Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, May 16, 2013 | By: Brianna

Fowl Play

Remember that time when I told you that I was going to write a poem based on the prompt "foul play" for a writing group?  Remember also that I said I was going to write about theatrical chickens?  Well, I came through.  We're not going to talk about syllables and verb tense though...but if you really want to talk about it...send me an owl or something.


Fowl Play
By: Brianna

The chickens casted a comedy
to perform out in the yard.
The rooster wrote out the melody
(it really wasn’t quite hard).

Rehearsal was held in the henhouse
with hens dancing around eggs.
They were directed by the ruffed grouse
who told them to shake a leg.

Opening night, the cast was nervous
as they gathered out on stage
to do the author a disservice
would certainly cause outrage.

The field mice crept in for the curtain
and brought with them their fine cheese
twould be a good show, they were certain
as long as nobody sneezed.

When they fin’ly reached intermission
the play was going quite well
without a last minute addition
of anything that might smell.

Lovers kissed for the happiest end
and all came out for a bow
by then the poultry death blade descend…ed.
It’s chicken for dinner right now!

A Letter to Tan Lines

Dear Tan Lines,

You know me.  We're pretty close.  I mean, you're attached to me, and I'm a little attached to you by virtue of your being branded into my skin.  But in case you're not familiar with my name, I'm Brianna.  Hey, how you doing?

Back in Florida, I noticed you existed because when I wore tank tops, you were there marking our the sleeves that I wore for my costume.  That costume was adorable, but the sleeves were just too darn long due to the unisex nature of those yellow and white striped button downs that we weren't allowed to roll up.  And then there were the tan lines that reminded me I had to wear socks that covered my ankles, leaving the knobs of my ankles down to my toes a pale Elmer's glue white.  Luckily you didn't mark out my skort because my thighs are always pale anyway.

Well.  I noticed you yesterday.  I thought you'd faded away completely and that I was back to my usual pale and fairly even self, but when I donned that tank top and went out into the sun yesterday, there you were.  Yes, you had faded during the winter months when I covered you up in sweater sleeves and long pants, but you're still there.  I could tell you were still there when I bared my shoulders to the sunlight yesterday afternoon.

And don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that I got tan rather than burned in Florida, but I'd really like the evidence of my shirtsleeves to go away.

So basically, I love you...but please leave.

Love,
Brianna

-------------------------------------------------------

Brianna Life Update:

The job search continues.

My internship has me doing a lot of things, and I'm still really excited about it.  A bunch of stuff that I wrote for the site has even been posted, and you can read all that here: www.heresthestory.org.

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project, but for some reason I keep leapfrogging.  I keep forgetting to write a poem every other day, leading me to write two poems in a day...multiple days "in a row."  I don't know what's up with this, but it's something that I'm going to have to figure out before next month, because it just can't go on like this.

I'm still working on revising poems that I'm sending out to people as part of an artistic pay it forward type deal from Facebook.  I actually wanted to commit to doing that, because I know lots of people post those statuses, collect things from people, and then never actually send out art.  So...I'm doing that, but I'm having difficulty picking poems for people and making sure that they're pretty.  The only reason I'm posting this on my blog is because I'm fairly certain that the people I'm talking about have either forgotten that I owe them a poem or they don't read this blog.  So...I win.

I'm reading too many books at once.  Right now I have bookmarks in Act of Will and Wonder Boys, and on the almost immediate line up after those are The Handmaid's Tale and Beautiful Creatures, both of which I've borrowed from friends.  Though one of them I'm going to hold hostage, so go ahead and try to stop me!

I haven't been on any adventures recently, but I did buy new jeans (whoohoo!) the other day, and they look awesome.  Mostly because I'm wearing them, and I always look awesome, but also because they're super comfy.

And that's about it.  Happy Thursday!

"I think you are wrong to want a heart.  It makes most people unhappy.  If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."
- L. Frank Baum
Monday, May 6, 2013 | By: Brianna

What Do You Do?

I thought I had an idea for a post.  Actually, I'm fairly certain that I did have an idea, I just chose to dispense with that idea for now because I stumbled upon my friend, Susan's, blog and I was intrigued by her post today as part of Blog Every Day in May even though I'm not sure that I'll be taking that particular challenge.  I've already got one challenge with my Poem-A-Day Project, and then the whole "figure out your life, Brianna" challenge.

So, Brianna, if you couldn't answer with your job, what do you do?

I write.  Lots of things.  Most consistently, I write blog posts and daily poems.  I write scribbles in a notebook that I keep in my bag at all times.  Every now and again I write a character sketch or an idea for a scene.  Over the summers for the past five summers, I wrote stage adaptations of Grimm fairy tales.  In high school, I wrote one act plays.  My last semester of college, I wrote short stories.  I've written lyric essays, but I'm still not absolutely certain what that means.  I also write letters because when I get writer's block, it's a really great and constructive way to get my thoughts onto paper without forcing myself to write something pretty.  Plus then someone definitely gets to read it!

I read.  As a result of my reading, I also leave books lying around the house everywhere.  I read multiple books at the same time because I suspect I have an attention problem.  According to my Goodreads account, I'm reading a bunch of books that I had to return to the library a long time ago, and if I wanted to actually read them, I would probably have to restart them anyway.  So honestly, I'm currently reading The Friday Society, and I'm carrying around Wonder Boys in my bag with a bookmark shoved between the first couple pages.  I also read poetry, though I haven't been reading quite as much as I want to, apparently I'm getting distracted by novels.  Oh, and comics.  Because that's a thing now.

I watch movies.  Mostly because I adore movies.  The last movies that I fell in love with were probably Perks of Being a Wallflower and Ruby Sparks.  There was a time when I was working through all the Alfred Hitchcock movies that I could find at my local library, then there was the phase I had when I watched a handful of Marilyn Monroe movies, and then there was my F-in 80s movie marathon weekend which featured Fame, Footloose, and Flashdance.  Everybody loves a good theme, right?  I aspire to watch AFI's 100 Years 100 Movies, although I'm kinda leery about a couple of the movies on that list.  Let's face it, I just want to see all the movies.

I intern.  I know this is kinda like answering with my job, but there it is.  Too bad.  Plus now I can repeat things that I've probably already talked about.  I numbered my internships based on the order I got them.  So Internship #1 is at Here's the Story, I'm the Communications Assistant, which means that I do social media marketing, write things, and generally take on assignments from my blue-haired boss.  Internship #2 is at Chicago Kids Company, and I help out the box office manager by taking phone calls and making reservations for teachers who want to bring their classes to our shows for a field trip.

I knit.  There was a time when I got home from Florida when I went into a knitting frenzy.  I knit a Hufflepuff scarf and a failed Hufflepuff hat for my friend, Claire, I made myself arm warmers, I think I knit something else too, but it was insane.  I have a pattern for curled toe elf slippers that I really want to make, but I'm terrified of messing them up because they're not square and flat...those being the requirements for all the other things that I've knitted successfully.

What else?

