Time to Write Your Own Reality Check, Dear Storyteller.

13 Feb

Following someone else “Writing-Routine” isn’t going to magically fill the gaps in the story or book you’re writing.

Your experiences is what color your novel, and there’s a guarantee that no one in the world will understand your story better than you.

The answers to your problems, why it might seem unbearable to write because your writer’s block is so horrible, is in yourself.

You know what you’re going through.

If you’re anything like me, you’re great at giving other people advice. Your passion seems to be catching, and you have the habit of accidentally inspiring friends to take action while you’re talking of your own dreams. You seem to be able to inspire them, that it seems they are ruthlessly pursuing their passions. You seem to be able to talk down their dreams, to earth, to the possible plane.

You start to wonder, if you’re able to inspire people so well, to solve their own problems of self-esteem, or their “can’t-do-attitudes” why the hell are you so listless? Why are you so little motivated to move the mountains required to conquer your own dreams?

It’s you.

It’s your problem. Maybe it’s a fear of success, maybe it’s the fear or rejection, maybe it’s not fear at all, but your own complacency of failure. Instead of psychoanalyzing the people around you, seeing into their souls to see their problems… maybe it’s time for a little self-reflection.

After all, you’re the only person in the world who you can be sure is actually being honest with you, which makes great character fodder.

Look to yourself, Find out your fears, your creative blocks, and what you believe you can actually achieve and move from there.

As a writer, as a creator of worlds, you literally can shape mountains if you so please, so why in the hell are you not writing? Why in the hell can’t you finish that book? Why in the hell are you worrying so much about what happens after the book is completed rather than writing the book.

You’re a dreamer, all good storytellers are… I’m not saying deny your nature. Harvest it. If you can dream of the rewards of being an wonderfully illustrious writer… you can certainly dream up a book, with conflict, character motivation, and either a resolution or new beginning for an end.

You became, or decided you were a writer for a reason.

Maybe it was because you always enjoyed reading or being told stories as a little kid… maybe you found the nature of self-reflection calming. Maybe you wrote because you had to. It was a way to escape your little reality, and now you want to share it with the world.

Whatever your original reason was, you’ve certainly forgotten it. If you’re still looking at “successful” writers to solve your problems.

Figure it out, the you that you were, is most certainly apart of the you that you are now. The you that is having problems finding the passion, most certainly can take a page out of the book of the former you that wrote for hours, tirelessly.

Introduce the Passionate You, and the slightly-bitter-having-problems-finding-that-fire You, and let them affect each other. Let the one with their boots planted firm into the ground, reach and connect with the one in the clouds, and together allow them to make your story, the reason why you started writing, the story that you have been born to tell, rain down upon the world.

It’s that simple.

You’ve lost passion, right? Find it. You’re lost in your own story? Give yourself directions. You’re having problems with ending your story? End it, all good things come to an end, and I guarantee, that your story that’s changed you over the course of writing is good enough. Some things aren’t meant to be resolved and that’s the nature of the beast. Put a bandaid over it, and carry on.

Confession: I desperately want to act.

27 Jan Sunrise silhoutte

Shortly after in 3rd grade I was told that I was not going to be in the gifted program, because I talked too much. I was told that in the program, you could do whatever you wanted to, and got a zillion field trips… it broke my heart.

That moment became something that defined me, that has shaped my life in so many ways.

That’s when I became shy. I was afraid of talking too much. I was afraid that my mouth would screw me over, to the point, of no-return.

I guess that would make it, my first, real, original fear.

You see, I’ve always been fearless. Before I could properly walk, my Dad tells me, I was climbing and subsequently swinging from the cupboards in our kitchen. At 4 years old, I broke my neck, and heights… sort of became a problem. But I could deal, I just got a little vertigo, and then, I’d cope. Didn’t stop me from jumping off of our roof all the time, and at the neighbor’s house we’d jump out of the 2nd story window, onto a tramp at basement level.

