I'm A Winner

Ok, a second-place winner. My story, "The Washwoman's Daughter," won second place in The Big Read contest. yay! Sunday I will read my story at a reception and it will be published in the local newspaper.

This really comes at a good time, because I've been feeling rather discouraged about my writing. Not to mention I haven't even looked at the novel for well over a month.

Guess it's time to suck up the self-pity and get to writing.

IF NOT NOW, THEN WHEN?

Smile

Today I thought of an idea for a story that made me smile. I'm sure it was an evil smile, because it's not a nice story. It's one I've been kicking around for at least a year, after seeing a documentary on parasitic twins. Yeah, I know. Gross. But so very wicked and full of potential!

So....I'm hoping to work on it tonight. I've been thinking about it a lot all day, which is usually a good sign. (i.e. finished story possibly)

Anyway---here's to writing again!

Soooo, How's That Goal Thing Going?

Ugh.

I've been writing a lot every day, just not on the novel. It's like I wrote those big scenes and filled in a bit, and then I didn't know where to go from there. Probably just need to recharge and think about it. So I've been working on the vignette thingie I did for the LiveJam contest on writing.com. At least I'm writing.

I may post some of it here, just for laughs. Maybe.

Daily Goal

I'm not so hot at keeping goals, but this is one I must. I need/want to write 1,000 words at the very minimum every day. Yesterday I wrote 1300 words (yay!) but today it will be a little more difficult. I've written a bit here and there, but since I just finished the big scene with Cassidy and her mother, and then with Cassidy and Joel (still needs some tweaking), I have to do some thinking. That's where the other stuff comes in handy, the Dream On bits and pieces that I probably won't ever finish but it gives me practice and gets me into Joel's head. That can be kind of a problem, though, me knowing him so very well that sometimes when I'm writing, I forget that the reader knows nothing about why Joel's family left KC, or how he feels about his brother and why it's hard for him to trust. He's an interesting character, but I wish Cassidy was half as interesting. The characters with all the problems seem to be the most interesting. Must be all the drama.

I Know How It's Going To End!

Yay!! I received some extremely helpful feedback for my book today. I am excited about it today, plus I know how it will end.

Some things I need to change/work on/add:

1. the Talk between Cassidy and her mother
2. Cassidy needs to lighten up
3. Joel needs to talk more
4. Show more of Derek's problems
5. Physical description of Jenny and Allan
6. More setting and description (ugh)
7. Show Joel's feelings for Cass
8. Tentative renewal of friendship b/w Cass and Janie

So now I'm excited and I know for sure it isn't crap and that's a wonderful feeling! Still waiting for feedback from the rest of my writing group, so we will see.

I will finish this thing and see it in print!!

The Big O

For so long the desire to write has been missing. Now, though, there's this urge, this urgent feeling inside of me that is only soothed by my fingers on the keyboard. And then the feeling changes to one of satisfaction, of knowing that this is what I'm supposed to be doing. My mind, no, my entire being fills with the knowledge that yes, I am writing again and it feels so right, so good, so wonderful. And I wonder how I could have gone for so long without the therapy words avail me, without the sheer joy I get when it all comes together into a cohesive and coherent story. I think it's the best thing in the world.The only thing better would be seeing my name on the dust jacket of a novel. Right now, I can see that happening. I read an interview where Richard Z. Kruspe compares creating music with orgasm and I'm going to have to agree that any sort of creative process gives that feeling.

Exercise 3---POV

I have to preface this by saying that I do not think switching POVs in a scene without chapter breaks works, no matter what that 'expert' in Writer's Digest says. It smacks of amateur. It reeks. I just got done reading a middle grade novel with five characters and mutiple POVs. It was in third person, and it did work, but I didn't like it. It was very noticable. Maybe not as clunky as a lot of stories like that are, but it did clunk a bit. That is my biggest petpeeve when I review on Writing.com, and probably the main reason I don't review much. There's just too much crapola out there.

