with my procrastination. So hey! Look for my name in some magazines coming soon, maybe I'll get published.

Digging a Little Deeper Part 2

(So I'm not feeling all to well. I think I'm probably dehydrated still, but no matter how much I drink, it doesn't help my headache. I guess I should be drinking water and not juice or pop though... Anyway, because I'm feeling uncreative today, here is another few paragraphs from my first attempts at writing.)

Arica woke up gasping, sweat trickled down her brow. Damien was staring at her, concern filling his green eyes. As soon as he saw she was awake he sighed and leaned back.

“Finally your awake, you woke me up with all that talking, and the scream at the end, before you woke up. What were you dreaming about?” He asked and shook his head as if he would rather not know. Arica sat up from where she had fallen onto the ground.

“I- I don’t really know…” She stuttered. A beam of sunlight danced across the floor through the open window. All signs of the night's showers were gone, replaced with twittering birds and fluttering butterflies.

“We're almost there.” Damien said and point out the window. Arica joined him and smiled. It was true; they had arrived at a large white farm house. Acres of green grass rolled along the hills, showing off well muscled horses as they grazed in large paddocks. At the large oak doorway stood a well dressed woman, waiting patiently with an old butler. The wooden wheels of the carriage crunched along the gravel path as the house got closer. Finally it halted and the door swung open. The old butler was walking off towards the back, where Damien and Arica had thrown their bags.

“I can’t believe it!” Damien said as the woman walked over. She scowled at their rumpled clothes then turned towards the butler, who was dragging both heavy bags around the carriage.

“Bring those bags inside and tell Cecilia to take them to the rooms.” She said then turned back to the cousins. “I am Annette, Lady of the house.” She said briskly and turned around. “Follow me.” With a wave of her hand, Annette strutted up the driveway. Arica and Damien exchanged amused glances before racing after their aunt.

“Wow.” It was the first thing Arica said as they entered their new house. Damien stood at the entrance, mouth open wide in shock.

“Come on then, don’t just stand there. Lars is waiting for you in the study.” Annette said and led them into a well lit room. Three walls were covered in large wooden bookcases while the remaining wall had an oak desk against it. Behind the desk was a rather large man, who looked up from the fat book he was reading when they entered.

“Ah, yes, the children. I am Lars, the man of the house. I do hope I’m guessing correctly when I say you are Arica?” Lars said and took Arica’s hand into a firm handshake. She winced at the pain and managed a weak smile. Next he turned to Damien and gave him the same warm welcome.

“Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m pretty busy here.” Lars said and shuffled back behind the desk. Annette turned around and hustled the kids out the door, where they were instantly turned up the stairs and towards two doors.

“This is where you two will be sleeping; your bags should already be inside.” Annette said. Once their aunt had gone downstairs and was out of sight, Damien and Arica rushed to their rooms. 

Meet Nug

I guess I kin of just ended the character conversations, but I still have characters. Here is one I've just kind of come up with. I'll probably use him as a small side character in a novel.


PART I. PHYSICAL
Full name: Brannug, more commonly known as Nug
Date of Birth/Age: March 18, 1156/ 33
Address: N/A
Race/Ethnic Background/Nationality: Scottish
Height: 5”5
Weight/Body Build: pudgy and round, but muscular
Hair: red with flecks of blond
Eyes: a murky grey-green colour
Peculiar Physical Traits
Glasses/Contacts: None, but probably needs them
Smokes: loves his pipe
Nervous Habits: laughing at inappropriate times, accidental eye winks, also at inappropriate times
Distinguishing Marks: A scar on his chin that is partly hidden by a shaggy beard
Health: Could be better
Smell: Sweat, smoke and salted fish
Voice: More high pitch than would be expected of a man of his girth, heavily accented to the point of being hard to understand
Usual Walking Style: A kind of waddle-strut
Mannerisms: Big ego, very outgoing, hides any nervousness being humour
What type of clothes/shoes/accessories does he/she wear?: A once white-now grey- shirt under a well-worn vest that has lost all its buttons. One of his ‘lucky’ boots was once half eaten by a wolf when it attacked him, now leaving it an inch and a half shorter than the other boot.
Any peculiar tastes in clothes/shoes/accessories?: He hates to change his clothing, thinking that the longer he’s had this current clothes, the more lucky they are. Most of the things he wears have holes and stains on them.
Eating habits/mannerisms/tastes: A hearty eater, but surprisingly picky. If he finds something he likes, he will eat only that until he tires of it.

