Pictures on the Wall

There are walls we find to familiar.

We don't want to be here.

Seats we know and wish we didn't.

Faces and sounds of voices.

We hide in boxes, smile and nod.

They come and go. We see them there.

I hold you. You hold me.

Pictures on the wall.

Memories on our lips.

Cheeks are damp with tears.

Broken, sad, and lonely.

Hurt, pain, and loss.

We need the time.

We need the silence.

We have to feel and not to feel.

Live for cookies,

Hugs and snuggles.

Hold tightly to those we love.

Touch our memories.

See them clearly.

Watch the baby birds at play.

Close your eyes.

Breath and breath again.

Quiet, time, and peace.

When do you say it?

That is the title of the chapter in my book that I read today. (Page After Page) It is about when you start calling yourself a writer. It asks the question of are there certain things you need to do or think you need to do before you start calling yourself a writer.

I found this chapter very interesting. I have been 'writing' stories since I was 12-14 years old. I might have even been younger. But I have some of the things that I wrote during that time. I remember others. But I do not know if they came before or after the ones that I still have.

When I was in high school, instead of just bringing my notebook with my story that I was currently working on, I would address a 'letter' and write the next part of my story in that way. When I got home I would rewrite it in my actually story. I was truly trying to hide the fact that I was writing from my teachers, my classmates, my friends. I wrote at home. But I did not go around telling my parents and brothers much about the stories. They knew I did it. But I did not let them read it.

I took a fiction writing class in college. I thought it was interesting. But did not feel that it helped me to be a writer or really learn much more. I did however have to actually sit in the room with other people who were writing. We each knew that the others were writing. So I suppose that was a good step.

Then after that, I continued to write. But only for myself. And only hidden away. I did not call myself a writer, nor where the things I wrote books or novels. They were just my stories, my ideas.

And really I had never really finished anything. After I had gotten married and had my kids I pulled out one of my stories again. This is the one that I had actually written the most on. It was a story that I actually did know how it ended. I just needed to write the words down. I needed to take the time to finish it. I had been working on it. I had been trying to get the rest of those words down. I had thought that maybe someday I would actually read the book to my kids, or let them read it for themselves. But that was as far as it was going to go.

Then in 2010 I signed up for NaNoWriMo. It wasn't easy. I wanted to quit the second week. I thought my story was awful. I didn't know what was happening in the story. I wanted to start over on a different idea. But I didn't. I did not write anything for about 10 days. I was behind. I did not know if I would be able to finish, even if I could get started again. But I talked to a good friend of mine. I decided then that I was going to write. If it was terrible, if it did not make sense, it did not matter. I never had to show anyone. I never had to do anything with it. I could just delete it and it would be gone.

Then I sat down at the computer and I wrote. My characters started doing things. They did things that I did not expect them to do. I wondered why they would do such things. But I let them do it. And one November 30, I had finished the book. I had written just over 50,000 words in 30 days. And I had actually FINISHED the story. It was done. It ended.

It had been a long time since I had been that excited about anything. I ran out and told my kids. I was happy. I was thrilled. I wanted to dance around the room. I did dance around the room. I laid down on my bed and thought "Wow, I really did it."

But still I did not feel like I could call myself a writer. And my story was not a novel. I was me, and it was just something I had written, one of my stories. Then I worked on it some. I got my free proof copy (one of the prizes for winning NaNoWriMo). And as I held that book, the book that had my name as author, written by I had tears in my eyes. And I danced around the room again. I was a little girl. I had to show my kids my book, my title, my name...and the pictures inside that they had drawn for me.

They were excited with me. I think that some part of me on those two days felt like it might be real. Maybe I was actually a writer. Maybe I wrote novels. I still feel wrong calling myself, author, writer, novelist. I feel wrong calling my stories, books or novels. But some part of me believes it.

When I am brave enough to let someone read my words, and they finish and they tell me or don't tell me that I suck, I start to believe that it is real or at least could be. I am getting braver every day. I give my stories to more and more people. I actually ask if they want to read it for me. I have now read all three of my 'books' to my kids. I have even read my unfinished story of Beria to them. I hear the words as I say them. I listen to their questions. I see their smiles and expressions as they figure something out. I hear them laugh. My words might be real. I am still afraid to believe it. I am not sure I am brave enough to try to do anything more. But we will have to see. Some part of me wants to know if it is real.

So today, February 8, 2012 I am going to shout to myself here on my blog and say.... "I am a writer! I write books! I write novels!" And maybe someday, when someone asks me what I do, I will tell them this as well. Only time will tell.

Exercise 43

Lisa's art history: I am supposed to write about my art history. I think this is just not to be a topic for writing. But it is to show me that something that I thought I could do as a child is not something I thought I was good at as an adult. But strangely after writing this I found it to be the opposite. This might be because I have began to believe that I can do or be what I want. I have just not be sure what that was to be. Or maybe I have been afraid of what that might be. But here we go. This is what I wrote for Exercise 43:

I don't really remember much of an art life when I was very young. I do remember coloring. There were a couple of coloring books that I must have taken to kindergarten with me. I have pictures that were colored and signed by one of my classmates. The other page was done by me. We shared the book as we colored.

Then I do remember making a great many Christmas decorations with my Mom over the years.

I also remember doing some art projects in school. I know or felt like mine were never very good. I have one picture of a horse that I drew while I was in the big room. It is the only thing I felt like I had drawn well.

There were many times through high school and college that I would sit somewhere and wish that I could draw If I was ever brave enough to actually put paper and pencil together I would see and know how terrible it was.

