Of Two Things I'm Certain

Being in your twenties is possibly the most confusing time of my life. Not only have I just left my past self behind, but I have yet to discover who my future self will be. Trapped in the middle like this is both frightening and amazing, for its almost as though you're caught in the middle of an adventure. I can tell my writing reflects this. In my revision, my main characters struggle for belonging and identity. In my WIP, my main character struggles to remember himself (he has lost his memory) and discover his identity by combining past memories with ones he makes in the present. I know that writing these will help me find myself, too. 

And that's how I plan to get through it all, by writing. 

When I left school, leaving the image of "Jess always doing her homework" behind, I was scared. What if I was only good at school--at taking tests, writing essays, answering short-answer questions? All the homework would end. After that, what would I do with all my free time? How would I handle getting a full-time job? These are just the start of all the questions. For example, we could follow with the struggle to (A) make money, (B) maintain an interest in my job, (C) the desire to move to an apartment, (D) the desire to get a new car, (E) unable to do any of these things because I'm paying off loans... I'm sure your situation was or is similar to mine. 

Through all these changes in beliefs, in friends, in who I want to become, I have two things I am sure of. 

1. I am not on the path to becoming a "What Not To Wear" horror story. I used to watch this show all the time during the summer because it was on every day at noon, so I turned it on when eating lunch and quickly became pulled into the episode, especially if there was a marathon going on. My mother always dresses really nice, and with her as my guide, I have been doing the same. (Although, I type this with a frumpy sweatshirt on. Hey, it's cold!) Regularly purging my closet, something I am in need of doing soon, has kept me on top of things, despite how difficult it may be with my colitis. Every time I get a flare my jeans could fit differently, so buying the correct size is of optimum importance. As I dress I hear Mom's voice in my ear: "What, no earrings? How about a necklace?" 

2. I will always be writing. This grounds me more than anything. I love it. It helps me talk myself through my problems, whether I am writing in my journal or a blog post or even a novel, as mentioned above it seems as if I am using that outlet--that of my character's identities--to discover my own. I have been writing stories since I was five years old. My ideas are plentiful. If I do not write I will explode. Despite all the confusion I may have during the day, it vanishes as soon as I begin. 

It is quite relieving to have two things to ground me, leaving me with just enough courage to explore the unknown. 

Revising Goals

This week I reevaluated and thought out my goals for the revision I'm working on.

When I first began in the fall, I made my goal to finish the revision before June. One of my favorite beta readers is finished with school then, so she'll be able to dive in without being worried about homework. Another possible beta works at a school, so he can read while there are no kids in the building. However, I soon realized, when I finished Part 1 of the revision in December, which is the longest part, that this would change.

 

It seemed like a miracle; I would be able to finish revising sooner.

So my new goal became May 1 to have it completed. It still gave my betas the time frame they need, and it also gave me additional time to read my story and revise it before handing it over. I was to complete Part 2 before March 1. 

March 1 has passed, and I am well into Part 3, into the new parts of the climax. Its scary, and rather exciting, so my goal is to be revised again, but in every good way possible. I'm so excited to reread this and give it to my betas, and even more eager to work on my next series I have plotted out and planned already. 

My new goal? Finish the revision by April 1. Once I am done, I will print it out and stick it in a binder. I also want to shrink the pages down and get a look at it that way, just to try an interesting new form of revision (a blog post will follow on this). Once all my paperwork is completed, I will set my novel aside and--with enormous difficulty--ignore its existence. 

In between April and May, I have various other projects to work on. One is a recipe book for my mother, another a purge of various paperwork in my room, another a T-Shirt quilt. Will this distract me from my writing? Or will I need to actually work on real writing to help myself forget it? We will have to see! How did you wait out your month? 

At the start of May, I will begin revising and reading, including reading it aloud to find errors and reading it to myself to find errors. 

