Monthly Archives: Nov 2016
Tick Tock! Still awaiting the results of my first TMA.
No time to rest and already onto the next one. I am the kind of writer who gets an idea and then I just start writing – I like to get the story out before going over it and picking it to pieces, re-plotting it , the dreaded cutting stages.
I’m so frustrated – My next assignment is to write a 2000 word stand-alone piece of fiction. Not so hard right?
Well, unless you have my brain.
Got to get this out.
In my head, I have come up with a story ( shit or bad) – I don’t know but it wants to write itself and indeed it already has.
The problem being I’ve written over 1000 words already- just putting together the bare bones of the story and I still have yet to get into the internal /external conflict of the characters. Plot it just right etc.
I know if I carry on with this narrative – it could end up with maybe 3500 words!
My brain hurts. Why don’t I just abandon a complicated, plotted story and find another to write about?
That would mean giving up and letting go.
I do not let go or give up easily- be it my work, my passion, people.
Yes, I am stubborn.
Does anyone else who writes fiction have this problem? I (bear in my mind I am learning to write for novels ) and in this assignment and I have to write a stand-alone piece of 2ooo words)
I know. I know.
There is more than just me (the only student) studying and needing my “precious” story to be marked.
I DON’T CARE!
I do. Just not right now. 🙂
I also have my other bigger script to worry about and my brain is flipping from one to the other. Deadlines!
So why am I so wanting to tell this particular story?
I want to challenge myself – create a more complex plot.
Go way out of my comfort zone. So far, successfully achieving this to my detriment.
Then, I have to share on a forum , with other writers and comment on their work and wait for them to comment on mine. Lovely.
I am a generous person. The first person to offer to read someone’s work but not everyone is the same.
It would make for a boring world, I agree.
Nevertheless, it is still frustrating.
So, here is the premise in a small nutshell
Betty is married to a kind and loving husband who has supported her her throughout their relationship/marriage,she has DID ( Dissociative identity disorder)and has so far responded well to a new radical form of therapy to treat her disorder. Or has she?
It would appear that she has come to some kind of inner peace with her alternates through engaging with said therapy. She bumps into the past, an ex from college or uni- something doesn’t feel right but she is drawn to him.
Her symptoms start coming back an, example, losing track of time.
One remainging, undiscovered alternates has managed to dupe her. Back in college her old flame -lets call him -Steve- fell in love with one of her alternatives- the seductive, provocative – Lola -everything Betty isn’t.
It didn’t end well. Lola couldn’t compete with Betty and all the other emotions/alternates that were playing out in her mind and her life at that time and Steve left her.
Betty doesn’t know about this other alternate or their true history together. Steve and Lola come up with a cunning ,deadly plan to be together. Lola is determined to be the dominate personality (she won’t compromise her wants) and she will do everything in her power to be able to be with her past lover – even if it means making Betty believe that her husband, Roger is the one cheating on her! Expect a bloody ending but whose blood?
Okay. Sounds really simple 😉 but there is so much information I have in my head. Ideas of how Betty gets manipulated by her ex-lover and Lola.
Do I start in Media res? -bearing in mind,this the first time I have written it down and it does need polishing. Excuse the cliches.
BANG! –the sound synchronized with their clock chiming, a ghastly wedding present, and the longest announcement to confirm it was 6 pm. A demonized scream left Betty’s mouth – as blood splatters stained her face to complement the abstract disarray of Betty’s current surroundings. The remnants of a wistful, discarded soul arrested Betty’s own eyes for what seemed a lifetime, before the body crumpled to heap on the bedroom living carpet– someone so strange yet at the same time familiar. A glint of metal. Another thud. This defined how far Betty had veered this time.
“Betty, Betty come to me”, a calm familiar voice reached the ear hairs of Betty- clearly orienting her to look behind her. Every bone in her body seized up.
Do I start with a more startling- more fact-based opening: like this:
They say that we should always leave our past well alone. If only I had done so. If only I could have foreseen the danger, it would bring me. How could I? I am merely human- subject to my environment, emotions and experiences.
It’s all there in my head and some of it on my word doc. but it will be more that 2000 words.
I need help.
In my commentary (which is something I have to do for all my assignments is to reflect on many factors – one being my thoughts and challenges writing in the Script genre versus the fiction genre. There is a lot more I can reflect about.
Plot? – I am going to have loads to say about overcoming that challenge. haha . I’ve lost it. 😀
Opens /endings – middles
The list goes on and on.
I’m feeling that pressure of a challenge coming on.