Then after my kids were born I would color and draw with them. I watched as my husband drew things I thought were amazing. I saw the growth in my children's drawing. And I continued to wish that I could draw.

Then last year after I had been living back at my parents' house with my kids, I had decided to try and draw one of my favorite anime characters. It did not suck. When my kids saw it they knew who it was. They thought it was good.

I knew it was the best thing I had ever drawn. So I tried another. Again it was not terrible. I was hooked. So I bought myself a little drawing notebook. (It is just a little book. Now I wonder if I chose a little one so that I could hide it away if I needed. A big drawing book would be there in the open for all to have seen it. Hmm. Or if I drew little pictures I thought they might not look as bad as if I drew large ones. I will have to think about this just a bit more.) I drew several different pictures. I haven't spent a lot of time drawing in the last few months. But I know that I can do it, at least it isn't terrible.

Books/Movies

Today I was continuing to listen to the audio book of Stardust. Now I have not read this book before. But Stardust, the movie, is one of my all-time favorite movies. I have watched it several times.

I like to listen to audio books while driving in the car. I find this a great time to do this. I do not do all that much driving so sometimes I have to listen in other places as well. But a couple of weeks ago, the kids had a basketball tournament so we would be having at least an hour and half drive in the car. I took this as a great time to start listening to this book. (The kids also seem to enjoy listening to some of the books that I have picked for our car rides.) I did not tell the kids what book we were listening to. I was sure that they would be able to guess what it was as they had already seen the movie as well.

I was able to tell, just in the first few lines of the story. It was clearly Stardust. But it wasn't until much later that they kids were about to tell what book we were listening to. It was somewhere in the 3rd or 4th chapter. I guess they did not pay as much attention to the movie as I did. ;)

As always there were differences in the book. There were things that they had changed or left out when they made the movie. But it wasn't until today that I really started to wonder about the whole thing. So many of the 'exciting' scenes from the movie were not in the book at all. It was as if they thought wow this book really needs a battle scene. Or there just isn't enough conflict here to keep people's attention.

I have so far really enjoyed the book. I am coming close to the end of the story. And I am beginning to wonder if the final conflict from the movie is even going to be in the book. This is all so strange to me. I think that the book would have made an excellent movie. I do not think that all of that craziness would have been needed. I wonder at the movie-makers and their lack of confidence in the public's ability to watch and enjoy what was clearly a good book. Do we really need battles, conflict, death, bombs and destruction? There was some of this in the book, but really why all of the changes?

Exercise 20

Page After Page

by Heather Sellers

Okay, so I am one of those people who reads the book and tries to do the exercises in my head.

Exercise 20

Writing Fears

Fear 1: If I write it down it is real. Someone else could see it. Even I could see it again.

2: Lists scare me - things to do, things to work on, needs to get better

3: Might also be #1, I might suck. If I do it in my head it is always good. I never mispell something or use bad punctuation. I am a writer. But then I am not writing just imagining.

4: Someone might read it.

5: Someone might find out something about me.

6: Writer's are not invisible. People see them. Their names are on actual books, in stores, in libraries.

7: What if I can't do it?

8: What if I do suck and someone tells me that I do?

9: What if I can't finish it?

10: What if I find out I really want to be a writer and then I can't?

11: What if I can't think of anything else to write?

12: What if I am just re-writing something I read?

13: I haven't done anything.

14: I haven't been anywhere.

15: I don't now anything.

16: What should anyone want to read anything I wrote - I don't matter.

17: I can't even come up with 25 things here.

18: How can I finish anything?

19: I don't know how to edit.

20: Can I even publish anything?

21: I might actually have to talk to someone I don't know and trust.

22: They might tell me to do something about my writing I don't want to change - Will I give in to them to get published?

23: I can't do it.

24: I won't do it.

25: I am afraid to really try.

Day 4

This is the fourth day of my personal NaNoWriMo. So far it is going pretty good. I have been able to stay ahead on my word count. It doesn't even feel much like I am working at keeping it up. We will have to see if I can make it through. Along with writing, I have been doing a lot of reading and research for this project. I have been enjoying it.

Old Memories

The idea for the story I have started working on was in this little red notebook. It actually took me two days to find this little red notebook. That is something that can really drive me crazy. I hate knowing that something is there, but not being able to find it. Well, after I found the notebook I read over the idea. And decided that is what I wanted. I also started taking notes in the back of the little red notebook.

But that is not all that is written in this little red notebook. I had many years ago, (and this will tell you when I first had the idea for the story) written little memories down about the kids. I wrote about my Grandpa. I wrote about all sorts of things that I had been thinking. The first thing that is dated is a memory about my Grandpa. It was May 20, 2000. This would have been just a few days after he had died. But this was not the first thing that I wrote in the notebook. It is written somewhere in the middle. The first thing I wrote was the Alys story idea.

There are several sections in the book. One section for the story, one section for things about Zeb, one section for Ella, one section for Melinda, one section for Grandpa and other old memories. There is a section that is just memories about more than one of the kids. There is even a section about Jonathan; these are stories about his childhood that I was told.

An interesting thing about this book is that yesterday while just sitting here with the kids, I opened up the notebook and read something about baby Zeb. The kids were so interested that I read several more things about Zeb before I moved on to Ella and then to Melinda. We spent a good deal of time reading and talking about when they were little. It made me really happy that I had written all of that down in my little red notebook. It gives me a good reason to write in my notebook or on my blog about the kids, even if I am ever the only one who reads it. :D