Short Write #1- “Jump”

Every once in a while, I hope to upload a short story that I’ve written as a breakup from the norm. Most of them will be under five hundred words, I hope. Here’s number one!

 

I was looking up at the sky- a murky blue that was announcing the coming sunset. I was doing my best to keep from looking at the
water. I breathed deeply, but still I couldn’t make myself move forward.

I stood there, questioning myself. Do I really want to do this? Do I really have the guts? Finally, slowly, I made my way to the edge
until my toes hung off. The water yawned out in front of me, and the wind pulled at my bangs. Yet again, I stopped and wondered if I could do it.

There’s no one here. It’s just me- no pressure. I laughed bitterly at that. There was definitely pressure. I put my arms out, felt the
wind rush by, and thought about the freedom in jumping. As soon as I did this, as I fell through the air, all of the worries of my world would disappear. The wind would encase me, the water would receive me.

I nodded decisively. I could do this. I breathed in through my nose, held it for a moment, and released it. I wanted this. Why else was I here?  If this hadn’t have been the answer, I never would have come here. It had to be me, the wind, and the water. Blessedly, there’d been no one else around when I’d arrived. I would have fled just as quickly as my courage had a moment ago.

I shook my head, throwing out all thoughts of anything but me and the water. I would do this. I bounced on the balls of my feet- preparing myself- and then I jumped.

It was perfect. I lined myself, my body, just right. I could feel the wind cradling me. I moved just slightly, and the flip executed with exact precision. It was almost done. I pointed my body and sliced through the water, disturbing it infinitesimally, and when I popped back up out of the water, I grinned.

My breathing was heavy, my heart pounding, but as I looked around the pristine pool- knowing I’d done it- I felt wonderful. After working so long and hard on that dive, I’d finally done it for the first time… correctly!

I pumped my fist in the air, whooped aloud, and listened to it echo back at me in the deserted pool area. Competition was tomorrow, and I would win it. I could do this.

Inspirations for Aspirations

Hello world. My topic for today came from somewhere out of the blue. Today, as I was entangling myself in the inner workings of my most recently acquired Iris Johansen novel, White Satin, I found myself thinking. Thinking of what you may ask, and it’d be a logical question.

Well, as I frequent romance novels- most often the previously stated Iris Johansen’s- more than any other genre, I found myself thinking about what drew me to them. Before I could get to that, though, I made myself think of the obvious reasons to be drawn to them. Two of the most common that came to mind were the steamy sex scenes for some people and the “I hate you, but I love you; I want you, but I shouldn’t have you.” that is found in ninety percent of this genre. What I realized, though, is that this is not what draws me to these books.

That left me to wonder what it was. It didn’t take me long to figure it out, though it took me some lengthy messages to a good friend to sort out what exactly it was. For me, reading these novels is like watching two people dance to a song without words. Odd, since a book is made up of words. When a romance novelist writes, when I read their words, it’s not just reading to me. I become immersed in the character, play out a role that isn’t mine to fill, become an actress for a moment in time. In my messages to said friend I also characterized my love for reading these novels by saying, “…at the same time, I love looking at the words and how she uses them to fuse together a work of art so ingenious, with so many inner workings and stories and perfect changes… And at the end she ties it all together with a swift but gentle stop that allows your mind to wander in that world a little longer in your own right to think what might happen after that…”

And then that led me to thinking about my love of reading in general. I likened it to a craving instead of a passion. I said that if I counted up the hours I’ve spent begging for one book or another, it’d turn out to be a year or more worth. And when he said that my love of reading was a good thing? What did I say? I told him it is and it isn’t. Why? If I loved it, how could it be bad as well as good?

As a writer, and an insecure one at that, I find myself on occasion looking at the authors I so admire and wondering why I try when I know I’ll never be that good, that brilliant? I throw my writing across the room and vow never to pick it up again because I was not worthy to call myself a writer. Yes, I know, a little over-dramatic, but it’s what I do. I do eventually pick my writing back up again, start back at it, enjoy it. I do this in much the same way I give my writing up.

I start thinking… and thinking… and then suddenly a thought strikes me.