Sometime in June--which is a rough estimate--I will print and hand the revised copy out to betas. I am so excited for someone to read this and even more thrilled that the plot has ended up the way it has. It's come so far, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Setting goals is so important for me and one of the few ways I manage to get things done, that and the prospect of crossing something off of my to-do list. I plan to write down this list of goals and hang it in my room so whenever I pass it I am reminded to keep working, to never give up, and to pursue my dreams, no matter what the consequences. 

Update: Conquering Revision

It can be difficult to take a different approach to a story that's been worked on for ten to twelve years. In fact, I believe that's what my problem has been in past revisions: I kept too close to the original, so close that my writing style from way back when leaks into my new draft. Over the years, plot has shifted, yet old ideas still persist with a stubborn attitude. In September, I started my last plot revision of the project and became determined to rewrite it all. Not only was this my revision technique now, but it will also become, possibly, the way I revise in the future. No pressure?

One of the issues I have when I write is that I come up with a great idea for a scene, write it down, and then forget about it. If the paper is not in front of me, I write an entirely new version of the scene. Later, upon finding the original idea, I battle myself. Idea A, or Idea B? Usually I go with the latter, for the simple reason that the new idea is more interesting than the old one. This is all good and fine for first drafts. What about revisions? Before starting, I knew that would be my main problem. If I continued flying past the old plot notes, this draft would become a first draft and we would be at square one.

Not an option!

Instead of messy papers everywhere on my desk, I made a master notes list, split into at least six sections. The first was history of my land that I re-built in so many ways, which influenced the present day of the story. Next came the changes to the culture of the people. This was followed by the parts my story is actually split into. I began making mini-outlines (at least, this is how Part 1's section goes), but they evolved into adding the main differences to each section, which included "In-Between" (there is a space of about two years between Part 1 and Part 2), Part 2, and Part 3. If I consulted this packet of notes, I would not forget a lot of it. 

It was a nice thought, anyway. I did check on that packet; although, as time went on I found my notes were not here. In fact, they were paper clipped together and stuck in the binder of the copy of my book I was checking. If I was finished with a particular note, it did not linger--I put it in a folder on my desk of old notes from that story.

The other problem--a much larger one--was how to revise the plot and my writing style without letting those pesky phrases from younger me slipping in. Before, I simply copied the page, typing it all up over again in order to find any errors. 

No!

This time around, I realized what I should do is reread the scene I am about to write, and close the binder. No more peeking. Ideas that I enjoyed would stay fresh in my memory, while at the same time allowing my writing to improve. If a scene did not hold a great change to the plot, I copied it, but this was rarely done. My routine became to reread the old scene, reread the writing I had written the day before, and then start writing the new scene. Anything forgotten was not important anymore. 

Learning to revise in the way that fits me best is an ongoing effort, as it is for us all. How do you revise? I'd love to hear! 

Returning to and Discovering Myself

November of 2014 began with the most unexpected thing--my break up with the first person I'd ever been in a relationship with.

Looking back, I was blind, forgetting everything I wanted, and this break up did nothing but bring me good. 

At the time, my entire world shattered. I consulted close, comforting friends, and pulled myself away from him. It was a long and difficult process. 

Since I was enveloped in it at the time, I really had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea until November 2015, when posts from that time showed up on my Timehop. 

I would like to call these posts "A Return to Myself." Whoever I lost while I was in that relationship I seemed to find again through these strange, little acts of rebellion. On my own again, I was left with one question: Who was I? So, I set about answering it.

Truly a rebellion. It was both exciting and worthy of nausea.

One of my favorite outfits at that time were my black leggings, my black Within Temptation t-shirt, and bright, orange shoes. I also wore, at some point at my internship, bright orange tights with a black and white dress. I was sad, yes, but not depressed because being single again meant I could do anything--move away even, if I desired it. 

More rebellions surfaced as I scrolled through my Timehop. This one was particularly notable: 

One of my friends was in the play, and it was REALLY good!

What inspired this? Part of me believes that I just wanted to get out of my bedroom at school, go see new things. In the crowd of a theatre, I would not be alone. Except the way this is written shows it might be a little more than that. It was my senior semester of college--time to write my seminar paper--and instead of being productive, I trudged through the cold to see a play. New clothes, new routine, wonder what came next?

