Cover Dream (or Thank Goodness My Nose Wasn't Red)

Today's blog post is about dreams and waking up.

Hahaha! I betcha thought I was going to write about how it's not a good idea to start a novel with a dream sequence or with your MC waking up.

If I'm being honest, and I am, I have to tell you that my first attempt at writing a middle grade novel began with my MC waking up to the sound of her alarm clock ringing, complete with the onomatopoeia, Rrrring! (btw, how cool is the word onomatopoeia? I love saying it but totally had to look up the spelling. Four vowels in a row? Cool! /spellingnerdtangent). I proceeded to write a backstory scene while Samantha was lying in bed thinking about it. I thought it was gold. Ugh. Bo-ring. Little did I know at the time, waking up scenes at the beginning of a story are a big no-no with agents and editors.

What this post is really about is the dream I had last night. I hardly ever remember my dreams and I've never had a dream about writing. I've never pulled a Stephenie Myer either. Right before I woke up I had a dream of walking in a bookstore. Not a ginormous bookstore like a Barnes & Noble, but instead I walked into a messy, disorganized room with books piled haphazardly on tables and chairs. As I glanced around I recognized a book cover from a friend (perhaps yours, Donna?) and thought, "How cool!" Then I turned around and there it was...

My book! With a big ol' picture of me grinning on the cover! Ha! As if that would sell a boatload of books. But in the dream I looked at it and said, "Hey, that's not so bad! Thank goodness they picked a pretty good picture of me. And my nose doesn't look like Rudolph's." How weird is that?

I stink at dream analysis, but maybe it's a good omen; a dream I hope will come true some day. But I think I'd like to keep my author pic on the inside of the cover. In the back. Hmm, maybe a black and white.

One of Those Days

Today's plan was to drop off the kids at school, start some laundry, go to work and then spend an hour at the library writing before picking the kids up. Today was the only day this week I had a good chance of getting there and I was really looking forward it. But due to some unforeseen circumstances (don't you just hate those?), I couldn't manage to squeeze in that hour.

Once I got home, it was impossible to sit down and write. Just too much going on. I thought, "Well, maybe once I finish this I can go upstairs where it's quiet." Of course this was the day my neighbor decided to expand his driveway. Expanding a driveway is NOT quiet in case you were wondering. All kinds of machinery and trucks and loud noises were involved. "Well maybe after dinner...after the dishes...after...after...after..." Just too many afters tonight.

But it wasn't a total loss. No, I didn't get any writing done. But I discovered something about myself. I LOVE to write! No, really! And yes, I already knew that in my head of course. But today, the longing to sit down and write was overwhelming. I felt it right down to my toes.

Yeah, writing can be frustrating to the point of wanting to delete chapters or throw the notebook across the room (um, not that I ever did that *crosses fingers*), but the flip side is the rush when a scene seems to fly from your fingertips. Or those lightbulb moments that come out of nowhere that are so brilliant. You just know it's perfect and you can't wait to flesh it out on paper (or computer). I had such a moment in the shower last night and couldn't wait to write the scene that would accompany that thought. That's why the disappointment hit me hard today. I never got the chance.

But tomorrow's another day. It should be a quiet afternoon with only one at home. It won't be the library, but maybe I can tempt my muse to visit here with a new supply of chocolate.

Deathly Hallows, Part 1 Trailer

In my best Chandler Bing voice. "Could I BE any more excited for November 19th?"

Can't wait!

Autumn

As I drove home tonight from soccer practice, the full moon was rising. Beautiful.

Bittersweet thoughts of the last day of summer swirled around like the wispy clouds flitting across the moon. Summer passes much too quickly for my liking. I often find myself mourning the loss of carefree days, late nights, and visits to the ocean.

The first day of autumn is tomorrow.

I love living in a part of the United States which has four very distinct seasons.

New Englanders love to argue about which season is the best; we all have our favorite one and the stubborn streak to defend our choice along with it.

Although summer is my favorite, I love them all. Okay, maybe love is too strong of a word to describe how I feel about winter, but I do appreciate its beauty.

Autumn is a favorite of many people living here. Travelers from all over the country visit New England for the beautiful fall foliage which decorates our mountains, forests, and neighborhoods. And though I too love the warm days and cool nights, there's usually a "yeah but" that nags at my brain. Autumn is beautiful... yeah but it leads into the endless, bleak winter.

This year I plan to treasure each day of fall. I don't always appreciate the crisp autumn days with its blue sky and the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows that decorate each tree because I'm thinking of next week, next month the next season. "Oh, the trees are pretty, but I'm dreading winter." Now how fair is that? What did autumn ever do to me? After all, my birthday is in the fall.