I'm pretty sure that's it.  I also do other things like clean my room, occasionally, wash dishes or do laundry for the family when I notice that it could probably use doing.  I go to free events when I remember that they exist.  I go out for drinks or pie with friends, so I eat a lot of pie and drink more alcohol than is probably healthy for someone who spends time with one person at a time and doesn't go to bars very often.  I also spend an unhealthy amount of time texting and checking Facebook.   I also watch television shows via Hulu or my friend's itunes because there's no conceivable way that I could possibly remember to watch a weekly show without setting a phone alarm.  Because that's another thing I do: I forget things.  I also procrastinate.  And I guess I job hunt right now.

So...those are thing things I do.  What about you?

"We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive."
- C.S. Lewis
Friday, April 12, 2013 | By: Brianna

Poetry Friday: If You Really Love a Writer

An update on NaPoWriMo: It's going well.  I haven't fallen behind yet, though I will this weekend because I'm going out of town to Girl Scout camp.  Because I'm awesome.  (And modest too.)  Anyway, the zodiac poems haven't actually been happening...but I'm hoping that something does happen just because of magic.  Maybe if I hold my breath they'll write themselves?

Today is Poetry Friday.  Today's poem is Megan Falley's "If You Really Love a Writer" (I used that video, but Blogger wasn't cooperating...) and I'm kinda upset that I didn't watch this sooner, because it makes me smile, and I had a tweet of one of her lines favorited AGES ago...but never dug deeper.  Until now.  Dun dun DUN!


Allow me to rant a little bit.  But let me start off by stating that I love notebooks.  Don't get me wrong, notebooks are awesome.  They're beautiful.  I mean, except for the spiral icky ones that are only ten cents that you use to take notes in class.  Those aren't too beautiful.  But I've noticed that as a writer, I do indeed tend to be gifted with notebooks.  I have a stack of five gorgeous notebooks sitting on my bookshelf waiting for me to fill up the first one I got so that they can be used.  It's only recently that I've been okay with using the beautiful ones.  I don't know what it is, but I suddenly get apprehensive about penning words between the pages of beautiful things.  Maybe it feels more permanent.  Maybe the notebook's expectations are high like it's saying, "I am a pretty notebook, therefore only pretty things may be written in me.  I scorn all your other ideas."  I don't know.  Point being, I completely agree with Megan Falley that a notebook has got to be the most intimidating and frightening gift someone could give an artist.

Pay attention to Falley's descriptions.  For example, "One is small and black like a funeral dress, its pages lined like the hands of a widow."  See what she did there?  Not only did she use a funeral dress to give the black notebook some better description than "dark as night," but she extended the death into the widow's hands.  AH!  It's so pretty, I don't know what to do with myself.  I think this works particularly well because it's concise and clever while also being unique.

Falley's treatment of time and the way she mentions significant life events is interesting to me because she never says "birthday" or "graduation."  Which would be boring.  Oh no, she uses "blown out birthday candle," and "turn of the tassel."  The listener knows what she's talking about because even if they haven't celebrated a birthday recently, the blowing out of candles is a tradition that's so cemented in our brains that we tend to think of birthdays without numbers being mentioned.  And turn of the tassel?  Everyone who's graduated from some level of school or seen a sibling or child graduate has seen the tassel travel from one side of a mortar board to the other.  So bringing in these common threads helps the listener empathize with where Falley's at even if they aren't themselves a writer.

"It's never a notebook we need."  This is interesting, because she goes on to say that if a writer gets struck by an idea (without using the word "struck" because that's cliche...), they're going to use whatever surface they have to jot it down, assuming they have a pen.  And if not, they're just going to repeat the line until it gets branded into their brain.  Which leads me to believe that the "notebook" that a writer needs is really themselves.  But the reason writers receive notebooks as gifts is because writers have a bad habit of failing as their own notebook.  Well, at least I do.

"If we have a story to tell, an idea carbonating past the brim of us..."  Argh.  I can't even begin to express how much I love this image.  Pop needs to be in more poetry just because of how lively and delicious the imagery is.

Falley's list of gifts it would be better to give a writer if you really love her make me smile.  The coffee table, the gravestone, the eviction notice, and the awful.  Particularly the awful.  Because honestly, a writer's got the best notebook they can ever hope to have, and if they don't have the gifted notebook with them anyway...they're just going to use whatever.  What a writer really needs is something to write about.

PROMPTS:
1.  Write about a gift.  Was it a good gift?  Was it the worst gift you've ever received in your life?  Was it a re-gifted gift that you weren't supposed to know about?  What about a white elephant/dirty Santa?
2.  Ideas are often described as lightning.  A flash of brilliance, and then gone.  But Falley uses soda pop as an image for a story/idea.  Come up with a unique image for an idea that doesn't use lightning or being "struck" by something.
3.  If you really love a writer, what would you give her?
4.  Notice Falley's descriptions of life events.  Take a page out of her notebook (ha, if she's using one) and describe a life event in one line that's pure image.  Let someone else read it and tell you what they think it is.
5.  Take a color.  Describe an object of that color.  Think funeral dress and widow's hands.  How can you extend the description into something neat like that?

"If you really love a writer, bury her in all your awful and watch as she scrawls her way out."
- Megan Falley, "If You Really Love a Writer"
Friday, March 29, 2013 | By: Brianna

Poetry Friday: Preludes

I forgot it was Poetry Friday.  I almost didn't write about a poem, but luckily I remembered in the nick of time!  Huzzah!

So today I read T.S. Eliot's "Preludes."  I remember reading bits and pieces of this poem in my British literature class, junior year of high school.  This was one of the first poems that helped me decide that poetry might be cool to read.  It helped that there are some lines in here that show up in "Memory" from "CATS," and there was a time when I was in that musical...I don't really want to talk about it, it involved spandex and a painted wig.

And my brain is fried.  Hooray!

I promise that next week I won't be so horrible with Poetry Friday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now is about the time of the month when I talk about my plans for the upcoming month of Poem-A-Day.  April's actually National Poetry Month and also National Poetry Writing Month, so hopefully that means that people out there in the world are taking part in some sort of poetry writing/reading shenanigans during the upcoming month.  For myself, I'm setting myself the challenge to write a poem about each sign of the zodiac. I'm not really sure how I'm going to time them or how I'm going to set them up, or even if I'm going to write them all in similar styles, so we'll see how that goes.  I'm also playing with the idea of posting this month's poems here so I can formally take part in the National Poetry Writing Month things, but that didn't work out too well last year, so I'm a little hesitant.  Plus that would throw off my whole "putting poems in an envelope and not reading them till the end of the month" routine.

"I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing."
- T.S. Eliot, "Preludes"
Wednesday, March 20, 2013 | By: Brianna

A Very Potter Reflection

Yesterday I settled in front of my laptop with a mug of tea and donned a set of headphones to watch Team Starkid's A Very Potter Senior Year, the very last in the Harry Potter parody trilogy.  And I realized, it's the end of an era.


