Dreams as Inspiration

I don’t dream every night, or even close to it. But I do have amazingly detailed and complex dreams. Everything from epic journeys to wild adventures to new worlds that don’t exist yet. And then there’s the occasional "dumb" dream where I’m eating, or looking for a bathroom, or walking down a street. I don’t like those ones.

When I say my dreams can be complex, I mean really complex. One of my most memorable dreams (from when I was in high school) involved Pokemon, unicorns running through a library, watching tiny fish eat a microwaved burrito (which was meant to poison me but it had to be eaten or there would be consequences). There was also an arrow shaped arrow quiver, in depth conversations, and a man yelling at the rat-faced unicorns.

That dream sticks with me as one of the most involved, vivid and ridiculous dreams I've ever had. Someday I’ll remember it or find some scrap of paper I wrote it on and I’ll write the whole thing out.

Another amazingly vivid dream that I had more recently was some kind of post-apocalyptic thing where it was necessary to stay underground during the night (or was it day?). Underground was an intricate system of tunnels, hierarchy and species. There were rooms of stacked beds, mutants who had to stay underground, and dangerous sublevels. Above ground were hostile authorities, but venturing above ground was the only way to get food.

I had a dream about hiding within castle walls with other princesses, and long slides that helped us escape. I had a dream about swimming with orcas while two men pulled an island behind me with two catamarans.

While most of them are amazing now (and more than a few have given me amazing ideas for short stories or novels), I also remember some that have been terrifying. As a child I had several recurring nightmares. When I was very young there was a dream where a monster would chase me around and find me no matter how quiet I was or how well I hid. I had a dream where someone tried to take my little brother and no matter how hard I fought, nothing worked. I stabbed the man with a screwdriver, but it wasn’t really the man. It was a freshly leaking paint can. I had dreams where a man was stalking me, watching me from across the street, following me when I walked to the store, or watching me from feet away.

I had a dream where I could smell the minty breath of a man who was too close.

I had a dream where I died. I know you’re not supposed to do that in dreams, but I did. I died. I was on stage and I got shot. I fell off the stage into the arms of the crowd and I spoke to them, and then I died. I didn’t wake up immediately, and I know it because it felt just like sleeping without dreaming after that.

I’ve had dream journals before, and I’ve used computers and cell phones to keep track of them, but they always seem to get lost. Some dreams seem to stick with me forever though, and I really should get on exploring, expanding, and writing them. Maybe this blog will be the kick in the pants I need to make that happen. Some dreams are suitable for short stories and some for entire series’.

I know this post was kind of all over the place, but that’s how I’m feeling right now.

How about you?

Do you keep a dream journal? Do you ever get inspiration from your dreams? Have you ever died in a dream?

Let me know. And if you’ve ever written anything from your dreams, post a link to it if it’s online or for sale.

Sleep well!

Camp NaNoWriMo

Camp NaNoWriMo started on the first, and I am so there!

Okay, "there" is a website where you track your progress and distract yourself from what you should actually be doing, by reading tips and inspiration, messaging other people with similar goals, and updating your novel info. Instead of actually writing it. 

In general, I'm pretty much a pantser. Which means I write by the seat of my pants, not just ON it. (Okay, I rarely wear pants, but that's another story.) This time, however, since I have put myself on a pretty tight deadline (2 novels done and revised by September) I am planning. Planning is hard, but probably not as hard as going through the first draft thinking "was I asleep? How's someone going to have sex with an exploded rib cage?" or "Wow, that's out of character" or "Wait, I thought his name was John, not James".

Normally it doesn't matter. I have all the time in the world to figure out where the scene in my head fits into a bigger picture or who the star of the bigger picture is and then they kind of carry  it from there.

Normally I've got all the time in the world to turn some nonsense into a plot, fix names, dot T's cross I's and go back and realize I got that backward.

So I decided that with some kind of rough outline, I should be able to stay mostly on track. It starts with the characters.

Actually, in this case, it started with a bar. Then the characters came along.

I came up with Antonia Weathers, TV weather girl, legit meteorologist, and part time Zumba instructor. I needed her to be in shape for the adventures to come, and Zumba seems like the perfect balance of energy and agility. Plus, as a half-Brazilian, half-English American girl, I think that it also kind of kicks off the image of a smiling, busty, dark haired super-energetic outgoing woman who sometimes doesn't get taken too seriously.

