I did it. I hit the fifty thousand word mark. This year, I tried some other tricks. Checking my word count earlier with the National Novel Writing Month counter. Then, I did another thing because of getting ready for Thanksgiving, I took breaks, not from writing, but from the actual story. So, even though, I completed the goal of the word count, the real work now begins. I ran around the story during the breaks. I thought about the story and wrote my thoughts.
The work begins. I love this story, too. I guess one has to love what one writes. Well, maybe not, I guess could be debated. I got bogged down with some details and needed to work them out. I wrote about that. I thought of Emma Thompson in Stranger than Fiction with her character, Will Ferrell, hearing her voice telling the story about him. I explored how writing really is showing and telling. We must tell some. I thought how the new trend is telling while the actors show the story. The Wonder Years popularized that. Arrested Development uses it so much in this season that the actors almost don't have to work. Since we are coming into the Christmas season, A Christmas Story, the Jean Sheppard story of 'you'll shoot your eye out' also utilized this type of story telling on the screen. The original writer for The Wonder Years found the new writers as the show grew popular wanted to use the technique to overkill, and he had to restrain them, like kids with a new toy.
Well, the marathon is over. I wrote over seven thousand words one day to keep with the deadline, but that wasn't today. Today only a little over five thousand. I know I can do this and I want to continue the slow and steady race. But deadlines are important. I will set mine up again for Last Free Exit and Country.
Tonight, though, I have completed the National Novel Writing Month and I will keep a Sabbath day of rest tomorrow. I am not sure I will even want to open the lap top. I have reading to do. I have a historical home to visit their Christmas tree display on State Route 62 in Hermitage. Maybe I'll watch a movie to allow my mind to rest. I'll take a long winter nap to bless my soul.
I have earned a bit of a rest, but I will not stop. I will continue to write and rewrite, revise and edit. I anticipate the continued work of creating stories. And I love it, still.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesdays
From Teddy's Law Facebook Page:
Child abuse happens all year long and throughout the world. We will fight for Teddy's Law and keep speaking out for all abused kids.
Bullying, verbal abuse, mental abuse toward kids are still forms of child abuse. Physical abuse & child torture are the worst but all forms of abuse will impact a child's future. The saddest part about child abuse is these kids are helpless in stopping abuse, we are not. Speak out to anyone who is willing to listen. Abused children suffer at the hands of their abusers. Child abusers and those who protect abusers are the lowest excuse for human beings. Parents are not normally geared to be abusive, the exceptions should be denied any mercy within the legal system. They say "Justice is Blind", it's time "Lady Justice" removes her blindfold so these monsters receive what they deserve.
Child abuse happens all year long and throughout the world. We will fight for Teddy's Law and keep speaking out for all abused kids.
Bullying, verbal abuse, mental abuse toward kids are still forms of child abuse. Physical abuse & child torture are the worst but all forms of abuse will impact a child's future. The saddest part about child abuse is these kids are helpless in stopping abuse, we are not. Speak out to anyone who is willing to listen. Abused children suffer at the hands of their abusers. Child abusers and those who protect abusers are the lowest excuse for human beings. Parents are not normally geared to be abusive, the exceptions should be denied any mercy within the legal system. They say "Justice is Blind", it's time "Lady Justice" removes her blindfold so these monsters receive what they deserve.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Scary Halloween
Re-posting. Originally written in 2012.
Twenty four years ago, we had a very wet, gloomy October. I had just found out I was pregnant with Katie. We were moving into our house, but still living at my parents while they traveled south to Florida. David and I would go to our new house, and I ended up laying on the couch sleeping. I couldn't believe how tired a little life could make me. I worked full time afternoons in ICU, also.
Halloween Day, the sun shone brightly. I got a burst of energy, dusting every thing that had been moved from one and a half years storage. I even wanted to walk to Taco Bell, but we decided we didn't have time.
Mom and Dad were back from their trip. Dad, already set up to treat the trick-ers, stood at their front door. I love to watch the children trotting up the street. I felt great as I entered the living room to be with Dad. Then I felt something funny, wet between my legs, and I discreetly went to our room. Blood between my legs. I panicked.
