Saturday, December 18, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Have you ever entered that magical realm where you can see your characters so clearly you can practically feel them?
I have. I always feel a connection with Drake (my MC) when I write, when I day dream of my story, but earlier today…it was…unreal. I was completely lost in this scene. My fingers couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with his voice; everything around me suddenly didn’t exist.
It felt like I was there with him, seeing what he saw, feeling what he felt. Everything was in such detail; Drake’s scent, the wet grass, the still air, and his emotions so powerful, so intense. I watched his hands move, listened to his voice, tried to capture everything in all its wonder.
I felt the scene coming to an end and I held on to his voice for as long as I could. I wanted to stay there forever.
The center of my chest tightened as soon as I finished. I didn’t re-read it just yet, didn’t spell check.
I just sat there with my eyes closed, soaking in everything I just felt and saw—the depth and weight in Drake’s eyes clung to me, stayed with me, effected me so much I had to share it with all of you.
Writing is such an escape for me, but when moments like this happen, where I am lost in his world, flying high on my imaginary wind, I am at a loss for words.
Times like this remind me why I love to write. Why Drake means so much to me. I can’t be myself and not write. It has become a part of me and so has he.
So no matter how hard the future for a writer may be, no matter how many rejection letters I may receive, or however many nights I stay up wide awake trying to perfect a scene, I’ll never stop writing.
How about you bloggers? Have you ever had a moment while writing that felt incredibly surreal? Where you felt so immensely close to your characters?
I don't take breathing for granted. I suck in every bit of air that I can because I know what it's like to be trapped, to have everything be given to you and then taken away. So come on, take a deep breath. Breathe with me. - Drake
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Gainesville was silent and peaceful with a continuing mist that lasted throughout the entire night, rising up from the ground like steam out of a hot bath. It is a swamp land drenched in mystery with its haunting bleak marsh lands and hunching cluster of trees. We have trees in Miami, but not like this. Everywhere I looked the land was covered in southern magnolias, winged elms, bluff oaks, and live oaks. It was fascinating on every level.
Also, I started school again, my last semester at my community college which I have grown to cherish. To say I love my classes is an understatement. I’m taking Creative Writing III and a tough advanced literature course, but I wouldn’t change one thing about them. And our school magazine will be launching its newest edition very soon which I am ecstatic about!
Oh! And I promised I would be sharing my editing stages for Silver Touch, and I will as soon as I retrieve my camera back from my aunt’s house. So stay tuned.
I know I may be a bit late, but I just started reading the Hunger Games Series. I know…I know…
There is one word for this series, and that word is wow….
Collins is fabulous, her writing supreme! I can’t believe it took me this long to start reading this series!!
So far, I’m team Gale.
Monday, August 2, 2010
I have never felt more alive in my entire life. And it is all because of her; she found me, dug deep within me, and made me not want to breathe my last breath. She made me realize I didn’t want to drown in the everlasting blackness…
She brought me back to life.
Monday, July 26, 2010
"Oh, well, yeah," was the response on the other side of the phone. I furrowed my brows, bit my lip, and waited—just waited.
"Being a writer is, well, pretty hard, do you really think you can actually get published?"
Its cold touch quieted my breathing. My mind began to wander.
My eyes became distant as I lost myself in my thoughts.
"I'll call you back," I barely whispered and I hung up.
Like an earthquake, a scene shook me...
The road ahead was dim, vacant, and protracted—I couldn’t see where it ended, if it ended. Colossal trees crouched over the road, their branches covered with a full skirt of leaves, deep green dripping down from them. Tiny, barely noticeable stars were plotted in the sky by an unseen hand so stunning. I gaped in utter awe.
Distant, steady footsteps trailed closer to me, their soft echo spilling peace all over me. I closed my eyes and listened to those footsteps, memorized how many steps were taken, the seconds in between each step.
And then I opened my eyes. Drake’s face was so close; his full lashes curled over his heavy lids, his mouth slightly open, softening his strong jaw. I stared at him, watched him watch me with careful attention.
He held out his hand to me, the side of his lip rising, making his high cheek bones reach his eyes. I put my hand in his hand.
His voice was clear, melodic. I listened to his words; listened to each sentence. The rise and fall in the sound of his voice controlled the rhythm of my heart. His hand tightened around mine, and he whispered the exact same message from the glass vial—my promise to him; his promise to me; our promise.
Together we stared down the long road, side by side, under the crouching branches and the plotted stars.
“The road is long, we don’t know where it ends, but I’ll walk with you, if you walk with me,” he said and took that very first step into the unknown.
I eyed the phone then, and without thinking I called my family member back.
"Hello?" Their voice sounded unsure.
"I don't know," I said, straightening my shoulders.
"You don't know what?"
"I don't know if I will ever be published, but I do know this," I sucked in a deep breath, my hand still around the necklace.
"I want to write, and yes, I will write."
I hung up again. Everything went strangely still, the moment like a vigilant light inside of me. I knew then, more than ever, how much I wanted to write.
How much Drake meant to me.
And no one could ever take this away from me, take him away.
People can put us down, question what we love, but they can't strip us of that love.
That is ours to keep forever.