At around 6, during a particularly high-stakes game of hide-and-go-seek, I resorted to hiding in the dryer, and my little sister started the dryer, and ran off. Claustrophobia, ensued after I had to kick out the door of the dryer to get out, and avoid getting more bruised and hot than bearable. But that only lead to some slight anxiety, when I feel trapped. Most people are anxious when trapped, it’s not a debilitating fear, and it didn’t stop me from napping in our linen closet on the shelves, in a less than 1×1 foot space.

After an encounter with a teenage boy at the not-at-all-ripe age of 3 or 4, my comfort in regards to anything of sexual nature was damaged.

At 10, as a renowned tomboy who could kick ass at any sport, and literally kick anyone’s ass, I lost my guy friends because girls became “icky” and were too weak suddenly to play with. Which lead to the ultimate distrust of the opposite gender, and consequently most people. (You have to realize, these were guys I had hung out with since I was 4, and had spent the majority of my life hanging out with them, who suddenly dropped me, due to what was under my shorts.)

At 7, when I wanted to be a ballerina, and my dad finally took me to sign up for a dance class, and we left without me being in a class because it was so goddamn expensive. I resorted to my much more achievable dream of being a rock star, and wrote a million songs, only to be told that my gift was in song-writing and not singing.

I watched movies, lots of inappropriately adult movies that a girl as impressionable as me, and willing should not have been exposed to. Which led me to confessing my love of our next-door neighbor Ben, at the age of 8, who I so did not actually. Which led us to kissing a lot because that’s what people in love in the movies did.

I determined that when I grow up I was going to own a Siberian Tiger when I grew up after a trip to the zoo at 4, when I learned that siber-toothed tigers had been extinct for a long time. (My first choice of a pet, prior.)

My dream of becoming a clothing designer was dashed when my best friend at 12 Nicole, was better at sketching designs.

My dream of being a vampire, also was dashed when I reached 13, and still had no evidence that any real vampires had ever been alive, ever.

My dream of being a stuntman, is still alive, but I know that it would freak out my Dad, considering how scared he is of me using my tax return money to buy a motorcycle.

A job as an Art Director, Casting Director, or Pyrotechnic Technician is incredibly hard to come by. In Filmstudies/Filmmaking, I quickly learned that being the director, was not exactly where I belonged… or at least not when my scaredy-cat friends refused to get behind the camera, and I had to be the talent in every movie we made, as well as direct.

After every single play I’ve been in, (including 2 different versions of A Christmas Carol, oddly enough when I hate Christmas, plus rehearsals for a Christmas Play during Halloween is lame) I’ve always been inconsolably depressed, after closing night. Not only because being on stage is exhilarating and fulfilling, but because I always miss the weird in-jokes that happen during a production while waiting in the wings. As well as the queer mischievous nature that comes while working in a completely empty theater that may or may not be haunted.

Being an Actor was my older sister’s dream. Being a singer was my younger sister’s dream. Being an artist, writer, was supposed to be my dream.

It is in ways. I will always love writing, and creating art… but it is a lonely, solitary business.

All of the things above, as well as my weirdo ability to completely memorize a movie after seeing it 2x, are factors in why I want to desperately be an actor.

Being an actor, combines so many of the things that I love in this world.

I’m a dreamer. I do want to try everything out in this world. A production, it’s magical, whether it’s film or stage, you get to create something breathtaking with weird milk-water rain, clever camera angles, waving a thing of sheet metal to create thunder and lightening. You get to tell stories (which if the above doesn’t tell you about my love of stories, I don’t know what does). You get to show real, raw truth by deceit, illusion, strings and pulleys.

I can’t say there’s anything that tells more about human nature, than people pretending to be living lives, that they don’t live, loving people they don’t love in that way, pretending to be people who they aren’t. Trying to resolve a neat little problem in 3 acts or less, all while trying to possibly fit it under an umbrella overlying theme about what it means to be human.

I love memorizing lines, I love pretending to be someone and experiencing things that I’ll probably never experience in my real life. I love that I get the chance to go into the woods to escape my mother (who isn’t actually my mother) who locked me away in a tower, and meet my brother who’s trying to help his wife conceive a child by finding a cow white as milk, a cape as red as blood, hair as yellow as corn,and a slipper as pure as gold.

It’s the stuff that dreams are made of. It’s what my dreams are made of.

