Back to Writing

I am very close to finishing Chapter 20 of Heir Apparent (I know I'll have to rename it cause this name was taken but until then...). I need to do some research before I can write the last part of this chapter.
Today I wrote over 800 words on Hot Shot. I posted what I wrote on my Writing.com account so you can read it there.
I'm rusty so I know it will show in my writing but it feels so good to be doing it again.

My New Office

Tell me I should be writing masterpieces in such an office, that literary prose should ooze from my fingertips and fill volumes with inspired fiction. The next great American novel should be given birth in this setting. All I pray is that some of the stories that I so enjoy in my head may make it on to the written page and see completion. This is my daily prayer. 

These two shelves hold a snapshot of bits of my personality, history and inspiration.

I wrote today.

My life! After two years of having my husband commute from OKC to Dallas and back every weekend we were thrilled with a job closer to home. That was short lived. Three months later after a grueling commute through downtown Dallas and a job that was not a good fit we were unemployed for the first time in our married life. Six weeks later a perfect job and another move in our vagabond life. Our house which couldn't sell last year or the year before sold before the last hammer blow on the for sale sign was struck. A house hunting trip found us a lovely home in Tennessee. In the middle of all this I was diagnosed with breast cancer, got treated (radiation only) and am now in remission.
My heart aches to leave behind my friends and my newly formed writer's group. But I am giddy with anticipation of what lies ahead.
I set my writing goals before I knew all this was going to happen in our lives. Today though I was able to write about 500 words on the contemporary romance, Hot Shot. I also wrote a couple hundred words on my fairy tale rewrite, Ursidae Prince. It was nice to finally get some of my stories to move forward. I have put the match flame to the kindling and hope that I will soon have a stoked fire to fuel my writing machine.

Today's writing from Ursidae Prince:
            Sunlight and shadow played across her closed eyelids. Her bed rocked and swayed. She felt it would take herculean effort to open her eyes. A familiar grunt sent her hand out to touch fur but it was moving contrary to the swaying of her bed. She blink against the light and looked around at her surroundings. Tree tops danced above her. A soldier walked at the foot of her bed and another had his back to the head of her bed. A litter, they were carrying her on a litter. She tried to rise. Her ribs ached and her shoulder burned.

“Wait, majesty, we will put you down first.” The soldier at her feet spoke. They lowered her pallet to the earth and then hovered around her as she tried to sit up. Delia appeared at her side and put her arm around Rosanna’s shoulders to help her rise.

“I am injured.” Her hand rose shakily to her shoulder.

“Yes, majesty. Bruised ribs and a rend on your shoulder.”

“An assassin?” She lifted open the neckline of the night rail to peer at the bandage on her shoulder.

“We think it was the witch queen. Your vest was charmed. As the sun set it began to squeeze the life out of you.”

“I remember.”

“It resisted any attempt to unlace it. Finally bear tore it loose with his teeth and claws. Thus the rend on your shoulder.”

            “You saved me again you magnificent beast.” She reached out her hand to touch his head but he lowered it and with a mournful moan swung his head to and fro. “You are sad because you injured me, you silly bear. I promise I shall use my next tears to heal myself.”

My computer is back!!!