EXERCISE 3---POV

Five years. That’s how long it’s been. Five years during which I tried to get on with my life, tried to forget the past. I’ve decided that it’s impossible to forget, and nearly impossible to forgive. I like to think I’ve forgiven him, that I can at least offer him that, but I’m not sure. Ever since his mother told me his release date, I’ve been one big mass of confusion.
Now, though, now I’m going to see him. The thought makes my stomach clench, but whether in nervousness or excitement I’m not sure.
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this,” Mom said last night. “I just can’t understand it. Why? After what he did to our family, this should be the last thing you want to do.” She pressed her lips together. “I thought you’d forgotten about him.”
“I tried,” I said, but I don’t think she believed me. I did try, no matter what she thinks.
A blue sedan turns down the street, and I know it’s him. I have no idea what his reaction will be. I haven’t spoken to him since the day of the accident. The last time I saw him was at the sentencing, and that was such a horrible experience I’ve done my best to forget that whole day.
I wonder if he kept the letters I sent, letters full of words I can’t even remember now. He never answered, so eventually I stopped writing. I guess he forgot about me. Or wanted to.
Why am I here? Why am I waiting to see him when I should be home studying for my exam in the morning? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
The sedan pulls into the driveway, rocks crunching beneath the tires. I’m standing beneath the elm tree in the yard, frozen, paralyzed, nauseated. The leaves rustle above my head, normally a comforting sound, now only annoying and distracting. Marcy gives me a little wave through the window, her face tight and distressed. I know she doesn’t want me here.
The passenger door opens and my breath catches a little. I see his head first, that blonde hair so short now, and then all of him as he straightens and shuts the door.
He walks around the front of the car, and now he sees me, and he stops. I can’t move, unable to look away from those green eyes. I can’t breathe. All I can see is him.
“Joey,” Marcy says, shooting me an unfriendly glance. “Come on inside. I know you’re tired.”
Ignoring her, he shakes off her hand and walks toward me. The expression on his face—oh, God. I don’t think I can do this.
I turn away, pressing my forehead into the rough tree bark.


I can’t believe she’s here. I must be dreaming. I have to be dreaming. I stare at her auburn hair, shiny against the back of her green shirt. I want to touch it. I want to feel it slide through my fingers, want to—stop. Shut up. Just shut up. Shut up. It’s been five years. Five years since I spoke her name. Since I touched her. Since I killed her brother.
I have to swallow hard to keep from puking. There’s too many memories here. I clench my fists, forgetting the letters I’m holding. Her letters, the only things that kept me from going nuts in that hole. I’d read them over and over, until her words were etched into my mind.
My hand reaches out to brush the back of her arm. That’s it. That’s all I can do. The feel of her skin burns me with memories I’ve spent five years trying to bury.
She turns around slowly, so that bit by bit I see her face. Fear nearly chokes me. What if she hates me? I don’t think—oh, shit, she’s crying.
“I can’t do this. I can’t.” She doesn’t move, though, just scrubs a hand across her eyes as if angry. That’s ok. Anger I can do. Anger’s what I’m all about.
I need to say something, but I can’t. It’s like my jaw’s locked. So I hold out the letters, hoping that will speak for me. Her expression goes from puzzlement to understanding in an instant. More tears slide down her cheeks and she sniffs noisily.
“You…you saved them? I thought…” she trails off, biting her lip. I’m still holding out the letters like an idiot, and eventually she takes them, carefully not touching me.
I know what she thought. And I did try to forget her, I really did. But she’d crept beneath my skin. She’s still there, crawling to the surface.
“I know,” I say, feeling like a jerk. “I’m sorry, Cass.” God. Are there any other words as worthless as those? I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since I woke up in the hospital and Mom told me Derek was dead.
I wonder what she’s thinking, staring at the letters clutched in her hand.



If I keep my eyes on the letters, I won’t have to look at him. His feet move closer, swishing through the overgrown grass. My arm brushes against the tree, scratching my skin.
“I’m sorry, Cass,” he says, sending a shiver down my neck. Mom was right: I should never have come, should never have seen him. Because now that I have, all I want is to feel his arms around me again. I want—I want him again.
Finally I raise my head, trying to remember to breathe. I see the past in his green eyes, in the set of his shoulders. There’s a hard cast to his mouth now, and a jagged scar across his cheekbone. I want to kiss the hardness away until only the softness remains. I want to erase the hurt and the regret from his face and bring back the boy I used to love.
“I know you are,” I say softly, stretching out my hand to him. When he hesitates, I try to smile. “It’s okay, Joel. I…I forgive you.” Saying the words is easy—too easy. Can forgiveness really be so simple? I pray it is.
For a second he only stares at me, as if he can’t believe it. Our hands touch, fingers twining together, and then he pulls me into his arms.
“Cass, oh, God, Cass,” he mumbles into my hair, holding me tight against him.
I slide my hands around his waist, press my ear against his chest so that all I hear is the beating of his heart.



**I'm not sure about the last scene. Should keep it when i post this in HWG? Or just the first 2?
Plus, I'm worried that last part is too....melodramatic or something. oh well.