BraveWrite, Week 4

September 26th

He sits across from his therapist as she checks off #boxes in her mind. She scribbles notes down from his answers and he bites his lip from asking. He’s new to this. His leg bounces, up and down, anxious for answers. Anxious to be told it’s not in his head.

 

September 27th

The wind kisses the leaves with a playful breeze and dances with fading flowers. Insects buzz in swirls around his ears. Rough bark reaches for skin through thick sweaters but he welcomes its affirming touch. He #listens to nature, sat upon its packed dirt.

 

September 28th

She talked to herself through every task. Rambled and raved. No audience required for the #insane mutterings she came across. She told stories in whispers and shouts. She told stories of the sad and mad. It kept her amused. They called her crazy, but she knew where her marbles were.

 

September 29th

She held the leash loosely in her right hand as her dog marched forward, nose to the ground. Their feet and paws crunched on the #crisp leaves felled by Autumn’s breeze. Her eyes were vigilant for any threats to her dog and thankfully her dog listened when needed.

 

September 30th

The #epoch of her life had been the four years in university. She sat in the back, hiding her mind from classmates and professors. She toyed around on her laptop, unable to focus. Anxiety thrummed in her heartbeat, coaxing her into depressive and manic episodes.

 

October 1st

She stands out like a sore thumb covered in scars, tattoos, and piercings. Surrounded by girls in booty shorts and crop tops, she flashes her middle finger at the cookie cutters. She’s #contrarian and bucks the social norm. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

 

October 2nd

She was without an #anchor in the storm. The ropes that tied her to the docks had long since frayed, rubbed repeatedly between boat and wood. She nose dived under a large wave, its waters threatening to fill her. Alone in the harbour, she wondered how long she’d last.

 

Tools of the Trade

Sorry for not posting anything yesterday, but I had a brainstorm session about the feedback I’d received for my book. It was awesomely fun, and I feel really good about the changes I’ve decided to make (thanks to amazing individuals with great feedback)!

As much as I want to start on them today, I want to stew on them over the weekend (plus when Andrew’s home, I’m often not as productive as I’d like). I also want to retrieve a bound copy of my manuscript my father did for me. It should help immensely for referencing instead of pinpointing sections on the computer.

I still plan on posting something daily while I go back to work on my book though forgive me if I miss a day here and there. The list of things I’m incharge of at our house has yet to shrink or shift to another’s shoulders (though I do enjoy it), and so certain things may drop every now and then.

Anyways to the point of my post!

Tools.of.the.Trade.jpg

The picture above are the things I use most frequently when writing my book!

A dictionary and a thesaurus are a must. I use the dictionary to make sure I am using words correctly (I have an awful memory on occasion). The thesaurus helps me change up words if/when I feel I am using the same one too much.

The green book holds ideas for my manuscript, and I write other novel ideas I have in there. One project at a time or I get overwhelmed!

The fox pen adds things to the green book (I love foxes and wolves, stereotypically!), and makes me relax at the sight of it.

The most important component though is my USB drive on an Eevee lanyard (yes, love Pokemon, play Pokemon Go!). I back up EVERYTHING onto it. My character details, plot, and of course, the chapters written first.

I do have a corkboard that has printed copies for me to reference as I write, and I have to find a new spot for it since I have upgraded from my crappy ASUS laptop to an actual desktop. (Andrew knows some IT stuff, and so it is a beaut!)

I am looking forward to imploying all these tools again, and revisiting characters I have shelved for longer than liked.

Wish me luck!

 

An artist is a sort of emotional or spiritual historian. His role is to make you realize the doom and glory of knowing who are and what you are. ~ James Baldwin