Then I decided that the hero would be a kind of… accidental murdered turned assassin. He's special, and because of his unique gift he never fit in anywhere. The first people to take him in are on the wrong side of an elemental war. He loves them like family, the only family who ever excepted him.

The bar is a bar for elementals, people with unique power over elements, to relax and be themselves. They all exist in harmony at this particular bar, Thirteenth Floor. Thanks to a brief stint in a journalism class, Antonia has gained lifetime membership and the story opens with her at the bar on a Friday night. He is there, watching her, trying to figure out why she is so special and how she has access.

He had to trick his way in, too, since he isn't one of the four classic elementals. His element is electricity, which is far more rare, mostly because it presents in more subtle ways.

They meet, something happens where she is exposed as a Void, an anti-elemental who absorbs elemental powers. They end up falling in love somehow, more stuff happens, and then he either switches sides or…. something…

I'm bad at plotting, okay? I already admitted that!  

So far I'm just over 1,000 words in, so I'm pretty much already behind. Luckily all I have to do is invoke the power of "I'm asking for your support here", and my man will (okay, should) basically take care of whatever I need. I'll be putting that to the test while trying to knock out 70,000 words this month. 

But hey, I get a fun graph to track my progress with! 

Valentine's Day writing prompt

The Prompt: It’s Valentine’s Day and you bump into a former lover, the one you refer to as “the one who got away.”

                (Now remember guys, this isn’t edited (except to get it under 1000 words), it’s just what flowed from the prompt. I probably should start cleaning them up, but… it’s just an exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Although… maybe I’ll do a before and after series, from first draft to… as finished as I can get it.)

My knee bounces while I wait in line. How many people are seriously having pizza on Valentine’s Day?

It’s finally my turn at the cashier and I say, “I called in an order for one large. Extra sauce with pepperoni and mushroom.”

Like an idiot I tried to dodge the delivery fees and tips by picking it up. I should have just let the extra five bucks go.

“I’m sorry,” the teenager says, staring and poking at the computer screen. “Your order isn’t in here. I’ll get it started now. I’m really sorry about this, it’ll be a few minutes.”

He runs into the back, presumably to order some ‘pizza sculptor’ or whatever ridiculous name they’re using now to start my pizza. He runs away before I can argue that I called it in and it should have been waiting for me. Before I can tell him that he broke my heart on Valentine’s Day. It cheers me to think of the look he would have if I actually said that. I sit in one of the hard plastic chairs reserved for idiots like me. The kid gives me a nod before he starts helping the next customer.

The strung bells slap against the door near my head. The man who has just walked in looks familiar, but I can’t believe it.

When he reaches the cashier he says, “I called in an order for Ashley.”

My heart clogs my throat. It must be him. How many men are named Ashley, for starters?

I stare at his back as though something there will confirm his identity.

The transaction ends and I look at my phone as if I were enthralled. My heart flips when he stops next to me. I look up and see that face I had kissed so many times, the face that I had loved. The face I thought I would wake up to for the rest of my life. My Ashley.

“Michaela?”

“Ashley? Ashley! How are you? What are you doing here?” My skin is tingling from hearing him say my name.

We study each other while we talk. I keep tucking a stubborn lock of blonde hair behind my ear.

“I’ve been well,” he says. “How about you?”

“I’m good.”

A long, awkward silence hangs between us. Ashley. The one that got away. More accurately, the one I left behind. His face has lost its boyish roundness and there is a layer of stubble on his square jaw. He seems taller, too, but he has the same sweet brown eyes.

“What happened?” he finally asks.

My face heats up and I look away. Ten years later, it’s still the greatest shame and worst memory of my life. The parts I can remember, anyway. “You mean you don’t know?”

“We were kids, Mickey. Kids say all kinds of messed up things.”

He steps out of the way to let someone else out and he’s suddenly inches away from me. This close, when my eyes meet his I’m reminded of all the nights we’d spent together after he would sneak into my room. I’m reminded of all the times we’d skipped class to fool around in his empty house. I’m reminded of all the plans we’d made for the future.

“I had to change schools,” I say, a little too bluntly. “So, big plans for Valentine’s day?”

We scan each other’s hands. Neither of us has a wedding ring.

“Just me, some pizza, and a beer,” he says.

We smile awkwardly and I have a horrible moment of memory. I remember that night. I see their faces one after another. Even after years of therapy I think of it, and I still don’t remember who was really there. I don’t even remember my brothers, but they had covered me up, carried me out, and got me to the hospital.