Yup. 

For my entire college career I battled the huge and heavy, broken mouse, cover breaking apart computer, and it seemed now was the time to do some researching. Not only that, but it was also time to do something I had always wanted:

I've always loved red/ginger hair.

As I read through these, I wondered if I suppressed all this while I was in a relationship. Yet, in the process of being in the relationship, I grew as a person. Afterwards, it became time to grow again.

This journey was not an easy one, and I am happy to say that I have discovered myself since then. I learned what I believe in, who I am, and what I want my life to be like when I move out of my parent's house. The small rebellion of November 2014 will have a special place in my heart, for both the choices I made and these heartwarming Tweets that showcase my thought process at the time. 

Letting Go of a First Love

From underneath my bookshelf, I pull a Harry Potter Deluxe Journal, complete with built-in light and an illustration of Harry on the cover, riding his broom. I remember receiving it, probably from a Scholastic book fair, eager to begin writing in it. This is my first journal, from 2004, when I was in fifth grade. Settling down on my bed, I start to read--noting that most of it has to do with Harry Potter, making my life more Harry Potter, and becoming increasingly more obsessed with Harry Potter as the year progresses in my journal. Well, nothing's changed there. 

Turning one page, I read to the end and stop. Up until this point, I make references to story ideas and what short story I am working on at the moment. Here is what I found, the reference to the next story I was working on, just a blip, but it's there, nonetheless.

Currently, this is the revision I am working on,
what once was just the "Silver Necklace Legend."

Laying the journal down on the bed, I cover my mouth with my hands in amazement. Eleven Years. Of course, it hasn't been a constant eleven years. Between then and now, not only have I worked on other stories, but I also have worked on school papers and taken breaks from writing. Yet throughout those years, this story has transformed.

Basically me with this story. 

And this revision I started a little more than a week ago will be my last. Once I write it and complete editing afterwards, that's it.

I believe I'm having a hard time letting go of this story since it is so ingrained in my mind. Some of the characters are even completely original; meaning, their character arc may have matured, but their name, place within the story, and entrance into the story have not. Writing for them is like writing about myself; they are close friends. How can I let go of something that intimate?

The answer? Because I have to.

In middle school, I moved "The Silver Necklace," which since then has changed titles many times, onto my laptop, a Dell 2000 whose only purpose was to serve my writing needs. I completed 80 pages of pure, inventive creativity, or twelve chapters. And then, one afternoon after reorganizing folders in My Documents, I'd opened my story only to discover I'd deleted it by accident. I had clicked on the shortcut to the document, and deleted the actual document--emptying the recycle bin in a burst of organizational inspiration.

All of it was gone. I was in eighth grade.

I wrote about this event in my journal at the time:

Although at the start it was still a tragedy, it became a blessing as I worked to rebuild. In a notebook, I timelined everything I could remember (I still have it filed away), and came up with an ending to the first installment of "The Silver Necklace." I know that because I deleted that 80 page copy, I was granted the gift of looking at it critically.

Drafts later, a short break where I thought I was "finished with that story for good," and here I am, at the end of it all. Can it already be the end? I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye to all of my favorite characters, one of which will probably end up being THE ultimate favorite, simply because he is the oldest character in my story. It'll be a challenge, but I know this is a challenge I have to complete. Finishing a story, adding "The End," and starting fresh--without ideas for "The Silver Necklace" turning over in my mind in the background--is the first step. The second is letting go.

I've still got plenty of time before the final goodbye. For now, I will enjoy every minute I'm in my character's heads.

Back to the Blog--and a Little Wiser, Too

The roller coaster hit me hard, and somehow I’ve managed to emerge on the other side happy, full of adrenaline, and somewhat whole.

I previously wrote how my job was making me unhappy. Not wanting to write is my worst nightmare. This job—sitting at a computer for hours typing in the same information—did just that. Even as I continued working there, I knew I had to leave. Soon. 