I could just write some uncomplicated story to attempt to tick boxes but how will I ever develop as a writer if I play it safe?
Or am I being too ambitious?
Do I carry on with this story? using what I learn in the MA study guide materials and my own independent research ,to aid me, to tell this story to the s.t.i.p.u.l.a.t.e.d.length ?
Or, am I setting myself up for failure?
Am I being too cocky?
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I am an amazing writer .
I do believe in having the right in being able to express myself creatively and writing is one way I get to do that. I read a cool article this morning- link here
That’s just my personal take, but more generally I feel like the arts are such an important part of how we understand ourselves, how we laugh at ourselves, how we make sense of reality. ‘Listening to a record that you love, reading a novel that you love – it connects you more forcibly into life. For your mental health, it’s extremely important that people are accessing that part of themselves, tuning into other people’s creative expression, expressing themselves.’
Comments appreciated. Thanks for reading.
MINI LIFE UPDATE
I’m slowly moving our company online. Here is a link to my online shop -eek!
Don’t worry I don’t expect you to buy anything. But feel free to follow me on instagram and Facebook – (slightly cheeky but sadly writing doesn ‘t pay the bills 😦 )
I haven’t even finished 3/4 of the whole online shenanigans yet.
Tomorrow will be spent all day working on developing our business.
My daughter is doing so well – check out all her certificates that she has received -all in one semester/ term. So proud.
Will be catching up with all my fave blogs in between of all of this. I love all you all!
Stream of consciousness
When someone has said to her:
oh, you’re pretty.
She always gets mad and ditzy and insulted.
Is that all , pretty?
not beautiful, funny, smart, intelligent, dramatic?
that fuels her embers –
I’ll show you pretty.
Pretty demeaning is how I would describe her state of mind.
She’s come to that crossroad: hit a right for success or hit a left for back to her ‘usual isle of distress’.
She’s always had this pretty dark quirk in her nature- a dent.
More like her nature took a key to her brain – triggered it, in the same way, a malicious person keys a person with a fine automobile or new car.
That is what she does to her mind. It’s almost like there is another- living inside her. She’s not pretty.
She is ugly.
She says ugly things.
She makes people cry.
She pushes people away.
She isolates herself.
She knows it will end up wrapped up in stained sheets of her own self-pity cries.
Ones she pushed for – ones she earned.
She never liked herself – wouldn’t have her own picture taken for a long time. In hatred, she tore up all pictures of herself,
then sometime in her life she grew confident and started taking lots of pictures of herself -too many.
Maybe she was beautiful stunning, pretty even?
Was it worth the self-damnation she put herself through to achieve a look she deemed is acceptable?
Many people have asked her what it feels like to be so intelligent and aware of her issues- to have so much insight and phycology into her own problems.
Is it a blessing or a curse?
Let’s try something.
Think of a person coming to her house with a bottle of wine/ cocaine /pills/ bondage-style stuff/ comic books – insert vice/ fetish /escapism tool ………..here.
Let’s make this person -super – pervy -sleazy -gender? unknown.
PERVY PERSON: So, like, hey why the long face? (a stream of consciousness brain has become lame) You, uh … wanna get wasted?
She does get caught off guard sometimes not always.
The truth is these days her reply is mostly,
She’s a stubborn mare.
She knows the consequences.
She knows the problem is burrowed deep within her – nothing but he can make it stop.
Either way, she has to live with herself.
So, she gets the whole escapism psychology.
She has taken countless overdoses, countless drugs, been in various institutions – locked up for being herself -criminal or “just” insane.
It doesn’t work.
Why does she push people away?
She knows about her upbringing and she can’t blame them or that or it.
Or the others- this is not a horror movie!
It’s her life.
Yeah, agreed. Pretty horrific.
She is an adult- with her own mind and life and responsibilities.
Her pretty demented reasoning is: eventually – she will hurt those she loves and she would rather things got horribly ugly-
sooner rather later.
She doesn’t want to draw it out.
Oh, darling, Don’t let her fool you. She loves acting!
She can do one hell of a supernova act if she wants but she isn’t malicious – something inside her is disturbed.
It may have come with her when she got delivered on a wonky legged stork,
she may have seen something that petrified her into this state of self-destruction.
She loves to sing twinkle twinkle little star to her only child.
Stars are huge.
She knows why people always say before they die or, to someone who has recently lost someone
There is the person you love – twinkling above – looking out for you.
Stars have a lifespan of billions of years. It’s pretty amazing to think she quite possibly looked at the very same stars that her great grandparents or ancestors looked at many moons ago.