I realized this last semester when I was working 50 hours a week, signed up for 18 credit hours, and still wanted to audition for my school’s production of a space-age version of Romeo and Juliet (I was hoping for the part of Mercutio, because he’s the only one I liked.), and was heartbroken when I was too busy to do it.

I miss acting. Like writing, it’s an outlet, it’s a dream, and just a little unrealistic. But good things happen. It makes me happy, no matter what little parts I get. I want to do it. Plus, I seem to be pretty good at it.

I haven’t told anyone, the extent of how much I want to strike out in California and join a wonderful community of artists, and creative types… but right now, I don’t see many other options in my dream future.  For someone who has a pretty hard times limiting their options. That’s a pretty freaking big deal.

Supernatural: An examination on Why Sam and Dean are so different.

11 Nov

Here’s the deal, Sam has yet to consciously recognize that Dean doesn’t want to hunt anymore than he does.

In the episode, “What is and What Should Never Be” (2×20) Dean is drugged up a Dijinn and dreams of an alternative reality where his mother never died, Sammy stayed at Stanford, he’s monogamous and overall, never had to hunt, got a real childhood.That’s his dream world, the one that he could never expect as reality because (to use a phrase supernatural uses a a lot) “good things don’t happen to us”. Besides in the end, he realizes and snaps himself out of his dream world because all the people he saved weren’t saved in his alter world and realizes how many people could die without his help.

In 3×10 “Dream a Little Me” the episode where they end up in their nightmare world to try and save Bobby from a student who used to never dream until he was given some African dream root. Dean’s dream begins with Lisa and him having a picnic, that they’ve got to rush in order to pick up Ben. Sam is surprised, and Dean lies, “I’ve never had this dream before.”

By 6×21 “Let it Bleed” (When Dean was happiest at the beginning of Season 6) Dean ends up ditching Lisa and Ben, by having Castiel erase their memories of him, so they aren’t hurt. Sam doesn’t approve and Dean tells him to never mention them again. He takes the pain on his own. By 6×21 “The Man Who Knew Too Much” Castiel, (Dean’s main confidant and only known living friend) has gulped the Leviathan down to become God, and dies before Dean can do anything. (7×01)

Dean goes straight to killing Leviathans while dealing with and taking care of a Broken Sammy, (Who he fyi, died to get to chat with Death in order to try and get his soul back for, who he made a deal with a crossroads demon for, who he went to hell for.) Has his father-figure (Bobby) killed due in part by his best friend’s actions. He finally successfully cleans up Castiel’s mess, and is sent to fight in purgatory for a year for it.

Let’s give Sam the benefit of the doubt here, and say, he doesn’t know what happened to his brother, or Castiel. His psuedo-mother figure (Bobby) is dead, and overall he’s alone in this world. That’s tough. Most people in those situations, go back to what they know, which for Sam is hunting. He hits a dog, stays in town to get dog treated and falls in love with a girl whose husband died. So he ditches hunting. Sam is just allowing the world to take him where it pleases.

Then, his Brother who has literally died for him twice, comes back, he ditches the girl to go fight.

Considering, that he finally got his “normal” world, it’s a big sacrifice. When he comes back, he emulates Dean (pretty much his patriarchal figure) and suffers in silence until he’s pushed enough that he admits it, bit by bit. Dean however, whose entire life has been sacrifice, (only curtailed by frisky women, drinking in bars, eating hamburgers and pie, and his short almost marital bliss with Lisa) does not understand why for once, Sam couldn’t sacrifice himself to save Dean for once. Not knowing that Sam did sacrifice for him, by ditching the girl, all that he tells Dean on this is, “Then there wasn’t a girl”… Dean isn’t even aware of the depth of his feelings.

When things come to a head in 8×06 “Southern Comfort” when Sam faults Dean for killing his friend Amy for being a monster when he’s friends with a monster and even states that he’s going to be the one to kill Benny when things go wrong. However, Sam doesn’t realize that he spilled Dean’s own blood when he killed Dean’s daughter in 7×13 “Slice Girls” in Dean’s eyes, just because she was a monster. On top of that, Dean’s guilt at bringing an outsider into the supernatural world (New family, or a monogamous relationship) wouldn’t have applied with Emma, because she started out that way.

