Don't Miss the Amazing Stuff

'Think of childhood experiences that left lasting impressions on you, either positive or negative. List five or ten and pick the one that wants to be written about. Set aside ten minutes to sit down and 'freewrite' about the experience."

As a child, I had many friends because I was in a homeschool group with a bunch of kids my age. The street I lived on was also full of kids. There was one older girl *Olivia who I considered my best friend the entire time I lived in my old house. She was three years older and I looked up to her like she was a god. She was in public school and I would wait at the bottom of the street for her school bus to come in the afternoon. She said the other kids on the bus thought I was her little sister, who wasn't olde enough to be in school yet. I used to go to the bus stop and pretend I was going to get on the bus and go to school. I wished I could because being homeschooled made me feel like I wasn't normal.

When Olivia and I played together, sometimes we played school. She was always the teacher, which was what I liked. She would give me play homework too and I ate up every minute of it. As we got older, she got busier and busier and I'm sure a friend who was three years younger wasn't her top priority. I got it into my head that she would play with me if I had something to give her, like candy. In other words I tried to bribe her. When this didn't work and she was still busy with homework, I got upset. I thought she didn't like me anymore. Then I moved. Two thousand miles away.

Suffice to say we didn't play together after that. We lost touch and I was completely broken up about it for awhile. I had thought she was my best friend and that she would always be there. It wasn't her fault at all though. I know from experience how incredibly hard it is to stay in touch once someone moves. That person just isn't a priority anymore because you don't see them and they're not on your mind. But when I was eleven I didn't understand that yet. I used to wish I would become a famous writer so that I could rub in her face what she would've had if she'd stayed friends with me. I'd be rich and famous and wouldn't share any of it with her. It's amazing what the brain comes up with to cope with an overload of feelings.

The next stage in getting over it was to become indifferent and bitter. I deleted her off of Facebook and did my best to forget. In my opinion, a friend should never walk away. But it happens. I've done it myself. Sadly, people grow apart and it's just not easy to stay friends. You have to make an effort. Now I'm over it. I have new friends and the lack of Olivia's friendship doesn't eat me up anymore. So I re-added her on Facebook. Turns out she's married now. It's amazing what you miss when you're too busy not being satisfied with what you have and all you do is wish for more. So the lesson is, be happy with what a person gives you. Any amount of friendship or love should be cherished. Don't always expect more. Be satisfied with the amazing love you have.

New Beginnings

I'm switching to a new book called Discovering the Writer Within by Bruce Ballenger & Barry Lane. It's quite old; published in '89. But hopefully it will be helpful.

"When I write..." I, usually don't have to think about the story before I type it. Most of the time it plays out in my head, subconsciously I guess, and by the time my fingers type it, the plot is worked out. I do plan extensively first so this may be the reason why I don't have to plan while I'm actually writing. But sometimes little stuff I mention without thinking about it becomes big stuff that really adds to the story.

For example, a short story I wrote back in eighth grade about a family of run away slaves. The story isn't very good but there was one little part of it that I really liked then and am still pleased with now. The baby sister couldn't talk much yet and the only word she knew was "free". She said it often and I used this as a motivation to keep the family running.

Usually, I'm very pleased with my writing at the time. But sometimes later when I look back on it it's sort of painful to read. But the more you write obviously the better you get. I just don't have the discipline to write consistently.

I tried to make up a schedule. Nothing too set in stone and it wasn't a huge goal either. Just two pages of my novel a week, figuring I could stay on track with that. But I got behind and when that happens I tend to just shut down. So now what I really need to do is to get back on my schedule and not think about it like I'm 15 pages behind.

I also prefer to write when I feel really imaginative or motivated and this comes back to bite me because I don't feel like that often. You would think that if writing is what I want to do with my life that I would spend every spare minute working on it. I don't why that isn't what I do. I just don't have the dedication I guess.

Sometimes I think that my writing is the best when I'm already really emotional. So when I have a fight with someone; for example, I will write then and channel those emotions into my story, flipping around the argument so that it makes sense in the plot. And while this works, that can't be the only time I write obviously because I'm behind.

So I'm going to go back to two pages a week. Just so long as I'm writing something and staying on track with my novel. If I ever want to get published, I have to finish writing it first. I have to find the proper amount of dedication somewhere and put it to use. Because sitting around waiting for inspiration isn't going to get me very far at all.

Also when I write I lose concept of the world around me. It's the one thing that can distract me completely. Again, you would think that if it posed so much distraction from life that I would do it constantly. But lately I haven't wanted to be distracted from my life.

To My "Watcher at the Gates" (The Internal Critic):

I appreciate your help immediately after I've written something because right then you are always incredibly pleased with my work. It's after the work sits for awhile that you get really snippy. If you could give me some more rope, to look back on my old work and grow from it rather than smack my head against a wall for the writer I used to be, I think we would get along better. There was a short story I submitted into a contest a year or so ago and I've been terrified of going back and reading what I've written because I know I'll find parts I don't like anymore and then I'll be upset with myself for entering a mediocre story into a contest.