It's been a long time.  The Harry Potter craze.  But it felt like AVPSY was a salute to the end.  We're told that it's okay to let things go and move on.  And "okay" is definitely good enough.

Move on, eh?

Reflecting back on Harry Potter instead of moving on for the purposes of this post, I remember in maybe 4th grade, my elementary school librarian held up the book and gave us a concise summary while I thought to myself, "That looks weird..."  This coming from the only girl in her class who wore tights after the age of six.  It wasn't until one of my friends talked it up and lent me the first two books that I really got into it.  I remember reading Chamber of Secrets at night and shivering at the voice in the walls, and I remember asking for my own copies of the first three books for Christmas.  I didn't read the third one until I had my own copy.  I remember being at a birthday party when the fourth book came out and my dad and grandpa going at midnight to get me my copy.  Books 5 through 7 were delivered straight to my house through Amazon.  I never went to a release party, and looking back on it, I regret that.

But I think a big part of why I wanted to write when I was younger was because I was reading good books. I used to write about witches and magic all the time, and reading Harry Potter was fuel for that, I think.  At that time I wanted to write a book.  A novel.  Right now, I'm not so sure, the only thing I'm sure about is that I want to keep writing.

It's probably been said a ton, but I think the magic of Harry Potter is the effect it has on its readers.  That a series of young adult books could inspire a group of college kids to write a series of parody musicals, that a movement of poets and musicians are out there creating wizard rock, and that the Harry Potter Alliance is making love, not horcruxes.  It's amazing to me that I can look at all that a boy wizard and his friends have done for us and realize that Harry's part of the reason we knew "okay" was good enough.  So even though we're growing up and some of us are graduating college or adventuring off into the real world, we still carry Hogwarts with us.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to read next, and I'm not really sure that it'll have the same impact on me that Harry Potter did, but I'm kinda hoping that it does.  I'd hate to go through the rest of my life reading things that are any less than magical.

"I do not read for I have renounced life, I read because one life is just not enough for me."
- Abbas Al-Akkad
Friday, March 15, 2013 | By: Brianna

2 Truths...and...Just Kidding

One of my friends, Elizabeth, is an English teacher.  As part of her teaching magic, she has her students write blog posts.  So, she shared these prompts with me, and I am very excited to be stealing one of them for today's post.  It's based on the game 2 Truths and a Lie, but I've decided to dispense with the lie (for now) and tell you three truths about me.

And note to self, write something fictional soon.  Preferably good and fictional, but I know how you can get...

1.  I can juggle.

I'm not saying I can juggle well, but I can, indeed, juggle.  My first May Term through my university, I went to a juggling workshop.  I believe that was my first May Term, at least.  I spent the majority of the workshop tossing two balls into the air until the person running the thing had me pick up the third.  At that point, I spent a long time tossing two balls and holding the third because I was terrified of tossing it.  Until I just did.  So I can do the very basic juggling pattern of three balls.  That's about it.  My brother taught himself how to juggle by using YouTube, that magical place, and he can do a number of tricks, and in my attempt to be more like my brother, I'm planning on learning how to do some myself.

2.  My favorite game is Bananagrams.  Though I'm not particularly good at it.

I was only introduced to Banagrams a couple years ago and played it in Steak 'n Shake and/or the lounge of my residence hall.  And it was awesome.  But the reason I'm not particularly good is because I'm not usually very quick about putting together my words.  I have a bad habit of seeing a word I really want to use and then rearranging my entire collection of letters so I can use it.  I did this for "quixotic," and "wizard," and those are the two I can remember.  To be fair, "quixotic" uses two really annoying letters, so strategically it was a good move.  Point being, I usually sacrifice speed for interesting words.

3.  I collect fortune cookie fortunes.

Not on purpose.  Though I'm not really sure how you can accidentally collect something.  It's more that every time I eat a fortune cookie, I pin the fortune to my bulletin board in my room.  Last summer I actually took all my fortunes, compiled them into a Word document, and tossed out the little slips of paper.  So now I'm starting from scratch.  I think I like being able to look back at the fortunes and see if any of them still apply later in my life?  Or maybe I think that I can use them for a writing prompt of some sort.  My friend, Katie, actually talked about writing something based on fortune cookie fortunes, and I think that that's a brilliant idea.  And using fortunes that have already been written would eliminate the headache of having to write your own fortunes.  Hm.

"Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened."
- Winston Churchill 
Monday, March 11, 2013 | By: Brianna

Solo Coffee Date

Today I took myself out on a coffee date.  To Starbucks.  Because I'm a sell out and the local coffee shop's owner kinda scares me.  At least I'm going to different Starbucks shops in the neighborhood and spreading around the love.  But I treated myself to a drink and a scone.

To be quite fair, I'm not technically alone because I brought my poetry with me.  Which might sound even more lame because there isn't a real live human sitting across this little bitty table from me.

Looking around, I think it's interesting that the majority of the people who are sitting here drinking their coffee are solo.  There are six of us, including me, who are sitting down, and they're all on their own.  This is interesting to me because I tend to think of coffee shops as kinda social places.  At least that's how the coffee shop down by school works.  I miss that place, I liked their espresso so much better than Starbucks'. That and their atmosphere is better.  And more bustling.  And more beautiful.  Alas.

It is interesting that the baristas today actually seem like they want to be here.  That they're cheery and interested in who they're giving coffee to which is something that I'm only used to when I'm at that coffee shop near school.  Oh, and people trust other people here too, which is also weird.  The man near me just stood up and left his laptop on his table.  I'm pretty sure I would never do that in a Starbucks.  Maybe I'm just paranoid.

What's also interesting to note is that I'm not a coffee person.  I only drink the coffee that can be watered down with chocolate and milk, so a mocha it is.  Still possessing the taste of coffee, but more chocolatey and delicious.  Yup, that's right.  I never really understood the logic behind buying hot water and a tea bag when it would be cheaper for me to be at home and make my own tea.  If we're talking loose specialty tea...it might be totally different.

And now I'm off to do my work which is really revising a single poem.  And perhaps apply for more jobs.  Ready?  Go!

"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."
- T.S. Eliot
Sunday, March 10, 2013 | By: Brianna

Theatrical and Writing Concerns

So I started this post during my last semester of college and left it as a draft.  It kinda feels like I should finish it.
...
This morning I awoke at my usual 7 AM (today to the sounds of the Tangled soundtrack) because I'm participating in the 24 hour theatre fest.  It's exactly what it sounds like.  In 24 hours, a bunch of people write, direct and act in a series of short plays.  The most intense part (I think) is that the writers stayed up for quite a long time last night writing our plays.  Today is the first day that I'm thankful I'm not a writer.  Today I'm just an actor, so I can take directions and do what I'm told and get feedback, no worries about people misinterpreting what I write or butchering my lines.

It's a glorious feeling.  I feel free.

