Perceptions and Illusions

Rrrrrrip, scratch, scratch, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

The strange noises broke through to my consciousness. But I'm tough. I shook my head to clear it, refocused on my computer screen, and resumed my writing. Whatever was making that noise could wait until I reached the end of the chapter.

Rrrrrrip.

Scratch, rip, shuffle.

The noises continued, but for me they were only background static. I was in my story, fully focused, totally oblivious to the world around me.

Until I heard the high-pitched squeal of a puppy in pain. The sound of a creature in pain is unmistakeable, and impossible to ignore.

But where was she? I knew she was in the house, somewhere.

The squeal alerted my daughter to possible trouble, and she began to search for her pup.

Rrrrrip, scratch, scatch, shuffle, rrrrrrrrip.

There was that annoying noise again! But now my daughter was on the trail and she had discovered that it was coming from under the stairs, the same place she suspected the puppy was hiding.

My daughter investigated, and reported her discovery. Now there is yet another fact my family can add to the "things I didn't know about puppies" list.

Did you know that puppies can chew holes through walls?

Labels: family, life, writing

Okay, you Jupiterians. I know you're out there. Why don't you pick on someone your own size?

What do you mean, you are tiny compared to humans? Did I ever say you were bigger than humans? Or even than my dog, Pepper? Do you think that your small size makes it okay to not play fair?

Besides, where did you get the idea that "pick on someone your own size" only applies if the tormentor is bigger than the victim. Germs are tiny, and most humans would prefer if germs picked on someone their own size, like maybe other germs.

What? Of course I know it was you! Don't be silly.

Prove it? No, I can't prove it, but I know your style. You like to be sneaky.

Why do I believe you are the culprit? Come on! Why else would Pepper come running and screaming through the door like she did. I looked outside, and there was nothing out there that could have scared her, and she didn't have a scratch on her.

Ah ha! So you admit it, do you? That's good. That's a start.

But let's get this straight. If you want to slow down my writing, pick on me. Leave my dog alone!

Labels: family, frivolity, Jupiterians, myth or reality, writing

Writers are often asked what process they go through when writing.

Me, I rely on multiple rewrites, which each change the text quite a bit.

For example, this morning these paragraphs:

     I opened my eyes and looked at my husband lying beside me. Memories of wonderful times we have had together flooded my mind, and tears began to stream down my face.
     What in the world had happened to me yesterday? What tragic event had occurred to make me forget the most important people in my life? There were no humans on this earth who were more valuable to me than my family.
     And I forgot their existence for an entire day.

Became these paragraphs:

     As the light of morning sun hits my eyelids I decide it must be time to leave the land of slumber and start a new day.
     If I could convince my eyes to open, that is. They really don’t like that transition period when they are forced to leave the relaxing darkness of night to be assaulted by that bright orb which sometimes shows itself in the morning sky.
     My eyes tell me that they find the whole process extremely unfair!
     I convince them to open a slit, and both my eyes and I (or should I say the three of us?) are pleased to discover that there is no pain waiting to sneak in with the sun’s rays.
     A little at a time I persuade my eyes to open, until they are finally fully open and ready for a new day. Now all I have to do is roll over, sit up, and get out of bed.
     But my movements are arrested as my eyes decide to focus on the man sleeping beside me.
     As if someone had started playing 20 different movies in my head at the same time, memories flooded my brain, engulfing me with a kaleidoscope of images made up of the wonderful times I’ve shared with this man. Interspersed among the picnics, movies, berry picking and long walks were discussions about everything under the sun. Discussions I have enjoyed very much.
     My heart swells with love as the realization hits me that I truly enjoy being with this man who is my husband. It swells even more as I think about how amazing it is that I can talk to him about absolutely everything.
     Tears pour down my cheeks as my heart becomes overfull with emotion. This man is not simply my husband—he is my best friend!
     I’m such a sap.
     What in the world had happened to me yesterday? What tragic event had occurred to make me forget the most important people in my life? There were no humans on this earth who were more valuable to me than my family.
And I forgot their existence for an entire day.

And who knows what the final text will be after a few more rewrites!

By the way, it feels really good to be writing again. I've been so busy that I've barely written for about a month and a half. I think I was having withdrawal pains.

I told you those Jupiterians would find a way to slow me down!

