I need your feedback on a story I’m currently working on. The first novella is done and live on Juke Pop Serials. I’m struggling with which genre to place it in. The story is called Tomorrow Falls.
This sounds like fun as well as a great opportunity to meet other bloggers, writers, and readers! Care to join in?
It’s the Meet and Greet weekend!!
Ok so here are the rules:
- Leave a link to your page or post in the comments of this post.
- Reblog this post. It helps you, it helps me, it helps everyone!
- Edit your reblog post and add tags.
Feel free to leave your link multiple times! It is okay to update your link for more exposure every day if you want. It is up to you!
- Share this post on social media. Many of my non-blogger friends love that I put the Meet n Greet on Facebook and Twitter because they find new blogs to follow.
Now that all the rules have been clearly explained get out there and Meet and Greet your tails off!
See ya on Monday!!
Hey-you made it! It’s Friday! Time for a little fun🙂
Have you ever thought of what your motto and mantra are as a writer? These are great to have for those days when nothing seems clear-cut, and you feel like you’re wandering around in perpetual circles.
In case you may have forgotten, we’ll clarify exactly what these mean. On to the dictionary shall we?
Motto: “a sentence, phrase, or word expressing the spirit or purpose of a person (in this case, writer).”
Mantra: “ ‘
Okay, I’ll start off.
My motto is:
This pretty much sums up my purpose in being a writer: to get this all-consuming gnawing out of me. Only thing, this gnawing encompasses so many different things which means this may take me a lifetime to extract. Truly agonizing (at least for me it is).
My mantra is:
“You must write the book that you feel is missing from your bookshelf.”-Elizabeth Gilbert
There are many versions of this type of statement. If you don’t see the story you want to read, write it!
Now, it’s your turn. Write a post about what your motto and mantra are and share the link to the post in the comment section below. I will then come and visit!
Hello everyone! I have a very special guest here today to talk to us about something we all struggle with as writers. Please welcome C Hope Clark, author of two mystery series & editor for FundsforWriters!
I get these whims to literally cook up something remarkably different. Like a pot roast that adds cola, or a Christmas cookie with real lavender flowers in the icing. I even tried spaghetti cooked in a Bundt pan, with the sauce afterwards filling the hole and drizzled all over the top. It looked weird and tasted okay, but the jokes about it continued from my sister for years.
Truth is, I’m a darn good cook now. My sister hasn’t tasted much of my cooking in a decade or two, but my family and neighbors have come to appreciate what my kitchen produces, especially since much of it comes fresh from a garden, the chicken coop, and years of trial and error.
One thing I have learned, however, is that I don’t want to try out a new recipe for a special event (or test it on my sister). I could be remembered for the potential fiasco instead of my prowess.
The same goes for releasing your writing to the cold, cruel world. In our excitement to become published and start that portfolio of our accomplishments, we forget what can happen if the release crashes and burns. I baked that spaghetti dish probably thirty years ago, but my sister reminded me of it just last week. I also self-published a plain, basic little book in 2001 that I wish I never had. In spite of my attempts to forget those mistakes, they continue to pop up from time to time.
All too often we are remembered for our mistakes instead of our accomplishments. It’s a nasty reality, but oh so true.
A friend in one of my writing groups just sent her last chapter through the online group for critique. It took her months to submit, receive feedback, and edit. I watched her work just blossom over that time period as she found her footing and her voice. After the last chapter, I asked her if she was ready to send it through the group again.
The disappointment rang clear. She’d hoped to start contacting agents. I suggested she think twice about that choice. In sending the book back through for critique again, not only would the other writers look at it with a harsher eye in seeking more advanced ways to improve the work, but she would in the process grow phenomenally in her talent. Instead of analyzing basic storytelling, she and others could now study more intricacies of dialogue, voice, flow and syntax.
She was so primed to be published, and my response was this:
Don’t be anxious to be rejected.
She told me that sentence stopped her in her tracks. In querying too soon, she was indeed rushing into rejection. She was running into making a bad first impression on people she greatly needed to impress. She was attempting a new recipe in front of very important people, hoping they would like it . . . instead of practicing and rewriting long enough to know the recipe is a good one before laying it on the table.
Hope Clark has written six novels in two series, with her latest being Echoes of Edisto, released August 2016, the third in the Edisto Island Mysteries. Mystery continues to excite her as both reader and writer, and she hopes to continue as both for years to come. Hope is also founder of FundsforWriters, chosen by Writer’s Digest Magazine for its 101 Best Websites for Writers.
This is probably one of the most difficult part about being a writer. Revealing your vulnerabilities and fears to others. This is also a reason why most of us never truly reach our potential because of these fears.
I am one of them.