I finally got my computer back in working order. I have been writing in my head and now feel safe to put it on the page.
I love the fact that everyone you meet has a story. Today the moving company sent a man, Jerry, to pre-access the contents of our house. He had a lovely accent so just  before he left I asked him where he was from originally. He asked me to guess. I guessed he was Italian because he sounded so much like a missionary we had once had serving in our area who was from Italy. He was impressed. His name is Italian but his father immigrated to the US from Italy and then  moved to California and ultimately Mexico to begin a vineyard. He brought some of the original grapes that now spread across the Napa Valley. When Jerry was fourteen his father sent him to his uncle's home in Washington DC to be raised. Jerry's uncle was very well connected in Washington and Jerry got to meet the Eisenhowers, the Kennedys, and many other of the great political leaders this was back in 1956. He was just a teenager at the time and didn't understand who all it was he had met. He remembers being terrified when he moved to Washington because no one spoke Spanish. He got lost many times when he was coming home from school because he had to change buses.
He served in the military during the Korean War and the Vietnam War. When he came home from Vietnam he thought it would be a good time to apply for US citizenship. He was stationed in Georgia. He failed the 144 question test. He called his uncle to give him the bad news and his uncle said let me call Bobby. The phone rings and Jerry answers. "This is the Attorney General. I'm sorry about the mix up. Get a couple of you buddies and report to General thus and so. He will swear you in as a US citizen. We are very honored by the service you have preformed for our country." It was Robert Kennedy. Jerry was living 3 blocks away from the Ambassador Hotel when Bobby got shot.
Everybody has a story. Isn't it great!

Goals for 2012

First let me preamble this by giving a short history of my computer woes. My three-year-old compaq laptop started falling apart, literally. The plastic frame around the screen popped apart. I taped it. It got worst. I taped it some more. Finally we decided to get me a new laptop. We ordered a HP from Sam's Club. It arrived I was ecstatic. Cristin got my old laptop. She used duct tape. She learned that gravity is stronger than duct tape as the frame would slowly pull apart each time she taped it back together. My new computer made a popping noise one day and then the screen went black. I tried to fix it by hooking up to the desk top's monitor but nothing I did through the HP website made any difference. I ended up calling HP. They sent me a box and I sent in my new computer to be repaired. I got it back and was very excited to get to work. I even spent a day downloading my CD collection on itunes. Another popping noise, another black screen, another call to HP and they are over-nighting me another box to mail back my computer for further repairs. They said it has to come back to the repair center at least four times before they will consider replacing it. BOOOOO!
I have set myself a rather lofty goal. I want to finish the big Sci Fi novel this year, in fact I would like to get it done in the next three or four months. I figured out approximately how many more words I have to write and if I write 500 words on the novel a day I can finish it in 45 days.
So last week was my first week to attempt this. I wrote 550 words the first day I was ecstatic. I only got 150 the second day. Not so excited. Then I only did 100 words the third day and my computer broke down. One of the attempts over the phone to fix my computer resulted in a restore and a loss of about 150 words that I had written. (I wasn't happy with that section anyway). I am still determined to keep up the pace even if I have to hand write these next few days.

Starting a Writing Group

I have mourned the loss of the my Auburn Writing Group. I felt like I was in the midst  of very august company, five out of the eight of us had PhDs and the other lady was getting her Masters. I love those ladies and gent. Even though I am not a published author or a college graduate I have decided to start my own writing group. It is stepping out of my comfort zone and taking a huge risk but so far I feel giddy with the very thought of it. I have been reading up on the art of writing and attending another writing group to see how they work. The local librarian is very excited about it, my friend who is a published author is very encouraging and she thinks I can get the local paper to help set up a writing contest to kick it off. So wish me luck.
There is a Fantasy author named John Brown whose blog I love to follow because he is constantly dishing out writing helps. Today I read an interview he gave and I wanted to link it to my blog so I could reference it later. It is http://mayalassiter.com/2011/05/how-writers-do-what-they-do-john-brown/ .He gives an amazing response to the idea of writer's block and I am excited to put him to the test.

Feral

I entered this story in the Writer's Cramp Contest on Writing.com. The contest is to write a story (a thousand words or less) or poem (forty lines or less) within 24 hours  and follow the prompt. I WON!!!
Yesterday's prompt was to write a story or poem using the bold face words. Here is today's winner.


Feral


It was the smell that hit me first as I opened the door to Regina’s little house. The stale smell of grease, cat urine and feces brought tears to my eyes. I pulled the front of my shirt up over my nose and got a small whiff of the light floral perfume that was my trade mark. When my nephew Scotty would hug me he’d croon, “Aunt Julie you smell just like yourself”. My little trick only worked for a breath or two. I marveled again how someone could live like this. I hovered on the doorsill debating where to put my foot. The floor was littered with debris; clothes, plates with half eaten food, DVD cases, open jigsaw puzzle boxes with pieces spilling out, towels, stacks of books, and fast food bags.

