It’s Hard!

Writing be hard stuff, am I right?

I have had people tell me, “Anyone can write a story!”

Now, I believe everyone can write, don’t get me wrong. I firmly believe that people have the capacity to create masterpieces, can be creative and eloquent, but I think it takes time.

I didn’t suddenly wake up with perfect grammar skills, hell! I’m still improving! 

Writing a book isn’t as easy as one might believe though. Editing takes up much more time then you’d care to spend on it, you have to cull a lot of your work sometimes! On top of that, sometimes the words just won’t come out. You’ve sat staring at your page for an hour and you can’t think of a word that will describe what you’re trying to say. 

My reason for this little introspection was because I have to finish an essay (which I should be doing right now) and I was thinking about how your writing has to change, not only to address the audience, but to make sense when given to a particular readership – like teachers. You have to use teacher metalanguage. Sometimes though, it’s exhausting. You just want to say, “Well basically, if I were in a classroom, I’d do the lesson like this and I reckon’ it’d make a good lesson ’cause it’s not boring.”

So, do I think everyone can write? Of course! Do I think it’s always as easy as just chucking some words on paper? No. If I’ve learned one thing during my time at this class, it’s that there are actually so many things to consider when you’re writing and you have to think about why you’re writing things, who you’re writing it for and what you’re writing it for. 

Do you have any musing about writing? Or even something you’ve found hard that everyone else has told you was easy?

 

Losing Firends at Poker Night

This is meant to be the description bit but I’m really badass and writing my own little spiel.
So I wanted to share this video because it made me laugh and because I do that thing that Chester does as well and while I haven’t insulted anyone with it yet, it’s taught me to be very careful about what I parrot.

If animals don't feel…

I do it all the time;

“Oh, look, you’ve made her sad.”

“Don’t, you’ll scare him.”

“She’s so cute, it’s like, ‘Muuum, give me love!'”

“Look at her, she’s smiling. She’s so happy.”

But then someone told me, “You realise they don’t actually feel like that, right? That’s a human concept. You’re applying humanities societal values and expectations on an animal.”

I was like… come again? 

I suppose it makes sense but, I like to think Fletcher feels something for me. Wouldn’t it be completely mortifying to think that the intense love you have for your animals isn’t reciprocated? That in fact, they actually don’t care a jot about you?

I like to think Fletcher loves me and that she enjoys cuddling me like I like cuddling her. Is it because it makes me feel good? Maybe.

But if animals don’t feel things like we do; don’t feel sad when they’re pushed off the couch, aren’t happy when we come home, don’t miss us when we leave… then what do they feel? 

Do they even feel at all? Or is all they feel hunger? Do they feel with their nose? Do they just react to our body language like a parrot or a mime?

I don’t know.

I think that we’re so intricate, so crazily different, with such a huge array of perspective that to see through someones eyes, to see the world in a completely different light would be something quite wonderful.  

Do you think animals have feelings? 

 

Mirror Image

Before I reflect on my writing like I was planning, and on the subject of mirrors, I realised that I am actually quite self-conscious.

What prompted my little discovery, you ask? Well, I let my friend cut my hair.

I know, it sounds like the start of a bad joke. 

I did laugh actually, when it happened. You see, I let her dye my hair and I was feeling quite relaxed so I said she could go ahead with the masterpiece she had in mind and cut my hair.

She gets to my fringe and – chop! Off it goes. So I have little baby hairs in the front of my head. It’s not really a fringe, it’s just… there, it’s that short.

I looked like an 80s rocker. So attractive, as you can imagine. Anyway, I woke up and mum whisked me off to the hairdressers so now I have short boy hair… I like short boy hair, on other people that can pull it off. I’m not one of them.

My family assure me it suits me but I would still feel more comfortable with something covering my forehead. I don’t know why exactly. It’s not like my forehead is private but for some reason showing it feels similar to wearing short shorts or a bikini.

I could walk around with my hand on forehead. I’m sure that’d work.

