Writing

Opinions, Please

I have to ask this of my followers, because I stand unsure of it myself. There are plenty of books and poems out there that deal with sensitive topics. Is there a line we don’t cross when ti comes to this? (This is my trigger warning for this post.)

The reason I ask is, I found a prompt about writing your final thoughts as you fall to your inevitable doom. This prompted me to write about suicide. It is dark and taboo thing to some people, if ’13 Reasons Why’ is any indication.

On Prose, I shared the poem with a trigger warning at the top. As someone who struggles with suicidal thoughts as a result of mental illnesses, I recognize the need for that trigger warning. Most of the time, I am fine to read or watch about such things, but if I am down, it is a recipe for disaster.

So I guess my real question is, how do you decide to share something like that? Should it offer something to somebody?

I feel my poem might offer some insight into how someone thinking about suicide might feel, but I don’t want to trigger anybody either.

Here it is, below. I really am curious as to how people feel writing about these kind of things.

One Regret

 
The wind chilled her to the bone
A welcome hug inviting her to Death.
 
Jumping had seemed the only solution
Nothing else worth living for, left.
 
Images of familiar faces shined in her mind
There were no tears in their eyes.
 
Her body crumpled on the ground
Would hardly draw a single cry.
 
Only one regret lay in her heart
And her body hit the stones.

Traitor

I have betrayed myself

Again.

Forsaken my goals

Again.

Keep writing, my heart whispers

Onward, evermore.

Achieve the dream of your soul

Onward, evermore.

 

Yet doubt like vines grasp my mind

Crippling will.

Holds my fingers still on the keyboard

Crippling will.

 

The light comes out another day

I will wait.

Fights my darkness from all sides

I will wait.

A New Project For Me

Writing has always been a passion of mine. It may have been forgotten for spans of time, but I have enjoyed it since I was a child. While it is a hard thing to do, you can only improve, right?

So, in an attempt to improve my craft, I am going to start tweeting a #vss365 every day.

For those of you not sure what that means, vss stands for Very Short Story (the length of a tweet) and 365 means to do every day in a year. I am sure there will be times when I am unable to complete the task, but I am making the attempt.

But, instead of inundating my followers and readers everyday with a new one, I am going to post them once a week. They will be dated and I will leave the prompt word with # to indicate it.

Since Wednesday is an odd date to start, I am going to share today’s attempt (and my first). Afterwards, I hope to do it every Monday.

Here’s today’s:

The covered the coarseness of the room, calming it into a beauty, but she could only hate it. It is a mask, a facade, she thought as her eyes longed for the rugged stone and rough wood beneath it. “Why must we hide the beauty of truth?”

 

Twitter: @KEMwriting

Instagram: kemfromhome

 

You Never Did

[I know, I know. Another poem, but I wrote it in response to a prompt. To keep me writing. It is about love once again, but who doesn’t enjoy a sappy or heartbreaking story? Enjoy!]
Remember that morning?
We woke up side by side
Our hands entwined
I stared at you in awe
Wondering, breathlessly,
How such a sight
Handsome, rugged
Yet gentle
Could grace my gaze.
 
Remember that morning?
It seems a lifetime ago
The sun rose, waking our garden,
Lighting the world
With its radiance
And we watched from our deck
Or you did at least
While I thought up the ways
I loved you.
 
Remember that morning?
You wore a brave face
Smiled though you avoided me
Assuming the motions of our life
And then you dropped it
Shattering it into minuscule shards
Your words the ragged glass
That wounded me.
You left me an empty shell.
 
But it’s okay
You don’t have to love me.
I know you never did.

Reading: All I’m Doing Today

Since I’ve finished my book for the moment, I’m taking the day ‘off’, and going to read. I haven’t done much reading and it is definitely essential if you want to write. So… I need to catch up on it.

Honestly, I might take a break or two from reading and knit or draw. Perhaps find an interesting writing prompt and attempt a short story. Who knows?

What I do know is, my book is on pause before I reread it and check the new details/sections/etc that I added. Better to do that when it isn’t so fresh in the mind. (Damn autocorrect in our brains!) Reading someone else’s work should help me get my own story out of my mind for when I need to check it again, too.

The background noise will be rotation of almost pure silence, a black cat frequently meowing, and snoring, dreaming dogs. Perhaps some music at points, too!

That”s all for today! Hope you guys are running towards your goals and achieving them too!