( singing) When you wish upon a star…. know that once she did so same from afar.
Ha – pretty lame as it gets.
Ever thought what it would be like to have a child /ren who are Siamese twins?
Say you could only possibly save one.
One was seen as truly wicked and the other?
Well, the other one could go on to make his/her mark in the world.
Maybe not with a fancy career but merely by being human.
Reaching out to people in need.
It can make a difference!
Sometimes more than all the money in the world could.
Just knowing someone cares. What does she know?
I digress, – -in a pretty way – haha.
Think of yourself as a mother -as a person with some kind of intellect.
You would reason that no person is born inherently evil or absolutely good.
There are many sides to a person.
Inside her is her very own Siamese twin.
She has to put one down.
At that moment, that pretty wicked one has a grip on her heart and her mind – it’s all so terribly confusing and frustrating
So, she has to make a decision.
Invasive surgery for, no – on her Siamese twins, in the hope, that the one with the potential to twinkle can be reborn.
Goodby, Red dwarf. Be angry.
Goodby, white dwarf -cool down.
And finally, ciao , Black dwarf – your true composite make up is on a show for all to see.
Your heart is blackened – not because you are evil.
It’s just the nature of how life (and those who energize and roam it) goes.
Higher consciousness.org broadcasts live video of a man flying in outer space.
Caption: What are you THANKFUL for today?
I go against all those who fold in with
it’s a day to count our blessings.
Slavering, table drummers –we will rock you with our forks and our knives.
Salacious portions of the second road runner-up to the national bird cooks amongst natures already abundant offerings of food.
The feeders may all come at you in unhinged straight jackets, disturbed little bees in honeycombed hives.
We don’t get the message – our mother earth shakes her head in dismay.
Excuse me for the cynical distaste.
Maybe -it’s the Black Friday orders of the soon to be penniless mourners that leave me to wonder,
if I’m the only one who believes in the promotion that counting one’s blessings should cover more than one day.
Awareness of what we have and have not.
Awareness of what we know and should know,
should not be chalked up -spelled out in the toddler soup of the day.
Tomorrow -one damp rag across the blackboard , one teardrop of rain – one scribble away,
can change all we are a boon for.
One day is not enough to keep up the movement -that unifies us – when we come together to complete mandalas sun – each our own beatific ray.
Orphans of humanity we plead for more.
Callous rant – as rough as the skin on my feet – routinely massage cream into them every evening ;
be consistent with our moral compass .
That is how we can land on our feet- no cat with nine lives or suspicious minded dreaming.
every day of the year.
Call out your own judgments when it flashes past -cognition held up -brain powder – slow control release,
regulate the filtering in and out of brainwash sluice glugged down in unrecognized fear.
Fear of what?
Nothing will change if we don’t make it so.
Sow what we reap -reap what we sow.
I sense a preacher inserted that quote in serendipitously ,only so I could attempt to allow this rant to flow.
So be it.
Of course, I am grateful for all that life has given me – dazzling in wealth of the simple things,
all there- for me to quietly contemplate upon bestow.
The furies, the mad rush, the gluttony, the ego of humanity – homeless men and children invited in for one meal – one day .
Please don’t touch the brand new fluffed up hand towel.
Would a homeless person even have the culture to know to wash one’s hands before praying for this feast -making sure to appear humble in the glare of your Lords softened scowl?
Bacteria – one culture – it’s enough to let him wash his hands in the kitchen scullery sink.
What is he to know ? water is water – surely this should cleanse our conscience attempt to pummel fists at our conflicting thought process arena- enough well placed blows and we will return to our white sheep – one dip – one vision – contemplative blessed day, lucky are those who can think.
envision a person who swoons effortlessly – a home is no show museum in an attempt to wow family and friends to incite:
Don’t you wish you could pull all of this off on this most thankful besmirching day?
Newly formed speech bubble of Radical congregation thought -branches of hate and envy.
Group Faction fractions,
was never my strongest subject at the school of life in preparation.
Soul hack – stumped and blinded .
I left young – fled.
I knew it was a ploy to mollify me.
I’m no Einstein at arithmetic but may I be so bold to ask surely there is more in the power of one?
We have the ability to stand down in peace, for one day, in our millions – united in blessific glee.
Or, do we all have to continue consuming archaically stoned?
Prompted into Martyrdom,
to accept the first prize of a well-acted boon?
In the promise of 50% discounted TV.s and-and Suv cars with 0.1 miles on the clock, ready as an incentive to live as we already should,
with a marked line, curving upwards indicating we have enough and are already happy?