Monday, October 28, 2013


It's October 28th. The countdown is on. NaNo is fast approaching and writers all over are preparing for the grueling race to the finish line. The prize? A novel built on blood, sweat, and tears, and a whole hell of a lot of determination. And typos.

I wish I had time to participate in NaNo. I love NaNo. Even if I don't reach my goal, I still love the support and the push to bring new ideas to life. The community is amazing. I'm sure that anyone who has participated in the past has spent a good deal of time updating their word count on the website. Those graphs are depressing though.

Sadly, I'm working two jobs at the moment and dealing with a family member in the hospital, so I don't see NaNo working out this year. But who knows? I might surprise myself.


Friday, October 11, 2013

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

Is anyone else amazed it's nearly November? When the hell did that happen?

Not only did I not realize it was nearly November, I completely forgot November is NaNoWriMo. What is wrong with me? I'm and author for Christ's sake! It's shameful.

Bad Elizabeth...

That being said, I'm not sure I'm up to NaNo this year. I haven't been in a while. I try, but seldom succeed. Of course, last November I was working twelve hours a day at a horse ranch, so I kind of understand. I don't really have an excuse this year, unless you call a life of complete and utter chaos a reason.

I'm convinced that I should write a book about my life. It might be more interesting than some of my other novels, and I write Sci-fi/Fantasy.

That should say something about the state of my life these days.

Oh well. Life happens. There's not much any of us can do about it, save collect material to mold imaginary people who will do things that we'll never be able to do.

Sometimes that's good enough.


Sunday, September 8, 2013

Requesting Permission to Land

Why is it that you never realize how important something is to you until it's gone? You may have an idea, but the full force of it doesn't hit you until it's no longer within reach. And then it sucks. Like, really sucks.

I feel like I'm living in a movie. A dramatic movie with grand speeches and drama and torrid love affairs. Someone is arrested right after being engaged. There is financial difficulty. There are tears. Family turns away. And all you're left with is a bittersweet ending and the desire to say, "Well, it could have been worse."

I'm not sure when I turned into a cliche. It seems to have crept up on me. Now I'm in the middle of act two, holding the smoking gun, and not knowing how I ended up in the neighbor's basement. Except it turns out not to be the neighbor's basement at all, but I'm having a vivid hallucination from the confines of my padded cell. And the padded cell is in a government research facility disguised as a mental hospital. Underground. In the year 2085.

I'm sure you get what I mean.

I suppose I could write a book about it. I've written books about stranger things.  But for some reason, reality doesn't seem nearly as interesting as people who throw energy balls. Maybe because I can't throw energy balls. I'll let you know when they let me out of my cell.


Wednesday, July 17, 2013

A Dab Will Do You

I found this picture today, and I can't tell you how true it is. I spent many years looking for a place to belong. I bounced from social group to social group; made friends and outgrew them. I was a bookworm, a weird kid, the loud one. I was too quiet, then too opinionated, with bright red hair and funky glasses. People didn't know how to take me.

And then I started hanging out with other writers.

The thing that's beautiful about other writers is, we're all nuts. There isn't a "normal" writer out there. Sure, some people pretend to be by covering breaking news stories or writing hit screenplays, but the fact of the matter is, we're all a little weird. Some of us are a lot of weird. There's no way around it. I mean, you have to be different in order to live in a completely fictional world (or maybe a non-fiction world, but definitely when you weren't in it) and interact with imaginary people. We get so invested in our work, we feel emotionally connected to them, to the point that reading something terrible in their lives makes us cry. They are our friends, the world our creation, the story our baby. And when it's good, it's great. And when it's bad, well, let's just say there are still some novels I'm not on speaking terms with.

Other writers get it. You don't have to have that awkward introduction where you tell the person you're a writer, almost like it's an apology. "I'm sorry my behavior will make you consider having me committed. But it's okay. I'm a writer." When you're with other Children of the Corn, you just delve into it. And they reciprocate. And it's awesome.

I wish I had more writer friends. Admittedly, I haven't been writing much, but I believe support is invaluable whether you're working on a project or not. Bloggers are certainly writers as well, though a different flavor perhaps. I'd like to find some of those as well. So, if you know of anyone interesting, point them my way.

And make sure they bring their anti-psychotics. I'm running low.


Saturday, July 13, 2013

Being the Bad Guy

"You are never the villain of your own story."

This seems to be incredibly true of my life today. The Bad Guy doesn't realize that he's the bad guy. And when he refuses to acknowledge this, it makes it incredibly hard to get any sort of resolution. It's their word against yours. It's open for interpretation. There are two sides to every story.

But what if the story just plain sucks?

In stories, it's easy to pinpoint the antagonist. There's the hero and the villain. And you know who to support. How dare that person do this to your beloved main character? They're obviously evil. But every once in a while, you get a villain that's hard to hate. They have some redeeming qualities. You can understand how they got to this point in their life. But they're still the bad guy. They're still doing horrible things to good people. So, while you're understanding of their situation, you, as a reader, don't like them very much.

Unfortunately, there isn't a delete button in real life. You can't say something terrible and take it back. You can't rewrite a memory. It isn't black and white, because emotions cloud the situation. There are any number of influencing factors. Friends and family have their own opinions. You don't want to disappoint the people who believe in you. But you also don't want to burn your bridges.

I figured out who the Bad Guy is today. But even though I have this knowledge, I'm not sure what the outcome will be. I don't have the luxury of an outline of my life. Sometimes, I really wish I did. It might make it easier to avoid these situations.

Hating people is so much easier in fiction.


Sunday, June 30, 2013

Passing 'Go'

Do you ever feel like there's so much emotion inside of you that it's difficult to figure out what you're really feeling? In the past, writing has helped me. But lately, there's so much going on in my life that I haven't been able to write. I understand that a large part of being a successful writer is discipline, but there are times when the most determined of individuals are so overwhelmed by life that writing just isn't an option.