A manager comes out and the cashier nods toward me.

“Here you are, miss,” the manager says. “Sorry about the mix up.”

“Thanks. How much?”

He shakes his head. “On the house. Sorry again. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thanks,” I say again. “You too.”

Before I leave, I stuff a ten into the tip jar.

Ashley follows me out into the parking lot.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks. “That is, if you don’t have plans already.”

For a moment I want to say yes. I want to learn what has happened in his life. I want to know if he was there that night. I want to know if he really knew the truth.

I turn to him and realize it. He was there. He was the first. We had snuck up to a room to get a little bit of privacy and when we were done he left the door open. He walked out when someone else walked in. He started the whole thing. I felt sick and looked away.

“How about it?” he presses. “We can catch up. It’s been such a long time. We’ve got plenty of pizza and I’ve got plenty of beer.”

I think of the man who is waiting for me. The man who had such a look of pain on his face when I told him the story that I thought I wouldn’t be able to tell it at all. I think of how long he waited for me, and how patiently. I think of the little boy waiting with him. My son, who was probably waiting impatiently after helping his daddy set the table for someone to pick the pepperoni off of his slices.

“No thanks,” I say. “I have to get this back to my family.”

“How are they?” he asks, not ready to let go even though I am. “Your brothers? How are they?”

“They’re great. One’s modelling in Rome and the other is filming in Hollywood.”

I don’t wait for the meaning of family to catch up with him.

“It was great seeing you again,” I lie.

I wrote this from the point of view of Michaela, the girl triplet from Chaser, ten years after the story takes place. Hopefully you have an idea of what happened to her on that night, even though it isn't very nice. The prompt is from Writer’s Digest Writing Prompt Boot Camp. I probably paraphrased it, since I had it written on a Post-It note.

                Now it’s your turn. How would your Valentine’s Day encounter go? I have a feeling that a lot of them would be more romantic than mine. Then again, realizing how much you love the one you’re with is pretty romantic, too, right?

Follow the prompt, but keep it under 500 words (I get to do long posts cuz it’s my blog) OR post a link to your take on your own bog or website.

Have fun!

Setting goals, making plans

It seems like all of time is a time of transition, and it’s too easy to be a boring protagonist in my own life. So, to stop that from happening, I’ve decided to post some of my goals for the whole world to see. And parts of my plan/s to achieve them.

I need to:

Eat better and Exercise more(okay, I’m also like, so cliché)

Blog at least once a week

Choreograph a solo for June 30. Or July 30... or both

Get through this revision, this month

Have a new first draft by October

Have a plan for NaNoWriMo (I’ll still “pants” it, but at least know a little more before it starts)

Get an A in Psychology

Make time for relaxing and cuddling

Remember that I’m not the only one under stress… and act accordingly

Those are the goals.

I would love to say that setting deadlines and reminders would work for me, but the truth is… it won’t.

Life gets in the way of living. Two kids, two adults, one car, being broke, etc all have an impact. As well as a few other personal details which I’m not ready to share with the world just yet. Holding things in, which I may be occasionally guilty of, also doesn't help.

Depression or general unhappiness can make hours of TV seem like a really good option. Why stress and worry and participate in real life drama when I can just breeze through someone else’s from the comfort of my big comfy couch? “Just one episode before I work out” frequently turns into “wow, great season! I’d better get to bed.”

Productivity goes down the drain along with any kind of exercise or consciousness of diet. Which, of course, only makes it worse.

I had this problem recently and then I broke the dam. I drafted a coworker as my temporary BFF and confidante, and UNLOADED. I let everything out, and I felt much better. I was ready to continue on with the frosty silence I shared with my partner. However, on the same day, my partner initiated the conversation that started the fight that cleared the air that made it easy to breathe again. That tension was dead after a day long text-based fight.

Of course, fighting doesn't always make it better. Neither does improving diet or exercise habits. But this time around, clearing the air and realizing that I am right where I need to be did the trick.

So then what? A fresh outlook, concrete goals… time for action!

Oh, right, I don’t have steps, just goals. And you can’t act on goals without steps or direction.

To eat better and exercise more- buy food. Make a list of good snacks and convenient (notconvenience) foods before the next grocery trip. Have a variety ready at all times. Meal planning doesn’t work for me, invariably the food I have planned is the one thing that makes me sick just thinking about it. Having a variety of minimally processed foods on hand (in the pantry, on the counter or in the freezer) makes it a lot easier to eat better.