Dean has also developed a strict sins-committed before killing things prior to this. After he killed Amy Pond, her son came in, and he asked if he had killed any, and when he said he hadn’t but he was going to kill him. He walked off and let the kid live. Same with the Shape-shifter Baby in 6×02 “Two and a Half Men”. Emma, hadn’t committed any crime yet, so, Sam, basically killed Dean’s daughter in cold blood without knowing if she had actually become a monster (by killing anyone) and in this sense, Sam killed someone who was more innocent than his older brother (who had tortured souls in Hell, and has killed people).

By this, Sam and Dean now have differing ideas of what a monster is, and Benny doesn’t fit Dean’s.

Sam and Dean, have always desired the same thing, (Normal life without having to hunt, Dean: mainly with his family; Sam: where his potential maybe realized) Dean just hasn’t ran away from his responsibilities or the family curse. Dean has recognized that in knowing what he knows and having done what he has, he now has a responsibility to the world. While Sam, has felt a victim of circumstance, even when he was doing demon blood and started the apocalypse in “Lucifer Rising” 4×22, he was tricked by Ruby, the convenient scapegoat.

Sam has always considered himself a freak “After School Special” 4×13 because of what he knows and was consistently called it through the many schools they went to, fuel for the “victims of circumstance” arguement, he also resented his father for it, even after he learned to understand after what happened with Jessica. (Which was the yellow-eyed demon’s fault, and Sam not making a deal with Lilith was Dean’s fault).

Dean has continually been grateful for what he has had. He called his Dad a superhero, gave his brother the cereal he wanted, was glad to wear the samulet, had his mother murdered before his eyes at an age he could remember and only wanted revenge, furthermore when he almost died 2×01 “In My Time of Dying” he was going to let himself die. In “After School Special” 4×13, he considers himself a hero, and not a victim of circumstance. He is continually grateful that he gets to save people and considers him drinking, eating junk food, and sleeping with random chicks his reward.

Sam-hunting because of his brother making him, he’s the victim. Dean-hunting because he wants to save people and partly owes it due to what he did in Hell.

So basically their desires are the same, but because of the different ways they have interpreted the stuff that happened to them, it has made their worldview completely different and made Sam feel entitled to live a “normal life” while Dean’s worldview has made him feel responsible for others’ lives (Which one could argue is because of their roles as kids, Dean took care of Sam, while Sam just worried about his own life).

Link

Turning My Back on the Writer’s Technological Revolution

18 May

I’m a writer. I’ve been seriously pursuing a writing career for 10 years, since I was 10. Since I was a little precocious girl, I’ve been doing research for my future career, which has led me to following the change from physically writing things out to digital.

Since I started writing at 4, I was doing research starting 1996, which meant just early enough to see the rise of computers, and the beginning of people outside of business men, carrying around laptops.

In the past, I’ve used, when writing, many well-thought out, and good programs:  ywriter5, Scrivener, q10 and many others.

I’ve enjoyed them, I’ve enjoyed the organization that they’ve brought to my notes, the weird motivation that having a timer and goal obvious in your word processor gives, and I sincerely believed that I was going to successfully finish my books in them.

I’ve believed and trusted in all of these programs created by writers, or for writers, that they would provide me the tools that were necessary to write.

But I’ve realized something, I don’t need any of these fancy tools to write, most especially if I’m writing wireless (that’s without the laptop, but with the all purpose pen and paper). I’m going wireless, only second drafts will ever reach the computer.

I’m not saying that writing digitally has stopped me from successful writing well, I’m just saying, I think that lately it’s been hampering my development toward plot work, well-rounded characters and getting things done.

I’ve tried every single type of digital writing that you can use, and for the developer’s of these programs I have the utmost respect, but, there is no good way to plot, plan, outline, or organize in the digital format.

I’ve finally seen the light and realized why I’m having such trouble finishing my stories, unlike I did when when I was younger and writing away in my notebooks.

