Sunday, April 29, 2018
A Long Journey Indeed
Hello friends, family, fellow writers, and the few random strangers who maybe clicked on my blog (I like to be positive and think that this is happening).
It's been awhile since I've blogged. I've been a little scarce in the blogging/Twitter world. My mom has been sick with COPD for several years. In January, her illness took a turn for the worst, and it's been terribly painful watching her go through that and not being able to help her. She passed away at the end of March, and I miss her terribly, though I'm glad she is no longer suffering. I couldn't have asked for a better mother. I'm honestly afraid of making it in this world without her.
My mom has helped me through many rough times, especially in the past few years. I wouldn't have made it through my most recent ordeal without her.
For five+ years I worked at a non-profit job as a community connector (this is a title that encompasses behavioral analysis, counseling, driving, CNA-type duties, care-taking, paper-work, janitorial work, etc. etc.). I took care of older adults with developmental and degenerative disabilities. I loved my job, mainly because of the wonderful people I had the pleasure of meeting and serving.
One day in June of 2014 I was assisting a client with gait issues walk. This is something I've done dozens of times over the years. Even with assistance, he was so unsteady that he fell frequently. He fell this day, but it wasn't like any other fall. He bumped my knee and took me down with him. I landed with my foot trapped underneath me. I immediately got up to assist him. It was a few minutes before I even realized I was hurt.
A visit to the urgent care revealed that I'd incurred a mild ankle sprain. The doctor advised rest, ice, compression and work restrictions, and said I'd likely be fully healed in two weeks. Except I wasn't. I was no better than I was immediately after the injury. I was referred to a specialist, where the injury was re-diagnosed as a high ankle sprain (less common, more severe). I continued working on restrictions and began going to physical therapy. After several weeks of PT, my injury was still no better. I was in pain all the time and miserable. It was very difficult to get through the work day, even with the restrictions. It was too much on my body. Finally, I had an MRI, which showed that surgery would be necessary to repair the damaged tendon and ligament.
Just after surgery, I was let go from my job because the company did not have a position that could accomodate my needs. It was past 90 days, so they were in their legal right to do this.
The surgery went well, and after a month of wearing a cast, I returned to physically therapy. Things were starting to look up. I was working hard in PT and gaining more function and the pain was lessening. But just when I thought I was ready to return to work, the pain began to worsen, and the swelling in my ankle returned. After being referred to a new podiatrist and having another MRI, it was revealed that while the ligament was well and good, the tendon was not. It had had a bad reaction to the sutures and was torn again. So once again I went under the knife, this time with a rather attractive surgeon holding said knife. I told him so while recovering from surgery and possibly a little looped on medications.
I went through the drill all over again: rest, non-weight bearing, crawling on the floor to carry hot coffee, cast, and finally physical therapy. And more physical therapy. And pain. And more pain. Continued pain and swelling. The function in my ankle returned, while some swelling and pain remained. The surgeon admitted that he did not know where to go from here, while the physical therapists tried various techniques, including weird electric things and tape. Yes tape. I guess their reasoning was that what two surgeries couldn't fix, surely some freaking tape could. As shocking as this might my seem, the tape didn't work. I was sent to a pain specialist, an occupational therapist, and a psychologist, because at this point, most doctors believed the pain was in my head. I had a new worker's comp doctor put in charge of my case, and she did a pretty terrible job of listening to me and assessing my needs.
At this point, I had to become a strong self-advocate, something that is terribly hard for me. I had to fight tooth and nail to get necessary treatments. It took forever, and I wanted to give up many, many times. The insurance company was ready to kick me to the curb and my doctor was no help. She did not listen to me and accused me of wanting money, despite my insistence that I only wanted treatment. At this point, the pain had spread from my ankle, to my foot, and up my leg. This is called peripheral neuropathy, and it's a real asshole. It hurts like hell and is the weirdest kind of pain you can imagine. It has to do with angry nerves and can be caused by compression or surgery. Burning, pounding, crushing pain spread through my whole foot and up my leg into my knee. After a while, it moved to the other leg. Yes, it did. It sounds crazy, but it can happen. I was put through a number of tests to see if I had Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, a severe form of neuropathy that occurs in a limb. All my test results were negative, but every symptom I had fits perfectly into CRPS. Several physical therapists said they suspected I have CRPS. In much of the research I did, it was stated that none of the tests are fully accurate or conclusive. According to my research, CRPS is the only condition in which the patient experiences mirror pain--pain in the opposite, uninjured limb, like I had.
