Wanted: A Literary Artist of Good Repute

In an effort to fund the last part of the degree I am currently working on, I am turning to literary scholarships for funding, which has been an interesting--and positively scary--experience.

Several days ago, I made the horrible realization that I am the oldest member of The Tea-Spitters (which may explain why I often feel slightly out of place). While most of our group lands below the magical age of 18, only one other member rises above it, and I pre-date even her. With that in mind, then, I am faced with a somewhat unique quandary: paying for college. Thus far, between my parents' assistance and my own funds, I have navigated a debt free existence. Looking next year's budget in the face, however, has been nothing short of daunting. It is very obvious that next year, I will not be able to make ends meet unless I get some outside help.

Cue going homeschooler on the problem. There are very few things that cannot be solved or accomplished when one is armed with a library card and the ability to read quickly. I happen to have both. After an hour or two of reading and transcribing, I had a newfound hate for the fact that I do not have any politically correct minority blood in me, as well as a list of 69 possible scholarships. While I am proud to be Irish, you do not get a lot of love from your fellow Irish when it comes to college. Incidentally, anyone of Slovak, Cherokee, Hmong, Navajo or Cuban decent that wants to adopt me is more than welcome to do so.

Now that I have a list of scholarships, it is time to methodically work through each scholarship. I am glad I had such a large starting list, because the list is rapidly getting cut as I research each one. Some get discarded because I am too old (bother being old), others because I am not of the proper minority...take your pick of reasons. My most recent discard, however, had an interesting reason for falling by the wayside: I tossed it because do not know any "established Bay Area literary artists and who possess extensive knowledge in the various genres that the Awards seek to recognize."

The wording struck my fancy. While I most definitely do not have such a person to sponsor me for the scholarship, I began musing over the impact that having a relationship with an established literary artist would have on both my life and my writing. It wasn't until last year that I realized my professors did not really challenge me to be perfect in my writing. I even had one tell me that the class would be a skate because I obviously already knew how to research and write, so she would not send things back to me for rewrites. At the time, I thought that was a great compliment. Now I wish she had. The end result was, unfortunately, that I got lazy. Instead of writing, reviewing, and rewriting my work, I would simply turn in my first draft--often without even proofreading. I started using excessive contractions in my work, a nasty habit that I now have to proofread for (even after proofreading this, I'd be willing to bet that I left some in...like that one). Further, and probably the most detrimental, was no one was truly interested in reviewing what I had written outside of class.

There was one exception, however. Doctor Rennicks. I am truly afraid that I wore him out at the end of the semester, as I not only did every assignment, but every extra credit opportunity and even sent in other things that had nothing to do with his class. He reviewed it all, and send it back. At an early age, I had sworn off writing poetry, claiming that rhyme and meter were too much for me. He taught me the value of free verse, and pushed me to write my first long poem--a rewriting of a Greek tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, from Eurydice's viewpoint. His class opened up new horizons for me, and I felt the motivation to think bigger and write better. I never feel afraid to show him my work, because I knew he was going to help me make it better, not try to change it. He respected my vision, and would only question it when he thought I could articulate it better.

I like to think that knowing a literary artist would be like taking a class from Bob. His classes were discussions, not lectures--enjoyable and friendly. Almost like the same discussion could have taken place .3 miles away at the local Peet's. I doubt I will find an established literary artist who possesses extensive knowledge of all genres in time to sponsor me for a scholarship, but maybe someday...someday, I'll meet one. And when I do, I can only hope that we become great friends. Then we can sit together and drink tea in a coffee shop and pour over manuscripts. Then I will never be afraid of showing someone my work, because they won't critique it just for fun; they will do it to make it better.

Surviving Erratic Plot Changes

So I am writing a fantasy story that I've been working on for who knows how many years. The plot has changed and transformed into something completely different. I now have no idea what the original story used to sound like, what happened, or who the characters were. To be honest, only one character survived the changes. Only one character made it to the current draft: Eriif. The others either died in the earlier parts of the story or were completely left behind and forgotten. I have to say that the one character that did make it is the most developed character I have ever used to write something.