Labels: DTA, writing

The book I'm currently working on is not written for the same audience as my first three books. While the Behold the Eye trilogy books were written for the middle grade/young adult group, this new book is more for adults.

Why the change?

Well, probably because I enjoy trying new things, finding new ways to do the same thing, and pushing myself to grow as a writer. My goal is "test the waters" in different genres by writing different types of books. I currently have the beginnings of a mystery, a series of ghost stories, and a science fiction.

Of course, the only one nearing book quality and length is the science fiction. I enjoy writing it, and it is coming along rather well. It is now 120 pages long and....

Uh oh, did you hear that?

When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut! Now the Jupiterians know about the next book, and they'll never let me get any peace.

Sigh. Here I go again!

Labels: DTA, life, writing

I am working on my newest book, and I just cannot decide if I want to write it in first or third person. I originally wrote it in third person, I then converted to first person, and now I've converted it again into third. I need to make up my mind soon.

So here is the same text, in different 'persons':
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“Look! There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!” I yelled.

I realized that yelling in an enclosed space like the car probably wasn’t a good idea as I watched my husband jump at the sound of my voice. He swerved to the right to make the requested turn, and then turned to look at me in surprise. I am usually much calmer than this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I admitted sheepishly and cringed at the expression on my husband’s face. I glanced toward the back of the car to see if my loudness had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.

“I am just so frustrated,” I continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”

“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”

“We still have another half hour before her appointment,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”

I turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because my oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When I had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, I had immediately called to make an appointment for my child.

The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed me that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Pride had flown out the window as I had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for my child.

So I knew that it was paramount that my family arrived for the appointment on time. If we blew this chance, there was no way we would be given a second chance. Which is why I had allowed a full hour for what should have been a 10 minute drive.
********************************************************************************
********************************************************************************
“Look! There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!” Vanessa yelled frantically.

Tony jumped at the sudden loud sound of his wife’s voice, swerved to the right to make the requested turn, and then turned to look at her in surprise. Vanessa was usually much calmer than this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” Vanessa admitted sheepishly as she noticed the expression on her husband’s face. She glanced toward the back of the car to see if she had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.

“I am just so frustrated,” Vanessa continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”

“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”

“We still have another half hour before her appointment,” Vanessa admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”

Vanessa turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because her oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When Vanessa had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, she had immediately called to make an appointment for her child.

The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed Vanessa that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Vanessa had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for her child.

So Vanessa knew that it was paramount that her family arrived for the appointment on time. If they blew this chance, there was no way they would be given a second chance. Which is why Vanessa had allowed a full hour for what should have been a 10 minute drive.
********************************************************************************

I have to choose the person before the next rewrite, because it is time to choose a path.

In first person I can be friendlier and let the reader really know what is in the Vanessa's head. But I won't be able to give other people's points of view.

In third person the reader will be kept at a greater distance, but can see from more angles.

What to do, what to do!

Labels: DTA, writing

Writing has opened my eyes in a way I never expected.

I have been known in the past to get so caught up in a book that I could not hear any noises around me. A train could be barrelling down the track, me sitting on the rails, people screaming for me to get out of the way, and I would continue to calmly read. The train, the screaming people, imminent death--all of that would have become the fictional world, and the book in my hand the only reality.

But now I read differently. Now I notice how the plot is structured, how dialog carries the story along in a way that pure text never could, where the author utilizes foreshadowing in just that perfect manner.

But most of all, my eyes have been opened to exactly how much of the author is embedded in the story. How old hurts, joys, thoughts and dreams appear on the pages and become part of the story.

As soon as I began to write seriously, as soon as I realized just exactly how much an author must give up of themself, I knew that there were certain types of stories I would never be capable of writing. Not that my imagination is not rich enough to write a psycho-thriller or a horror story, but my life experiences are fortunately lacking in that arena.

And that is just the way I want to keep it!

Labels: writing

I've always been a writer. I can remember that as a child I would write poetry for anyone who would be kind enough to read it. I particularly liked to make birthday cards, because then I knew I had an audience who would read and (I hoped) enjoy what I had to offer.

The plans of my childhood were to make writing my career, and I decided it was time to act on that plan shortly after my marriage 23 years ago.

That is, of course, until I was blessed with the birth of my first child. At that point, my world shifted and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, more important than my family. Writing could wait.

Labels: history, writing