Now perhaps I’m not self-conscious – I think even the most confident person would feel a little awkward if they got a bit of a shear but I don’t like not feeling comfortable in my own skin. 

It’s… uncomfortable.

Anyway, moving on from that, I’ll go back to my main point.

I realised a while ago that many of my characters are paragons of virtue, they fight evil, they’re self-sacrificing – the kind of people who act as the heroes in fairy tales. This isn’t a problem, per say, but I want my characters to be relatable. I want them to be people that screw up so when you’re reading you can be like, I get that. I get where they’re coming from.

Saints are respected but I don’t know many people that say, “Oh, I want to be just like him when I grow up and die in place of this guy because he deserves to live (apparently more than I do)”.

I mean, they’re crazy people, completely amazing, but crazy. I’ll be the first to admit that while I try to put others first, there are times when I can’t help but push them aside for myself.

So I’ve been trying to give my characters vices. Real vices that real people have. 

I have had to make my characters make mistakes and be real dicks sometimes. I don’t like it.

But isn’t that the kind of character you’re attracted to? 

Imma’ be honest and say if I’m reading a romance, I’m usually attracted to the funny, sarcastic, witty best-friend that gets rejected for the serious, moody stranger. 

What about you, what sort of characters do you swoon for?

Love me? 

 

Good morning! – wait, is that the time?

Today’s daily prompt; The Golden Hour. 

Hot – it’s too hot.

I have to push my dog off the blankets before I can actually untangle myself from my sheets. 

I’ve been up about two times already – once before I actually got into bed at around 10.30 and the next at 7.43 when Fletcher decided she needed to pee. 

The darkness is a little disorienting, as is the fact that my door is wide open and I hear the faint chatter of my family. 

I roll out of bed, smacking Fletcher in the face accidentally as I swung my legs off the side. I had tried to get her off the bed by throwing a piece of the blanket that she’d chewed off through the door but she just watched it fly before swinging her eyes back to me as if to imply I should try better.

As I stagger the bathroom, I try to be as quiet as possible. 

I like staying in – I mean, I go to sleep at four in the morning for God’s sake! But for some reason, although my family probably don’t intend it, there is always an intense feeling of shame when they see me emerge bleary eyed, blinking into the afternoon sun. 

I laugh sarcastically at their jibes. I’ve argued my case a thousand and one times; I think better at night – I’m more comfortable with my thoughts – there’s nobody to bother me – it’s nightime… 

Mornings are pretty, sure, but I’ve always been a fan of the dark.

 

Image is totally not mine. I just found it on themetapicture.

To Write in Third Person or To Not Write in Third Person

So I’m taking my dilemma here because… because it’s 3.30 AM and no-one else is awake. 

Who needs sleep?

Anyway, I’ve been writing a story for my uni class and I’ve been trying to play around with it a little because I want it to be the best it can be.

I originally wrote the chapter in first person. Unfortunately the character has me so twisted around his finger that I’ve been struggling to change it into third person! I don’t know if it’s just because I’m close to the work or because I just can’t see it in anything but first person, either way, it ain’t freaking working for me.

So this is just a little of my story in first person:

“Rick?” He raised a brow in confusion at my silence and I glanced helplessly at Jess who just glared at me over his shoulder, those hazel eyes that had laughed with me at the bar now threatening to kill me with the tea cup clutched in her white fingered grip.

I don’t know how she would do it, but it’d be violent and bloody.

“T – tea?” I finally managed to squeak out.

Laughing, he pressed it towards me, both clearly amused and confused by my weird behaviour. “Of course it’s tea.”

It took me a moment longer, but I finally manage to get movement into my body and I smiled weakly as I grasped the fine bone China set between my shaking fingers.

The smell of roast chicken was slowly starting to travel into the small room from the oven and I silently prayed that the timer went off so I had an excuse to leave the room.

“You okay?” James asked in concern, sliding into an armchair next to Jess.

