New Character Profile 1

I number and label these posts as if we will ever have more than one.  In the past, this has not worked so well, but we'll see.  Maybe this time we'll get something going... or maybe not.  Oh, well.  That's what this blog is for, right?  Messing around.  Maybe you can title the next blog with the name you choose for this character.

Here it is:  Your character is a male.  His 5 most prominent qualities are that he is:

1. Enthusiastic
2. Dependable
3. Gifted (hmmm. you can decide in which way)
4. Studious (maybe's he's in college.  Maybe he goes to Harvard even)
5. Exacting (this seems to be a flaw.  The dictionary definition of this is  "tryingly or unremittingly severe in making demands")


So, to get a better idea of how these traits define him, write a few sentences about each one, and how they are specific to him.  Or whatever.


Should that be all you do for now?  No, you need to pick a name and stuff.  So answer as many of these next questions as you feel like, I can answer the rest if you want because this exercise can get pretty time consuming, so you decide.


1. Name:
2. Age:
3. Color hair/eyes:
4. Build/weight/height:
5. Job:
6. Most admirable action:
7. Least admirable action:
8. Greatest Fear:
9. Greatest desire:
10. Darkest secret:
11. One sentence philosophy on life:
12. Things that would drive this character to tears:
13. Things that would drive this character to murder:
14. How would he react to:
      Getting in trouble:
      Danger:


The next step, one I particularly love in getting to know a character, is (after you answer all these questions and already have a pretty good idea) listen to a random song on your ipod and imagine it relating to your character in some way.  Maybe it describes him.  Maybe he's singing it on stage at a bar or something.  Maybe it captures his emotional state.  Regardless, you decide how or why that song matters to him.

Things That Annoy Me Thursday

It annoys me when people use the word "literally" wrong, though I admit that I have done this before.  (Do you ever just annoy yourself?)  For your information, people of the world, the word actually means the opposite of "figuratively".  However, you all (okay, and sometimes me) seem to want to use it as a way to exaggerate, thus losing its true and wonderful meaning somewhere along the way.  And this is the reason it bothers me; the word is such a powerful one when used correctly.  For example, if you say someone was literally laying down on the job, you better mean that that person was horizontal.  You know what? Robert Pattinson does this a lot.  Go listen to one of his interviews and if you watch for it (it's not hard), it will start driving you crazy too.  Literally.  (Sorry.)

Rule Number Seven

I really do believe that you can't grow as a writer unless you grow as a person.  And some of us just have further to go, ok?  For example, take the fact that I am extremely inflexible.  My days are scheduled out in such a way that if someone asks me to go to lunch, I have to say, "I'm sorry.  I can't.  I have to write my blog."  Now, on the one hand, this has given me a large measure of self discipline... but, balance in all things, right? I have now figured out how this is handicapping my story.

It comes down to killing your darlings.  Do you think a person that can not drop a blogging appointment with herself to go to lunch can kill her darlings?  Seriously, who knows what I gave up in my life to write all that darling stuff in the first place.  A date out to lunch, to be sure.  It feels a lot like opening a drain and just letting a portion of your life flow down it.  Sounds very depressing, eh?  Yeah, I thought so too.  Until I figured something out.  We are in a learning process, and the opposite of rule number seven is also true.  As we write, we grow as a person.

I have more motivation than ever to learn to be more flexible, because you just can't write good books when you are unwilling to bend.  I need to treat both life and writing more like clay and less like glass.  It's better when you look at it as something that can come undone and re-molded better than it was the first time. Be willing to change everything if necessary.  It's easy.  Or this is what I try telling myself.

I will say this: I have learned never to spend 20 minutes picking the right word again, unless you are very sure it's the final draft.

Progressive Story 3

As I approached, someone grabbed me from behind.  I was already nervous so I instantly screamed, but it was muffled... his hand was covering my mouth.  I couldn't turn my head to see what the perp looked like because he held me with his arm clamped around my forehead and against his armpit.  It smelled of Old Spice deodorant, and I could tell just by the feel of it that he was wearing a suit.  Who were these people?

"You can't kill me!"  I tried to yell into his hand, but it was no use.  Before I knew it, I was being dragged down the walk and around the corner.  This was a nice neighborhood, where was everyone?  Why wasn't somebody standing outside watering their grass and witnessing this so they could call the police?  Stupid urban people.

The man kicked open the cellar door with a shiny black shoe and threw me in.  I fell several feet and landed on a dirt floor.  The door slammed shut above my head before I could see what the man looked like and everything was dark around me.  I was surrounded by the overpowering scent of stale dead things (or what I imagined stale dead things might smell like) and the faint aroma of turpentine, or something like that.  Maybe gasoline.