So this year I'm all about autumn love. No whining! Sounds simple and yet I always seem to get caught up in the negative - ugh, the days are shorter, the wind chill blows right through me, more leaves to rake! This year I'm treating each day as a gift and appreciating all it has to offer, trying to avoid worrying about a future I can't control.

Speak Up

First, please read this post over at Mad Woman in the Forest, Laurie Halse Anderson's blog. To say I'm angry is an understatement.

This book made me feel.
This book made me cry.
This book has helped so many young girls and boys care, know they were not alone, that it wasn't their fault, that they could SPEAK.

I wish that I had this book to pass on to some of my friends when I was a teen, a college student. I will strongly encourage my daughters to read this book.

If you've read Speak you know how powerful this book is.

If you haven't, watch Laurie Halse Anderson reading a poem she composed mainly from the reactions of readers who sent her mail after reading Speak, and you'll get a sense of the impact her book has had on them. Maybe you'll be inspired to read it. The name you hear, Melinda, is the name of the main character.



If you feel inclined to speak out against Dr. Wesley Scoggins and his poisonous remarks you can do so by clicking the links on Laurie's site. Why can't more energy be used toward educating people and helping the victims who feel they have no voice, like Laurie has done with one book?

Inspiration Celebration

I know I'm not the only one who doubts and questions my writing. I'm not the only one who feels like giving up at times. What keeps me going are the people and things which inspire me. Especially during those moments when I'm lacking confidence in my ability. You know, while writing those crappy first drafts? When words seem bland, the characters flat, and the plot filled with more holes than a piece of swiss cheese. It's so easy to give up and do something less frustrating, like matching a laundry basket full of socks.

As I started thinking about it I realized a post on where I find my inspiration would be too long. There are just too many. I don't know if having so many sources to choose from comes from luck or simply from the ability to recognize and be truly thankful for them. I suspect the latter. So instead I'm going to post maybe twice a month about a source of inspiration. A person, place, or thing which inspires me to write or what I write about.

Okay, so first up - my parents. I might as well start at the beginning. My mom and dad taught me the value of working hard. Dad wasn't (and still isn't) a reader. He would scan through our daily newspaper, but I've never seen him sit down to read a book. Mainly because the man cannot sit still. He always has some type of project he's working on whether it's wallpapering/painting a room, knocking out walls, building something or planting a garden. My dad is also artistic and when I was little we would sit at the kitchen table on Saturday mornings and draw together with Captain Bob. And although my dad wasn't a reader, he loved making up stories. Part of my bedtime routine included dad's stories about three mice brothers and their adventures. Then it would be my turn. And more often than naught, I'd repeat the exact same story with different animals.

Mom, on the other hand, loves to read. My childhood memories of mom include her starting her day early (like 4:30am early!) by enjoying a couple cups of coffee and her latest Good Housekeeping magazine or paperback - usually a mystery, supernatural or horror. She adored Stephen King and always looked forward to his latest paperback. My love of the library came from Mom who took me for my first card (the cardboard kind w/ a metal plate). She was the first to introduce me to Nancy Drew and helped me build my collection. I loved visiting the library and was amazed that they let me borrow so many books for free!

My parents inspired me to believe in myself, that I could do anything I wanted if I worked hard enough, and that creating was a worthy pursuit - one that was both satisfying and a source of joy. Combine that with my love of books and reading, and voila, a writer was born!

Change and Adjustments

Isn't it freaky when another person in the literary world blogs on a topic that you were just thinking about and planning on blogging on yourself? That happened to me today. Have you seen Nathan Bransford's post on burnout? Go check it out and come on back.

I feel like a wimp complaining that I'm burned out. Why? I had the whole summer off, I've been working part-time for only a week, and have a great husband who helps me a LOT. But seriously, I am dragging like you wouldn't believe. At 3:00 every afternoon, my energy level plummets and I long for a nap. Unfortunately, I can't sneak in a snooze (and not because my bed is covered with unfolded laundry. Nope.). I really don't think I'm burned out. If I am, I'm in serious trouble - it's only September! I think my body is adjusting to change.

So far my strategy has been to try to get to bed earlier, though I need to work on that some more. I have a little rebellious streak in me that likes to stay up until 11:00pm. I also need to just give myself time. Time to adjust to my new schedule and to get the necessary daily tasks done more efficiently. Hopefully, that will give me some time to write without it feeling like a chore. Because really, why would I put myself through that if it wasn't what I felt passionate about?

I don't mind change. Change is good. It challenges me to grow. But sometimes it's mixed with frustration as I try and adjust from something comfortable to something different and challenging. Maybe I just need another cup of tea.