But the real fact of the matter is that I am a writer.  Maybe not for this show, but for the show of life, I'm writing the script, and half of the lines need to be cut.  They're not that good.  I've been writing a lot.  As my loyal readers know, I've been writing a poem a day since the beginning of September, and there's no end it sight quite yet.  I've noticed that a lot of my poems are influenced by what's going on in my life at the time of writing.  I had a whole series of zombie related poems when my university was playing a game called Humans versus Zombies, and I have a short bunch of poems that feature or are indirectly related to the boy I started seeing about two days after I started the Poem-a-Day project.

A good many of my poems are products of my distress.  I frequently get flustered or stressed out, and instead of buckling down and committing to doing my homework, I write poetry.  If you're friends with me, chances are you've shown up in my writing in some capacity, though I try my best not to consciously do that.  But a lot of times I'm worried/concerned/hurt/stressed/distressed, so I have to get the words down on paper.  And I can't help but wonder if there will ever be a time when it would be appropriate to show the objects of these poems the poetry that was written about them.  Mostly because I'm at this stage in my writing where I want to show everyone everything, dance around and sing, "Aren't I brilliant?"  Even though I would never admit to it if they told me I was.  The answer I've come to is "probably not, Brianna" because I can't for certain determine what the objects of poetry might read in the piece, and I don't want to create awkward situations.
...
Now that I've gotten to a point where there have been distinctive shifts in my life and situation, I've been writing a lot about my daily life which isn't too thrilling.  And I've learned that a break up can be really great fodder for ideas, even though you have to jump over the cliche hurdles to get to anything good.  So I find myself thinking...would I want to show anyone those poems much less the person they're about?  Yeah, I think it would be safe to say that that would be awkward.  Even if I wasn't purposely writing about a person, if I wrote something that they could interpret as about them...emotional distress.  I know this partially from experience and partially because I'm self-centered.

So it all boils down to even though I can crow, "Oh the cleverness of me!" I can't show the subjects of my poetry those poems.  I just can't.  So if I'm looking for feedback...I better pray that those feedback givers don't show up in my poetry because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable unnecessarily   All uncomfortability must come from necessity, naturally!  Gosh!  When it's all over, when I'm done being broken up about a break up or done feeling betrayed or abandoned by close friends or done being over the moon excited about an unpaid internship, even when the feelings are gone, they're still going to be stuck to the page of the poem, so even if I say, "Hey, I don't feel this miserable/happy/whateveremotionapplies anymore," the reader could still read into it.  And then misunderstanding.  Or worse, understanding.  Understanding that maybe they made me feel that way, and then guilt.  And no one wants that.  Well, at least I don't want people to feel guilty.

Decision: Choose your audience wisely, Brianna.  The end.

"Poetry is an act of peace.  Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread."
- Pablo Neruda
Wednesday, March 6, 2013 | By: Brianna

Thank You, Thank You Very Much

Today I finally finished writing thank you notes for Christmas presents.  Mostly because I'm a bum and lazy and tend to forget that these things have to be done, but also because writing thank you notes occasionally fills me with fury.  I'm fairly certain that the people who get these little notes from me say, "Oh, you're welcome" and then shruggingly (shut up, Chrome, it's a word...) throw the card in the trash, disposing of all my fine work.  Although to be fair, I never really say anything more interesting than "Thank you" and "thanks again!" at the very end.  Maybe I could do a little bit of spicing up when it comes to writing these cards.

In looking up "thanks" in the Oxford English Dictionary, I learned that the majority of the definitions were very dull and meant exactly what I knew they would mean.  So that was disappointing.

I also found a number of ironical uses for the word, as well as "thank goodness!" and the like.  Oh, and the ever popular "Thanks for nothing!"

[this is where I say something about church that I censor because I don't need any deities angry at me right now.]


"The value we place on what we've been given correlates to our depth of gratitude for it."
- Todd Stocker
Tuesday, March 5, 2013 | By: Brianna

House on the Rock

So I'm pretty sure that I never talked about when I went to House on the Rock with my friend at the beginning of last month.  For those who don't know, the House on the Rock is one of those human oddities that you really need to see to believe.  In a nutshell, it's a collection of just about everything.  And it's magical, which is probably why it appears in Neil Gaiman's American Gods, which may or may not have been the basis for its appeal to us.

My friend and I are on a mission to go on adventures to give us more material for our writing and also to get us out of the house because we tend to be the type of people who like to laze around the house for long periods of time, which...you might have noticed if you read my blog with any regularity.  Not the point.

Going back through my Poem-A-Day February, I found this poem that I wrote after we visited the House on the Rock.

February 3, 2013

Snakey road, covered in snow
leads to the upside down house,
everyone's play land.
Dolls and guns and
paper weights.
Stuffed owls and
pinned butterflies and
music boxes.
The air pumps through the hallways
like breath from a million lungs,
sending drums thumping heartbeat
and flutes whistling,
ribbons flying like sassy tongues.
Far saner than anticipated,
but the low ceilings
and dim lights remind us of twilight
evenings where maybe
we'd sit by the fire
and curl up on a rock.

Posted for Poetry Pantry #140!


"All your questions can be answered, if that is what you want.  But once you learn your answers, you can never unlearn them."
- Neil Gaiman, American Gods
Saturday, February 16, 2013 | By: Brianna

Streetcar Poem

This Monday, I'm going to a local writing group at a library near my house.  They come up with a theme each month and you have to write on the theme.  This month's was "streetcar(s)," and I had no idea what to write.  So I wrote this poem that doesn't have a title yet, and already needs to be rewritten.  I'm kinda excited about the prospect of getting to meet writers in the neighborhood, and I'm sad that these meetings only happen once a month, which naturally means that I need to find more writing groups or start one myself.  I'm thinking every two weeks would be pretty neat.  So yeah.  Poem.


Streetcar Poem

If you hook up a trolley pole
to my heart and weld
roller skates to my feet,
maybe the wires would lead me
somewhere.

Electricity could prompt my pulse
to nudge positivity through my veins,
and my little roller skate wheels
could slide on down the road.

But don’t wires and cables
and those little metal valleys dug into the street
only go so far?

When I’m stuck, it’s you
who is Stella from “Streetcar”
while I’m Marlon Brando
screaming your name from the sidewalk,
tearing my hair in giant follicle fistfuls
because your window’s closed
or you’re just not listening.

Because your preoccupations
settle into your attention, reminding me that I’m passé
like the horse and carriage.

You’d much rather wrestle
with your concept of The Future illuminating
your computer screen,
never mind the chat box winking at you.

So when the pebbles lodge
in my roller skates
or the overhead wires cross and twist,
the only help I can rely on
is my own unwillingness
to stay in one place.

Because it really doesn’t matter
where the wires go
as long as following them means
I can find a Future for me.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013 | By: Brianna

Stress

Let's face it, this post has been a long time coming.  We all knew this was coming, and now you people who actually read my blog can rest at ease because it's true, I'm stressed and I'm going to be writing about it.

After the end of the Disney College Program, I found my way back to my hometown, which means that I'm living with my parents.  This doesn't feel like it should be a really big deal, but with my brother returning to university, I'm (for all intents and purposes) an only child.  I mean this in the sense that my parents' attentions, concerns, aggression is all concentrated on me.  I've only begun to realize this now.