The changes in my story would happen so quickly that I had a hard time keeping track of what was going on. I don't think this is uncommon for young writers. We plot out our stories carefully after establishing loose outlines in our heads. Then we try to put our ideas into stone and write boring little outlines (some writers are gods and can write without outlines. If you are one of those people who can keep a story straight without a written outline of some sort then I applaud you immensely). We get into the beginning of our books and start chipping away at our little projects. Suddenly, ever so suddenly, a new idea decides to go BA BAM into existence and our character's lives get turned upside down. Unexpected plot changes (dun dun dun). Yeah, they happen, and they tend to happen a lot. That's what occurred in my book, which is probably the reason why I'm still not finished after like, 6 years of writing on it or something (I hate math). the other day I discovered that my story has changed so quickly and so much that my solid outline isn't so solid anymore. And its kind of frustrating.

I think that the extremity of those surprising plot changes depend on the amount of strength we put into connecting ourselves with our books. Once a book has been with you for so long, you find that you have become apart of it. Sometimes, like in my case, you find that the characters are starting to take control. They begin to write the story for you, and things start to spin out of your hands. That's how you find yourself writing something late at night and thinking that its one thing then waking up to read it in the morning only to find that you wrote something completely different. Its weird, and kind of agonizing, and you search frantically for some sort of control over your hurricane of a plot.

Lately I've been battling unexpected plot changes and I've found that its really hard to keep your story under control after an unexpected idea for your story line attacks you. I've spent late nights working on the structure of my book rather than actually writing like normal people (as if normal people could write). How do you survive such a difficult task? Here is a list of things that I have been doing to keep my story and my head on track as I try to understand what's going on and how to keep the plot from changing so much.

1. Take a deep breath and drink some tea to calm your nerves. Try not to spit it. If you fail at trying not to spit it, then congratulations, you have become one of us.

2. If a character decides to die, just you know out of the blue lies down and dies, then find a way to keep it from happening and bring them back to life. That's terrible advice. Wow. It doesn't even make sense. But I'm too tired to delete it and replace it with something better.

3. Go back and read your outline. Yeah I know, outlines can be boring, but re reading your previous plans for your book might help you figure out if you want to keep your new change and where to put it.

4. If you really need to rewrite your outline, do it in a different format. Don't use a formal outline if you don't like formal outlines (duh). Dare to be slightly unorganized. Sometimes changing the way your outline looks helps you to remember what it says and it keeps your head on track.

5. Don't limit yourself to certain plots and certain amounts of changes. If something crazy comes your way in your plot, try to accept it before throwing it away. It could turn out to be something awesome.

6. Sleep on it, let your new ideas sit for a bit. Once you've taken a nice break come back and see if you still like the new change for your story.

I followed these six rules (actually five rules because number two doesn't really count ("three sir" "right, THREE" (Monty Python reference))) and decided to keep a part for my story that I really like. Its my favorite part actually, even though its kind of sad. I hope this will be a good reference for you when you are drowning in overflowing outlines and unorganized story plots. I also hope that this post makes some sort of sense, because its past midnight over here and I'm tired and a bit loopy. Loopy as in I tried to convert one of my friend's characters from a hot fantasy guy to a gangster. So bear with me.

Peace ya'll, and don't let your characters or your plots get too far away from you!

-I forget what my tea/blogging name was and I'm too lazy to go look so I'm just gonna put my main character's name: Eriif. You know who I am. The weird one.

-I think I just remembered it was Fuze right? Or something like that? Oh well.

-Fuze

In a World of Pure Imagination

(BROWNIE POINTS TO YOU IF YOU GOT THE CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY REFERENCE.)

It struck me the other day what a beautiful gift the imagination is. And how powerful it is.

I mean, seriously! If you just simply close your eyes, you can go to Africa. You can go to London. You can go to Ireland (my personal favorite!). You can also go places you've never been. You can see things you'd never see otherwise.

(Like unicorns in a cotton candy sky, which I believe happened to me once, but let's not talk about that.)

Imagination is one of the most important things as a writer. Seriously, think about it. If you don't see your story in your mind first before it ever hits the shelves, who will?