A writer is a reader who is moved to emulation. ~ Saul Bellow

 

Finding, Removing, Replacing Words

It is a daunting task to be complete master over your work. Both its creator and editor and in some ways, its ultimate judge. We are our worst critics and this goes to whatever we produce.

The trick? Don’t feed that voice too much, because it will keep you frozen and you won’t move forward. It makes you think avoiding doing anything is the best choice and to follow the herd instead of yourself.

But tell the mother *&%$&* to shut up! Do what you need to do. At the end of the day, there is always that process of editing, erasing, replacing words, lines, colours. If it isn’t quite right, because YOU think so, you can fix that (or recruit someone to help if needs be).

It’s tedious, but I like finding, removing, and replacing words in my book. It adds, it changes, it evolves as a result of this process. The same way a painter, a sketcher, or a knitter build in layers, so too must a writer.

First, it starts with creation. Get it on a page, good or bad. It may feel like shit at points, but it is better to work with something than nothing. Kind of like trying to make a baked potato, but without heat. You get it on a page and then you apply heat to cook in the form of editing, revising, rereading (out loud to test flow). You get feedback and you use it grow your book, mold it into the final product.

And today that is what I have been doing (despite a late start and seemingly complete disregard for my self-created schedule). I am apply some more heat to my book by finding new words (creating new details, sentences, etc), and removing words that don’t work or do what I need them to do. The words I remove are sometimes replaced which I have a lot of fun with (just don’t try and brainstorm with me or I’ll lose the thread!).

I have only gotten two chapters done in this stage of cooking today, but I’m hoping to get five more done before I gotta make dinner and do laundry (the fun stuff, right?). I had to add some content, because of one of the changes and I enjoyed it.

Got my tunes going, my bottle of water in reach, and fingers not yet tired from scrolling/typing!

Hope today is full of productivity (if you want it to be)!

 

I don’t sit there waiting for that perfect, beautiful sentence, because I know I’m going to sit there forever. So, as I tell students -start out by tripping, why don’t you? Then get up and fall over again. Just as long as you go. ~ Kathryn Harrison

 

P.S. New song find of the day on Spotify for me:

Down by the Water by Amy Macdonald

Argument, Writing, Revising

3, 062 words I have written today! Super happy about that, I must admit! However… I am only kinda following my writing schedule so far. There was a good chance it would have to adapt, and maybe that is all it is, but wrinkles were thrown into my plans despite my hopes.

To start with, last night I had an argument with my husband that left me emotionally drained. I hate feeling I have failed someone, one way or the other, and I am disappointing him AND myself. We both want kids, a better house, but it is tough to do when he is the only one bringing money in.

It was selfish of me to quit my job and start writing (which I was reminded is almost two years ago). It is a dream though, and sometimes… we answer them in less than opportune ways. That being said, we aren’t struggling financially, we’re doing fine (mostly), but we aren’t able to put money into this house to fix it up. That makes it difficult to move. It also makes it difficult to even plan on having a child. Both are goals for us and I feel like I’m not doing my part.

However this was the fire I needed under my ass. I have been avoiding working on my book, because I am afraid to fail. I am afraid it won’t go anywhere whether it is published traditional or I do it myself (tips on self publishing are welcome). I am afraid I made a super selfish decision that is hurting someone other than me for a dream that might never happen.

You can want a dream all you want, but it requires time and effort… along with some luck. I haven’t been putting in the time or effort, because pausing is easier than full steam ahead into failure.

But this argument is pushing me to get it done, because I need it to be done and out there just as much as my husband does. It may not bring in any money, but I put something I created out there and that matters, too. Right? I guess we’ll see.

Anyways, back to my writing schedule. I woke up at 4 am  which is step one. Buuuttttt…. it was to find my husband asleep in the office where I work. He has sleep apnea, doesn’t use his machine, so I felt bad waking him up. I fooled around for the next hour before he got up and I helped him get ready a lunch for work.

I didn’t feed the dogs like I should have until after, but I did eat, followed my morning routine, and played my apps on my cellphone (lame, I know). It was about 5:30am when husband left, but I didn’t feel I had time to exercise so I went right to writing and skipped the hour and a half I was supposed to read (whoops).

After that I ended up having lunch earlier than planned since my breakfast was small and I didn’t have a snack. I am at least in the section of the day where I am writing and blogging (from 10 am to noon as scheduled).

