Monday, July 26, 2010

What would you do?

The other day, I was on the phone with a family member, catching up and sharing our latest hearsays, when they asked me something, "So, I hear you want to be a writer?"

The words caught me off guard, not exactly because of what was said, but more like how it was said. The tone was skeptical, bordering the line of judgmental.

I sucked in a gulp of air, cleared my throat, and answered, "Yes, yes I want to write."

"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?"

I stiffened at the sound of the words, the shock clearly written on my creased forehead. I didn't know what to say. Do I answer? Do I hang up?

And then my hands touched the glass vial necklace around my neck—the one that holds a special message inside, a message between Drake—My MC—and I. My fingers curved around the silky glass, my nails clashing against the edges desperately.

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?

Maybe someday I will have it all figured out, know which road to take, but until then, I have to keep breathing, continue on living- Drake

Wednesday, July 21, 2010


Have you ever second guessed yourself and what you write?

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


A few months filled with deceiving shadows tip toed into my life unexpectedly. They came with no warning, no flashing lights or loud blaring horns, but in a deadly silence that engulfed me, dragged me down to the bottom of an endless pit. It was a Monday night, around 11:30 pm.

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.

The light was clearly there.

Hope had been found in my prayer and in his voice.

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?

Of course.

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.

What about you bloggers? What's the hardest part about editing for you?

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.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Dear Bloggers

I'm back with a whole new blog.

Me being back brings a smile to my face, allows huge, warming sparks to explode within me! Honestly, I missed blogging, writing and reading comments. But mostly, I missed all of your support.

There is a reason why I stopped blogging, and I wish I could say that it was a happy time, my time away, but alas, it was not.

A take on the softer reasons: school was overbearing. Being Editor in Chief of the magazine, five full blown out classes, and the stress of writing competitions (my poem won first place for Women's History Month. I wrote about Eve), was a handful.

I had fun in school, loved being a part of the magazine but some
times, it was all just a bit overwhelming.

The tougher, touchier reasons: somethings/ people in my life sadly had to go... and I don't mean there was a death, but a relationship just had to go. I was struggling with this decision for an incredibly long time, always fighting with my wiser inner self, giving excuses.

Then, when I had to make a choice whether to stay in Miami or go to a really great school in Gainesville( which meant leaving my family, some friends, and my life here) I was emotionally overwhelmed in my head and heart.

But in time I faced these decisions head on.

I chose to see myself out of the relationship and to leave for school after Christmas.

Tough choices, but in my heart I know I chose the right path. There are no detours, no stops in my coming future and that is okay. because these choices will only help me to grow and to become the person I am meant to be.

These are probably the biggest reasons why I just backed away. I needed time for me.

Last week I emailed Kelly Lyman, an old friend from blogger and asked her for advice on everything that was going on. Graciously, and kindly, she delivered, and boy, did she deliver!

Kelly gave me the best advice I had yet to receive from anyone these past few months. I am grateful. I have made the changes that needed to be made in my life, and I am ready to bulldoze forward with all the strength that I have.

Thank you again, Kelly.

Good news: I never stopped writing. I actually wrote more, opened new doors and tackled new discoveries. Drake is still vividly alive in my mind, and his voice has never been clearer.

Enough about me, how is everyone? How is everyone's writing? I can only hope that your writing has evolved and grown into tension filled, heart spiraling pieces!!!

Breathe. Pray. Believe.
Trust me, it works.