I was in pain all the time and severely depressed. My doctor didn't believe me and was closing my worker's comp case, meaning I would no longer receive disability benefits or any treatment. I was in no shape to go back to work. I was forced to hire an attorney. Just finding an attorney was yet another trial. Most attorneys won't take ankle cases, mainly because they don't pay much. Attorneys want severe car accidents and back injuries, and they told me this point blank. After talking to close to ten attorneys, I finally found one who was willing to take my case. But even so, it was still a battle. I had to see an independent doctor for an exam, and convince this one man that I needed more medical care. I couldn't just go to any doctor, I had to go to one my attorney and the worker's comp insurance company agreed on. It's a pretty messed up system. My attorney was not thrilled about the doctor I wound up with. Lucky for me, my attorney was wrong.
Dr. Regan listened to me and heard my frustration and agreed that I needed more care. He diagnosed me with CRPS and ordered more tests, and also thought I needed to see another ankle surgeon (something I'd been trying to tell my primary WC doctor, who wouldn't listen.) It was actually pretty satisfying taking this report back to my WC doctor. I wanted to wave it in her face and say, "I told you so!" I of course didn't, but I didn't have to. The report said it for me. She was wrong, and she knew it. Ever since then, she's listened to me and what I have to say.
Of course, the insurance company wasn't ready to give in. They filed for a hearing to dispute Dr. Regan's assessment, but it never got that far. The new surgeon used a more appropriate test than an MRI (dynamic ultrasound) and determined that my tendons and ligaments were a giant mess, like spaghetti noodles all clumped together. Likely there was an angry nerve trapped in that mess, causing all that awful nerve pain. So after jumping through more hoops, the insurance company was forced to back down and accept that I needed a third surgery, and reinstated my benefits. That was one year ago. My ankle is now strong. It still hurts, and I still have neuropathic pain in both legs, but it is much less than it was. The surgeon believes the nerves will likely calm down with time.
I've mostly made it through that ridiculous ordeal. I'm exhausted. It was a nightmare fighting so hard against the insurance company and doctors. The whole thing made me feel like shit mentally, on top of the physical pain. I felt like a worthless loser. I was unable to work, yet most doctors said I was fine. I was terrified about money running out and had no control over anything.
Luckily, I had a lot of support from friends and family. They played an important role in getting me through it, but they couldn't stop the depression, or that feeling of uselessness. Nothing stopped it completely, but there is one thing that helped it a great deal, and that's writing. Writing is my passion, my long-term career goal, my obsession, and my great love. I wrote before my injury and continued after. On good days, I pretended I wasn't disabled, but instead a full-time writer. My stories were my saviors. They gave me hope and purpose. I can say with perfect honesty that I don't know how I would've survived that time if I didn't have my writing. It gave me purpose. Without it, my depression might've taken over. I'm not exaggerating. It's just the truth.
I'm now back at work, and it feels really good to be out in the world again. It also feels good to be helping people again. My work is very different than what I did previously, but still rewarding. I work at a large non-profit helping homeless veterans find housing. I enjoy it and hope to continue it. The irony is that the book I've been working on for the past two years is called Pieces, a literary mystery about a combat veteran with PTSD trying to put his life back together.
I went back to work in December, just before my mom got sicker. She was thrilled to know I was doing better; she'd been very worried about me. In early March, she asked if I was better, and I said yes. This wasn't completely true, but true enough. This was about two weeks before she passed. I think she needed to know I would be okay.
Even though I have a job again, writing is still my goal. Pieces is almost ready to send to agents. My strength as a writer has grown over the years, but there is always room for improvement. The best way to improve is to network with other writers, attend workshops and meet agents and editors. Lucky for me, there are several events like this in Colorado. One is in June, called LitFest. The other is in September, the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Gold Conference. I plan to enter Pieces in the RMFW Gold Contest this May. The winners are announced at the conference. It would be wonderful if I could be there, whether I'm a finalist or not. There will be many agents and editors at this event, and I would love the opportunity to meet them and discuss my novel with them.
Unfortunately, conferences are expensive. Really expensive. But this is where my wonderful friends come in. One of my best friends set up a Go Fund Me for me, to help me fulfill my dreams, and some of my friends have already contributed. It's starting to seem possible that I might get to attend these conferences, and I couldn't be more grateful. The link to the campaign is below. I would appreciate any contributions anyone can give. If you can't, please share this post with your friends. Thank you so much! Love to all!
https://www.gofundme.com/help-this-amazing-writer
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
I'm Back
For real, I swear. Until my next blogging hiatus. But with four works in progress, a volunteer non-profit charity biz, a new jewelry biz (very new), a new job for the first time in 3 years, continued chronic pain, exercises to keep up on, chronic migraines, two cats to try and get to stop killing each other, and a sick/dying parent, it's hard to keep up on the blogging. But I want to blog. I want to do all the things.