As much as I should read next, I probably won’t, because I am playing catch-up on my book which I had hoped to finish months ago. I don’t have a good excuse. I suck. I know, but I’m working on it now. That should count, right?

I initially had it written in that 1:50pm to 2:30pm would be relax with Andrew by watching an episode of something, but he has a doctor’s appointment. I’m hoping to get even more writing/editing/revising/etc done before then.

Hell, I’ll probably try to keep working while he watches whatever. That is how motivated I feel, but I know that spells burnout or an episode of hypo-mania. We’ll see how the evening plays out.

Tomorrow I am hoping to follow my writing schedule much more literally, but at least it looks like it could work for me… after some potential time management shifts.

Oh and here’s a quote to hopeful inspire, motivate, or move you to chase that dream of writing!

 

A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit. ~ Richard Bach

 

P.S. Seriously. I welcome any tips concerning getting published be it traditional or self. Links, input, advice. I live for it!

Prologue/Chapter One (?)

[My book is Titleless right now and still needs a loving hand on its way to completion, but I figured I would share my prologue or chapter one. I’m not sure which it will be at the end of the day, but if you enjoy it, please comment or like! Also, if you have suggestions for it, share those too! Anyways, here it is!]

[P.S. A bit of a trigger warning, because it does contain some physical abuse.]

 

She felt the burning touch of his fingers on her wrist seconds before he yanked her from the chair with startling force, and threw her to the ground. You think I would have learned by now, she thought bitterly, and tried to still the fear growing within her. Knowing the man had vanished from the room, she rose to her feet, avoiding the tired eyes of the woman who always watched from a distance.

The man’s steps shook the floor beneath her bare feet, and she surged into action before he returned. She left the dining room through the living room, and sought safety in the quiet walls of her bedroom. Slamming the door shut behind her, she braced her body against it, and she listened to the raised voices, shattering the reflective silence.

“Please, Knotley,” the woman’s voiced begged between shaky breaths, “The doctor will punish us if he finds out!”

Tears slid down her pale cheeks at the sound of the woman pleading on her behalf, and fought the urge to reveal herself, to defend this other female who had tried.

“The girl was useless to him, and now I am stuck with her,” Knotley yelled, every word a testament to his rage, “Get out of the way, Lynx!”

“But–”

Before she could think, she whipped the door open to a loud slap ringing through the air, and rushed forward, throwing her body in between Knotley and Lynx. His strong fist dropped her to her knees, and she let her long, red hair cover her face, hiding her terror. Why? She wondered again, and Knotley’s booted foot knocked her flat on her stomach.

“I’m sorry–”

Her apology was halted by searing pain racing across her back. Rolling to her side, she stared at Knotley in disbelief, his right hand holding an iron poker from the fireplace. Scrambling onto her hands and knees she tried to run, but the cool metal bit into her flesh, pinning her to the spot.

Over and over, the tool landed on her back, and sent wave after wave of new agony through her. The scream gathering in the back of her throat threatened to tear its way out, but she refused to give in. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, the metallic taste of her blood kept her focused, and determined during Knotley’s brutal attack.

Darkness worked to claim her, but she was pulled roughly to her feet, and Knotley’s raging eyes filled her gaze. He smells awful, she thought, watching beads of sweat drip down from his brow. The fright consuming her suddenly fell away, and a small smile graced her lips before he smacked her.

Knotley’s left hand quickly grabbed a fistful of her hair, and jerked her head back sharply. Her angst swallowed her whole, leaving her paralyzed in his grip. Chancing a glance at him, she saw his teeth gleam wickedly through his self-satisfied smile.

“There are those violet eyes, full of fear,” Knotley’s voice was sinister, sending shivers down her spine, “The only thing I like about you, Vivian.”

Vivian remained silent, shutting her eyes tightly in rebellion.

“LOOK AT ME!”

The shout shocked Vivian into alertness, and she unwillingly stared at the horrifying visage of Knotley. I wish I was stronger, she brooded in misery, I wish I was faster. Then I wouldn’t be a glorified punching bag. Finding a small ember of anger inside, Vivian tried to fan it into flame, hoping it could free her.

“Don’t even think it,” Knotley spoke with venom, and shook Vivian violently by her hair, “You can’t hide what you feel with eyes like yours! Now, get out of my sight before I really begin to hurt you!”