I called my doctor immediately as my pregnancy was only a month along. The nurse, an older, wizened nurse, calmly told me to lay down, right now. I was only get up to the bathroom for forty eight hours. Oh, boy, I was scared.
We hadn't told my parents, or David's, either. His parents had planned to come that weekend to help us move and settle into our new house. We planned to announce our wonderful news at dinner on Saturday. I told David, "You have to tell my dad. I never stayed in bed this long, even when I was sick."
David looked at me quizzically.
"You have to," I reinforced my demand.
I also knew my dad would pray. I wasn't a fervent prayer at that time. I was in one of those dips of doing things my way with just a nod to God.
David's brother and wife, Ray and Kathy with their two young boys still made the trip to the Valley to see her parents, her relatives and us. I instructed David to tell them as well. I knew they would pray.
Jody and Megan came upstairs to see me. Megan's eyes round as saucers, in her costume, either a witch or Indian. Jody sat on the bed and talked. She had directed me to this obstetrician, so we chatted about him and his nurse.
The next day, my dad popped his head in the door, "So, you got yourself pregnant?"
"Dad, I wanted to."
"I know. What can I get you to eat?"
A few days later, I got a card from Ray's mens prayer group at his church in Indiana, Pennsylvania. Sixty men signed a card that they had prayed for me the next day after the Ray Lyon's had been here. That tan card that sixty men signed signified a great power to me.
After the initial complete bed rest, I was allowed to go downstairs once a day and back upstairs once a day. Mrs. Voisey, the doctor's nurse advised me, "Just look at the dust and say isn't that a pretty pattern."
I was more tired after that week of inactivity than if I worked hard. Going back to the unit was hard at first. The greatest moment was a week later, hearing the baby's heartbeat for the first time with the Doppler. The scare was over. I counted the prayers, but still had not become a praying woman.
Twenty four years ago, we had a very wet, gloomy October. I had just found out I was pregnant with Katie. We were moving into our house, but still living at my parents while they traveled south to Florida. David and I would go to our new house, and I ended up laying on the couch sleeping. I couldn't believe how tired a little life could make me. I worked full time afternoons in ICU, also.
Halloween Day, the sun shone brightly. I got a burst of energy, dusting every thing that had been moved from one and a half years storage. I even wanted to walk to Taco Bell, but we decided we didn't have time.
Mom and Dad were back from their trip. Dad, already set up to treat the trick-ers, stood at their front door. I love to watch the children trotting up the street. I felt great as I entered the living room to be with Dad. Then I felt something funny, wet between my legs, and I discreetly went to our room. Blood between my legs. I panicked.
I called my doctor immediately as my pregnancy was only a month along. The nurse, an older, wizened nurse, calmly told me to lay down, right now. I was only get up to the bathroom for forty eight hours. Oh, boy, I was scared.
We hadn't told my parents, or David's, either. His parents had planned to come that weekend to help us move and settle into our new house. We planned to announce our wonderful news at dinner on Saturday. I told David, "You have to tell my dad. I never stayed in bed this long, even when I was sick."
David looked at me quizzically.
"You have to," I reinforced my demand.
I also knew my dad would pray. I wasn't a fervent prayer at that time. I was in one of those dips of doing things my way with just a nod to God.
David's brother and wife, Ray and Kathy with their two young boys still made the trip to the Valley to see her parents, her relatives and us. I instructed David to tell them as well. I knew they would pray.
Jody and Megan came upstairs to see me. Megan's eyes round as saucers, in her costume, either a witch or Indian. Jody sat on the bed and talked. She had directed me to this obstetrician, so we chatted about him and his nurse.
The next day, my dad popped his head in the door, "So, you got yourself pregnant?"
"Dad, I wanted to."
"I know. What can I get you to eat?"
A few days later, I got a card from Ray's mens prayer group at his church in Indiana, Pennsylvania. Sixty men signed a card that they had prayed for me the next day after the Ray Lyon's had been here. That tan card that sixty men signed signified a great power to me.
After the initial complete bed rest, I was allowed to go downstairs once a day and back upstairs once a day. Mrs. Voisey, the doctor's nurse advised me, "Just look at the dust and say isn't that a pretty pattern."