What else happened? In mid-August, my colitis flared up for the first time since I’d been diagnosed in July 2012. I can say now that it was a learning experience because I know what to expect next time it hits. The most difficult thing was that I could justify myself going to work. It wasn’t like my boss was in the dark about the subject, her daughter has colitis, but it’s who I am. When I was little and too sick to go to school, my mom would have to hold me back from running for the bus. I can honestly say, in that regard, nothing has changed.

So, when my job at the company ended, it was a huge relief. What I needed was rest and lots of it on my time away from working. I napped every day with Raven, my four month old kitten, and by the end of the week interviewed at another company, and landed the job. I would start Monday.

My new job is a breath of fresh air. It’s a small company with maybe seven people at most working there every day, compared to the large one I was at before. We talk, we laugh, we get work done, we say bless you when someone sneezes (which no one did at my other job, weird), we get to know each other. Most importantly, I do different things. I answer and make phone calls, I work with filing, I organize, and…GAH! Doing multiple things—scratch that, LEARNING multiple things at a job, about a local company, is a privilege. All of this I can take with me onto the next job, and the next, and the next.

Now, I’ve been wondering why my perceptions of jobs has changed. This job by no means is my dream job, but so far I’m not dreading going there (it’s only been a week, though, so we’ll have to see when that changes!). I think I’ve discovered that in order to find time to write, I have to force time to write, even if it’s in small patches. I’ve discovered that writing is my priority, but while I’m writing I can work, too, and gain more skills along the way.

Writing is what makes me happy, and adding it to my day is by no means a burden. I’m sure you can understand. It feels good to finally have answers to some questions bouncing around in my mind. But I’m still only 22, so there’s bound to be more—and soon!  

After School

 It is often portrayed in movies, or even through the words of adults (teachers, parents, friends, family) that being in high school and college will help better define you as a person, or who you’re going to be. Now this may be true for some, and I definitely discovered some things about myself during those 8 years, but this is most certainly not the truth for everyone.

High school was not too bad for me. I found my group of friends (all obsessed with Harry Potter, reading, drama club, or all of the above). I danced 15-20 hours a week, as well as joined the school plays to dance. I received good grades. My plan, all through those years as well as through middle school, was to go to college for creative writing. Honestly, there is nothing else that I want to do. If I am to go devote my time to something, I don’t want to be doing it just to make money or because it’s a popular profession. I wrote as often as I could, on short stories (that were failures) and a portal fantasy story, the one that I am revising today.

That’s who I was: dancer, friend, writer, good student.

In college, that changed. I was still a good student, and I did join ballroom dance, but after my sophomore year, I quit. I got a job in the Writing Center at school, peer tutoring. I devoted most of my time to my grades and my writing, when I was out of school. Most of the time, I pondered this: who was I now? What was my identity? Writer, reader, good student, girlfriend, and someone who happens to have colitis. Different, yes, but school was still there to ground me.

I just graduated college in December, and walked in May. School has been thrown out of the mix, tossed into the past until I decide (IF I decide) to go back to school and get my Masters. Once again, people are pressuring me to go into something that would make a lot of money. I can write on the side, they say, and this is true. I would love to go back to school, but to dive back in after I just left would mean that I still would have school to ground me.

I don’t want that.

I want to figure out who I am without school. I want to roll in the possibilities, to find new hobbies, to meet new people—except oh wait I’m an introvert. I have colitis, I write, I read, and I am a feminist. What else? What am I missing? What do I believe in? Discovering who I am without school—as well as pushing the fear that I will only be good at school and nothing else—is difficult. It wouldn't be worthwhile, though, if it wasn't. 

The Greatest Expectation

A few days ago, someone my brother and I knew, a mom of kids we went to school with, started working with him in a bakery. And she asked after me. Not after what I was doing with my career, or what I was doing with school, however. She asked if I was married or not.

