Don't Quote Me (#20)

I made the first three quotes last Friday night when I was bored. I wished I could reword this one a bit. 

Who's addicted?

I was feeling extremely down last Wednesday, and could not believe how black and white my future was, so I decided to do something about it. This is just a picture I made to go with the feelings of last Wednesday.

Post First Draft Depression

I want to start off with a little editing series going on on this blog. Since, I did do nanowrimo and won-yeah, I'm awesome-I want to blog about the process of how things are going. At the moment I can't give you a synopsis of the novel, because there is a lot of plot being moved around, and maybe the main problem the main character faces is only a side problem. You know?

Anyways, the first thing that happened when I finished nanowrimo about two weeks ago was that I just wanted to chuck the story out the window and feed it to the coyotes. I suppose many authors feel this way, because we have been so close to this piece of work, that it's too much. I was about to scrap the entire document at one point. Terrible of me for not believing in my own writing, but sometimes you want to kill someone, but instead of someone, many people in your mind.

The other day I got out of this 'depression' stage. Something just clicked in my mind, and I guess with me going back into the community of writers I've found, it motivates me to do something with the story. I have not started actually editing the novel, but I am in the process of reestablishing my characters, and where I want the story to go, and where it should be going. There's a difference. I'm happy with half of the characters I had made up on the spot while writing nanowrimo, but in there are the ugly ducklings. The ones that don't have a personality easy to spot out, or a background that's bland and contains no meat.

So if you are in the post first draft depression state, I beg you to not chuck out your story. You are going to hate yourself if you do, because you will look back at it and think I should not have done that. Especially, if you did nanowrimo and got far ahead. Do not change your mind and free up space on your computer. There is a reason why you started to write the story. Whether you knew what you wanted to come across in your writing or not, it will come across, and you need to edit and think about it to do so.

Great chat with yall today, have an amazing time writing this week. If you have trouble thinking of things to write-which you should be doing everyday-I'm going to start making daily writing prompts on twitter. @Clarareads

Love and hugs
Clara

Writing to Wednesday

So I've been trying to come up with memes and I came up with a weekly writing day on Wednesdays. I only wrote this very short scene in half an hour at most, so it's not the best quality there is. It's something that I'm proud of though and I'm willing to share this. This scene is absolutely FICTION, not true at all. All characters are made up and so are the actions. I hope you enjoy it.

Pigeon Bound

“Pst”, he sounded like a broken steam pipe.

“Hmm?” I nodded my head up, but still reading my book.

“You see that over there?” he hushed.

I looked over. Andrew, an outwardly known unpleasant guy in our grade was having his face smushed on to the left wing window of our school’s library. He was short for his age and so it looked like his head was flying into the window, like a pigeon would.

I sighed,” Same old, same old. Why? Have you not seen it done before?”

Eric looked straight out the window where Andrew was and said,” No I have. It’s just this time the guy has a gun.”

My eyes widen and I intentionally didn’t look over because I wasn’t sure if he was playing a trick on me or if Eric was telling the truth. The trick wasn’t a big deal he did it all the time, but if it was real than why isn’t someone else seeing it? I looked at Eric and he was a statue now because the gun was pointed straight into Andrew’s head. I know that kid that’s pointing the gun. I know his name. I know his life. I know his wants and dreams. I know the way he thinks, and still this is what comes out of knowing someone for their whole life.

He fired.                                                                                                                          

 I shut my eyes and let the shrieks and rummaging drown my thoughts as I sat there motionless and lightheaded.

Eric looked away and rested his hand on my back drawing smooth circle to calm me down. It didn’t work.

He made me breathe deep breathes. It didn’t work.

Then he started whispering incoherent words in my ears, but I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t hear the sounds he made when he picked me up and carried me out the library. It didn’t work.

My brother was a murderer. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It felt like a giant earthquake was in the middle of your body and your brain was literally a rubix cube being broken apart by a toddler.

I blacked out after that.