I get this magnificent hope- probably one undue to me- and look at those author’s that have made it the entire way. They’ve got their agent and their editor and their books published, and I tell myself one day. One day, I’ll be that author, and some girl will pick up my book, and they’ll want to be as good as me. Then, on that day… I’ll be the inspiration for their aspirations.

And that’s the thought I leave you with tonight. If ever you ask yourself why you chase a dream, if ever anyone else asks you to explain, now you have some words of encouragement to remember. Who knows? Maybe it’ll help keep you going like it does me. Or maybe you already have your own pep talk. Either way. Chase your dreams because who knows? Maybe you’ll be the inspiration that starts that one person’s aspirations.

–Megan S.

Writing: One Part Soul, Two Parts Tylenol

Writing. For some reason that seems to be the topic of all my posts, and today is no different. Today is all about the block we writers tend to suffer and the opposite- a deluge of stories attacking you at once.

Writer’s block is a common issue. Even non-writers get it when they have a paper for a class or the likes thereof. You know you want to write so you pick up that laptop, desktop, or the old paper and pen duet and then you just sit there. You stare at it like it’s supposed to come to you- magically but it doesn’t. You go, get a drink, make a sandwich, kick a ball around, and then you come back. It seems we think during that time that some fantastical creature has written your paper for you, and that when you come back, all you’ll have to do is call it your own, but again you sit down and the page is empty, your creativity still stopped up, and your paper or story still unwritten.

Why do we automatically think that eating or drinking, being active or taking a nap, or any of those other things will work? Because they’ve worked before, right? Wrong. I don’t believe that any of these work every time- as we well see after an entire day of having no clue what to write. Maybe that’s just me, though. I find that it takes a variety of activities to get your mind flowing. One day, maybe you can eat something, and from that food you find inspiration. The next day it’s a walk that gets that creativity going, the next a drive, another a sport. I’ve noticed though, that even that varies. Some people can eat a sandwich every time and never get any inspiration from it, but yet they continue the process over and over for some odd reason. Other people do a variety of things, and they never become creative. I’ve never met someone, though, who- from one simple activity- can find their ideas each and every time.

Then there’s the over-abundance of ideas. So many non-writers complain about writer’s block, but I’ve found that quite a few experienced writers complain about the number of ideas they have that they don’t have enough time to get down. I have to say, that is my worst problem. A number of writers hear their main characters in their head, can pick out the story from their character’s view because of that, and when multiple characters are talking at once, yelling for their story to be written, it can be even worse than the utter silence of writer’s block. For me, I’ve found that taking a small pad of paper with you wherever you go helps. you can jot down ideas, characters, and anything else you need to get out within minutes and then refocus on whatever you’re supposed to be doing at the time so you’re not distracted by those little characters screaming at you to write their stories.

I have to say, when someone tells me they wish they could write, I just smile at them and shake my head. I always inform them that if they ever become a writer with a natural talent Lord help them because writing is one part soul and two parts Tylenol- because if the writer’s block doesn’t give you a headache, the multitude of ideas will!

So, this is my view on these subjects and my way to fix them. How do you do it?

 

–Megan S.

When I Write _______ The Best

Have you ever stopped to think for a moment why you write what you write? How you write it? When, where, and how often you write it? I didn’t. Not really. Not until these past few minutes. It’s been playing over and over in my head. You see, I write almost everything- not to sound arrogant as some people might find it so, notice I don’t say I write it all well.

As most of you can tell just from looking on here, I write a multitude of things ranging from poetry to short stories, random ideas to blogging, and a little of all that in between. Tonight, though, I’ve been thinking, though, how each piece of written artwork comes into being, and I wonder if you’re the same as me.

When I write poetry the best, I tend to be emotional. Angry, depressed, broken, hurt. Never dull, never without a reason to write it, my poetry flows out of me with the rest of my thoughts and feelings in a torrent. It sweeps darkly over the page, and I can’t seem to ever write it unless I have a pen and paper handy. It’s almost like typing isn’t enough of a physical action, an action that something in me needs to dispel all that I kept bottled up.