Nodding, I just sipped my tea, desperate to get the focus away from me. Thankfully, James is a complete idiot.

“Jess, did you tell Rick about the job you got at the primary school?”

Of course James knew that she hadn’t told me, but he probably just wanted us to get along. Way too late for that.

Jess smiled thinly, her eyes crinkling in what I assume was meant to be an adorable way, but just made me feel physically ill. It reminded me of the way she laughed at something I said at the bar, placing her hand over mine.

For a moment, instead of overwhelming guilt presenting itself in the form of a terminal stomach ulcer, I felt angry. Angry because she deceived me, because James was my friend and she had still clearly been dating him when she decided to have her midnight tryst with me. It only lasted a moment though, because once again I was reminded of the fact that I still fucked her. I should have checked the facts. I should have asked if she was seeing anyone – I had just assumed… yeah, and that’s what got me into trouble in the first place.

Great.

 

Now excuse that I’ve dropped you in the middle of nowhere, I just found it’d be a better place to introduce you. 

So I love it in first person because I think it makes a character who may be hard to understand easy to relate to. You really get his voice and a very colourful perspective. 

Then there’s third person… *Sigh*

Rubbing his hands along the back of his pants nervously, Rick tapped his foot before sighing and pressing his face against the glass on the door, attempting to peer in.

“Hello!” he shouted, knocking again.

“I’m coming, sorry.” The door was opened and James grinned at his friend, reaching out to hug him. “I was just getting dinner on the go; I didn’t expect you ‘till later.”

Rick laughed, slapping James on the back as they stepped inside. “Hey, I wanna’ see this imaginary girlfriend. She better be as hot as you’ve been making out.”

“Oh she is,” James replied as he stepped into the lounge-room and behind the couch a young woman was sitting on.

As Rick also stepped in, catching his first look at the girl, he found his grin fading fast, heart plummeting like it had stones attached to it.

“Rick, this is Jess, Jess, meet Rick…”

The words were fading into the background and Rick gaped at Jess as realisation lit in her own eyes. 

 

So on top of being very short, it’s also started in a weird place but this is just because I’m having so much trouble working it out! 

The only reason I really want to try third person is because the main character Rick is very self-deprecating and I wanted to see another point of view that wasn’t so set. Also, seeing a more broad perspective might be interesting.

But I can’t do it! 

If you have had any similar issues and have suggestions, that would be fantastic. 

Musing

I was just thinking of how my writing style has changed over time. My brother told me the other day that it’s become more mature. I was like, “Thaaaanks?”

Is that a good thing? 

I hope so.

I asked my friend to look over my draft and she said, “There’s too many descriptions!”

O_O

Too many???

When I was younger I used to write almost half a page on how a character might look or how their house looked. It was ridiculous. 

Yes, I was one of them. 

I thought I’d gotten better but apparently I let my determination to paint a visual picture get the better of me. I still can’t help myself from making disgustingly common cliches like; her hair was a shiny ebony, falling like waves down her back. 

But when I want to write how something looks without saying how it looks, it gets hard. I’ve been trying to work on putting pieces together, giving the readers bits of information now and then, rather than chucking it on them like a bucket of cold water.

Man, this shit is hard!

On another note, completely unrelated, I read this article…

I’m not going to give you the link because when I was given the link, I wished I hadn’t. In fact, it’s been days since I’ve seen the article and I still find myself fuming about it, thinking of arguments I could say that I didn’t post in reply.

So basically, this guy started writing about how women don’t need self-esteem and how it is in fact detrimental to the female… everything.

He then preceded to say that the only important jobs – the jobs that keep our world rotating (basically military jobs) are male dominated jobs and women only pretend to work hard and like to think their jobs make a difference when in fact, they don’t.

Well, either this loser has no idea how the world works or… well, that’s all really. Yes, military people do great work, they protect our country and all of those good things. I have no idea what it would be like to give up everything for your country, nor will I.

