Fingers Crossed…

e5abb3877ae2aba9fd72d0d298370b10…I can write this weekend. I’m editing/creating my new story, “Searching For Sarah”. Have you ever, well I don’t guess you have if you’re not a writer, but have you ever gotten to a point where the train you’re riding (book you’re writing ) seems to be riding parallel to the tracks that have been laid…over there, about four feet from where you’re soaring 70 miles per hour? That could be true in life, I guess. You could have very well envisioned your life moving in a different direction and over time, it’s veered. Ever so slightly so maybe you didn’t notice…..Until you felt the bumps, noticed it wasn’t as smooth, or the tree line is coming a little bit closer than a month ago.

Well that’s how my story felt like it was going. A bit off track. I was busy writing along, and all of a sudden, I look around and go, “say what? what am I doing here? what happened? what am I talking about?” Yep, it was that bad. So I had to retrace my steps, figure out what I was trying to say, actually draw a map on a white board. “You are here, and you want to be there.” (page 1 and page 300 respectively). Tangents are the death of anything. Books, people talking, books, people talking…. You, as the reader or listener, tend to doze off, meander in your head of a million things you could be doing while said tangent is taking place.

As much as I hate to admit, I’ve had to map this particular book. It’s taken more time, but hopefully I’ll hold the interest of the reader. I’m beginning to feel the tracks, and I’m seeing a glimpse of the train station. Nothing feels better in the creative process.

For all non-writers, and blog readers…I appreciate the opportunity to write this off my chest! Have a great weekend. ūüôā


Writing Pieces Of Me

henriette-browne-young-girl-writing-at-her-desk-with-birdsI’ve been thinking lately about how much I write myself into my stories. I had one person comment that all writers write about themselves. As if it was more of a self indulgent feather in the cap to the writer, rather than a¬†genuine observation made by himself. I quickly denied the notion, believing that I fully make believe every word I write down. But, the truth of the matter is, I AM writing pieces of myself. Not for the purpose of feathers, but because it comes natural.

I noticed yesterday when I posted about how easy it was to write my book¬†dealing with¬†the girl with commitment issues that I had more instances that I’ve¬†infused myself into the¬†storylines. Things that are totally me. Nothing major, but little trickles of what I like to eat, what I wear, what I don’t like to see. It’s almost a game of “Where’s Waldo?”, but instead, “Where’s Julie?” ¬†I can recollect which book I write about things that concern the real me. It’s sort of fun:)

I was driving somewhere today and noticed all the daffodils blooming alongside the road and it brought a smile to my face. Daffodils are one of my favorite flowers. They are the first sign that spring is on the way. My mother always decorates my birthday cake with the yellow spring flowers. So, when I was writing my YA novel about a young girl who’d just lost her grandmother to a heart attack, she turned to her boyfriend and told him to always remember to have daffodils put on her birthday cake.

My debut novel, “Waking Amy”, is about a girl who always dresses “comfortable”. That’s code word for boring. That’s also how my best friend describes my preference of dress. So, it was easy to describe her wardrobe:) But, Amy¬†spends her time trying to modify herself in order to improve her marriage. (Not a similarity in my life:) At least I hope my beau doesn’t find my attire divorce-worthy. Hmm… I’ll have to check into a few new spring dresses!

Anyway, it’s interesting to go back and find the similarities that I write into my characters that are, in fact, pieces of me. I never really noticed it before. They say, “write what you know.” I suppose that’s just what I was doing!