As is tradition for when I've taken a blogging hiatus, I will discuss my current writing projects. Because that's how it's done. More about all that other stuff later. And it's a lot.
Four works in progress.
My first priority: "Pieces" A contemporary mystery with light paranormal elements. It's in the final stages. I've gotten good feedback from drafts 2 and 3 from different sets of beta readers and am working on the 4th draft, which is more editing than rewriting. Finally! When you've moved from constant rewrites into actual edits, you've gotten somewhere. Because I said so. I think it may be done by mid-year, maybe sooner. It's hard to say. But I'm super excited. I plan to enter it into some contests and try to attend some writing conferences this year to meet with agents in person. I think this one is the most commercially-marketable of all my stories, so I'm definitely going to try the traditional route with it. I think I will be in fully querying-swing by Fall, definitely winter.
Priority 2 is "New Year's Revolution" (Formerly Bloody New Year and Vampiric Vanguard. Still thinking of using Vampiric Vanguard as a series title.) This is an urban fantasy/paranormal/post-apocalyptic novel. It's my first baby, and has therefore seen many rewrites/edits. Somewhere between 7 and 10. But I've discovered the solution: it's not a three book series, as originally planned. It's four. The first book needs to be cut in half. I feel confident about these changes. My goal is to have this ready to be queried (again) by the end of the year. It's doable. I've queried agents for this in the past and gotten roughly 30 rejections (go me!). I'm aiming for the 3 digits. When your number of rejections hit the hundreds, you know you've made it. I plan to query some agents, but mostly small/indie publishers.
These two books will keep me busy most of the year, but I have not forgotten my other two children. I began my fourth novel "Eternal" in November (NaNoWriMo 2017). While I got it past 50k, I did not complete the rough draft, but that's okay. I know where the story is going and felt like continued work on the sloppy rough draft wasn't productive. I don't know when I'll be ready to work on it again, but I feel like I'll be ready to write a solid draft two when the time comes. Oh yeah, it's a speculative romance. I know, I'm writing a romance. Who would've thought? While I won't be writing on it for a while, I will be reading in preparation: lesbian romance novels, stories that take place in the 80s, and stories that feature mixed race characters.
Last but not least is "Caribou Canyon" later called "City of Secrets". This is my second baby. I love it, but don't know where to go from here. It's a YA paranormal, and the story is too big. There are 3 MCs, and I fell in love with all of them and gave each character many subplots. The polished first draft rounded out at 250k words. Yes, you read that correctly. I started releasing it as a serial on Jukepop, but that didn't pan out. Then I started releasing it on my blog, but I'm not sure that's what I want to do with it. I think I'm going to remove it from my blog and set it aside in my mind, but I definitely want to continue it. At this point, I would likely polish it up and self-publish it, maybe in installments.
Okay, so those are my writing projects. I'm having a busy 2018, and that's just about the writing. So many other things are happening, many of them painful and trying and sometimes I just want to curl up and sleep, and keep sleeping, and keep on sleeping. But writing is my passion, my art, my life. I will take all of this crap and funnel it into my stories.
Get ready world. They are coming.
As is tradition for when I've taken a blogging hiatus, I will discuss my current writing projects. Because that's how it's done. More about all that other stuff later. And it's a lot.
Four works in progress.
My first priority: "Pieces" A contemporary mystery with light paranormal elements. It's in the final stages. I've gotten good feedback from drafts 2 and 3 from different sets of beta readers and am working on the 4th draft, which is more editing than rewriting. Finally! When you've moved from constant rewrites into actual edits, you've gotten somewhere. Because I said so. I think it may be done by mid-year, maybe sooner. It's hard to say. But I'm super excited. I plan to enter it into some contests and try to attend some writing conferences this year to meet with agents in person. I think this one is the most commercially-marketable of all my stories, so I'm definitely going to try the traditional route with it. I think I will be in fully querying-swing by Fall, definitely winter.