But the fact is, that is the best writing I could do then and the fact that you are so critical of my old work shows that you and I are getting better or you wouldn't notice that my old work is bad because you wouldn't be able to compare it to my new work. So I suppose you are doing a pretty decent job of editing my work.

Also please do not use the word "behind". When I'm told that I'm behind in my schedule, I protest by getting even further behind. So don't chide me with that. Tell me I should try harder to write more often. That might just keep me going. Then you and I will be great friends.

The more often bit is a really big problem by the way. Don't hold me back from writing consistently.

Yours Truly,

Alissa

The MoodMasher

Since Celia, Gwen, and I had agreed to visit our potential allies alone, I was on my way to visit the MoodMasher by myself. I'd known him since I was a little boy and so I knew that he was a good man at heart. But he enjoyed the drink and so he was usually either drunk or hung-over. This made talking to him ominous because whenever I had a conversation with him I could be sure that he would play with my emotions just for fun.

In the alley outside of his apartment, I took some deep breaths. The MoodMasher didn't scare me but visiting him was always strenuous. I opened the door, I'd known him too long to be bothered by knocking.

The room was dark and a faint tapping noise was emanating from the corner farthest away from me. I could feel a significant temperature change when I walked over the threshold.

"It's Benedict." I said simply. Suddenly, candles flared and a pungent smell of sweat and grim covered me. I gaged involuntarily and coughed several times.

"Have you quit bathing as well as tidying up the place?" It was a small room holding only the basics: a bed, a chair, a stove, a latrine, and a table. But empty mugs were scattered on every surface, clothes were piled high on top of the stove, and crumbs fell in such a heavy dusting over the floor that a few rats could be seen hiding in the shadows.

The bulky man I'd known since boyhood stood up from his hiding place behind the stove. He towered over me and I stood at six feet tall. His muscled arms weren't contained in a tattered tank top and his hair was oily. So quickly I almost missed it, he pulled a dagger from his pocket and stabbed a rat to the floor. The thing didn't even have time to squeak before it was dead.

An intense wall of pain hit me and tears formed in my eyes. The rat hadn't deserved that. It had been innocent. I knew deep down that I didn't care about the life of a rat because the glint in MoodMasher's eye easily told me he was enjoying the anguish he had created. He still hadn't said a word.

"Enough!" I cried angrily. "I'm not here to amuse you like a toy. I came to ask for your help." The sorrow ebbed slowly. I sat in the only chair. MoodMasher grunted as if to say 'Proceed'.

"I've recently met a young woman whose powers could be as great as mine. Together with her sister, we have decided to overthrow the King. Would you have any interest in helping us?" It was important to keep things short him him. His brain wasn't as well practiced as his fist.

"Why me?" He asked simply, almost with an air of amazement.

"Your powers would be very useful and you are a strong fighter if it should come to fists."

"Humph. I've known ya long enough to know that you wouldn't come here bothering me unless it meant a lot to ya. Besides, I would love to get my hands on some of 'em soldier's emotions. They took my Rabecca from me years ago." What he said was the truth, the soldiers had been harassing his wife while she was at home alone and when MoodMasher returned they had freaked and hit her with a large vase. She had died in his arms.

"Thank you my friend. I will return when plans have been made." I stood quickly and left. No need to spend extra time with him.

Epidemic

"Imagine an important event in the life of your protagonist, something hard to live through, something that had a big impact. Write about what happened from the protagonists's perspective. Include thoughts, reactions, interpretations. Then imagine that your antagonist was at the same even but interpreted everything differently and totally misunderstood how the protagonist reacted. Write about what happened from the antagonist's perspective."

Mors Extra Explanatio was a disease that came to our town when I was twelve. To this day we don't know much about where it came from and that is why it is called "Unexplained Death". We couldn't figure out how it spread and so it was very hard to quarantine it. Once the first symptoms started, a person had about eight hours left to live and no one who contracted the disease overcame it. First a terrible headache started, then chills, a fever, and hives, and it ended in hallucinations. The hallucinations were the worst part because the sick person didn't know that their loved ones were there with them and so they died alone and afraid.

Many different kinds of healers tried to cure the sick but no one succeeded. It was a disease that once it gripped a person, it didn't let go until it had taken her life.

This is the disease both of my parents died from. I watched them writhe in bed, afraid of the dark room they were in when really it was lit warmly and bustling with concerned faces.

The epidemic lasted for three weeks and thousands died. But they were scattered. One and two people in a family. Three on this street. Four on that. It seemed that some of us just had an exemption from the disease. Me and my sister included. It was the hardest time of my life. I had been very close with both my parents and was still a child in many senses of the world. Just a newly orphaned little girl.

When they died, I had to grow up almost instantly. Gwen was the only person I had left who cared about me and she took care of me. But I had to be strong for her too. We were strong for each other.

