Tag Archives: art

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.

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

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

Inevitable Success

1 Jul

Sometimes at the end of the day, the only success you’ve had is that there weren’t any successes.

Most of the time, this in itself is a success itself. When you look out there in the world… there are definitely a lot of possibilities. A daily success can be measured in many ways.

You could consider a day, a success if you literally stop to smell the roses. I do this twice, everyday. Once on my way out of my house and again on the way back. Going among the same lines a day could be considered a success simply because you saw the sunrise and set. There are few places where you can’t do these same things. If you can’t, you can always find some alternatives… instead of roses, it could be the hot smell of asphalt and tar in the summer, the nice smell of mud after the rain, the smell of getting out of the shower.

Maybe it’s not a smell at all, but a nice reassurance that everything is intact, perhaps that the ratty old teddy bear that your grandparents rushed to the store to buy at the occasion of your birth, before meeting you for the first time at the hospital. Maybe it’s saying goodbye to the moon every night before you go to bed, and being memorized by the stars or by the clouds that will hang overcast in their place.

Maybe you don’t consider these everyday things successes.

Maybe it’s not considered a successful or eventful day if you don’t see that boy you like at school, or you happened to forget an important homework assignment. Maybe you don’t consider it a good day, if someone neglects to tell you that they love you, or to otherwise pamper your ego.

What if at the end of everyday you could feel peace instead of fretting about how on earth you’ll be able to write a book report assignment before school, or have enough gas to drive to work when you’re on your last dollar for the next week. Maybe you’re afraid that your deity of choice is going to strike you down from the heavens because you said something particularly blasphemous or did something particularly sinful.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: No matter how you might have failed by the end of the day, however many mistakes you made today….today will still end… tomorrow you will have another shot at perfection and bliss.

So you go to bed quiet, blissful, and happy because you know that tomorrow will come and nothing can stop it.