However, the world isn’t that black and white. The world is intricate. Government workers, doctors, teachers, bankers – without these people, without people healing people, without people running things, raising young people, where would we be?

I don’t freaking know, ’cause we have those people around.

Anyway, he goes on to say that a confident woman is unattractive and someone that is insecure and needs a man not only completes a males identity but is essential to the woman’s own sense of self.

So he tells men they aren’t real men unless a woman wants them.

My brother said, “It’s nice to be loved though, and needed.”

Yes my friends, it certainly is. To say that you aren’t a real man without a woman that wants you though…? Ouch.

Also, I think this guy – not my brother by the way, this other guy – is confusing emotional openness and vulnerability with insecurity.

I agree when he says that you need to be emotionally vulnerable in a relationship however, wholeheartedly. Being in a relationship is hard  and being honest and open is freaking scary but you need to be able to reveal yourself to your partner, to trust them and give yourself to them as they give themselves to you. Being emotionally vulnerable however, does not mean being insecure.  

Someone may be a very confident person and still be emotionally secure enough to open themselves up. A woman can still be confident but feel safe enough to share openly with her partner. 

He says that women are taught to build walls as they grow up and maybe that’s true, maybe we are harder to get to know, maybe our walls are higher and maybe we’ve added barbed wire but that isn’t true of all women and even if it was, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. It just means that we also want to feel safe in our own bodies. We actually enjoy having self-esteem.

What irritated me most about his post was that he said how unattractive confidence was and that men only want women with no self-esteem because apparently having no self-esteem means you’re more emotionally available. 

I’ve found that women who are insecure may be more emotionally unavailable because they do see themselves in such poor light they don’t think anyone would love them. 

What I didn’t understand was all the people agreeing with him! People even added other journal articles, one captioned: Written by a woman!

It was about how women lose themselves in sex and men are completely in control and apparently in that time women are just a man’s outlet, a tool to be used to satisfy him. 

Lovely.

You know, any argument may sound firm if you find enough supporting work, that doesn’t necessarily make it fact.

Anyway, I just had to get it out. It’s been pissing me off and it’s been disturbing my sleep and showers. I don’t like it.

I hated my brother for a little while because he was the one who sent it to me. I think he found my reaction funny.

So, that’s… that. 

What do you guys think about what this guy wrote? Do you agree, disagree? Or has there been something you’ve read lately that grated your goat?

Also, please give me any suggestions for how I might go about fixing my overly descriptive issues.

And I leave you with David Tennant because he is attractive and lovely and Scottish. He also played Doctor Who and that just makes him awesome.

This image is not mine at all. I stole it from tumblr ’cause I’m a cool kid.

Go here to find it! 

 

 

 

The Tale of The Fly

This is what happened to me last night…

 

 

 

Today I found the thing dying on my window sill when I went to open the curtains. 

I hope it died slowly and painfully because I’m cruel, vindictive and vengeful.

Inspired by my little experience last night however, I wrote a small piece.

Lock your doors, bolt your windows and hide in your closest and I’ll still find you.

You’re never safe.

I’ll buzz in your ear, step all over your food… upset your dog. 

You’ll never see me coming.

I’m fast, I’m agile and I’m right around the corner.

Look out. I’m coming.

 

Do you guys have any tales about creepy crawlies? 

 

Where My Heart Is

Today’s Daily Prompt:

When you’re away from home, what person, thing, or place do you miss the most?

The sun is shining and it’s warm, the smell of freshly cut grass floating in the air.

I sip my smoothie as I lean on the cafe table, nodding my head as my friend speaks about this jerk of a guy she was dating when I happen to see a Cocker Spaniel out the window, walking with its owner.

I suddenly feel the urge to hop up and go home to my own dog and give her a hug and have her lick my face and roll over so I can rub her belly. 

It’s not like I don’t like going out but sometimes it’s nice to feel wanted so unconditionally – to be loved without any strings – to be loved for just existing.