Priority 2 is "New Year's Revolution" (Formerly Bloody New Year and Vampiric Vanguard. Still thinking of using Vampiric Vanguard as a series title.) This is an urban fantasy/paranormal/post-apocalyptic novel. It's my first baby, and has therefore seen many rewrites/edits. Somewhere between 7 and 10. But I've discovered the solution: it's not a three book series, as originally planned. It's four. The first book needs to be cut in half. I feel confident about these changes. My goal is to have this ready to be queried (again) by the end of the year. It's doable. I've queried agents for this in the past and gotten roughly 30 rejections (go me!). I'm aiming for the 3 digits. When your number of rejections hit the hundreds, you know you've made it. I plan to query some agents, but mostly small/indie publishers.
These two books will keep me busy most of the year, but I have not forgotten my other two children. I began my fourth novel "Eternal" in November (NaNoWriMo 2017). While I got it past 50k, I did not complete the rough draft, but that's okay. I know where the story is going and felt like continued work on the sloppy rough draft wasn't productive. I don't know when I'll be ready to work on it again, but I feel like I'll be ready to write a solid draft two when the time comes. Oh yeah, it's a speculative romance. I know, I'm writing a romance. Who would've thought? While I won't be writing on it for a while, I will be reading in preparation: lesbian romance novels, stories that take place in the 80s, and stories that feature mixed race characters.
Last but not least is "Caribou Canyon" later called "City of Secrets". This is my second baby. I love it, but don't know where to go from here. It's a YA paranormal, and the story is too big. There are 3 MCs, and I fell in love with all of them and gave each character many subplots. The polished first draft rounded out at 250k words. Yes, you read that correctly. I started releasing it as a serial on Jukepop, but that didn't pan out. Then I started releasing it on my blog, but I'm not sure that's what I want to do with it. I think I'm going to remove it from my blog and set it aside in my mind, but I definitely want to continue it. At this point, I would likely polish it up and self-publish it, maybe in installments.
Okay, so those are my writing projects. I'm having a busy 2018, and that's just about the writing. So many other things are happening, many of them painful and trying and sometimes I just want to curl up and sleep, and keep sleeping, and keep on sleeping. But writing is my passion, my art, my life. I will take all of this crap and funnel it into my stories.
Get ready world. They are coming.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
March 11th
I used to get depressed around February and March. Well, to be truthful, I get depressed on and off all year round, it's called dysthymia, or persistent depressive disorder. But that isn't the point. Before 2007, Daylight Saving Time didn't start till after Easter. I got really restless in early March for the time change, because it always made me feel better to have that little bit of of extra sunlight. It helped.
In 2007, I was really excited that we were going to be changing the clocks forward about a month early. I remember March 11th 2007 very clearly. It was the perfect day for Spring Forward. It was nearly seventy degrees out. I was bored, but it wasn't really a bad kind of bored. I was feeling hopeful for the future, which was a big deal because the past few months had been shit-tastic and that is not an exaggeration.
I was trying to decide what to do regarding the fiance I was separated from due to lots shit-tastic fucking shit. I hadn't spoken to him since early December, before the bleeding shit hit the flaming fan and flung its shit-covered entrails all over my life. Despite those months of separation, I didn't consider us over. I didn't know what I considered us. I needed time to myself, time to focus on Becky because for so many years Becky hadn't existed. Josh existed. Josh and Becky existed. Every now and then Becky and Josh existed, but mostly it was Josh. So it was nice to focus on Becky. I thought he understood that. I thought he knew I loved him and just needed time. Now I know he didn't, because in his world, Becky still didn't exist. Josh and Becky existed. Becky existed as a prize for Josh, as something to covet and keep and hold onto and to worry would leave. Becky existed as someone who could make everything right, except that wasn't a fair thing to put on a person.
It was the morning of March 12th when Mom came home from work less than thirty minutes after having arrived and woke me up to tell me Josh had died of a heroin overdose. I remember those moments more clearly than anything. My Mom heard the news because her mother-in-law reads the newspaper regularly. Mom rushed around to find out it if was true before she told me. Josh's mom wanted to tell me herself, but my mom wouldn't let her. I appreciate that. Hearing the news from my mom, someone who wanted to comfort me instead of be comforted by me, helped.
March 11th was a Sunday, just like today. Because of that, the memories are more potent. It's been eleven years but it will never go away. To add to this pain, my mom, the person who's been there for me through everything, is in the final stages of COPD and not going to make it much longer. So now I just have to remember the strength she gave me and save it for the future. It's a gift. And I guess the sunshine is too, though it hurts, like antiseptic in a wound.
Sometimes I want to remind myself that pain is what makes me real, pain is what makes me feel love and appreciate beauty. Sometimes that's true, and other times it's a giant load of flaming horse shit.