The problem with doing things on the computer, is that there is a limit to what you can do on it. You are bound, when planning by the width of the screen, by the terribleness of trying to draw diagrams in paint (which I’m actually really good at), of not being able to rip apart pieces of paper and past them back on, and whether or not you have a power source, eventually. And even with Microsoft Word/Open Office’s track changes format, it’s a poor substitute for writing in the margins, crossing things out angrily, and drawing arrows when editing to move entire chunks to different sections of the book.

I’m going wireless, save for blogging, for my writing of first drafts from now on.

Forget about all of the advice I’ve been reading, hearing and following. I truly believe that the only way to get stuff down, most especially when plotting things out, is to write it all down, and have the freedom to draw obnoxious diagrams that remind you of things, or helps you keep the tension up.

Truly,♥Aspiringtobesomeone

Biker Envy

27 Mar

An annual ritual that I’ve had since the first time I rode on a motorcycle (at 12 years old, about 8 years ago) is “Biker Envy.” I plan on getting a bike. I’ve had dreams about my own bike. All of my dreams of adulthood since I was 12 have involved motocycles. I find myself checking out motorcycles the moment that it warms up to 65 farenheit in Utah, because that is when all the bikers start riding after a dry spell through winter.

This bike (although it’s a bmw which isn’t that good) it is a nice looking bike and appears that it would handle well, plus it’s survived this long…

This year, I got it bad.

Mostly because I’ve had my eye on a bike on ksl for 1 year, and it was sold last week. Mostly because that is going to be my first major purchase as soon as I can get a job, which will be this summer. But mostly because I’ve turned 20, and by now I thought I would have been riding a bike for 3 years. Plus it looks like I’m not going to be able to save up enough money to buy my bike until after the summer, which will give me a month tops to safely ride it before next summer. Which really hurts. It means that I won’t be an actual experienced rider until I’m 21, even if I do ride nonstop during that month.

Plus my Dad’s motorcycle (1978 Yamaha Verago 750) has a broken starter which means that I can’t even ride on the back until it gets fixed (which might take forever because my dad’s not even looking interesting in fixing it) and because all of my motorcycle riding friends have moved out-of-state.

I have Biker Envy so bad that when my friends notice a really hot guy on a motorcycle, and they think I saw him because my head was following his bike, I can’t even remember the gender of the rider. Because I’m busy checking out their ride. I also wave at every single rider, because deep down I know we’re cut from the same cloth.

I’ll admit I’ve been flirting with riders, too. It’s just a fact that bikers are hotter, though not so much if they have a bullet bike. Bullet Bike riders seem to not get the point of a bike, plus all of that plastic covers up what could be a powerful bike.

Whenever I walk past the motorcycle parking at my college to the bus stop and I see a younger rider strapping on their helmet, I’m always tempted to ask, “Can you just take me on a ride around the block?” Because I want a ride so bad.

I’ll admit it, I’m addicted to motorcycles and I have a huge case of Biker Envy, this year.

Good always Triumphs Over Evil

7 Jan

So I got to talk about some crap, because it might make me feel a little less angry….

 

I was one of those children that came from an abusive home. The abuser happened to be my mother. Sadly enough, any major issue with a life event can be traced directly to her.

My weird inability to accept imperfections came from her telling me to scrub for hours.  My hatred and distrustfulness of new people  stems from her screwing me over and then, proving it again by my dad being desperate enough to marry another crazy woman (who luckily is mostly out of the picture now…)

My poverty, the reason in me being a semester late in college was caused by her, stealing my childhood home from my father the breadwinner and the only one with a job. My belief that hospitals are basically obsolete stem from staying too long in them… from her hypochondriac ways.

She’s screwed over my entire family and ripped me from many of the people I care about.

She’s literally, clinically insane. She has quite a few problems with her, and from the moment that my father tried to get her help, she’s been plotting how she would ruin his life.

She has.

Amazingly enough, my Dad has the ability to brush it off and pretend like he’s got a shot at retiring.

Her contribution to my collection of emotional scars has been unprecedented. Ranging from my brother being whipped, for stopping her from nearly killing me, to causing us to basically starve for a couple weeks.

There isn’t a person that deserves to be killed more than her, in my eyes.