So, here's my advice to you. Picture your story in your mind as the words hit the page. Live through it, vicariously. Living vicariously through my writing is one of the reasons I started writing, and it is amazing. It's the best thing since bread and butter. (Or is it sliced bread?) But seriously. Nothing compares.

Write vividly. Never stop! The imagination is quite possibly the best thing on earth. Enjoy it.

Now go, live your dream.

"Your dream stinks; I was talking to her."

"Crying when you're happy. That's so human."

Well.  This is it.  Last Sunday afternoon, at 5:03 PM, I officially finished the first draft of "And a Dash of Fear."

I feel like I should have some words of wisdom, to be able to sit here and pour out from my fingertips my feelings, the way I'm overwhelmed, the way I have completed something great.

But here's the thing.  I am overwhelmed.  And no, it's not remotely great.  At least not yet.  So I'm not even sure what to say.  It's a mixture of intense joy, intense pride, and intense pain.  These characters, Adam, Molly, Ianto and Harry, along with all the supporting cast, have been my family since last September.  I love them.  I've laughed and cried with them, and it doesn't just feel like laughing or crying with a computer screen.  They've come alive, they're real, and they're here.  And...I love them.

So I don't really know how to move on.  I have a new novel, Close to Heaven, that I'm planning to use for Nanowrimo, and I'm super excited to start that one.  I've always had an irrational fear of change, and this is a huge change.  For the last six months, every waking moment has been focused on THESE characters and THIS book.  To suddenly say, "That's it, it's over," is really weird for me.

Of course, there's still editing.  It's not like I have to entirely give them up, after all.  The Freaks will be around for some time.  But it's the end of their story.  They've had a good run, and now it's time for them to end.  Adam and Molly will go home and see where they stand in their relationship, Harry will get back together with his girlfriend, and Ianto...you know, I think I'll miss Ianto the most.


Just because, here are the last lines of And a Dash of Fear.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.  That's really all I could dare hope for.

She grabbed his hand unexpectedly, and they walked through the door together.
“Well. This has been something,” Adam said as they settled themselves comfortably on the airplane.
“Yeah,” Molly said. “Thanks for letting me come.”
“Thanks for coming.”
Then he kissed her, soft and slow, suspended above the earth, caught in between time and space, with nothing to distract them and nothing to do but be caught up in the emotion of each other.
And for the first time since he could remember, Adam wasn’t afraid.

 Goodbye, my darlings.  I love you all. 

--Vanilla

To Be Feared or To Be Loved

This post was written in reply to Chamomile's  Am I Bonkers?

"Why do they adore her but not me?"

"I cannot fathom it. You are far superior in all ways."

"I know, but Mirana can make anyone fall in love with her. Men...women...even the furniture."

"Majesty, is it not better to be feared than loved?"

"I'm not certain anymore. But let her have the rabble. I don't need them."

As I writer, I have never felt confined to a single genre. I've found expression for myself in many different forms of writing, sometimes making it hard for me to focus on one specific project. Recently, however, I discovered that I have one trait that plagues my main characters, no matter the setting. My characters lack love. 

The Tea-Spitters were, in part, what made me realize this phenomena. While they were discussing their OTPs and 'shipping characters, I was sitting in the corner alternating between plotting how to turn a princess into a beastly Robin Hood by destroying her family and writing extensive papers on the survival and suppression of a handful of languages (only one of which is still alive and flourishing today). At first, I only paid half a mind to what they were saying, thinking it was only two or three couples that they were oogling over. Then I started to realize that everyone had a main couple, and my poor characters were the punk goths in hoodies that were left scribbling death notes on paper hearts in the rain outside of their high school homeroom on Valentine's Day.

Since I made this dreadful realization, I have spent a good amount of time contemplating what it means. Obviously, I feel insecure about deep personal relationships, even if I don't realize it. My characters are hypersensitive about such things and come pre-equipped with defense mechanisms to keep the world at arm's length--something I have done for years. In fact, I don't remember a time when I wasn't suspicious of people. Unfortunately, it goes beyond suspicion. I would rather willfully be alone than risk not fitting in or having to deal with the rest of humanity. Even when I do find friends, they are merely that, and nothing more. Even worse, I expect them to choose to move out of my life in a few years. I was burned one too many times; I've forgotten how to be vulnerable.