How do we break through the barriers that our fears place around us?
What about you? Are your fears holding you back?
If so, what are you going to do about them?
As a writer, what does this poem say to you?
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
*The following is an excerpt from the discussion topic that took place yesterday. I felt compelled to share here as I feel that there may be some of you struggling with this very issue.
Hello everyone! Welcome to THURSDAY TALK SHOP! Today we’re going to have a very serious discussion. Everyone belongs to this group because we are bloggers. The subjects we blog about are broad though. Events, ideas, cultures, art; you name it and you just might find it here in this group. Most of us are blogging about what matter to us. About things that deeply move us; shake us to our cores. For some of us, there is an untold story buried beneath our passions and desires. A story so dark. Disturbing. Painful. Sad. So (you insert a word here) that we’ve been unable to share. While you are able to share all your other experiences and thoughts and feelings, you’ve yet been able to let out the one thing that you kept buried so deep within…
Focus on these words from Maya. Do you want to continue carrying this untold story within you? If not, share with us (however vague or specific you want to be) in one word or one sentence this untold story that is just trying to free itself from within you. If you can’t do it publicly then how about journaling privately? You’ll be amazed as to how freeing this feels once you’re able to liberate this untold story. If you decided to journal about it, just let us know by one word- Journaled.
Any thoughts? Anything you’d like to add to this discussion?
Why is my blog titled “a writer and her adolescent muse?”
The title represents where I am as a writer. Even though I’ve been writing on and off since I was eleven years old (in serious mode for the last nine years), I still consider myself an apprentice to the craft as well as a novice. I am a published short story writer, poet, and essayist. I enjoy writing stuff about zombies and various end-of-the-world scenarios. I also find that I need to write about mental illnesses, disabilities and losses. I am a sucker for all things romance (the clean kind), but have yet to write any true romance stories. I’ve dabbled in screenwriting which came easy for me, and I found it very enjoyable and stimulating. In the past three years, I have taken particular citizen journalist assignments which I found very exciting and enlightening. I love blogging about all kinds of creative topics. And lately, I’ve developed an obsession with Fanfiction.
Quite a variety, huh?
Variety is the spice of my life; however, I’m starting to wonder if I will ever specialize in a given form or niche; or will I end up being a sort of a “Jack of all trades and master of none” kind of writer? As I’m approaching mid-life, these thoughts are coming more often than not. It’s down-right distracting.
Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?
What do you think? Should all writers specialize? Or is it okay to have various writing experience and skills?
“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”
“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
As a writer, do you believe that every new experience added to your life’s resume can add value to your writing?
A new perspective. A new sensation.
An added dimension. A new layer.
Isn’t it amazing how much of our experiences actually end up in our stories? How each new experience changes us however minute?
Life can be so rich and enriching…if we allow it to be.
As writers, new experiences are what make our stories come alive. For some readers, these may be the only ways they can experience new things. New places. Meet new people.
Our writing can also heal. Unite. End wars and disputes.
So, if you’d ever questioned whether or not your experiences aren’t important…
Our roles as writers in civilization are crucial.
Don’t hold back. Get out there and experience life with an open mind.
The world may depend on it.
“The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.” -Albert Camus
You’ve stared at that screen, or blank page, for hours now. Where are the words? That creative spark? It feels like Muse has abandoned you once again, and you’re grappling–desperately–for something.
Ever tried to diagnose yourself? Recognize any of the following creative disorders? Which one(s) affects you?
(*Note: In continuation to the Dusk (Arrival at the School for the Blind) post)
The first full day is done. It was a good one, I think. Had three one-hour classes in the morning; and three one-hour classes in the afternoon. My schedule will be the same for the rest of the week. One of the Vision Specialists made sure we were awake by 7:15am by knocking on each of our doors. Breakfast was held in the kitchen/small dining area on the other side of the building from 8 till 8:30. Since each one of the residents have varying degrees of visual loss and this was our first day, Amy (one of the Visual Specialists) led us down a few different hallways to the kitchen/dining room area (also labeled as Daily Living Skills Center). Here we ate cereals and toasts. It was a fairly quiet meal as we didn’t know each other. I could sense that I wasn’t the only one feeling anxious about being here at the School.
My first class began at 8:30 with Ken (Daily Living Skills Specialist) so I stayed in the kitchen/dining area. We just went over tidbits in regards to kitchen skills (which areas I like to work on throughout the week. Guess I’ll be getting some cooking in too). At 9:30 I met with Margo (Mobility Specialist). She took me into an office and we discussed various aspects of mobility and the cane (I brought my own but have never used). She took me out to a particular (long and wide) hallway and went over the basics of holding on the cane, and tips on how to use it.