My fear of being published (Which is a terrible fear for one who means to be a writer) comes from her trying to track me down and hitch a ride on a rode to fame… taking credit for raising me.

I’ve sworn to myself that if it ever happened, I’d smear her name so horribly that her remaining loved ones couldn’t look her in the eye, let alone strangers.

She’s found me on almost every site I’ve joined. I’ve had to block out things, lie about things to try and hide from her. If anything happens to make my family’s presence known… like a wedding, or a visit from someone on her side of the family… she comes. She has her new husband spy on the house and take pictures and messages or calls us nonstop. Calling my Dad names so awful that only she’s so evil to say such things about such a good man.

My grandma had to get a restraining order because she tried to knock her car off the road.

I don’t want to see this woman in my life, or connected in anyway. I avoid seeing her, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t want to do jail time.

She deserves jail time at the very least for what she’s done to us. Unfortunately because children don’t have a voice in the U.S. she’ll never do any time.

There’s a reason why I’ll never let my voice go unheard.

She sent my little sister a message, through someone else’s profile and I plan on making sure she learns not to come into contact with us, ever again.

She cannot harm us any longer.

-Aspiringtobesomeone

Be you, write like you, and only what you would.

15 Jul

Now, I know that it isn’t wednesday. (which is when I decided I would post about writing, even though I haven’t) But I feel like talking about writing.

Most writers give aspiring authors or writers the advice to “write everyday” or “establish a writing routine” and if you’re like me, you write sporadically at best. (This blog is proof enough of my habits) So this advice, you might try and try to follow, but as you know your personality flaws are as overpowering as a Hurricane on a fishing boat.

Don’t sweat it.

Just because so and so’s routine happens to be consistent or proved to be successful in their case, doesn’t mean it’s the only way.

My primary idea here, is to realize your passion for writing or whatever you want to achieve, and eventually you’ll find a way to make it happen no matter what tries to get in your way.

I happen to like Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month in November), if simply because it motivates me to do things in a time that I never thought possible. Write, Start and Finish a Novel in 30 days.

My Last November I could not find a time that was consistently there to write… Heck I couldn’t even have a specific day or anything to write on.

I was a Highschool Senior with 2 A.P. honor classes, Debate, Many art classes and all their obligations (I’m pretty sure that sophmore registration night was in November… where I spent 9 hours  in one night printing T-Shirts for the soon-to-sophmores). I also had many Birthdays, Thanksgiving, and helped plan for and teach elementary kids art after school… with the End of term coming, with tests and papers and all that lovely stuff. While babysitting on weekday afternoons and weekend mornings.

Also I couldn’t write really for the first week and then the last couple days because I was motivated and I really, really, really, wanted to finish… I wrote near 20,000 in 4 days. I don’t know about you but for a novel I only started that month… that was a lot of writing.

I had basically told myself that there was no way that I’d ever be able to be a professional writer if I couldn’t spurt out 40,000 words on a new novel in a month. Which may or may not be true. But the point is, I really proved to myself that I could do it. That I could write not only decent stuff in a limited time… but I sure as hell could write a ton too.

Stop depending upon others to tell you whether not you have a shot at this. There’s a whole world out there waiting to hear what you’d like to tell them. They want to know you, know your voice, your theories and opinions and to learn from you.

You don’t need Stephen King’s advice on writing, you don’t need to emulate Hemingway, you don’t need to have Stephanie Meyer’s haircut neither. The world has already seen Stephen King, Hemingway and Stephanie Meyer and they’re satisfied with it. They don’t want or need another one of them. But what they need, and what they won’t have if you take everything you read to heart, is one of you.

The world has given you a shot by allowing yourself to be born. If you take what you have to offer and serve it up, there will be someone waiting there to take it, and enjoy it.

You won’t be loved by everyone (If you don’t believe me, look at politics to view people’s complex and disagreeing opinions). You may not sell enough that you can live off of it. Your vision may be ultimately missed. However, you will have gotten it out there.

So here’s my advice: Be you, write like you, write when you would, and only write those things in which you have a passion for, because passion is infectious.

So thank you, for being yourself and having your habits and using your voice.

Truly, ♥Aspiringtobesomeone

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