To be able to truly express something in writing, it has to be real to you. If the author has not experienced and contemplated and wrestled in the mud with an idea, a concept, or a feeling, it isn't real to the reader. Our job as writers is to tell a story that originates in our very bones, give the idea flesh and then let the imagination breathe life into the creation. Unfortunately, many authors have a quirk that inhibits them from writing a certain type of story, or force them into one mode of character arc or storytelling. This either makes for brilliant writing in one specific area, or causes an author to run the risk of simply mirroring the life of the compassion-fatigued introvert.

The reason why people in old French and Spanish paintings had such pointy beards. 

With Chamomile's conundrum, I can argue that her insane characters are what bring depth and conflict to her stories. I have no such excuse. Families provide billions of opportunities for drama and conflict. My only excuse is that families are too much work. Think about it. What would your mother say if you went traipsing across the universes on adventures or lived in a round treehouse for all of your life? And what would you do with your two year old when you have to defeat evil on the home front? Strap her to your back in a papoose while you go into hand-to-hand combat with the minions of darkness? Leaving him with a baby sitter is out of the question--we all know baby sitters are really witches waiting to cook little kids as soon as their parents leave for an extended weekend of rest and rejuvenation (kids, I promise that only happens in books. Well, for the most part. Normal looking but crazy Norse god worshipping people who use battle axes in their ritual ceremonies do exist in the real world, too).

Even while logically arguing against any psychological bleed-through, I know that isn't why I fail to give my characters families. I can be lazy, but not that lazy. Beside, making my characters orphans doesn't preclude them from having a love life, yet I routinely refuse my characters the safe haven of a significant other. My own bad romantic experiences rear their ugly heads by denying even my favoritest characters the simple pleasure of loving another being. Instead, their worlds run on fear, power plays and the need to be self sufficient. Who needs Prince Charming? my MCs chorus, each polishing her weapon of choice.

Who indeed.

Am I Bonkers?

 I was holding a conversation with one of my non Tea Spitter friends, and we were discussing State of Mind (now renamed, "Sweet Madness"), Gardner, Ina, Assylums, and the peculiar habit of Gardner's that is, breaking glass.

She asked me, "but why does he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Break glass just to break it. It seems pretty shallow"

"...........I did mention he was mentally insane, right?"

I eventually DID get it through to her, that those who are mad don't need an excuse to do such things.


With another friend, she questioned me about "Thornwood" (A currently in-the-planning mode novel about a nurse in victorian England, and a most peculiar house call to a reclusive gentleman) and we were discussing the good Lord Sebastian Thornwood (of Thornwood Manor) and I said he hadn't left his estate for years.
Naturally, she asked why, and I had say 1) he is physically ill. And 2) he is mentally ill and 3) He isn't a dumbbell. The townspeople think he killed his fiancée, and he doesn't want to hear their criticism.
(I will admit, when she first asked, "Why does he stay inside? Doesn't he have a life?" My first instinct was to reply with, "no, actually. He is an early model of a tumblr fanboy, and spends all his time on there, reblogging images of Rose and Ten, Writing Sherlock Fanfics, Crying over Loki's past, squealing over various Supernatural and The Walking Dead characters and thinking up evil Moffat plots". But that would have been a lie, and I try not to do that...besides, that sort of fanboys scare me, and computers hadn't been invented yet).

But it got me to thinking, I love madness, so it would seem, by the amount of it I have in my novels.

In fact, I'm most at home writing madness, writing mentally injured characters with scars you can't see.

But this got me to thinking even more, does what we write about say something about ourselves?

I tried looking up on google something, but, for the first time, google failed me. I found nothing.
Has no brilliant mind ever wondered this? Am I the first? Oh how lonely this is....

But surely there must be some weight to this idiotic idea of mine? I enjoy writing about mad people, about people who have empty smiles, and have hidden scars. People who pretend, or sometimes don't pretend, to be ok on the outside, when on the inside, are a broken mess of tangles.