-------------
The darker the night, the brighter the stars,
In 2007, I was really excited that we were going to be changing the clocks forward about a month early. I remember March 11th 2007 very clearly. It was the perfect day for Spring Forward. It was nearly seventy degrees out. I was bored, but it wasn't really a bad kind of bored. I was feeling hopeful for the future, which was a big deal because the past few months had been shit-tastic and that is not an exaggeration.
I was trying to decide what to do regarding the fiance I was separated from due to lots shit-tastic fucking shit. I hadn't spoken to him since early December, before the bleeding shit hit the flaming fan and flung its shit-covered entrails all over my life. Despite those months of separation, I didn't consider us over. I didn't know what I considered us. I needed time to myself, time to focus on Becky because for so many years Becky hadn't existed. Josh existed. Josh and Becky existed. Every now and then Becky and Josh existed, but mostly it was Josh. So it was nice to focus on Becky. I thought he understood that. I thought he knew I loved him and just needed time. Now I know he didn't, because in his world, Becky still didn't exist. Josh and Becky existed. Becky existed as a prize for Josh, as something to covet and keep and hold onto and to worry would leave. Becky existed as someone who could make everything right, except that wasn't a fair thing to put on a person.
It was the morning of March 12th when Mom came home from work less than thirty minutes after having arrived and woke me up to tell me Josh had died of a heroin overdose. I remember those moments more clearly than anything. My Mom heard the news because her mother-in-law reads the newspaper regularly. Mom rushed around to find out it if was true before she told me. Josh's mom wanted to tell me herself, but my mom wouldn't let her. I appreciate that. Hearing the news from my mom, someone who wanted to comfort me instead of be comforted by me, helped.
March 11th was a Sunday, just like today. Because of that, the memories are more potent. It's been eleven years but it will never go away. To add to this pain, my mom, the person who's been there for me through everything, is in the final stages of COPD and not going to make it much longer. So now I just have to remember the strength she gave me and save it for the future. It's a gift. And I guess the sunshine is too, though it hurts, like antiseptic in a wound.
Sometimes I want to remind myself that pain is what makes me real, pain is what makes me feel love and appreciate beauty. Sometimes that's true, and other times it's a giant load of flaming horse shit.
-------------
The darker the night, the brighter the stars,
The deeper the grief, the closer is God!”
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
---------------------
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
NaNoWriMo Time
It's that time of year again already! I'm participating in NaNoWriMo for sort of the third year in a row, but really it's only my second time. The idea is that you write a rough draft of a brand new novel in November. Last year I began the 2nd draft of Pieces, which I wrote during 2015 NaNo. This year I'll be doing another new one, an idea that only just came to me in August. Usually my ideas marinate in my head for several years before I put them to paper, so we'll see how this goes.
Here's what I'll be writing this year:
Here's what I'll be writing this year:
Speculative lgbtq romance that takes place over the course of 30+ years.
25 yo Vera is a wild, free-spirited bisexual writer who is celebrating one year of sobriety. She just moved to Bloomington with her best friend, savior, and sponsor, Stuart, who is starting medical school. Estranged from her family due to tragedy, Stuart is all Vera has. She spends time on campus, working on her first novel.
18 yo Ember is the daughter of a white man and a black woman. Plagued by the question "what are you?" her whole life, she feels like she doesn't belong. Add that to the fact that she is an artist living in a family of intellectuals, and a closet lesbian, she doesn't know who she is or where she fits. She is attending IU Bloomington and majoring in business, though it isn't what she wants. She pursues her art and sticks to herself.
Ember and Vera witness a horrifying and uncanny murder on campus. Both women are drawn to the scene of the crime. Vera is writing a horror novel: she likes the ambience. Vera also likes the place to go and think. Stuart has unexpectedly relapsed, and Vera doesn't know how to help him. Ember likes the quiet of the place: most of the other students stay away. The two women meet and bond, sharing their lives with one another and falling in love. The more they get to know one another, they begin to realize that things they thought were quirks, might be more than that. Vera starts to realize that something isn't right: about Stuart's relapse or about Ember.
The women are forced to make a painful decision that may affect the future of their relationship, and Stuart's life.
And here's a little collage I put together in order to stop myself from cheating and starting early.
If you're also a NaNo person, find me on the site here: https://nanowrimo.org/participants/becky9637
Happy writing!
Sunday, October 29, 2017
It's finished!
This post is a wee bit late. I have finished the 3rd draft of Pieces. Yay!