Vivian flew out of Knotley’s grasp once his hand released its painful grip, and sent her towards her room. Ignoring Lynx who had stood quietly by once again, Vivian stumbled into her bedroom, and shut the door behind her. The adrenaline faded from her to reawaken the dull throb in her back, and it began to torment her with a vengeance.

Staggered steps brought Vivian forward to the simply made bed, and she gingerly crawled on to it. She failed to stifle the sobs shaking her, and endured the suffering with a depleted sense of dignity. Praying she would not roll on to her back, she welcomed the sanity sleep brought, and embraced the numb relief it gave her.

 

In the middle of the night, the faint creak of her door roused Vivian, and her eyes found Lynx in the soft lighting, carrying a familiar toolkit. Still, she gasped in shock when the woman began rolling the back of her shirt up to expose the tender flesh. Just leave it, she wished quietly, but Lynx’s hands started roaming, wiping in certain spots.

There was a small reprieve before a sudden stinging caused Vivian to tense, and she bit into her clenched fist to avoid crying out. She could not see exactly what Lynx was doing yet trusted her after the many times she had tended to her. Is that… blood? She mused when she caught sight of the cloth.

I know I don’t have to say this anymore, Lynx’s thoughts penetrated her mind, but I hope you avoid his wrath these next few days with the new injuries.

It was not the first time she had heard such things from Lynx, but still, Vivian scoffed at them. Like it matters what I do, she brooded hopelessly. Knotley will always find a reason to hurt me… Like my fear.

Ignoring the lecture though it silently continued, Vivian’s mind wandered from the constant touch of Lynx’s hands applying bandages to the series of long wounds across her back. At least they are not deep, she admitted, knowing she would have felt the stitches if they had been needed. Once Lynx was done with her, Vivian gave a curt nod in appreciation, and dismissed the woman from her mind.

You could tell the doctor, you know, Vivian raged with a sudden intensity, but that would mean you actually cared, wouldn’t it?

Letting the anger fade away, Vivian tried to will herself back to sleep, but her eyes flew open at the man’s thoughts from the other room. No… They can’t… Embridge wouldn’t… she stumbled to find the words. Continuing to listen in, she crawled out of bed, and stumbled to her dresser. Rummaging through the small assortment of clothes, Vivian removed her current attire in pained carefulness, and pulled on the sturdier outfit.

That settles it, Vivian determined and a heavy calm filled her. It’s time for me to leave.

Facing the window, Vivian shook her head at the bars covering it, but began to open the glass barrier. She lifted herself gracefully onto the window sill, and dangled her legs between the thick yet widely spaced bars. Twisting, she used her hands to support her weight, lowering her body carefully through the obstacle.

As the cool metal grazed Vivian’s back, she gasped at its suddenness, dropping the few feet to the ground in a harsh thud. Remaining still on the ground, she saw the lights flicker on in Knotley’s room, and his face appeared in the window. Despite the pain, she rose to her feet, making her way away from the house, and his battle cry filled the silence behind her.

Urged on by the fact Knotley was coming for her, Vivian forced her aching body into a run, and darted through the sparse woods on the one side of the house. I have to get away, she chanted repeatedly to herself. Daring a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Knotley’s form sprinting towards her, his one hand holding a long barrelled gun.

Slowed by her wounds, Knotley caught up quickly, tackling her to the ground, and Vivian screamed at the agony it renewed in her back. Before she could react, his hands were tight on her throat, taking away her ability to breath.

Clawing at Knotley’s arms, Vivian struggled against his cruel grip with futile effort. No, no, no, she whispered to herself. He can’t kill me! Darkness had started to cloud her vision, and in a fit of swift anger, she lashed out with a closed fist, aiming for his face.

Vivian was freed from Knotley’s grip, and gasped for air before she pushed herself to her feet. Unable to look at him, she took off in a random direction, wishing for speed. The fight-or-flight instinct had numbed her, and she took advantage of it to put distance between her and her abusers.

I have to be fast, Vivian thought, and twisted through the various trees with graceful ease. Even when the energy started to fade from her limbs, she continued forward despite her blurred vision. The branches seemed to reach for her, and cut through her clothing to scratch at her skin.

Afraid to stop, Vivian ran on, ignoring the moon’s call for her to sleep. I can’t… Not yet… she mumbled in her mind, focused on the escape.