Bloggers, Has anyone ever doubted you? How did you handle it? What did you say?
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Have you ever heard that tiny, insanely loud voice in the back of your head screaming, “No one will like this, what are you thinking?”
Yeah, I think we've all been there.
It's not always easy to ignore that voice. It can actually be pretty difficult at times.
Sometimes we give in to that voice, become easy victims and crumble under its weight.
I've learned that you can pull out your hair, rewrite the same scene a million times in one night, and still when we doubt our characters, when we know this is what they would say or do and still we change our story, we change them because we think others won't love them, well, it just won't work.
In the end, if you force your characters to do something they wouldn't do, or make them say something you know they would never say, your story will never feel right.
It will never be true to yourself, or to your characters.
We have to write for ourselves. What makes our heart race and our stomach flip is what we should pour out into our story. The characters we know and love should be the burning flame in our desire to write.
We can't write for others.
Writing is about opening yourself up to the impossible, and believing that it is possible. Escaping this world and entering theirs—understanding them and breathing the same air that they do is where the love and devotion really is.
To me, that's the way to write; loosing myself in their magical realm and not questioning their emotions or actions, but trusting them, embracing the tale they’re sharing with me.
After all, our characters know their own story better than we do. We just have to listen.
If we just open ourselves up to them and listen, I bet they will amaze us in ways we never even thought were possible, they'll show us that nothing is impossible.
What about you bloggers? Do you ever second your characters? Your story?
Years have passed, time has flown by, yet we have remained the same, and I had a feeling we would be like this forever; lost in a love that was unfathomable to the rest of the world- Drake
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The air outside was humid and musky; the now familiar clouds weren't as silver as they used to be, back when all was good and bright. The night was darker; the deceiving shadows were everywhere, bouncing around my life with no care for how they affected me.
The solid curtain of murky gray clouds covered the moon and its purity. I stared out my bedroom window, sitting down on the floor with my laptop on my lap. The white blank page in front of me was the brightest thing in my life at the moment. I stared at it, trying to soak up some of its light.
A series of emotions, enveloped with confusion, swam in the pit of my chest, stabbing certain areas harder than others. My heart was battered, inflamed from taking the raw stabs, but the pain wasn't as bad anymore. Instead, there was a cold numbness, freezing me whole.
The brilliant white page shined brighter, calling me to it in the haze of my dark room, in the mist of the black night with its missing moon. I closed my eyes and prayed for the numbness to leave just for a little while, for my heart to open itself up like it used to. I wanted to feel great, big, crashing emotions—good or bad, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to feel something.
I opened my eyes and like instinct, Drake's—my MC—voice soothed its way through my mind and took refuge in my heart. I felt him inside of me, his words melting away the ice, tearing down the numbness. I typed those first, comforting words, my only company his engaging character. Word after word, his voice became louder, the images clearer, the story so real I was taken from this world—abducted to a place so foreign, yet, vastly familiar.
I was at peace.
My fingers spread and dashed across the keyboard with such velocity and freedom. The only soundtrack was his voice, the only picture in my mind was his pale silver eyes—the same eyes that never ceased to guide me through the storm. I could almost touch his large worn hands—the same hands that never stopped fighting for me, mending me. The soft wrinkles over his forehead were a sure sign of his worries for me. His selfless and gallant spirit brought on a familiar smile.
I wrote for hours that night. Right there on the floor next to my bedroom window, under the blackest night I’d had in a very long time. But it was there, in the maze of perplexing, throbbing shadows, that his silver eyes replaced the murky gray clouds and found the moon—the light of my moon.
Shadows raced in every direction. She sat on the sand, watching the twirling waves in the black lake. It was there, in between her and the dancing water that the light hid- Drake
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
First, I must say thank you for all of your support and for welcoming me back with open arms.
It means more than you know.
Tonight, I was working on Silver Touch. I happily lost myself in the string of music and in my characters world. There is nothing like the feeling of writing that first draft. It’s electrifying.
Before I begin a new story I pretty much have an idea of where I'm going and where I'll end up. But the middle is always like a crystal fog, shimmering with possibilities, yet veiled. It's breathtaking, realizing what your characters will say or do, taking a walk in their shoes and visiting their world.
Now editing, Oh, editing, editing…
I like editing. Working to make my story better and polishing up the loose ends is rewarding, but there's something about editing that can, well—and I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way-- wreck my brain!
Editing is tedious hard work that can cause major migraines. But is it necessary?
When I edit I usually tackle one chapter at a time, jot down each scene and major turning point on my story board, then make sure that each scene is there for a reason, that each scene moves the story along.
My least favorite part about editing is not the constant re-reading, or note jotting, it's cutting out scenes that I love. The delete and backspace buttons are well known enemies of mine. We don't get along much. I guess that's my weakness as a writer, cutting out pieces that I hold dear to me.
It isn't easy to be rid of those perhaps pointless, yet, still enthralling, beautiful scenes.
Because they're close to my heart, but inevitably, some scenes must go.
Sad, but true.
In the end, I know it will only make my story stronger, ready to handle a good fight out there in the publishing world.
Never turn your back on hardships, fight, giving up shouldn't be an option.
Just remember, the toughest things in life can turn into the most beautiful one day.