This is super exciting. In case anyone missed the news, Pieces is a literary mystery with paranormal elements, and it's "the one." Some authors say you shouldn't bank on having "the one." But I have it. It's Pieces. For the 3rd draft, I took into account most of the feedback I got on the 2nd draft from my wonderful Writ & Art group. I have found 4 new beta readers, two of which are my experts: an Army vet and a psychotherapist.
I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do more than 3 drafts, but there will definitely need to be a polish/edit once I get their feedback. I'll probably name the file 4th draft, but I should be able to do it very quickly, unless I totally effed up the military stuff, in which case I'm screwed. But I don't think I did. My wonderful Writ & Art group will be reading the "4th and please for the love of god let it be the final" draft.
The thing I'm still worried about (of course) is the freaking word count. Word counts are the bane of my existence.
At 135k words, it's still way too long. I'm not sure what to do about this. I love all of it. I have already trimmed most of the fat, though there may still be some hidden fat to trim here and there. We'll see, but I don't want to compromise what it is to make it fit the standards of today's novel. Today's novel is short. I blame the internet and shortened attention spans.
I'm excited to hear what people have to say. And nervous. But it's also almost November, which means I'll have a wee bit of something to distract me from thinking about Pieces.
More updates later.
Psst! Like me on FB!
This is super exciting. In case anyone missed the news, Pieces is a literary mystery with paranormal elements, and it's "the one." Some authors say you shouldn't bank on having "the one." But I have it. It's Pieces. For the 3rd draft, I took into account most of the feedback I got on the 2nd draft from my wonderful Writ & Art group. I have found 4 new beta readers, two of which are my experts: an Army vet and a psychotherapist.
I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do more than 3 drafts, but there will definitely need to be a polish/edit once I get their feedback. I'll probably name the file 4th draft, but I should be able to do it very quickly, unless I totally effed up the military stuff, in which case I'm screwed. But I don't think I did. My wonderful Writ & Art group will be reading the "4th and please for the love of god let it be the final" draft.
The thing I'm still worried about (of course) is the freaking word count. Word counts are the bane of my existence.
At 135k words, it's still way too long. I'm not sure what to do about this. I love all of it. I have already trimmed most of the fat, though there may still be some hidden fat to trim here and there. We'll see, but I don't want to compromise what it is to make it fit the standards of today's novel. Today's novel is short. I blame the internet and shortened attention spans.
I'm excited to hear what people have to say. And nervous. But it's also almost November, which means I'll have a wee bit of something to distract me from thinking about Pieces.
More updates later.
Psst! Like me on FB!
Friday, September 22, 2017
I'm afraid of the dark
. . . But only certain kinds of dark. Some kinds of dark are super fun. The dark I'm afraid of is the darker side of humanity. As a fiction writer, this a problem. Generally speaking, antagonists are representative of the dark, ugly sides of humanity. They're what we fear. I'm not necessarily afraid of evil psychopaths and mass murderers. I'm afraid of writing them. If I write them accurately, I have to delve into their brain, and that's scary as hell.
Sometimes it's fun. I've been thinking a lot about these fears lately. I think this is the appeal of supernatural monsters: vampires, werewolves, zombies, demons, etc. For me, and maybe others, it's easy to write these characters as evil because they aren't us. They aren't human. In New Year's Revolution, I have a vampire character named Bianca who is horribly evil and deranged. She is completely screwed up in the head and has done horrible, unspeakable things. But I have no problem writing her. In fact, I love writing her. She's awesome. I love how demented she is. But she's a vampire. She isn't human. I don't have to fear becoming her because she is literally a monster. In City of Secrets I have an evil ghost. He's also done horrible things. But he's a powerful ghost who feeds off of selfish desires. Again, he is literally a monster.
It's the human bad guys that terrify me. In Pieces my antagonist is a murderer and a child molester. This is a human being who does unspeakable things. I'm not writing in this character's POV, but even so, I'm having a hard time getting in their head. (Using "they" as a genderless pronoun on the off-chance that a future beta reader reads this post. I don't want to give away who the antag is.) I have no idea what this person's "mask" is. I don't know what they're thinking on a daily basis. I don't know how they're supposed to interact with the other characters. I winged it for the second draft, but now that I'm writing the third draft, it's time to dig deeper, whether I like it or not. I don't.
As I started digging into their head and realizing their backstory, they started to become more human. At first, I thought "Yay! I know more about them!" But then I balked. I don't want this character to feel human, because it brings me to the question "If this person is a human, with real, human feelings, how terrifying is it that they do these unspeakable things?"