And that's when a light came on in the distance.

Writing Prompt

I thought of a cool writing prompt.
What if one day you woke up and everyone in the whole world was just gone. No sign of what happened to them. And the world was just the same, everything in it's place, just the people missing. What would you do? How would you react to waking up to no family, friends, anyone? How would you survive, would you look for people, or just do what you always wanted to do?
Let me know what you think.

Progressive Story 2

After an hour of watching Lacey entertaining me I picked her up, gave her a bath and then tucked her into bed, reading her a bedtime story, twice.
Then I decided that I was going to snoop a little. I went into Bill's office and turned on his computer. He couldn't be stupid enough to leave anything on their joint email account, but I knew he had another email. I looked through his deleted browser history and found he had a Yahoo email. He must of had it on "remember me" because I didn't even have to log on.
There were tons of emails back on forth between Bill and the "Hussy" as I think of her in my mind. The were meeting tonight, of course. But the tone of her email made me shudder, something was wrong with this woman. I could picture her dressed all in black, with dyed black hair and red lips.
She told him that after tonight, his life as he knew it would be over, that tonight was his re-birth. And then they would have their life together.
What was Bill doing? Why would he even talk to someone like this? Was he really running off with this woman?
They were meeting at a old home up in the Avenues, only 15 min from here.
I wrote down the address and turned off the computer just before Jill got home. She had been helping at the Young Women's Banquet tonight. I wanted to say something to her, I felt like I was an accomplice by omission. I said goodbye as fast as I could without being rude, but the longer I was with her the harder it was not to just blurt out "Your husband is having an affair right now!"
I hurried out to my car and away from her in record time. Without even thinking of it, I was driving to the address in the Avenues. I needed to see what my brother was getting himself into. Thoughts of cults or murderers or even devil worshipers crossed my mind on the 15 min. drive across the valley. I hardly saw the other cars on the road, I was auto pilot, blindly following the stoplights and road signs. Then I was weaving through the tree lined winding roads. There were cute bungalow's and historic homes nestled together, the stately trees towering over everything. All the yards were well tended, flowers blooming everywhere, overflowing their beds. It was such a lovely place, not the kind of place that I would picture a cult setting up shop, but you never know.
I found the right house number and pulled to a stop in front. It looked like every other house on the block. It was a brick bungalow with a deep porch. I could see a couple chairs and potted flowers next to the door. The yard was well cared for, not a weed to be seen. The light was on in the large picture window that made up the front of the house, but the shades were drawn. I could see light in the back of the house, maybe coming from the kitchen. I wanted to just sneak around the back and see what I could see. But how would I explain that if my brother happened to see me.
Oh, hi brother. I thought you might be being sacrificed to some pagan god tonight, so I was just peeking in the windows to make sure you're alright?! Yeah, that would go over so well.
Taking a deep breath I got out of the car and started up the rosemary lined walk to the front door.

Writing... with a side of candied potatoes

Sometimes I try to write like I am following a recipe.  And why not?  It works very well for food.  But, as I have discovered, not so much for writing.  My point being, with writing, the more you realize there is no right way to do it, the better off you are.  Following a recipe is not creative or playful. Creation is about play, about discovering who you are.  How can another person tell you anything about that?

Okay.  I should say that all of these deep thoughts are inspired by The Artist’s Way, which I just got through reading. I have so many new insights as a result, that if I could, I would share them with the world.  

On a side note, which is probably a topic for another blog, sometimes I am afraid because, in the process of self-discovery, I realize that my imagination is often sparked by things of a dark nature.  Why is that?  I don’t want to pretend, so instead, I discover that I just might be bad.  But that’s what writing is all about, right?  Tell the truth, Stephen King always said.  

To play is to discover and you can’t discover without exploring.  Creative energy is God’s energy, and sometimes He lets us tap into a bit of it.  I believe that’s what play is.

There are no rules, and we must make mistakes as part of the process.  All work, all writing, no matter how bad, comes to good because it equals growth.  Growth of you, of your inner child who would like very much to come out and play, thank you, and of discovery.

I use my imagination more after reading that book, even when I’m not writing.  It’s like my senses have been turned up a notch and the world is mine.  The warm pavement under my bare feet, and the way it contrasts with the cool, wet grass.  The warm spring breeze.  Even cooking has become a process of creation and discovery.  Everything has been made to be a little more like play.  Sometimes I feel too full of all of these senses and all I can do to release them is to write.

“Man is asked to make of himself what he is supposed to become to fulfill his destiny.”  

-Paul Tillich