(BRIANNA sets about packing up a bag with her laptop and other things.  DAD comes down the stairs, just woken up.)

DAD:  Where are you going?

BRIANNA: The library.

I understand that it's a parent's job to know where their child is, and I understand that they're really just looking out for me and worrying because that's all part of their job description, but I've never given them reason to worry about me, and it really shouldn't matter where I'm going because it's broad daylight, I'm a responsible pseudo-adult, and I don't have any bad influence friends to meet up with.

That's another stress that I have.  Once again I've sunk into the feeling that if I contact the friends who are nearby, I'll be bothering them.  Only a couple of my friends have steady work right now, so I really shouldn't be worrying about this as much as I am, but there it is.  I need to see people every now and again though, because otherwise I get lethargic and sink into a funk.  Which I've been on the verge of doing multiple times right up until I go to the library for some sort of human interaction with the lady who checks out the movies I'm torturing myself with.

Because there it is, the broken heart that I'm nursing.  And the cliche of saying it makes me weep more than the actual thing, so I've been telling people that the reason I'm so cold all the time is because my soul is made of ice and I don't have a heart anymore.  Because frankly, that's what it feels like.  I'm quick to cry, and I sit there remembering good times on loop.  I feel like the epitome of a romantic comedy heroine who's stuck in the misery montage with no hope of pulling myself out.  So basically, I feel not a little bit pathetic.  Through some terrible coincidence, I keep pulling romantic films off the shelves at the libraries and insisting that they'll make me feel better...and they don't really.  Which shouldn't surprise me, really.  I'm just at a loss there because no matter what I do, it hurts.  Everything hurts.  Doing things, not doing things, listening to music, skipping the familiar songs, writing horrible break-up poetry, avoiding writing poetry at all, reading, watching movies, talking, not talking.  Everything hurts, and it feels like my insides are frozen and my outsides are burning up.  Like my skin'll just turn into steam and escape through the roof and the rest of me'll just freeze and connect with concrete.  I have no idea what to do to fix this.

Oh, and money.

(BRIANNA comes back through the back door, bright and excited from a lunch with a friend.  MOM is playing a Facebook game on the computer.)

BRIANNA:  So my friend and I are planning to go on adventures in the city and maybe take some day trips out of town--

MOM:  Brianna, I'm not going to fund your fun.  I can't.

BRIANNA:  I--what?

MOM:  I can't fund your day trips and your fun.

Once again.  I understand this.  I have no job.  I should be looking for a job.  Preferably one that will pay me money.  With that money, I can have fun.  But at the same time, I need to have fun and see my friends in order to remain sane or run the risk of becoming a hermit.  That's ignoring the fact that hermits can have friends.


Well, if I were a hermit and friends with The Doctor, things would be different.  Point being, if I don't leave the house and have human interaction, I feel less human, more stressed.

And then I'm looking for a job.  I don't even know where to start, so I'm making it up as I go.  I keep forgetting that I'm supposed to call to follow-up and make sure that places got my resume after all, and I constantly lose track of where I applied anyway no matter how many lists I keep.  I'm looking at positions in libraries, small publishing houses, and universities, anything that I might be vaguely interested in.  Once it starts warming up, I'm planning on knocking on doors all up and down the streets where the small businesses live nearby my home, but I'm really hoping that it doesn't come down to that.  And all I want to do is write.

What it all boils down to is: I'M STRESSED!  Living with my parents is a weird dance thing that I have to do so everyone retains some semblance of happiness, I have no friends, busy friends, or friends I'm afraid to bother, I'm looking for a job, dealing with a broken heart (or lack of a heart), and wanting to write.  And there it is.  So now I've spent 20 some odd minutes writing this post instead of searching for a job while I've been at the library, but you know...it kinda helped in a weird way?  Happy Tuesday!

"To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan and not quite enough time."
- Leonard Bernstein
Tuesday, December 11, 2012 | By: Brianna

Competition

Writers are, by nature, competitive.  That's just the fact of the matter.  It doesn't matter how many times writing instructors or professors say "Don't compare your work to other people," they do it anyway.  Doesn't matter how many times a writer reassures their friend "Oh no, I don't compare my work to your's, it's cool," it's a lie.

I suspect this is because writers are artists, and like most artists, they need reassurance.  Well, if we're going to be completely honest, as humans we need reassurance, but you know what I'm saying, so go with it, will you?  What I'm saying is a writer needs reassurance that their writing is worthwhile.  They need major ego-stroking because they're self-conscious.  They're throwing their lives on the page and taking a risk by exposing their scars, and they need affirmation that it was worth doing and that they did it well.  I know this because I am a victim of this.  Or at least someone who needs affirmation that my work is good.  Right.  That.

So because of this self-consciousness, we find ourselves comparing our work to others.  I'm not saying that every writer reads Shakespeare and then quietly retires to a corner and slowly breaks all their pens because Shakespeare and the classics are always going to be considered "better" in some respects and "old-fashioned" in others, so he's not even on the table of "others" to whom a writer's work can be compared.  I'm saying that in a workshop or classroom setting or even in just being friends with other writers, a writer will relentlessly compare their work without meaning to.  Because there's going to be the idea that "Oh, I could have done this with this poem better" or "This is so good, I could never write something like this."  I don't think that we realize we're doing it, but we do because that's where so much of the bad feelings between writers can come from with one writer acting all superior and the other one being depressed and feeling worthless.

This needs to stop.  I don't necessarily think that it's a light switch that we can just turn off and say "Nope, not comparing today," but I do think that once we realize we're doing it, we can keep these negative feelings in check.  Because 1) a huge ego isn't good for anyone and 2) an inferior ego isn't happy either.  Besides, the writing suffers if you think you're so good you're untouchable as well as if you think you're so bad you shouldn't bother writing anyway.

Yes, we're artists.  Yes, there will always be someone who writes better than me, but I can only hope that they don't lord it over me when they realize that they do.  Yes, there will always be someone who's still learning and who you write better than.  For now.  So this is a good reason just to keep writing because who knows what's going to come about and who knows how good it will be, and who really cares?  Because ultimately, we should be writing for ourselves anyway.  If someone else wants to read it, great, but if we're writing for readers...I'm not sure that's writing anymore.  At least not in the same way.

I've found recently (though you would think I wouldn't have to keep re-realizing this) that writing is a really great way of sorting out things.  I say "things" because I've decided I'm going to be purposely vague and it's entertaining to me.  I spent the majority of my senior year at university writing my Poem-A-Day Project, and a lot of those poems had to do with my anxiety toward The Future.  Not that those poems have gone away, but I've settled into a more comfortable place with them.  Just like I have a friend who's still "poeming out" their heartbreak, and another who memorializes their family.  I'm not really sure what it is about writing that makes us feel better in times of distress, but I get the feeling that it has to do with trying to find the words to communicate those feelings that are confused and jumbled up.  So many times we answer "How are you doing?" with "I'm fine," but the poems say differently.