I have some great videos and apps to help with the exercise. I’ll aim for 30 minutes, 4 days a week. If I REALLY don’t want to do it- I’ll give it 3 minutes. If I STILL don’t want to do it or don’t feel well, I’ll quit. And I’ll pick the days ahead of time.

Blogging is something that I’ve wanted to get started at for a while. After all, I write all the time. I should be able to write! I need to plan my topics and ideas ahead of time and start working on them quickly. I’ll use some writing prompts and exercises as posts and welcome other people to post their responses and their “takes” on the same assignment.

Choreography can be done almost anywhere at any time. It’s easy enough to listen to the music, think of moves that go with it, and jot them down. Then, at home, try it out in front of a mirror. I overthink it too much, and that’s why I haven’t had a new dance in a while. Pick a song, pick a prop (optional) and go!

I’ve been making a lot of progress on this revision so far. I’ve already got a few plot points and details tossed into my outline (in blue to indicate they need to be added), some highlighted in red (to be changed or removed) and I’ve already overhauled the first 5 chapters (of 26). I did three in one day, sitting at Starbucks. I don’t expect that that will continue, especially when I start school, but even if I do one a day or more, I’ll make it.

In order to have a new first draft in October AND a plan for NaNoWriMo, I’ll jot down my ideas and start to refine them into workable plots/characters/ideas. I can do this at work, driving home, or at any random unused time I have. After my revisions are done, I’ll pick one and I should have at least 3 months to make it into a decent first draft.

I don’t anticipate any problems getting a good grade. My class isn’t very early or late, I’ll have plenty of time to study after classes and get homework done, etc. I have all the tools I need. I jst need to make sure to put homework and organization of school stuff FIRST, then exercise, then writing, then everything else… I should be golden.

Making time… that’s the hardest one. I think that right before bed is the best bet. After all the important things are taken care of, it’s time for relaxation, cuddling and “just one episode”.

I tend to react badly when my partner starts to shut down, and he reacts badly when I am very… blunt. When I notice that there is extra stress going around, I need to walk on eggshells a little. When he knows that I’m not attacking, I can go back to normal (aka attack mode).

These aren’t really the detailed steps that I’ll be taking, but posting all that would bereally boring.

So, I know that this wasn’t a very informational or entertaining post, but they probably won’t ALL be the greatest thing I’ve ever written. This one is important, and it’s for me. If you made it this far, what are some of your goals, action steps, or tips to get to your goals?

Welcome

This is my sparkly new blog.

I'll be honest. I started thinking that now might not be the best time to start  a blog. I've been in a writing and editing frenzy, I'm about to go back to school, I've got a one year old,  a six year old, a neglected man, a hamster who basically lives in a plastic tub, and a full time job.

Then I realized that now is the perfect time to start a blog. Because it's right now.

So without any knowledge of blogging or what I am going to blog about- I started one. It has taken almost an hour to get to 138 words (not kidding, this baby doesn't like productivity happening around her), but I'm doing it.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single word... okay, that's not how it goes, but here's what you can expect in the future-

My experiences. 

I'm a mother, a dancer, and a writer, not necessarily in that order. I can shoot a bow, I can shoot guns, I think it's fun to throw knives. I love to read just about anything that lands in my lap or on my e-reader. I've read enough full length novels on the computer screen to ruin a lesser man's vision. I love beautiful food, especially the plant-based kind (though I'm not vegan... and I'll probably blog about that too).

My works.

Did I mention that I write? One of my goals within the next six months is to have something submission-ready. So I'll be posting chapters, short stories, ideas, etc. for anyone who feels like reading them to comment, critique, or just enjoy.

I'll also post character interviews, setting maps, pretty much anything that gets me in the mood or helps me flesh out those pesky little details like "where was the chair he sat on?"

My rants.

I go off on rants on occasion. I hope you'll find them entertaining when I do.

There's no particular reason for you to stick around if you don't like my words or my worlds. I'm not a bestselling author (yet), I'm not on a book signing tour (yet), I don't have the secret to losing the baby weight by eating dessert first (okay, I do- eat less, exercise more), but maybe you'll stick around and maybe you'll like me. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be here to help me become a bestselling author and maybe I'll see you on a book signing tour and you'll be like "Hey, I've been reading your blog ever since it sucked!" and I'll be like ... "You rock. Here's $50."