Lately, I've been telling people about my novels. I find that explaining them gets me excited about the characters. It's a simple pleasure, but many good things stem from such a feeling. It motivates me to open those documents and skim through. In some cases, I'm given an opportunity to read a passage aloud to someone. I find this is particularly helpful, one, because I have an easier time correcting any awkward word combinations in my dialogue, and two, because it connects me with my characters. If I have to feel their emotion while I'm reading, it breathes life into them. It makes them seem more like real people. Old friends. And I find myself wanting to get to know them all over again.

I'm working with someone to set up an official website for all of my writing pleasures, and I will hopefully be starting a new blog over there. If all things go well, I'll take all of these memorable posts and move them to the new site. It's unclear at the moment if I will keep this blog active, but the new site will provide me with infinite new possibilities for marketing.

I'll keep you guys posted on the progress. I hope that you'll follow me when I make the transition.

Keep writing!


Friday, June 14, 2013

Star Gazer

I believe in fairy tales. Not that life can be picture perfect, because that's just not realistic, but I honestly believe that everyone in life is granted one wish. It might be something small like a thousand nights curled up with your favorite pet, or something big like True Love. Your dream house. A wildly successful career. Fame and Fortune. A childhood dream realized and grabbed with both hands. I believe it's possible for humans to have this. And sometimes, when we're really lucky, we get more than one.

Life is very often the polar opposite of pretty; it's easy to only focus on the bad. The war, death, destruction, plague, economy. It's easy to be lost in the swirling vortex of depression. But I think it's important to hold onto those good things. And if you don't have them now, find one, and jump into it with arms outstretched.

I write stories about people. They have good days and bad. There is birth and death and tragedy and love. Nothing is simple. But nothing in life is simple either. It's complicated. No matter how hard we try to analyze and schedule and micromanage, there's always something that slips through our fingers. There is always something just out of our control. And that's okay. Sometimes you just have to take things on faith.

Even though I write fiction, my stories are about real life. They're about hundreds of life experiences broken down and fed into imaginary people. In this form, I think the truest life lessons can be put down on paper. There are a thousand tears in every gut-wrenching passage. A dozen smiles in every baby's laugh. It's the purest of emotions written in a way that people can relate to. We've all experienced these things in some ways.

That's something we all have in common.

That, and the desire for real life fairy tales.


Thursday, March 14, 2013


Hate is scary. Not the kind that you scream about during an argument. The kind that happens after the argument, when there are no more arguments. Hate that is so strong, you can't think about it, because you're afraid that it will consume you; turn you into someone who is no longer a person, but an emotion. It will turn you into some monstrous being that doesn't care about anything but hate. And that hate will lead to a thirst for revenge. And that thirst will be put into action, and actions into motion, until you are ruining lives, most of all your own. Hate is powerful. Hate is dangerous. And somehow, it still exists.

Hate is so close to passion. You can feel passion for a person so great you're afraid it will carry you away. But passion isn't considered a bad thing. People throw themselves into it, breathe it in, and beg for more. But what happens when that passion turns to hate? If you're so deep in your longing and suddenly, your world shifts. And you find yourself no longer loving, but hating. Is there a way back from that? Distance might lead to forgiveness, and forgiveness may lead to forgetting. But if you can't distance yourself, it turns you into this person you don't recognize. And you worry that if you can't get away from it, you'll never be yourself again.

Logic dictates that there is a way back from most anything. And I find that logic is once again engulfing my brain and bringing me back to a place of reason. A place where there are problems and there are solutions and no matter how difficult a situation seems, there is a way to conquer it. But every once in a while, emotion grabs hold and I spiral to a place where I wonder about hate and its consequence. And I wonder if there will come a time when logic is just out of reach and I won't be able to come back.

Writing about it helps. So, I write. And writing puts the emotions on a page where I can read it, analyze it, and come back to reality. As long as I can write, I'm less afraid.

Let's hope I can always write.


Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Holey Shit

Do you ever feel like you're trying to dig yourself out of a hole with a spoon? You're six feet under and all you have is your determination and a crappy tool. You look up and see a mountain of dirt and a tiny pinprick of light. And you have to ask yourself, "How the HELL am I going to get out of here?"

I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet.

I'm sure there are better metaphors for what I'm currently experiencing, but that's what I've got at the moment. I'm not getting any points for creativity, but it's something people can relate to. Well, I hope it's something people can relate to. I'm having problems communicating at the moment.

I've become the villain in someone's story. I know that I can't really control that. People have their own opinions and their own views and their own way of dealing with things. But I'm having a hard time dealing with this fact because I am, at heart, a writer. I write people's endings. I shape worlds. And while things aren't always pretty and perfect, I know that it's all going to work out in the end, because I'm not mean enough to deny even the worst characters resolution. I wish it worked like that in real life.

I'm generally not a mean person. And I've never had a problem communicating. I can communicate until I'm blue in the face. In the past, this was enough. Making my point was enough. What the other person did with that information was up to them. But for some reason, I'm not finding it enough anymore.

I've never wanted so badly for someone to understand my side of things. For them to agree with me. I don't want to be the bad guy. I don't want for things to crumble over a difference in opinion. I want to come to some sort of understanding and to have things work themselves out. But no matter how much I bend my expectations or compromise, the other party doesn't seem willing to do the same. And what are you supposed to do when you're bending over backwards and the other person won't budge?

Let it go.

I know I should let it go. But I'm not a mean person. I don't want to be the villain in their story. I'm even willing to remove myself from their story if necessary, just so long as I'm not the reason it all went wrong.

But real life isn't as easy as writing. And writing is hard.

Who the hell came up with that story?