PART II. GENERAL
Occupation/Social Class: Soldier, lower class in the army.
Views on Money/Spending Habits: Money is meant to be spent, why bother keeping it?
Education/Intelligence: Some insight he has gained simply from living, but otherwise his only training is from the army.
Marital Status: Single, probably forever
Political Party/Views: Loyal to his Lord and superiors, even if he disrespects them from time to time. He makes it very clear he is not a mercenary , and would never switch sides for money or other bribes.
Religious Beliefs/Strength of Beliefs: Attributes his good luck to God, but otherwise does not have much belief.
Sexual Orientation/Values: Likes women, but gets nervous around them.
What is his/her usual disposition?
Optimist/Pessimist?: Most definitely an optimist
Introvert/Extrovert?: Shows off an extroverted image, but is still partly an introvert
Confident/Self-conscious?: More confident than he deserves to be
How does he/she feel about his/her appearance?: Knows he’s not much to look at, but doesn’t care. It’s personality that matters.
Most important possession: His lucky boots
Hobbies/Recreations/Sports: Loves to playfully spar with other soldiers, but also secretly likes the more elegant art form of dancing. Despite his heavy set body and short legs, he’s actually fairly good, not that he would let anyone know.
Talents: A fairly good fighter with a short sword (he wasn’t allowed to use a long sword), and a decent brawler. He’s also a pretty good dancer
What is a normal day like for this character?: Wake up, eat breakfast, spar, eat brunch, more sparring, eat lunch, take a nap, eat supper, brawl, eat dinner, gambling and drinking, sneak a snack, sleep
Greatest Fear: Being sent away from the army and everyone he knows
Major Goals
1. Gain more status as a soldier (maybe save a superior’s life?)
2. Find the perfect food
3. And the perfect chef
4. Live long enough to retire with the rest of the soldiers in his squad

PART III. RELATIONSHIPS
Significant Other/Relationship: None, and nothing in the foreseeable future
Who does he/she live with?: A bunch of other men in a barrack
Who does he/she spend the most time with?: A dozen or so other men he calls his closest friends
Father/Relationship with him/Occupation: His father was a forester for a small Lord; died during an uprising of the peasants
Mother/Relationship with her/Occupation: Housewife; died in same uprising
Siblings/Relationships: Single child
Children/Ages: No children
Feelings toward animals: They’re alright, but best as food
How does he/she view his family?: He misses them from time to time, but they’ve been dead for years.
How does he/she view his friends?: Pretty much the only reason he stays wit the army
How does he/she view his boss/co-workers/employees?: With admiration, if not always respect
How does his family view him?: They’re dead…
How does his friends view him?: He’s fun to be around, though he could use a bath
How does his boss/co-workers/employees view him?: he’s just another soldier to them
Who is his hero?: Anyone who can as well, or better than him

Other comments: He joined the army after the death of his parents, seeing no other reason to stay and feeling regret that he could do not do anything to help them.

Digging a Little Deeper

As I mentioned on Monday, I have a copy of the first story I began to write. Actually, it's the second copy, the first is still in my little black notebook, which I also have, and may share later. Anyway, bear in mind this was started probably at least eight years ago...

Vivid green eyes stared into their exact double. They blinked at the same time, their eyelids drooped simultaneously and snapped back open without a pause. When two rain drops slithered over one set of eyes, the other pair shifted their gaze to the tousled up golden hair. The reflected eyes followed. With a sigh of annoyance, Arica pursed her light pink lips. Rain pounded down on the window, speckling her reflection, her only companion in the small carriage, aside from her cousin. Lightning burst from the dark rain clouds, followed closely by a loud peel of thunder, accompanied by her cousin's loud snore. With a roll of her eyes, Arica threw her pillow at him.

            “Damien, shut up that racket!” She hissed and bent down to scoop up the pillow. When she glanced back at Damien, his green eyes were open and staring at her.

            “You know, you're not exactly a silent sleeper either.” He commented before shifting in his seat in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position on the rock hard carriage seats. After a few seconds of squirming around, he settled down with his back to Arica. The snoring started up soon after. Sighing again, Arica placed her pillow under her head. She closed her eyes and her reflection copied without hesitation.

            Darkness engulfed Arica as she looked around wildly. Where was she?  Slowly shapes emerged, trees, boulders, grass, a brilliant red… sky? She looked up into the slow swirling flames. No heat emitted from them, not a wisp of smoke or the crackle of flames. Wind swirled around Arica, whipping her hair around.

“Hello…” It seemed to say in a breezy voice.

“Who are you!” Arica called into the air. No reply. She started to call again when the world started to shake. Trees crashed down, dirt was flung everywhere and the sky, so calm before, seemed to rage to life. A tree fell down close to Arica, sending another toppling over, right onto her. Her scream caught in her throat as branches covered her like a hard and prickly blanket.