My brother passed it off as silly, laughing as he closed the door to my bedroom, where I had been sitting with a whiteboard, plotting my fantasy work in progress. The marker hung in my hand. So strange to hear after this woman since I hadn’t seen her daughter since 8^th grade. So strange that her daughters are married already. So strange that she would assume I was married…and not bother asking anything else about me at all.*

Strange? The more I thought about it, not so much.

Marriage is not for everyone—women or men, but it is pushed onto women more often than men. Men can be independent without judgment, and if someone asks about them, odds are it won’t be about marriage. After all, how often are they asked who they’re wearing at the academy awards?

I hate the idea that women are viewed as having to want or having to be married. News flash! Not everyone wants the same thing, and if a woman wants to do it single then she should do so without judgment. She should be able to—but she’s not. This is the 21^st century, people. How often are we going to pretend we’re in the Middle Ages? No, she doesn’t have to be married to accomplish everything she needs to succeed in life. No, she doesn’t have to be attached to a man, either. She can do what she dreams, with or without a husband.

Even if she wants to be married, she can still fulfill her dreams. There should be nothing standing in her way. In anyone’s way.

“Did she go to school? Where? What is she doing now?” are all questions that could have been asked from this Mom who blasted to the bakery from 2007. Instead, they all fell to the ground, only to be trampled by strangers in passing.

*For the record, yes, I do want to eventually get married. But my writing, at this point in my life, is more important, as is my career. 

Mudding Along in My Career: Working for Coin

“Haven’t you liked doing the work?”
“Of course I have. I just wish I could go slower in order to enjoy selecting the glass more, to feed myself with each beautiful swirl, to linger over the nuances building up. If I don’t love the feelings I have while creating those windows, I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” (Clara and Mr. Tiffany, Susan Vreeland, 53)

I have been doing a lot of thinking about my job lately. Despite my perpetual hatred for its tedious nature and few interactions with humans, I am trying to remind myself it is only a stepping stone. I will not be entering data into Microsoft Access forever; this will lead me to better things. Only, doing that is difficult when every day I go to work hating my job.

The other day, my grandparents came to drop something off at my house. Since I got the job entering data, my grandfather has taken it upon himself to check the newspaper’s classifieds every day for a job I might like.

“He’s still looking!” my grandmother laughed, “But I approve the jobs! I know you want to get a job doing something you like.”

My internship at the historical society. I was looking through
old documents on this day. THIS was working for the soul. 

Then, the saddest words I have come to hear reached my ears. Grandpa said, “I never did the job I always wanted to do…a mechanic, working with cars. Instead, I drove a truck around delivering newspapers. I went for the money.”

“No, that’s now how it is for kids today,” Grandma intervened, “They want to do what they enjoy and not for the money!” (At least, for me it’s this case. For others it is completely different, of course.)

This brings my back to the quote from Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland that began this post: “I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” Working for money is not the direction I want my career goals to take. I’d rather be happy working with my writing and whatever else strays across my path then being comfortable with a job that makes me unhappy. Ever since I was little, that was my goal: To have a job that makes me happy to go into work, excited. 40 hours a week is, after all, a long time to waste time doing something you hate.

I have worked four jobs, including my internships. Both actual jobs I got paid for I enjoyed, including the grocery store cashier. My internships, however, were not challenging enough and I always finished my writing much sooner than my supervisors expected. 

Last year, during my internship at the historical society, the day came when I absolutely loved what I was doing and that was looking through old letters and newspaper clippings in a box. I remember organizing what was in the box according to a list that was provided and reading the recipes that were there while typing them up. (To see the finished product, go here.) I thought about including this in my possible job searches, yet no ideas have come up yet. 

And so the search continues to discover where my career passions lie. I am determined find happiness, whether it be in one job or a mixture of them that I find as the years pass. Each experience working will bring me a better idea of what I need to make me both happy and inspire my writing. Unfortunately, punching data into Access does not fulfill those requirements. 

Just like Clara says in the quote, I am going to work for soul and not for money. In the end, that’s what will make my life worthwhile, and until I have reached that point in my career, my writing will suffice in keeping me sane in between breaks from the database.  