For about 1/2 hour, I walked up and down this corridor, swinging the cane side to side (tip must always stay in contact to the surface), while Margo watched. Every once in a while she’ll correct my form.
Today I didn’t have a 10:30 class (Specialist had a previous appointed event to attend) so I went to my room, and rested.
At 11:30 I headed back to the kitchen/dining area for lunch. Again, we were quiet as we ate.
12:30 was a group meeting in a conference room. From there I went to my 1pm class with the Technology Specialist, Tracey. She showed me a little about various accessibility functions on a desktop computer (mainly Windows). 2pm I headed back to the kitchen/dining area for my second Daily Living Skills class with Amy. I had the joy of preparing sliced potatoes and ham for supper. Nah, it wasn’t that bad at all :-) At 3pm, I met with Candy at the Braille Center. I learned what the alphabets A and B look like. Oh man, this is like learning a totally new language! The entire Braille language is based on these 6 dots. See below:
“The braille alphabet is based upon a “cell” that is composed of 6 dots, arranged in two columns of 3 dots each. Each braille letter of the alphabet or other symbol, such as a comma, is formed by using one or more of the 6 dots that are contained in the braille cell. The chart below provides a good example of the design of the braille alphabet.”
(Courtesy of Vision Aware)
Whew…am feeling exhausted after my first full day here; but, in a good way. Margo told me that I am to be using the cane the entire time I’m here; meaning it has to stay “attached” to me no matter what. I told her that I would. Using the cane still makes me quite nervous (self-conscious is probably a better word); but, I think I’m getting a little more comfortable with it (better than earlier today anyway).
The others are a good group of people: Tara, Rosalinda (aka Linda), Marlene, David and Sarnoe. Several of the Vision Specialists are vision impaired themselves. I’m quite impressed.
There’s a level of comfort being here. I don’t have to constantly feel like I have to make an excuse for my “clumsiness;” or wonder what the others think of me as a “blind” person. The other residents know. They understand and can completely relate. I don’t feel so alone anymore.
Yet…I still feel quite a bit of hesitancy and uncertainty. Not 100% sure why.
Tomorrow I’m supposed to bake banana bread. Oh, boy…
How would you describe your writing process? Is it simple? Eccentric? Do you have a particular place where you’d prefer to write? A place to go to in order to draw out your muse? As I continue to participate in the Summer Writing Project sponsored by both Juke Pop Serials and 1888 Center, I wrote an essay detailing a little of my own writing process in the section called Routineology.
Please share with us a bit about your own writing process!
(*Note: This is a short story for the Pandora’s Box of Horrors Challenge)
Gray clouds hung low in the colorless sky as he watched a group of teenagers clamber down the street littered with rusted and mangled vehicular bodies. Houses on both sides of the disintegrating asphalt stood in various wretched shapes. Woods warped. Windows smashed or missing. Vinyl sidings bent like painful hang-nails.
Like Rome, another giant had fallen.
The group turned down a graveled pathway which led to a large, crumbling brick-laid building that stood three-stories tall. A sign stretched across the middle of the structure with words etched in the marble slab: Esmond High.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, he turned his eyes toward the heavens.
How much longer now before the imminent end?
He carefully hobbled inside, turned right and entered into a large room. Inside, several long tables spread across the dusty tiled floor, each partnered with two deformed metallic chairs. Large windows lined the far wall, and like the others, many were either missing or broken. They also provided the only source of lighting.
The younger version of adults sat at the three front tables, their eyes rested solely on him.
He shuffled across the room. Long, wispy white hair hung from his head. White-black beard partially covered his face, its bottom touched the ragged red and black plaid shirt.
“Good morning, class.” His voice crackled as he slowly limped to the front where a small wooden desk stood.
“Good morning, Mr. Pike.” The teens replied in unison.
He gingerly set down a plastic bag on the desk which wobbled with the weight being pressed on it. Mr. Pike turned his cataract-riddled, hazel eyes to the classroom before him.
“It seems our number is ever growing smaller.” He sniffed.
“Marge’s parents have married her off to the Mableton clan so she won’t be coming back.” The lone female in the room spoke in a quiet voice.
“Ethan, Sam, and Levi have been recruited to the front line.” The dark-haired male at the center table said.
“Sal was killed with his parents by thieves last night.” The smallish boy next to the brunette female muttered.
“Madness.” The old man whispered as he rapped his arthritic knuckles on the wood. “This is what we’ve been reduced to. Constant warring with one another. Servitude and slavery. Mockery and misery all around us. All due to stupidity. Stupidity.”
“Mr. Pike?” The girl’s voice drifted to his ears. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head hard and blinked several times as he struggled to regain his focus on the remaining kids.