As the lives of the peasants were extinguished, I assumed the idea that it would just be less people to make problems. New people would be born and would soon replace those who had died. And besides, none of my soldiers were affected anyways. I barely noticed that there were people dying. I was the King, I was up in the castle, rightfully secluded from the death. And besides some of the people who died must've deserved it. Some criminals and wife-beaters must have died as well. So in that way this 'disease' was really more like a cleansing. And it was too hard to stop the disease anyways, even if I had wanted to.

Snippets

Prompt:

"Write a one-line description of a professional boxer without calling him or her a boxer.

Write a two-sentence description of a dancer without calling him or her a dancer.

Write a three-sentence description of a buglar without calling him or her a burglar."

His distinguishing, sweat soaked suit barely contained all of his muscles and fat as his swung his fist.

His finely toned back and leg muscles arched gracefully under his black warm up outfit. After years of dedicated practice, he no longer needed to count while his feet and arms moved harmoniously.

Wishing she had thought to bring a ski mask, the girl coiled her hair up under her black hat. After a deep breath, she set her jaw: determined. Lock pick and flashlight in hand she advanced towards the door.

Belly like a Barrel

Prompt:

"Write a scene or a character description, letting yourself go wild with adjectives and adverbs. After you're done, trim the excess. You might be surprised by how much you like what's left."

The King was an old man with a belly as round as a barrel. When he moved from sitting to standing, several attendants would rush over. Two would take an arm and the third would spot the other two. After hard breathing and swearing, the King would be standing. Since it was such a hassle for him, he preferred to stay in one position when he had company. But the day Benedict and I visited to complain of his cruel tactics the King became so utterly incensed with our opinions that he attempted to stand all by himself. His face turned beat red and his breathing became rapid and ragged. His servants shuddered to help him but he waved them away vehemently.

Finally, he stood and looked up at Benedict with eyes the size of lima beans. Benedict towered over him. The King was so unattractive that I wondered how he had ever achieved his status as ruler over the kingdom. Kings could usually move about freely without help. But the what the King lacked in physical pros he made up for with his intense wealth and a sharp mind. His over zealous ego filled in any remaining holes and so the public didn't see him for what he truly was, an over-weight tyrant. The people of the kingdom knew their king as a prideful but caring man. That is they believed that until they had direct proof otherwise. Many believed that his soldiers acted without orders and that the King didn't know of their atrocities but in truth the horrendous acts were usually his idea.

Revision:

The King was an old man with a belly shaped like a barrel. When he moved from sitting to standing, several attendants would rush to his aid. Two would take an arm and the third would spot the other two. After hard breathing and swearing, the King would finally rise to a standing position. Since it was such a hassle for him, he preferred to stay in one position when he had company. But the day Benedict and I visited to complain of his cruel tactics the King became so utterly incensed with our opinions that he attempted to stand all by himself. His face turned beat red and his breathing turned ragged. His servants fidgeted in place with desire to help him but he waved them away vehemently.

Finally, he stood and arched his neck so he could look up at Benedict with eyes the size of lima beans. Benedict towered over him. The King was so unattractive that I wondered how he had ever achieved his status as ruler over the kingdom. Kings could usually move about freely without help. But the what the King lacked in physicality he made up for with his intense wealth and sharp mind. His over zealous ego filled in any remaining holes and so the public didn't see him for what he truly was, an over-weight tyrant. The people of the kingdom knew their king as a prideful but caring man. They believed that until they had direct proof otherwise. Many believed that his soldiers acted without orders and that the King didn't know of their atrocities but in truth the horrendous acts were usually his idea.

So uhm... I had a really hard time writing with too many adjectives. Or at least in my opinion the adjective level was good. So I didn't quite get this exercise. But I like what I wrote. :)

College!

Yesterday, I became a college student. I'm taking Mythology as a concurrent class at Rose State.

First my Mom and I met my Dad at Best Buy to go laptop shopping. Not because I'm in college but because my computer pretty much refuses to stay on for longer than five seconds. We got some lunch after, which I had to inhale and then rushed over to the college. I used a different staircase then I did when I found my classroom last week and got rather lost. I found my class by pure accident. And I was almost late. I was the last person to get there before the teacher did.
Since it was only the first day of class nothing major happened. We just went over the syllabus. But I like that we did that because all of the policies on late work etc. were very clear and fair at the beginning of class so that way the semester begins on a high note. As this is a college class, I already have a paper due but not for two weeks and it's not an incredibly hard topic either. Just a myth from a culture other than Greek or Roman. After writing the paper, I'll have to present it to the class at some point. But when I was at co-op we did stuff like that so it should be fine.

I'm still having trouble moving past the fact that there is college level homework waiting for me in my room. Talk about new. Especially for someone who is homeschooled. I don't have a lot of experience with a no tollerance on late homework policy. And I have a bit of a procrastination habit. S0 I'm hoping neither of those are probelms for me. If they end up being problems, at least I can hopefully fix them before I start college for real.

Now that I'm done worrying, I can be totally excited that I'm in college!! *whisper scream* At 16. It's funny to me that people have problems grasping that concept but I suppose I'm not grasping it a whole lot better. Anyways, that's all for now about college life! (And yes, I understand the concept of indenting a new paragraph but the tab buttton seems to have failed.)