I am someone whose opinion falls into the gray area on a number of subjects. There are very few things in this world that are black and white. Serial killers, terrorists, and child molesters? I used to think they were all bad. That was a nice, comforting thought. Something is wrong with these people. They were born bad. But maybe they weren't. Something happened to them that made them bad. Or, even scarier, they don't believe they're bad. Inside their heads are warped ideas and motives behind what they are doing. In the case of my antagonist, they believe they are doing good. These thoughts are scary, because it makes me realize that maybe I'm less different from the "bad guys" than I thought I was. I view these people with pity. I can't fathom willingly deciding to hurt or violate someone. I also can't fathom someone else willingly deciding to hurt or violate someone. So what made them do it? What makes a killer a killer and a rapist a rapist? Did they lose control? Did something take over their brain and make them do it? Did they find some twisted justification?
This brings me to my deepest, darkest fear, one that I don't usually talk about for fear of people misunderstanding and/or thinking I'm crazy. What if something happens and I suddenly become evil? It sounds ridiculous on paper, but there it is. I love horror novels and movies, but there's a certain type of psychological horror that I can't handle. I used to be a big Dean Koontz fan. I was reading Moonlight Bay (minor spoiler coming, but nothing that'll ruin it). It was great. It was one of my favorites, until I got to this part where this man, who was a perfectly normal, nice, family guy started having nightmares about raping and murdering his wife and daughter. The nightmares terrified him, but they wouldn't stop coming. Eventually he started to want to do it, and to fantasize about it. I had to put the book down for a bit, it disturbed me so much. I realize it's fiction, but it's a terrifying thought.
Getting back to my writing, it's hard for me to dip into the mind of my evil antagonists, because I fear finding out that their mind maybe isn't that different from mine. Maybe the line between good and evil isn't as clear as I thought.
On the other hand, maybe digging into their brain might ease my fears. Maybe I'll realize that while their minds are more complicated than I thought, there is a difference. I don't know, but I do know that I want to write good books. Books with genuine characters. Books that scare people but also comfort them. Books that make people think. Books people can relate to. In order to do that, I have to face my fear of the dark.
I hope it gets easier.
Thoughts and suggestions on how to do this and/or cope with it are welcome. Thanks!
It'd be awesome if you liked me on FB! facebook.com/beckymunyonauthor
Sometimes it's fun. I've been thinking a lot about these fears lately. I think this is the appeal of supernatural monsters: vampires, werewolves, zombies, demons, etc. For me, and maybe others, it's easy to write these characters as evil because they aren't us. They aren't human. In New Year's Revolution, I have a vampire character named Bianca who is horribly evil and deranged. She is completely screwed up in the head and has done horrible, unspeakable things. But I have no problem writing her. In fact, I love writing her. She's awesome. I love how demented she is. But she's a vampire. She isn't human. I don't have to fear becoming her because she is literally a monster. In City of Secrets I have an evil ghost. He's also done horrible things. But he's a powerful ghost who feeds off of selfish desires. Again, he is literally a monster.
It's the human bad guys that terrify me. In Pieces my antagonist is a murderer and a child molester. This is a human being who does unspeakable things. I'm not writing in this character's POV, but even so, I'm having a hard time getting in their head. (Using "they" as a genderless pronoun on the off-chance that a future beta reader reads this post. I don't want to give away who the antag is.) I have no idea what this person's "mask" is. I don't know what they're thinking on a daily basis. I don't know how they're supposed to interact with the other characters. I winged it for the second draft, but now that I'm writing the third draft, it's time to dig deeper, whether I like it or not. I don't.
As I started digging into their head and realizing their backstory, they started to become more human. At first, I thought "Yay! I know more about them!" But then I balked. I don't want this character to feel human, because it brings me to the question "If this person is a human, with real, human feelings, how terrifying is it that they do these unspeakable things?"
I am someone whose opinion falls into the gray area on a number of subjects. There are very few things in this world that are black and white. Serial killers, terrorists, and child molesters? I used to think they were all bad. That was a nice, comforting thought. Something is wrong with these people. They were born bad. But maybe they weren't. Something happened to them that made them bad. Or, even scarier, they don't believe they're bad. Inside their heads are warped ideas and motives behind what they are doing. In the case of my antagonist, they believe they are doing good. These thoughts are scary, because it makes me realize that maybe I'm less different from the "bad guys" than I thought I was. I view these people with pity. I can't fathom willingly deciding to hurt or violate someone. I also can't fathom someone else willingly deciding to hurt or violate someone. So what made them do it? What makes a killer a killer and a rapist a rapist? Did they lose control? Did something take over their brain and make them do it? Did they find some twisted justification?