And this is why I'm thinking that the competition and the comparisons are silly.  Because if we're trying to figure things out, sorting out emotions, landmarks, and experiences, how can we even form a basis for comparison?  Basically, by comparing we're not being fair to either writer due to the fact that no one has the exact same experiences or reactions as another person, so therefore...flawed comparison.  I mean, my friend and I can write about the same conference we went to while we were at college or the same movie we saw over the weekend, but we could never write the same poem about it because we didn't have the same experience.  Sure we might have bought our movie tickets together and shared a bag of popcorn, but we wouldn't have seen the same things in the movie or tasted the popcorn the same way.

I freely admit that I'm guilty of the comparisons, but I'm trying to stop doing that, or at least remind myself continuously that I write differently than my friends, and "different" is neither better nor worse.  So I implore the writing community to stop the comparisons, or at least don't let them negatively influence anybody.  Thank you.

"If it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.  Writers are competitive.  If you're a writer, declare yourself the best writer.  But you're not as long as I'm around unless you want to put the gloves on and settle it."
- Ernest Hemingway, 'Midnight in Paris'
Saturday, November 10, 2012 | By: Brianna

Thinking about Writing instead of Writing

So my friend, Katie, and I decided that we would do NaNoWriMo.  After years of talking about doing it, I actually committed, re-signing up on the website and keeping up a word count, and saving my day's writing and all of that.  I wrote every day except yesterday.  And, well, today too.  I'm getting horribly terrible at getting myself to write all of a sudden, and I suspect that it has to do with the fact that my "novel" has no plot.    I'm writing two different sections with characters and stuff (which is hugely specific, I'm well aware), but right now neither of those sections have a plot.  Which is mildly irritating, but I'm going to try my best to persevere.

I'm also thinking that I need to learn more things about life and stuff in order to write more better things.  Yeah, that's right, I said "more better," because that's definitely a term.  And it's awesome.
Point being, I think that I need to learn more.  I want to learn more about topics that I'm not familiar with, if only because I want to be able to go on a game show and be awesome at answering the random questions.  That, and I love being a fountain of strange knowledge, so this calls for reading.  Reading of strange sources of information and the like.  What's great is that the Internet exists, which is pretty awesome.

As for learning about life, that would just come from experiencing more of it.  Actually taking chances to explore and have fun.  Go to speakers, listen to people, go to events and places where I've never been, and the like.

More genre experimentation.  I haven't played around with genre outside of fantasy, and I think that that could be fun.

I'd also like to play around with different styles of poetry, different forms of writing.  I haven't done a lot with forms, and I think that that would be challenging.  Especially since I don't think I'm particularly good at form poetry.  I could also do more with lyric essays and non-fiction type deals.  Or maybe I could write a song.

And then I need to figure out what to do with my writing.  Do I want to rewrite everything I've ever written?  Do I want to submit them for publication?  Do I want to peddle them on street corners?  Yup.  Need to figure that out.

So there are lots of things that I need to think about with regards to my writing, and get back on track with NaNoWriMo.  So enough of the procrastination, let's get writing.
Saturday, October 27, 2012 | By: Brianna

Life as a Pixar Movie

There was a time when my friend posed the question:

If your life was a Pixar movie, what movie would your's be?

I struggled with this question mostly because the best Pixar movies had been taken, and I couldn't think of a way to relate my life to Toy Story or Up, which was sad.  And there was no way I was going to use A Bug's Life.

The conclusion I came to was that my life is Ratatouille. 


And now is when I put up the obligatory ***SPOILER ALERT*** because I'm going to talk about plot, characters, and other things.  And though I'm not sure if there are people who would care if I spoil...but you know...just making sure.

Anyway.

I definitely feel like Remy in that I feel like I have a talent, but I'm in an environment that isn't exactly fostering that talent or encouraging it.  One might say that I feel creatively stifled by where I am in my life.  So in that way, I'm faced with the challenge of finding a means through which I can use my gifts.

Then again, I also feel like Linguini because I don't always have Remy's confidence in my own talents, and sometimes I just feel like everything I'm doing is going wrong and subsequently leading me in the completely wrong direction.  But I'm eager to learn and develop as an artist, I just need a mentor of sorts.

Plus I feel like I'm surrounded by Colettes, the people who know exactly what they're doing and where they're going.  They're unflappable, and they're so staggeringly confident in themselves that I fall over myself to please them or prove that I'm even a little okay.  Then again, when I do that, I'm less true to myself and I end up coming up with art that's not too great because I'm making it for someone that's not me.  Some of my best friends are Colettes.  Or I feel like they're Colettes because I have a huge inferiority [hush] complex.

And that's all I really have because I need to think more.  Basically the gist is that I'm still coming to terms with my own talent and gifts, so I'm mixing things up a bit as I figure things out.

"I know this sounds insane, but... well, the truth sounds insane sometimes, but that doesn't mean it's not. Uh, the, the truth. And the truth is, I have no talent at all." 
- Linguini, 'Ratatouille'
Thursday, October 11, 2012 | By: Brianna

Coffee Shop Pilgrimage

Q:  So what's going on?

A:  Not much, really.

Q:  Seriously?  That's the only answer you're going to give me?  This is going to be a really long blog post of nothing.

A:  Nah, it's just the normal stuff.  My need to catch up with Poem-A-Day things and my sudden interest in writing short fiction again.

Q:  Oh?

A:  Yup.  And my need to write in a coffee shop.

Q:  Well that's something you can write about.

A:  Yeah, I guess.

So in the town where I went to school, there were two coffee shops that were little independent coffee shops  with the wifi and the delicious baked goods, and of course, coffee.

See, the thing is I don't drink coffee.  I love the smell of it, but I can't really get myself to drink coffee.  Unless it's loaded with cream, and even then I'm not necessarily going to sit down and drink an entire cup.  I'm more of a tea person.  But the coffee shops in the town where I went to school were perfect for writing in.  My friend and I wrote a murder mystery show in one of them, and I wrote poetry and went on dates in those coffee shops.  Basically, these little independent coffee shops made my heart happy.  I love supporting local business, and I'm not really a fan of chain restaurants or things.

So even though I'm far away from these little coffee shops, I'm reluctant to go to Starbucks to fulfill my need to write in a coffee shop again.  I used to work in a cafe, and we loathed Starbucks.  For good reason.  And I'm not that impressed with Starbucks mochas [because that's all I really drink that's coffee-related].  Plus [and this is the biggest deal] Starbucks is a chain.  They're everywhere.

Unfortunately, small independent coffee shops are not everywhere.

This leads me to the conclusion that if I want to write in a coffee shop, I must write in a Starbucks.  They're easy to find, they're everywhere, and they will feed me food and expensive coffee drinks while I write poetry or the short fiction I've been playing around with.  Everything I could possibly want in life, right?  Sure.  Point being, this is my blog post to say that [for the moment], I am selling out and will be writing in a Starbucks.  If there's any way for me to find a small coffee shop within walking/easy bus distance from my apartment in Orlando, FL, I will be going to that instead...but as of right now...Starbucks it is.