“Yes, yes of course I’m alright!” He snapped as his hands gripped the plastic bag. “It’s a bit disconcerting when I see our future being ripped from us, that’s all.”
“What’s in the bag, Mr. Pike?” A petite oriental boy from the table directly in front of him asked.
The elder released his grip on the bag and began to pat it. “Ah, yes. The bag. I discovered the content last evening when I was rummaging through a building that was once a library.”
“What’s a library?” The girl asked.
“My dear Oona,” he said, “a library was used to house what we called books. Books were once the foundation of which we built a great civilization. Books were what brought us out of the last Dark Ages. They enabled us to become highly advanced and educated and enlightened. They were the glue that held us together.”
“What happened?” The small boy next to Oona asked.
“Man grew stupid, Darrin, “he answered. “We grew so enamored with technology and all our wonderful advances, and decided to get rid of books, which contained everything, our souls, to rely completely on digital machines.”
He glanced across the room and saw that all eyes and ears were attuned to him, and continued. “Then the storm happened and wiped out all the technology, and with it our heart and soul as a specie.” He raised a hand into the air. “Hence, you see the result all around us.”
“So…” Mr. Pike reached a hand inside the bag. “For the next few weeks, or for as long as we are able, we’ll be reading two of the greatest books ever written, in my humble opinion, by man.” And pulled out two heavily worn, hard-covered books. “Moby Dick and War and Peace.”
“Could we take turns reading them?” Oona breathlessly asked.
“I don’t read too well,” the oriental boy said.
“Don’t worry, Mai, I’ll help you,” she replied.
For the first time, Mr. Pike smiled.
“The pale stars were sliding into their places. The whispering of the leaves was almost hushed. All about them it was still and shadowy and sweet. It was that wonderful moment when, for lack of a visible horizon, the not yet darkened world seems infinitely greater—a moment when anything can happen, anything be believed in.”-Olivia Howard Dunbar, The Shell of Sense
(*The following is an excerpt from the journal I wrote during my week at the School for the Blind)
I decided I would journal about my week here at the School for the Blind. Originally, I postponed the one I should have gone to back in March; but, because of anxiety issues, I opted out. What finally enabled me to attend this particular week in June? One, a passionate pep talk from my husband (if I don’t do this now, my anxiety would only get worse); and two, Pam’s-my Vision Specialist here at the School, gentle encouragements.
So, here I am. Arrived at the School around 6pm. Hubby and son left soon after I found my room. Felt a little apprehensive so I busied myself by unpacking everything. I was then summoned by one of the other Visual Specialists, Amy. We sat at one of the round tables in the Common Area where she peppered me with various questions such as what are some of my goals for the coming week. This session lasted for about 1/2 hour. I was invited stay to have sandwiches with the others.
I’m back in my room now, in my jammies. Have my tablet (no television in my room) so I think I’ll catch a few episodes of Bones.
I think there will be at least five other residents here with me for the week. I’m sure I’ll be meeting them tomorrow. I have no idea of what to expect here and that has me feeling quite nervous. Hope I can get some sleep tonight. I know I should have stayed to meet the others…this will keep nagging at me tonight. Story of my life.
Should haves. Regrets. Missed chances and opportunities. Constantly self-sabotaging as punishment. But, for what?
Okay, need to stop dwelling on the past. Can’t change any of that now.
Time for Bones.
Some of you may know that I’ve been writing a serial fiction over at Juke Pop Serials called Tomorrow Falls. I entered TF in to the SWP16 (Summer Writing Project) contest sponsored by both Juke Pop Serials and 1888 Center, and on July 1st, TF was among the top 25 selected as finalists for the next round!
What does this mean?
Throughout the month of July, the top 25 writers selected will be participating in a series of events, essays, and podcast episodes as well as workshopping and promoting our stories. On August 1st, the story with the highest participation by its readers (how many hits the story generates, the time spent reading each chapter, etc.) will be selected to be published.
Throughout this month, please share this link with your readers to help me promote Tomorrow Falls. I will be posting some of the items I’m participating in throughout the month as well (interview, essays, etc.).
(*Note: For all 25 of us, our stories are WIP meaning we will also be tasked with editing/revising over the course of the month as well.)
In the END there are three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love.
In a matter of days, Tess’ world became nightmarish. Something was unleashed that turned people into hideous, blood-thirsty creatures. She soon became the hunted as she fled the only home she ever knew in search of a safe haven.
Beck has always been running from something. Until he met Tess. He knew if she ever found out about some of his past sins, he feared she would never forgive him.
Can they survive what’s to come, together? Or, will they be ripped apart by past secrets that could ultimately doomed mankind?