Ramona Forever and Ugly Princesses

I moved 8 years ago and would you believe, I still have moving boxes that have yet to be opened! I’ve been going through some of this s*** stuff and I’m now realizing how much of a pack rat I am. When did this happen? I used to be much more orderly and loved the feel of a nice, crisp, neat, organized living space. So I ask again, what happened? Oh yeah, kids, a husband and a monumental move to France, that’s what happened. And my house, it’s now a Feng Shui nightmare.

Anyway, I was feeling particularly bummed today wondering why I’m so exhausted all the time, why my right shoulder hurts when typing at the computer, and wondering why, for the love of God, am I now trying to become a writer during a time in my life when I have NO time. And then, I found this postcard from Beverly Cleary stuffed in a dusty cardboard moving box. I was nine when I wrote her and reading her reply brought back a rush of memories and emotions that I had all but forgotten. That’s when I realized creative writing has always been my primary instrument for emotional expression. And along with B. Cleary’s card, I also found my first attempt at writing fiction. It was a short story entitled The Quest, written when I was about eleven. Reading over that story (which was printed on a dot matrix printer mind you) about knights, witches and ugly princesses, made me chuckle. And you know what, it wasn’t half bad! So thank you Beverly Cleary for your kind words, they mean just as much to me now as they did over 20 years ago, and thank you The Quest, for helping me let go of some self-doubt issues I’ve been hanging onto lately. I’m not now trying to become a writer because I’ve always been, to some extent, a writer.

If you have the chance, go back and dig out some of your earliest writing projects. Not to read with a critical eye, but rather with the eyes of a young writer during a time in your life when everything seemed possible. I'd love to hear about it. And if nothing else, I’m sure it’ll put a smile on your face. (:  

The Wooden Steak

"But it really was a typo!"
*facepalm*

Flash Fiction - Campaigner Challenge

I just got back from vacation and finally plugged back in my internet iv. I hope it's not too late to enter my flash fiction. This is my first go at it and I have had zero time to re read, tweak, mull over etc. Plus, I'm still at my in-laws! So, here are the rules for Rachael's fourth Campaigner Challenge:

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “Shadows crept across the wall”. These five words will be included in the word count. 

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), do one or more of these:

• end the story with the words: "everything faded." (also included in the word count)

• include the word "orange" in the story

• write in the same genre you normally write

• make your story 200 words exactly!

 

Ok, here is my entry below. It's 200 words exactly, with the opening and ending phrases suggested above. (I'm 197 btw) Enjoy!

--

Shadows crept across the wall releasing a sudden chill that ran down my spine like an icy six-footed demon. Shifting into alert mode, I grounded to the earth and charged my palms with energy. Pulsating blood coursed through my veins as heat rose by degrees through my fingers. I hadn't felt like this in centuries and yet, my body knew exactly how to react, never failing me and never showing mercy. The sickening chill continued in repeating waves through out my body, intensifying with each passing second. Whoever was coming was either suicidal or had a death sentence. I just hoped it wasn't a neophyte because this was not going to be pretty. He was now close, I could taste the fear and perverted excitement saturate the room. My teeth clenched as my eyes continued to sweep my surroundings realizing he was not alone. My senses counted eleven closing in. The twelfth was missing. Damn, where is he? I pushed my minds eye further out but could not locate number twelve.

"The Hunter wants you back." The voice came from behind me. This was no neophyte.

"Number twelve," I murmured. "Tell him to go to Hell."

"Pity." 

Then everything faded.

 

 

Flamenco Dancing is to a Man's Buns as Water is to a Cup of Tea – HOT*

So as part of my birthday present, my mother took me to the theatre. I hadn’t been in ages so naturally, I was excited. We saw a rendition of Carmen, preformed by a Flamenco dance company. It was amazing! The spirit of flamenco dancing was a perfect mold to Carmen’s fiery and sensual personality. The women dancers were insanely talented and beautiful with their hair pulled back, and their long flowing skirts, and wraparound shawls. Their movements were crisp and intricate combined with lightning fast percussive footwork.  And then there were the male dancers with their tight, tight outfits and superior glutei maximi. *stops to fan self*

Ok, so there was a point I wanted to touch make here… yes, so what I found interesting was that while I was drooling observing the dancers, I noticed each had a distinct persona and I had a lot of fun naming them. For instance, there was The Rooster. You know the one I’m talking about, the short dancer with the hooked nose that compensates by sticking his chest out further then the others. He was by far the best at the flamenco strut.  Then there was Tarzan (my favorite). He traded his vine swinging moves for some flamenco feet stomping. He was the tall guy with the broad upper body, shoulder length dark hair and angular jaw line. He also had deep V shaped eyebrows that gave him that savage look… There was also The Gentlemen with the walking cane. He was simply bad ass. Every time he preformed, he did so with the cane, pounding it on the floor to rapid beats and wielding it through the air like a deadly weapon. During the zombie apocalypse, I want this guy on my side.  And then of course, there was the dancer with The Hair. He portrayed Don José, the guy who kills Carmen at the end. He was your typical male lead, good looking guy with the great hair. I’d add that he had great buns but frankly, they all did. Anyway, I’m not going to name them all, but you get the idea. What was unfortunate however, was the lack of personalities in the women dancers. They were all beautiful, sensual but all cast in the same dye. All except for fiery red Carmen.  I guess that can be attributed to the story of Carmen itself, but still, it would have been fun to see the men pair up with their matching counterparts. When I write, (holy transition Batman, give me a break it’s 1:30 am) I want to be able to create characters like these flamenco dancers. I want characters who step out onto the page with crisp, distinct personalities. How do I do that? With great buns dialogue, but also through the use of physical tags and attributes that  set them apart from the rest. But there's a whole lot more you can do to create great characters. 

So how about you? How do you all make your characters unique?

On Your Mark, Get Set…Wait ! Hold EVERYTHING!

Hello, my name is Elise and I’m a closet writer. But I’m getting treatment and hopefully will be joining the Fourth Writers' Platform-Building Campaign! This is a great way to get advice and meet other really nice and talented writers!

 So as you can see, I’ve just started this blog. It’s my SECOND go at it. My first attempt failed miserably. I wasn’t getting any feedback and part of it was my own fault. I didn’t tell anyone about the blog! I’m such a chicken and so much more comfortable with a lamp shade over my head. You have no idea how much it makes me squirm having my pic open to the public and how hard it was for me not to draw a moustache on myself!

So, if this sort of thing makes me uncomfortable why do I do it? Because it’s time for me to stop writing in the dark. I need to step out of my comfort zone or I’ll regret it later on in life. And speaking of life, isn’t it best to share the journey with others then sit in the corner by yourself? Of course it is!