This is also an attempt to get me into a regular writing pilgrimage routine.  So if possible, I can go to this Starbucks every Thursday and write until my heart's content, go home, feed myself, and feel really accomplished that I did something writing related.

I'm sure that this is all thrilling to hear, but I thought it was at least a little interesting...maybe?

"And the idea of just wandering off to a cafe with a notebook and writing and seeing where that takes me for awhile is just bliss."
- J.K. Rowling
Thursday, June 14, 2012 | By: Brianna

Is This Ironic?

I don't know how many times I've gone through the story of my writing history, but I do know that I know it like the back of my hand.

All through grammar school, we were required to do something that was called Young Authors.  It's where you write a story and have your mom type it (because what 6-year old can type?), and you illustrate your own story.  You have to figure out how you want to set up each of the pages and you create a cover page and all that, and sometimes you even write an "author's biography" if you're feeling extra creative.  Needless to say, I always loved this project.  In 3rd grade we started having an outside teacher come in and take us from our regular class to teach us creative writing.  3rd through 6th grade creative writing was spent in a circle in the lunchroom where we read stories aloud, "recalled" what we had read the previous week, and doing writing exercises that resulted in story beginnings or full stories.  I don't remember if we ever had to re-write any of our stories, but I do remember that we had to finish a couple and turn them in.  Well, we turned a lot of them in, but--never mind.  At the end of 6th grade we had individual conferences with our creative writing teacher.  I still remember my conference because my teacher told me that I had a huge vocabulary for my age and that it was probably from all the reading that I did.  Oh how I wish that was the case now.  She also told me, "All things in the world have already been written.  Bad writers borrow.  Good writers steal."  Which I still use as my mantra.

In 7th and 8th grade, I was at a different school.  There was one English class that had us write stories for our vocabulary words, and needless to say, I always managed to write really creative stuff.  Considering it was a generally loathed assignment.  At least, by other people.  Put a lot of my creativity into my class projects, and that's about it.  Oh.  But I almost forgot.  In 7th grade, during our speech class, the head of our little middle school decided it would be a good idea to bring in this creepy poet man to teach us poetry.  I immediately hated writing poetry.  Mostly because this poet man was super creepy and overdramatic, and I wrote horrible, awful, terrible poetry that the head of our middle school actually thought was good, how wrong she was.

In high school, I did a lot of theatre.  So I wrote scenes and one act plays.  Generally considered myself a fiction writer because of my loathing for poetry.  I kept a notebook in my backpack at all times and used it to jot down ideas and words and the like.

Senior year of high school, I took a creative writing class because I had room in my schedule.  When you take creative writing, you usually have to write poetry at some point.  I hated it, but I took pride in my ability to write poetry from the perspective of a backpack or weird things like that.  That's when I wrote a love sonnet to a book and my teacher liked it so she suggested I submit it to our arts magazine.  It got published.  I didn't think it was a big deal, I hated poetry and I wrote fiction.

College, and I entered undecided as far as major but spent the majority of my first year finding things that allowed me to say, "This is why I should be an English major."  So I declared an English major and took a creative writing class.  Guess what?  Had to write poetry.  Really didn't like it, though I wrote a couple poems that my professor really liked.  No idea why.
Sophomore year, I took a fiction class in the first semester and wrote a really awful story about a juggler and pickles, but the rest of my stories were pretty decent and well received.  Thought I would take a creative non-fiction class in the spring and couldn't get into the class, so ended up in Writing Poetry.  After class registration I spent the rest of the semester complaining and moping that I would be forced to write poetry and how much I would hate it.  Then I liked the professor and she actually got me thinking about poetry.  Took myself WAY too seriously at the beginning and wrote an awful poem about a photograph, but then loosened up and wrote about lawn flamingos.  Left the class liking poetry significantly more than before.
Junior year, I took Stand Up Poetry and the Lyric Essay, both more poetic than traditional fiction.  Loved Stand Up, iffy on Lyric Essay, did really well and wrote some awesome things.  (Yes, I'm modest, whatever.)  Spring semester, I took a short story cycle class with the same professor I had written the juggling pickles story for.  He told me to "Let the Real Brianna write."  No idea what that meant, still no idea now, had a major identity crisis, produced a lot of shit fiction.
Senior year, I started the Poem-A-Day Project to keep me writing and took a re-do of Writing Fiction so I could write more fiction.  I'd like to think that I wrote better fiction in that class than I did in the short story cycle class...but who knows.

Point being, somehow after loathing poetry for about four years, I established myself as a poet on campus.  I got poetry published in our literary magazine, I performed poetry at open mic events, and with the Poem-A-Day Project I got people who knew me talking about my poetic pursuits.  After considering myself a fiction writer for approximately forever, I've become known as a poet, and I don't know what to call myself.

I'm flattered by the idea that I can call myself a poet and that other people do.  And generally "poet" is significantly more romantic than "fiction writer."

My biggest problem has now become the question: am I a one trick pony?  I've talked to my friends who are writers, and the general opinion is that you're usually good at one or the other: fiction or poetry.  After years of believing that I was good at fiction, I'm not really ready to admit that I might not be anymore.  Can you really just lose an ability to write decent fiction?  Or is it that I'm surrounding myself by people who will forever be able to compare my fiction to my poetry?  But would it really be fair if I asked someone to judge my fiction without reading my poetry?  I don't like thinking that I have to choose.  I don't do decisions, and I don't like being boxed.  I don't want to have to say, "Oh, I write only poetry in free verse that involves lots of similes and sometimes smatterings of concrete imagery."  Do you know how small that box is?  I can't even turn around in this box.  Just thinking of this box makes me want to scream and cry and tear carpet squares into tiny bits of fluff confetti.

What I'm saying is: Now what?  How can I convince people that I'm equally good at both?  Or how can I reconcile the fact that I'll never be as good at fiction as I am with poetry?  Do I have to?  Or can I delude myself into believing that I'm the Grand Master of Awesome as far as writing goes in any form?

"Poetry is prose, bent out of shape." - J. Patrick Lewis
Tuesday, June 5, 2012 | By: Brianna

Inspiration Maybe?

So just a little while ago, David posted on Facebook that he was/is (tenses are hard!) writing a review for Comics Bulletin on a comic.  Go figure.  Anyway, when I looked at the link he posted and the name of the writer/illustrator/artist (we'll call him an artist for now because it's easiest...), I recognized the name.

Brianna: (thinking to herself as she mouses around Facebook playing some more) I'm sure it's a common name, right?  Couldn't possibly be that one kid from theatre...

(Brianna types the artist's name into Google and realizes she spelled the name wrong.  Correcting her mistake, Brianna finds the artist's official page and goes over to the biography information which has nothing on his high school days.  Cross referencing information via Facebook and creeping through a couple pictures, Brianna realizes that this is indeed the same person she went to high school with.)