A blanket covered the couch to hide the rips and tears, a pile of clothes lay in soft mound on one end. The cushions sagged sadly evidence that the frame of the couch had long since given in to the stress of constant use. Regina lived in that hollowed out space. The remotes to the television were on the coffee table within easy reach along with half filled drink glasses, empty chip bags, fingernail polish bottles, a brush, change in all its denominations and pill bottles. Her pillow lay across the back of the couch. She slept there because the bed was inaccessible.

Once I had tried to help. Everything I had touched in that house had something living under it evidenced by scurrying coach roaches and mouse droppings. Five days later I had twenty bags of trash piled against her front fence for the garbage collectors. The benefits lasted less than a week.

Some kind soul thought it would be a good idea to give Regina a kitten to keep her company. She was enthralled but barely able to care for herself. The cat became feral in that jungle of debris and soon was nursing kittens in a cave like space under the overburdened bed. After many tears on her part and cajoling on my part I convinced her to let me collect the cat and her kittens from the apartment and take them to the pound. It had to be a day she wasn’t there or it would break her heart. She left to go visit friends for a week and gave me the key to her little duplex home.

I nudged a box of crackers out of the way and stepped into the apartment a cardboard box in one hand and a mesh net with a long handle in the other. I followed the path from the living room into the kitchen. Flour dusted the table top; a crusted mixing bowl, a rolling pin and a jar of grape jelly were evidence of her biscuit making. Pans were piled high in the sink washed only as need. Regina cooked like a chef. Cook books, one of her vices, lined every shelf and were piled in corners; Southern Living, Betty Crocker, Captain Fergus's Cajun Fish Fry, 30-minute Recipes, The Great Little Pumpkin Cookbook, The Art of Mexican Cooking and dozens more. The church pot lucks were always risky so I brought her to my house and let her use my ingredients averting the danger of food poisoning or the hidden cock roach in a dish.

I nearly gagged as I passed the bathroom. It was truly loathsome. Fetid brown water filled the perpetually clogged bathtub. Unmentionable bathroom debris was scattered across the floor.

Regina’s mother hit her on the head with an iron skillet when she was a little girl. The State took her out of the home and put her in girl’s facility. She never made it into the foster care program because of her brain damage. She was indomitable to me.

Clothes spilled onto the floor from the mound on the bed. I set the box down next to an inaccessible dresser. The bright white walls were remarkable blank amid all this chaos. I moved enough clothes to a far corner so I could peer into the darkness under the bed. I heard plaintive mewing.

I kept up a steady, soothing banter, “here, kitty, kitty… sweet kitty…Its okay darlings…I won’t hurt you…here, kitty.” Slowly I reached the net under the bed. I could see their little outlines. The mother cat cowered further under the bed and spit as I got close to her babies. I lowered the net over the first little head and gently drew it out. “It’s okay, it’s okay… easy now.” The kitten became a little ball of incensed fury. I disengaged it from the net and dropped it into the cardboard box. I reached my net in for a second go. The kitten in the box became frantic, the mother was hissing and spitting at me. I nabbed the second kitten and slowly drew it out from under the bed.

As I straighten up a mass of indignant, crazed, mother-instinct driven, feline clawed her way up my legs, chest and face, leaping off my head twisting in mid air ready to do battle again. I stumbled out of the bedroom door knocking over the box with the trapped kitten in it. I was out the front door in seconds. I stood on the porch my heart racing my whole body shaking. I looked down at my bleeding arms and touched the scratches on my face with my trembling fingers.

I disinfected every inch of my body when I got home.

Two days later I let the animal control people into Regina’s apartment. I waited outside.

(937 words)