Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

Dear readers, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  Some of you are still reading this blog every day, despite the fact that I have not written a word on here in about two months. That is very kind of you.

However, please notice the qualifier I just used to describe my writing: on here.

The simple fact is that I have been writing.  I have finally bitten the bullet and committed myself to writing a novel.  As of today I’ve written 18 pages of a young adult fantasy novel.

This is something I’ve been thinking about, talking about, trying to start for years.  Truthfully I have started and stopped several other novel attempts before.  None ever seemed good enough to get beyond the first chapter, or at least, they never seemed good enough to me.  Maybe someday I’ll be able to go back to them and start anew.

For now though, I’m committed to writing this one novel.

It is consuming nearly all of my writing creativity and almost every free moment.  While 18 pages may not seem like much for about six weeks worth of writing, it turns out creative writing is incredibly difficult!  Who’d have thought it?

My goal is to finish by Little C’s 2nd birthday in April.  So that gives me about 3.5 months to finish roughly 110 pages.  That comes out to roughly 30 pages a month or 7-8 pages a week.  Yikes!  I may be setting myself up for failure, but if I don’t have a deadline I won’t feel the push to complete it.

Now before everyone freaks out (or actually before I do) the good news is the husband will be home for 4-6 weeks of compensation time sometime in the next three months.  Yes, you read that correctly.  My husband will actually be here, at home, non-stop, for weeks.

And while that will be wonderful for him to have all that free time, it will also be wonderful for me to have a couple of hours each day to do whatever the heck I want to do, like write.

And if you all are very nice to me I might share a chapter or two with you.  Maybe.


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Every day funny things happen and I think, this would make a great blog post.  And in my head I am so witty and funny that thousands of people will flock to blog.

I make lists in my head of possible topics. I catalog them on scraps of paper during the day that are inevitably misplaced.

But every night, without fail, right around 10 pm I finally get the chance to write and everything I’ve thought of for the day eludes me. Every story, every anecdote, every pearl of  wisdom drains out of head before my fingers can tap the keys.

I remember the topics, but not why they were amusing.  What was so funny about eating out at Marie Calendar’s?  Why was laundry so laughable?  What was it I wanted to say about my own mental health?  It all seems boring or frightening or so ordinary that it makes me wonder why anyone reads this blog at all!

And though I cannot come up with a witty topic tonight, something that will give you a keen insight into the mind of the frazzled first time mother, I know that this will do.  For even as I write this, I know this post, just as all the other are, will be a dedication (or sacrifice, depending on your mood tonight) to Motherhood.

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I heard this phrase in a Gym Class Heroes song and it inspired this very short story that follows.

He said to her, I hate you like a slug hates salt.

For Majorie, this was more than just one of the usual insults that are thrown her way on a daily basis. She had gotten accustomed to the dark scowls and stares in the hallways. She grown used to the whispers in the locker room, or the threatening notes slipped between the slats of her locker. Majorie had even found the “I hate you” statements said straight forwardly to her face, or sometimes to her back, as she walked through one clique or another, rather ordinary.

But this one was different. This insult meant something more to Majorie than the other ones. This insult at last revealed something about the hatred she had found so absurd and incomprehensible. Why would they ALL hate her so? Surely there must be one of them that could like her, just a little bit; someone to say hi to in the mornings and wave to as they passed on their way to class. Surely someone could sympathize with her plight. She hadn’t know what she had done was wrong. It had felt like the right thing to do. And that’s what was so puzzling, it had felt SO right, deep in her soul, in her stomach, down to the cells in her toenails, she knew that it was the right thing to do.

What had it gotten her, this surety of justification? The scorn of the students that surrounded her day in and day out. Majorie recognized that the politics of high school were difficult to navigate. She consciously knew that by alienating those students most popular, she had created a ripple effect in the social pool, eventually creating the tidal wave that swept her away to an isolated island so far, she couldn’t even see the other unpopular people from here. Majorie sulked and cursed silently when she thought of those freaks and geeks who suffered at the hands of the popular kids, but still did nothing to aid her isolated suffering. How could they not see how closely their stars were aligned? How could they not see how she was just a hair’s breath away from where they might be should they choose to do the right thing as well? How could the social outcasts of high school leave her so outcast?

And then one day, that boy, the one who stared at her over lunch tables and through crowded rows in class, had said this to her. “I hate you like a slug hates salt.”

Majorie knew that slugs would definitely hate salt as it was deadly to them. But Majorie felt there was more to this that just a reference to how she poisoned the student body. She felt that there must be a clue here; that somewhere in this statement was the life-line she had been waiting, praying for. Majorie must break it down.

She mulled it over in her mind at night before bed and in the morning over the sink. She focused on the words as she walked silently through the noisy halls, as if the phrase had created a protective bubble around her. Notes that had been slid into her locker fell to the ground unnoticed. The unspoken words that seemed to deafen her at lunch and after school, went unheard as she listened to the phrase over in her head and rolled the words carefully around in her mouth and over her tongue, tasting each one. This last insult formed a shield, armor, steel plated around Majorie, so that the cruelty of each day sounded like a faint ping upon that armor instead of the slashing wounds it had been prior to the day of the insult.

I hate you like a slug hates salt.

I hate you was clear enough, but it was in the simile that Majorie felt the clue must lie. She’d already recognized the reference to poison, and how she must be the salt in this comparison. So it was the slug she found intriguing.

Could a slug hate? Was a slug even aware of salt in the first place? Was it only once the slug was placed in the salt that it became aware of it’s hatred for it? Making any hatred the slug had prior to that moment, just hatred of the unknown possibility of poison or death. Thus was Majorie this threat, the threat of the unknown, the threat of the possibility of death, of destruction over everything the slug is? Did Majorie wield that much power? Was she so challenging to this world of petty politics and feuding cliques that she was to be equated with the death of just such a world?

This was a revelation for Majorie. This was a moment of greatness so overwhelming, Majorie nearly fainted in class. She hardly noticed the stares and gawks as she slipped out of the classroom down the hall to the bathroom. Majorie this time didn’t shrink from the room, she smirked and stood tall.

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