Brianna: (a multitude of thoughts run through Brianna's head, very few of them coherent)  I KNOW HIM!

Or "knew."  Again, tenses are hard.  So I looked through the artist's official page and scrolled through the drawings that he had done.  I don't know anything about art or comics outside of observing thoughtfully to myself every now and again, "Hm, that's very pretty."  Or "Hm, that looks like fun."  So I can't really pass judgement, but suffice it to say that he's got a lot of material, he's created a book of sorts (published, self-published, it's all the same in Brianna's mind right now), and he's actually doing what he's wanted to do.  Studied illustration, and look at that.  He's illustrating.

So I'm sitting here on the floor of my bedroom in my parents' house and my childhood home, thinking a million things at once, but all centering around: someone did it.  Someone made it.

And that just means that there might be a chance after all.

Maybe I really an write something and put it out there into the world to read.  Maybe someone actually will read something I've written and think, "Hm, that's very pretty" or "Hm, that looks like fun."  Maybe I really can make some sort of difference that has someone saying, "I knew her in high school!"  Maybe I really can do something worthwhile, something inspiring.  Maybe I don't really have to sit around in a cubicle and proofread other people's memos.  Maybe I really can do it.  Maybe I really can make it.  Maybe I really can end up doing something that I love, whatever that is.

As I'm sitting here cross-legged and typing on a computer that's resting on a milk crate, I'm basking in the possible.  There really is a world full of possibilities out there and all I have to do is map them out.  Tonight I'm not worrying about how I'm going to get there, I'm merely reveling in the realization that there is a "possible."  And that possible can be mine, if I want it.

"Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting."
- Napoleon Hill
Tuesday, May 8, 2012 | By: Brianna

Advice from Authors

When I was younger, I used to write letters to authors of the books that I read, asking for advice for beginning writers.  Sometimes I got responses back.  These are some of the responses I got:

Jane Yolen (author of Sword of the Rightful King) says, "I have three pieces of advice for young writers.  One: read, read, read!  You must read every day, and try to read a wide range of books.  Two: write, write, write!  Keep a journal, write letters, anything to keep the "writing muscles" in shape.  Three: don't let anyone stop you from writing.  Be persistent no matter what "naysayers" or critical editors have to say about your writing."

Dyan Sheldon (author of Planet Janet) says, "Okay, I've got two pieces of advice for a writer just starting out: 1. Read everything you can; 2. Write.  Even if all you write is fragments (I used to write stories that were about a paragraph long--certainly no more than a page.  I did that for years, until they started getting longer and longer.  Finally they got so long that I thought I might try writing a novel), it doesn't matter.  I've known lots of people who said they wanted to write, but never wrote anything."

Ann Brashares (author of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) says, "As far as your writing, take your time.  When you feel ready you can try and fit some of those story fragments together to make a whole story.  Have someone, like a trusted teacher, take a look at it and help you with the editing.  Then if you feel like it, you can submit it for publication in a magazine or journal.  You'll probably find many resources at your library about places to submit the type of story that you have written."

Kirsten Miller (author of Kiki Strike: Inside the Shadow City) says, "Well the best piece of advice I can offer is...rely on your butt power.  Don't laugh!  The secret is sitting still long enough to have great thoughts--and get them down on paper."

Lynne Rae Perkins (author of Criss Cross) says, "I think story fragments are a really good place to start.  I think it takes a long time for stories to gestate--at least it does for me.  Just keep coming back to them.  Set them aside, then come back and look at them with fresh eyes.  Over and over.  Also, have fun with them, and don't forget to live your (real) life."

Garth Nix (author of Mister Monday) says, "My only real writing advice is to just keep going and force yourself to finish."

Michael Hoeye (author of Time Stops for No Mouse) says, "As for advice about your writing, the best counsel I can offer is patience.  Most stories are very elusive creatures.  They don't like to make themselves known right away.  So enjoy exploring your story fragments.  At some point one of those stories will demand more of your attention.  And when it does, then my advice is to pay very, very close attention indeed.  Follow it where it leads and don't let go.  In the meantime you might try to keep this in mind: to write well one must be able to work and to play at the same time.  That is no mean trick.  So while you're pursuing the work of learning the craft of writing, don't forget to play.  That includes all sorts of time-wasting activities like reading, daydreaming, and just plain old wasting time."

Michael O. Tunnell (author of Wishing Moon) says, "Sometimes a story isn't ready to be finished, as you say, until you've been through several drafts.  It's easy to be impatient with the process of writing, but one has to realize that first drafts are usually weak for most authors.  Everything improves as your rework the story over and over again.  This is the price you pay for something good eventually surfacing."

Holly Black (author of Valiant and Tithe) says, "The best advice I can give to a fellow writer is to make sure to write down all of your ideas as soon as they come to you--there's nothing worse than remembering that you had an idea but not being able to remember the idea itself."

L.A. Meyer (author of Bloody Jack) says, "All I can say is listen to your teachers--I was a high school teacher for seven years and sent two sons through public schools and never once met up with a bad English teacher--and write about what you know.  Keep a journal and put down the boring, everyday stuff as well as the exciting.  When you're reading a book you like, try to notice how the author gets from scene to scene, how he or she handles the dialogue, the descriptions, the speed and pace of the thing.  Above all, keep at it, but take it easy--you have a world of time before you...give yourself that time."

Cornelia Funke (author of The Thief Lord and Inkheart) says, "Read--and be curious.  And if somebody says to you "Things are this way.  You can't change it."--don't believe a word."

Eva Ibbotson (author of Island of the Aunts) says, "Just keep doing it--it's all about practice, getting better and sometimes even getting it right.  How you do it is individual to every writer in the world, but I wish you lots of luck."

Diana Wynne Jones (author of The Dark Lord of Derkholm) says, "Endings--yes, I know the feeling.  I always have trouble with endings too.  (But it is very important to know that you can finish a book you're writing.)  What our ending has to do is to collect everyone important together and explain exactly why the things in the rest of the book happened.  It helps if this is done in an exciting way, but it doesn't have to be wild.  And there are all sorts of ways to do this, from somebody getting there and explaining, the baddie threatening to plunge the main character in boiling oil--and telling him/her why he/she is doing this as our hero is lowered in (you need a rescue at this point of course)."

Gary Blackwood (author of Shakespeare Stealer) says, "I guess the best advice I can give you as a novice writer is spend lots of time planning your stories before you start writing.  Keep a notebook handy and jot down all your thoughts about the characters and what the story's about and where it's going and when you can't possibly bear to put it off any longer, then start writing.  I think you'll find that the story will go more smoothly and won't fizzle out somewhere in the middle.  Hope that helps."

It's really neat to look at the collection of letters that I've got because some of them are even handwritten notes on little cards.  I really appreciate the effort that these authors went to in writing back to me because I know how busy writers can be with their writing and re-writing and researching and the like.  Knowing that these authors made time to write back to me makes me want to do the same if I ever get letters or e-mails from people who admire my work.