I was more tired after that week of inactivity than if I worked hard. Going back to the unit was hard at first. The greatest moment was a week later, hearing the baby's heartbeat for the first time with the Doppler. The scare was over. I counted the prayers, but still had not become a praying woman.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Ego Getting the Better of Me?
I had a writing marathon yesterday, climbing my word count on my novel to 35500 words. Over seven thousand words in one day. It did help that the story is getting interesting and I haven't even gotten to the parts I want to write. Now, I'm back on track for NaNoWriMo, and Monday, November 25, I can validate, check my word count with theirs.
In one of my breaks though, I read an article about letting ego overtake your writing. Or I should say, not letting ego get the better of your writing. In the throws of writing furiously for my word count, I feel sometimes the writing is sub par or as the author of the article declared his writing as poor when he started, yet at the time, he thought it was brilliant. He found a critic, who punched him in the gut, so to speak and he improved.
I look back at my former goals, like desiring to write magazine articles to get my work in print. The glare of the public eye would give me insight into my writing, as I built my platform as recommended. Cec Murphy, a blogger suggested by one of the writers I follow, is writing a series on writing magazine articles to have published material. I feel lost when I read his blog the last few weeks because I had originally purposed to achieve that goal.
Life, though, threw some curve balls into my plans. I self published Summer Triangle because I wanted a piece of work out there. I can't afford writer's conferences, either the money to go or the time to take off work. I find myself yearning more for classes to improve.
I am not whining, or at least I'm now veering away from that vein. I hope to keep humble. I hope to improve always my writing. I hope to always continue writing. I should try to serve no wine before its time or piece. I do jump ahead of myself and get impatient.
I think of this blog as my magazine articles or writing a column for a newspaper. I set deadlines for myself. I practice my skill almost every day. But ego can blind myself as to whether I'm good or not. I guess I need the harsh critic to keep me on my toes. A harsh critic to tell me the truth. But not this month. I'll write dribble and revise later.
I write story, though, which makes me happy. I would love to make a living with writing and do it more than I do. I guess, like Frank Sinatra, I'll do it my way with God's help. I promise to be teachable, too.
In one of my breaks though, I read an article about letting ego overtake your writing. Or I should say, not letting ego get the better of your writing. In the throws of writing furiously for my word count, I feel sometimes the writing is sub par or as the author of the article declared his writing as poor when he started, yet at the time, he thought it was brilliant. He found a critic, who punched him in the gut, so to speak and he improved.
I look back at my former goals, like desiring to write magazine articles to get my work in print. The glare of the public eye would give me insight into my writing, as I built my platform as recommended. Cec Murphy, a blogger suggested by one of the writers I follow, is writing a series on writing magazine articles to have published material. I feel lost when I read his blog the last few weeks because I had originally purposed to achieve that goal.
Life, though, threw some curve balls into my plans. I self published Summer Triangle because I wanted a piece of work out there. I can't afford writer's conferences, either the money to go or the time to take off work. I find myself yearning more for classes to improve.
I am not whining, or at least I'm now veering away from that vein. I hope to keep humble. I hope to improve always my writing. I hope to always continue writing. I should try to serve no wine before its time or piece. I do jump ahead of myself and get impatient.
I think of this blog as my magazine articles or writing a column for a newspaper. I set deadlines for myself. I practice my skill almost every day. But ego can blind myself as to whether I'm good or not. I guess I need the harsh critic to keep me on my toes. A harsh critic to tell me the truth. But not this month. I'll write dribble and revise later.
I write story, though, which makes me happy. I would love to make a living with writing and do it more than I do. I guess, like Frank Sinatra, I'll do it my way with God's help. I promise to be teachable, too.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Teddy's Law Tuesday
From the Teddy's Law Facebook page:
The
holidays are on the way, a very busy time but very depressing for
anyone who has lost a child to abuse. Children suffering abuse are not
able to enoy the holidays like other kids. Please keep these kids in
your thoughts and prayers and thank God for the children who are healthy
and safe. Will keep on fighting for Teddy's Law.
Let's do all we can to help abused children and support this cause. Thanks.
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