This brings me to my deepest, darkest fear, one that I don't usually talk about for fear of people misunderstanding and/or thinking I'm crazy. What if something happens and I suddenly become evil? It sounds ridiculous on paper, but there it is. I love horror novels and movies, but there's a certain type of psychological horror that I can't handle. I used to be a big Dean Koontz fan. I was reading Moonlight Bay (minor spoiler coming, but nothing that'll ruin it). It was great. It was one of my favorites, until I got to this part where this man, who was a perfectly normal, nice, family guy started having nightmares about raping and murdering his wife and daughter. The nightmares terrified him, but they wouldn't stop coming. Eventually he started to want to do it, and to fantasize about it. I had to put the book down for a bit, it disturbed me so much. I realize it's fiction, but it's a terrifying thought.
Getting back to my writing, it's hard for me to dip into the mind of my evil antagonists, because I fear finding out that their mind maybe isn't that different from mine. Maybe the line between good and evil isn't as clear as I thought.
On the other hand, maybe digging into their brain might ease my fears. Maybe I'll realize that while their minds are more complicated than I thought, there is a difference. I don't know, but I do know that I want to write good books. Books with genuine characters. Books that scare people but also comfort them. Books that make people think. Books people can relate to. In order to do that, I have to face my fear of the dark.
I hope it gets easier.
Thoughts and suggestions on how to do this and/or cope with it are welcome. Thanks!
It'd be awesome if you liked me on FB! facebook.com/beckymunyonauthor
Saturday, September 16, 2017
What if the ideas run out?
As a writer, one of my biggest fears is that one day I'll stop having great ideas, that the well will be dry, and I'll have no more great stories. This is especially scary because I've just now started to get better at putting a good story together. What if there are no more ideas to put into stories?
When I started my first novel, New Year's Revolution, in 2010, I expected it to be a fluke, and at the time I was totally fine with that. I just wanted to get Ella's story written. Eventually, the idea for City of Secrets came to me, and Pieces soon followed. These three stories have been keeping me pretty busy, so I haven't had time to worry about the idea well going dry. During that time, a number of other ideas have floated in and out of my brain, but none of them have given me that warm-fuzzy "this is it" feeling. Now, Pieces is almost finished and I'm not entirely sure what I'll be doing with the other two, which means it might be time to start thinking about a new project.
Guess when is a great time to start thinking about new projects? That's right, Fall is a great time for that, because NaNoWriMo is right around the corner. I had a brand new idea recently, but it's still just a tiny seed. I'm starting to worry that I don't know how to turn those little seeds into great stories. If I were a plotter, this would be fine. I'd know what to do. But I'm not a plotter. "The stuff" has to come to me naturally. Or at least, that's how it's worked in the past. But what if that magic won't happen anymore? What if I have to sit down and force it out?
When I started my first novel, New Year's Revolution, in 2010, I expected it to be a fluke, and at the time I was totally fine with that. I just wanted to get Ella's story written. Eventually, the idea for City of Secrets came to me, and Pieces soon followed. These three stories have been keeping me pretty busy, so I haven't had time to worry about the idea well going dry. During that time, a number of other ideas have floated in and out of my brain, but none of them have given me that warm-fuzzy "this is it" feeling. Now, Pieces is almost finished and I'm not entirely sure what I'll be doing with the other two, which means it might be time to start thinking about a new project.
Guess when is a great time to start thinking about new projects? That's right, Fall is a great time for that, because NaNoWriMo is right around the corner. I had a brand new idea recently, but it's still just a tiny seed. I'm starting to worry that I don't know how to turn those little seeds into great stories. If I were a plotter, this would be fine. I'd know what to do. But I'm not a plotter. "The stuff" has to come to me naturally. Or at least, that's how it's worked in the past. But what if that magic won't happen anymore? What if I have to sit down and force it out?
What if I have to learn to plot?
Yeah. It's horrifying.
Bright side: I wrote down a few more brainstorms tonight, so I think I might be able to do something with this idea.
It'll be a romance. Say what?
I'm having a hard time believing it myself.
If I'm lucky, I may even have enough of an idea formed to be able to write a crappy draft during November. I really like the idea of "beginning a 1st draft in November for NaNoWriMo" tradition. It worked great for 2015, when I wrote the 1st draft of Pieces. In 2016, I just started the 2nd draft of Pieces and started to write a lot, so it doesn't quite count as a second year of NaNo.
While I'm excited about the idea, I'm wondering if this will always be my fear. Maybe it's a writer thing? If we run out of ideas, what do we have left?
-----------------
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)