Writing, Jobs, and Happiness

The past two weeks have not been productive for my writing at all. Besides a few thoughts that pass through my head on a regular basis (always the same thought), besides jotting these thoughts down in my notebook, and besides reading?

No words.

No plotting.

Just questions, which is good, don't get me wrong, but how is it good when I don't even feel like starting to answer them?

It was a revelation when I discovered my writing productivity, i.e. my happiness, was related to the job I was doing. About a month ago, I was temporarily hired to a company and my job is to put data from emails I am sent into a database. The schedule was much better than my previous schedule at the grocery store, always shifting and changing. After the initial excitement of the job wore down, I realized something was wrong. Was it me? My attitude?

This week, I recognized what it was: The Job. 

I wasn't sure what picture to put here.
I took this laying down on my back on
the deck, in summer. 

This job (that I am unsure of when it is ending) is not challenging, I don't talk to anyone, it doesn't involve something I like doing (such as organizing or writing), and I sit there all day, typing. It kills me that I am doing it just for the money--not that I have a choice, really, since I have debt to pay off from school and am saving for a new vehicle. Doing something for the money, not for my happiness, is my worst nightmare.

Happiness is what matters the most to me in my lifetime, and to everyone. Through all this, I have reached a conclusion: The type of job I have will affect the writing I do in my free time. 

Having a job that destroys what I want to do most in the world, writing fantasy, is...Unfathomable. As said in Kerri Majors' This is Not A Writing Manual, anything that kills my (or your!) writing is not worth doing. But discovering what job I enjoy and feeds my writing is another task in itself. Discovering a job that keeps me healthy sounds impossible.

And yet, I find myself up for this task. If my happiness is at stake, if my writing is at stake, then I am willing to go as far as I can to gain it.

What about you? Do you find a particular job feeds your writing and your health?

#FP - Week Three

Week Three

The lion woke up surprised to find a small child standing before him. She pulled at his mane. “Get up, our adventure won’t wait.”

The man cried, “Aid me! Kill the most evil man in the land!

The wizard smiled. “It’s done. You already drank the poison this morning.”

Her headache grew worse and worse until finally she took off her head and threw it against the wall. Much better.

In a heartbeat, the assassin feel dead at her feet. Stumbling back, alarms ringing in her ears, she looked towards the trees.

Her fear outweighed her common sense. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and let go. #WIP 

Writing For 100 Days (Actually, 101)

As a college student, one of the most difficult ideas to wrap my head around was how to sneak my writing into my schedule. During my last semester, I held three jobs: one 15+ hours/week, one 12 hours/week, and one 2 hours/week. In addition to that, I was taking all English classes--including my senior seminar and a fiction workshop. With more than 100 pages to read every night, writing for fun was daunting.

I'll admit it, I did not write a lot that semester. Or any semester of college, in fact. My priority for good grades outweighed my writing goals. 

One of my friends changed this. The entire time I've known him (a little more than a year now), he has been asking me, "Did you write today?" Of course, I would answer, "No, I have a lot of homework..." Glancing at me, he'd respond, "Come on, you have to write." 

When I graduated, he'd come up with an idea: To write every day, and after so many days, to increase that amount. We started at 1000 words and have worked our way up to 2000. I had my doubts at first, but overall it's been a rewarding experience. 

Writing every day no matter what empties me, calms me, gives me something to look forward to at the end (or the beginning) of the day. I can also remember what I've written, which is lucky since I have a hard time keeping track of what my character's look like. It gives me a chance to finish a project--and this I love since writing every day, increasing the amount, would be great for a first draft. Part of my 100 days was spent writing one. 

Yet, keeping on track can be overwhelming, and I am reaching that point now. To have to sit down every day and work on something that that is not as exciting as it once was...drains your spirit. 

101 days of writing--straight, no breaks, no skips--is giving me clarity into what I want my writing routine to look like, for current and future projects. What once was a jumbled mess of "how will I fit it into my schedule?", becomes a way to not only keep myself from getting drained, but also teaches me how to fit writing (the equivalent of breathing) into my work schedule. 