On the third day, the distance Vivian had built allowed her to slow her pace, and she tried to enjoy the new forest she had come upon though guilt found its way to her heart. I am sorry, Ravenna, she thought, tears gathered in her eyes, but I will come back for you. I promise. With the fatigue resurfacing, she came to a stop, and glanced through the forest’s canopy, a raindrop running down her cheek.

A sudden grumble tore through Vivian’s abdomen, her stomach calling for food. Shelter and food, she planned, and the rain turned into a heavy down pour in response. Drenched within seconds, she took in her surroundings, hoping to spot edible plants and some sort of cover.

“Hey! What are you doing on my property?!”

With wild eyes, Vivian sought out the voice calling to her, and found an imposing form not far from her. How did Knotley catch up to me?! She yelled inside, and how did I become so distracted I didn’t hear him? The need to flee drove her into a run, and she raced away from the man only to trip in the mud a moment later.

Unable to catch her balance, Vivian braced herself for impact, throwing her arms in front of her face, and collided with a thick tree. What the… she barely managed to think at the sound of the loud snap, and continued to fall forward. The tree came to a harsh stop, and she landed on its rough bark before rolling off to hit her head on a dull rock.

Vivian felt light and weightless all of a sudden, and the brief moment of comfort vanished, the throbbing from her back bringing her fully awake. Her eyes opened with sharp intent, focusing quickly on the soft brown eyes of the man who now carried her in jarring steps.

“Are you alright?” the man questioned, his voice tinged in honest concern.

It’s not Knotley, Vivian thought with relief, and abruptly passed out.

Here’s The Honest Truth

Advice. Feedback. Input.

Those are three things I am in need of today (and every day, if we’re honest). I started this blog December 4th 2018. Not so long ago, right? As it stands I have 54 followers (thank you very much by the way!) and have been going through a long dry spell of views.

I try to be honest to myself and post what I’m thinking, feeling, or wanting to do that day. It seemed like the best approach, but I’m stuck. While this has kept me writing something every day, it doesn’t seem to be pushing me on my book (though I am doing more with it than I was).

This comes down to my own personal drive, I know that. However I don’t know how to fix it. I see words or phrases like “Writing Schedule” and “SEO” and such…. And I’m lost on it. I don’t know where to find information on it (Google is not my friend, it seems). So I turn to you guys, my readers and followers for advice, feedback, input.

I’d love to see more comments on my posts telling me that it is what they want to read or pointing out issues or asking questions. To see this, I should start doing the same to the posts I try and read every day.

Also, I want to know what you guys want to see on my blog so that I am able to work on it. I love writing poems, attempting drawings, showing knitted projects (which I haven’t done in a while), and sharing my family struggles (or day to day ones).

I’m human and as such, I’m reaching out for a hand. How do you create a writing schedule? Where did you learn the whole SEO thing(s)? I don’t want to drown at this. I want it to work, and I’m sure we’ve all had these moments (be it days, weeks, months long).

I thank you all in advance for reading this and hopefully throwing a life line to a sinking swimmer!

 

Strawberry-Banana Smoothie = Easy

I have been making Strawberry-Banana Smoothies for the past couple days in a bid to add more fruit to my diet. They taste delicious and they definitely are satisfying. Plus it is an easy way to eat and write at the same time! So here is how I make mine!

-4 to 5 strawberries, frozen

-1/4 cup water

-1 whole banana, peeled

-1 1/2 tbsps greek yogurt

-a dash of cinnamon

 

Now I use a magic bullet and this makes about one serving. If you use an actual blender or whatever, play around with the measurements to find the perfect blend for you!

  1. I rinse the strawberries under hot water to remove any ice and to thaw them just a bit.
  2. Strawberries and water get blended together until smooth.
  3. Next, add the banana and greek yogurt. Blend again until smooth.
  4. Add a dash of cinnamon (or whatever amount you prefer) [optional step]

It will be nice and cold for you and ready to drink. It is the only way (aside from cake) that I will eat bananas since they have a funny texture. The potassium supposed to help my sore muscles and seems to have done so already.

My ‘secret’ ingredient, the cinnamon, is supposed to be good for boosting metabolism, and I don’t mind a hand in that department! (Don’t add to everything though, because it does ruin a good chicken burger!).

Anyways, I’m off to do my yoga and write more for my book! A late start doesn’t mean a day is ruined, after all!