It makes me a little scared of myself, to be honest.

So, what do you think? Do you think the things we write about say something about the people we won't admit to being? Or am I just spouting utter nonsense? (In which case, I might be mad, which still proves my point....)

And what does your writing say about you, if so?

Chamomile, The Insane.

(Remember, all the best people are. ;D).

When Your Brain Is Exploding

When Your Brain Is Exploding: 

Step by Step Tips on How to Handle an Abundance of Inspiration

It is generally known that writing can be a frustrating and difficult experience. Often inspiration is welcomed, but sometimes it comes too fast, bowling one over like a semi-truck on a freeway. Novel ideas spring from everywhere, taunting us with their tempting freshness and beautiful hints of what's to come. As most professionals will tell you, sometimes this can be a good thing, but in rare cases, it has been known to make one's brain explode. If you should find yourself in this situation...

1. Find a writing buddy who can be a moral support for you during this difficult time.

2. Create Pinterest boards so that you can keep your ideas online rather than in your head.

3. Open a word doc and spill out all your ideas onto the page. This will save you from having to remember all of them.

4. Prioritize which ones you'd like to write in which order.

5. Talk to your support group, or your writing buddy, if you have one. Tell them about your ideas and don't be afraid to be honest about the strain this is causing you.

If you try all these steps and still find no relief...

6. Grab a roll of duct tape. Just in case.

A TEA-SPITTARIAN HOLIDAY

WELCOME, ONE AND ALL, TO THE FIRST ANNUAL TEA-SPITTARIAN ALL CAPS DAY. MAY THE CAPSLOCK BE EVER ON.

What? What's that you say? All Caps Day was yesterday?

March 1st, ladies, is the day that we hit the capslock key and don't look back. We [or at least I] wrote essays without any lowercase letters. I think my mother twitched when I handed those in. But it didn't just stop there. Facebook statuses, and texts and everything in between. My friends were a little past irritated with me when we were chatting on FB and texting, but it was good fun. It reminded me a bit of those 'Texting with Thor' images.

In short, it was amazing. And to top off an awesome day, we tea-spitters had our second video chat and sobbed over Ianto together.

The Tea Spitters Safe & Sound

You've heard of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars, right? Probably. But I'll bet you've never heard of The Tea Spitters' Safe & Sound by Earl, Pepper and Vanilla. My dear innoce--I mean reader, this is what happens to caffeinated writers in the evenings when we're procrastinating writing.

Pepper, Vanilla and Earl (Sky, Rachel and Caroline) wrote this in comments just joking about it, but then I came along and decided that it was too epic not to finish. This is the finished result, recorded by me (I literally have it written down on notebook paper, tucked into my ideas notebook named Greg because reality is not his division, titled as The Tea Spitters Safe & Sound), and then after that it was edited and revised and now I have the pleasure of sharing it with all of you, so, without further ado:

The Tea Spitters Safe & Sound

by Pepper, Vanilla and Earl

I remember tears streaming down your face when you said

"I miss NaNoWriMo"

When thirty days almost killed your light

I remember you said "writer's block is killing me"

But November's dead and gone and past tonight

Just close your eyes

This chapter's winding down

You'll be all right

It's almost finished now

All day and night

Nothing will be safe and sound

Don't you dare look over your shoulder, darling character,

everything is going wrong

The war inside your book keeps raging on

Hold onto this lullaby, even when half your OTP is gone

Gooone

Just close your eyes, no one will hurt you now

(A filthy lie, you might be going down)

You'll be all right 

Except for Ianto

Just close your eyes

The sun is coming up

You won't be all right

Your author can hurt you now

Writing all night

Nothing will be safe and sound

This is just a little taste of what goes on in our group. Sometimes it's pure insanity, like the comments on a certain characters death scene that was a mixture of emotions (happy, sad, laughing, crying, all of that fun stuff) that really didn't make sense, but that's us. As the title suggest, we're insane, but we enjoy every second of it. Besides, a little bit of crazy and insane makes life all the more interesting!

Hugs,

Dragonwell