At this point in the process, I am not sure how long I will continue writing for the next 101+ days, but I know I will make every effort. 

#FP - Week Two

Week two is brought to you by these five Friday Phrases, from Friday's past!

• She ran. The portal was on the other side of campus. If she wasn't quick enough, the battle would be lost. Her father would be killed.

• As she wrote in her notebook, she found a small note stuck on the other side of the cover. "Write my story next, please?"

• In the late hours researching, she fell asleep with her head bent, smelling the pages of the book. Marvelous.

• The old man was said to have possessed magic. But on the other side of his fingernails, we found no trace of it.

• He didn’t want to go to sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he would witness a nightmare—a hell he couldn’t escape. 

Welcome to My Bookshelf

My current "to read" pile. There are more on my shelf.
I wonder when this will topple over...

As we get to know each other more, I decided it would be interesting to give you a tour of the books on my "favorites shelf." Originally, I was able to fit all of my favorites on it; however, since then my collection of books has grown to encompass the top row of two bookshelves, and, really, no shelf at all.



There are some that have earned their place on my "favorites shelf" more recently. Such as:

• The Essential Don Murray, by Thomas Newkirk and Lisa C. Miller. I bought this book for class with only one thought in mind: "Who is Don Murray and why is he essential?" As I read, it was strange. Don Murray was an old friend. I recognized his advice that had been sparkled across my Twitter feed, my Writer's Digest magazines, and many more books. This collection of essays was so interesting to me and full of good advice.

• This is NOT A Writing Manual, by Kerri Majors. No exercises or anything of the sort to follow. The author presents her journey into the writing world and everything that helped her along the way. After finishing it, I found a list of possible jobs young writers want to go into. When I told one of my friends about this book, she had only one question: Why doesn't the creative writing curriculum at our school make this a required reading?

Other books have made their claim on my shelf, and will remain there. 

• Shel Silverstein. My guess is that the first book of his I received was Where the Sidewalk Ends, since that book is the one that is splitting down the middle. As a kid, I loved to read his poems and fall up into whatever world he created there. Life can be chaotic, especially once reaching adulthood. These remind me to have fun with whatever I'm doing or whatever project I'm working on. I read his book so often when I was little that now when I free write my own poetry, it comes out sounding similar to his. 

• The Barnum Museum, by Stephen Millhauser.  It's a book of Millhauser's short stories, and they are so wonderfully crafted that I want to scream to the world to read them. Yet...then again, he is such a good writer that I want to keep this secret to myself. A lot of it is description, but it's interesting (aka not Nathaniel Hawthorne) description. And its fantasy. 

What do you mean, obsessed with Harry Potter?
(Below is an extension of the favorite's shelf.)

(Sidenote: Harry Potter, my favorite book series, would be on my favorites shelf, except it doesn't have a place on my shelf since it would take up so much of it. It sits on top of my shelf, along with many other books on the subject, an extra Chamber of Secrets DVD, and two VHS's from the first two films.) 

What books are on your favorite's shelf? I would love to hear! 

#FP - Week 1

I have been keeping track of my Friday Phrases, thanks to Timehop!

How about I share them? Every Friday, until I run out (or come up with more!). They will include some that are recent, but most will be older.

Week One

• Eleanor’s voice was calm. “My story will be heard—that time will come. Until then, I wait my turn on the other side of Jessica’s brain.”

digitalblasphemy.com 

• “To get out of the book,” he said, “You have to work your way through the book—to the other side. When it’s the end, you’ll be free.”

• “The other side of the universe is a far drive m’lady, just relax.” Heeding the captain’s words, I pulled my book out and started to read.

• This world was perfect, but not like the other. Touching the mirror’s cold glass, she wondered how she could get back to the other side.

• On the other side of the bookcase, she found no hidden passageway. She found a book that had fallen: the diary of her great grandmother.