Random ideas and short stories seem to come to me when I’m at my most precise. They come at those moments where I know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it- the moments where I can be curt, but still happy, and I need a computer to make it sound right. It’s like the letters have to come out as quickly and efficiently as my brain can process them.

Longer stories and the beginnings of novels come to me in the moments I feel slowest. The moments I want to spend sprawled languidly, savoring moments and feeling as if I’m in my own heaven. They generally desert me nearly as quickly as the odd moments I find here and there, and I find that that’s why I’ve never finished one, but maybe I’m just looking for something to blame.

Then there’s blogging. That wonderful thing I want to do every day, but ends up getting put off again and again for lack of inspiration, until suddenly it hits me. “It” is not so much an idea as it is a mood. A thoughtful mood in which I ponder and over-analyze things until that one statement that I spew forth unwittingly draws me to a computer once again to type these up. I don’t worry so much about what I’m saying, how I’m saying it, or what’s proper in these. For once, it’s something simply in my head that just manages to reach all of you, however many might be reading this, and then the topic is over, and I’m back to being a dull, motivation lacking girl until another mood sparks and another piece emerges.

I find, though, that this topic could go on and on- through the weavings and nuances of genre, where we position ourselves to write whatever it is, and so on and so forth. So, how, where, why do you write when you write _____ the best? I encourage you, fill in the blank with your own blog post and link me to it through a message. I’d absolutely love to know.

And that’s all for Rag Tag Typings tonight. Hope you all enjoyed it. Adios!

Favorite Authors and Other Thoughts

Have you ever stopped to realize who your favorite author is? Have you ever stopped to think, “Who’s book would I pick up if I had a choice from all the authors I’ve ever read? Who’s books stick in my head like no others?” It’s a question often asked by and to avid book readers, but almost all of us come back with that old familiar line. “I don’t think I could pick just one.”

Not me. I have a favorite author. Three honestly, but all are in different genre and writing styles- Iris Johansen: Adult Romantic Suspense, Sarah Dessen: Realistic Teen Fiction, Cassandra Clare: Fantasy Teen Fiction. One thing I can always count on is those three authors.

Their books, perched on my shelves all for different lengths of time, are the one things that never change in my life. When you reread a book you’ve read several times over, you might catch some part you never paid attention to before, but the book doesn’t change. You know the ending, the beginning, the middle. If you were given the scenes in random order, you could probably put them one by one into the order their supposed to be in even without the book as a guide. Their world, realm, setting, and pace are almost as familiar to you as your own life, and yet, when asked about a favorite book, the ones you’ve read the most, learned the best, and could probably recite by memory are not the title you say or even think of.

Why is that? It’s because, though they may be the ones you will forever read, they are not the book in the forefront of your mind. It’s not the latest attraction. It is not your latest read, it is not what you go into a library or bookstore and search for. This book is your goto book for when you want something good by an author you know and you don’t have to worry that it might not be what you wanted.

I have a problem many writers have, though. I rewrite my goto book every time I read it. When I find myself reading any book, but espescially ones by my favorite authors, I go through and, as I read through, I find myself editing it, making it to my style of writing, and it makes it almost even more interesting. Not because it’s then in my style but because every time I pick up that book, the one I’ve read so often the spine is broke and the pages thin from turning, I rewrite it in my head, and every time, that story turns out a little different, and before long an idea begins forming in my head of its own accord.

I start to think, and for a while I am past reading altogether and can’t focus on any book I pick up as the ideas fester in my head, grow, swarm, and take over my mind until, lo and behold, a story idea, a shred of a thing scrambles from my brain to my fingertips, into the pen I use for writing, and onto a page or more of paper until, all of a sudden, there before me are main characters, plot, motive, climax and the peak of the story, and then I’m done, my brain is shot, and before me lays paper that holds everything I am, want to be, and can be without anyone ever seeing it as anything more than a simple story, wrote for the pleasure of an audience.

And that, my friends, is Topic #1 of my blog, Rag Tag Typings. Hope you enjoyed the random idea and abrupt stop.

–Megan S.