I said before I wouldn’t be able to publish much, some things here and there. So now that things are coming down a little I thought I would give you all a link to my contributor page on yahoo. You can look at all the articals I have written lately, short stories, poems ect. Come by and see me
This is a rewrite of a poem I did about writers block. If you want to see the first version check through my archives. I am very happy with this rewrite, it says more then it did before. Not only about my writers block, but blending the pain and joys of my life into my writing. Hope you all enjoy. Leave me a comment and tell me what you think!
Stuck In My Head
Stuck in my head, what a sad place to be.
Words run round yet they elude me.
Images flash by, some real some only mine.
Sweet and colorful, terrifying and dark.
A mix of emotion blending to paint a picture of my being.
The mind of a tormented soul, both light and dark.
I stomp, I scream, I let it all out, no one hears me alone in the dark.
Dust rolls up, desert all about, no oasis to satisfy my thirst.
I wish for peace but my mind scrambles about.
Thoughts of dark times, past but still here tainting the joys of my life.
Am I to stay for all time, to run round desperate to fly.
If only you’d come lift me to the sky I could catch those thoughts that fly by.
I sit and I wait, wish for only you, hands full of desperate tears as they pool.
Mind full of hurt and love, joy and pain, yet my hands sit idly by with nothing to say.
How long shall I roam this desolate plain my mind calls home, unable to return.
Where have you gone, I beg wont you come save me from this depressing fate.
Still I sit and wait for your return, knight in shining armor won’t you come, return me to a life outside this dark and hurt filled hole.
Hands held high I will wait for the touch that brings me to life once more.
I know lately I have been absent. I never seem to find the time to do all the projects I have in the works. Sometimes something fall to the wayside, left to wait until I have the time to get back to it. I feel bad about not posting for so long.
I have been up to some new endeavors. I started writing for Yahoo!voices. So far I have published two articles, and one is waiting for approval. I don’t get paid a lot, but I’m not doing it to get rich. Why am I doing it, well it gets my name, my voice out there. Here are the links to the two articles I have done.
This is an article I did on David J Rodger, simply a combo of the blog posts I did on my blog: http://voices.yahoo.com/dark-writer-david-j-rodger-11430790.html?cat=44
This is a poem about summer : http://voices.yahoo.com/first-summer-day-11430124.html?cat=47
This is the link to my profile on yahoo!voices, here you can check out articles I have posted and become a fan : http://voices.yahoo.com/first-summer-day-11430124.html?cat=47
My tattoo business has even picked up lately. I am happy about that but it gives me less time with my kids, less time to write or paint.
I will try to post more. It may be sporadic, but when things calm down I would be happy to go back to the artist of the week or month. I hope you are all still with me
So lately I have been trying to add more of my own personal content, it was suggested to me a while back, instead of posts about other writers or artist. My life has been a little crazy recently to say the least. For over two months I was unable to work on my novel at all. My lap top even broke down for about a month, drove me nuts. I am the kind of person that if I am not creating something new out of thin air I go a little bonkers. I have also discovered that the more stressed I am the more creatively blocked I become.
Coming to that realization I have stopped stressing about my novel. I am writing this for me, not for any one else. Yes it would be nice to sell my novel, and I do have an interested publisher (online publisher), but if its never sold that’s OK. I have been told a first novel is rarely published, so I write this for me either way.
When I came home from my first writer’s group I was energised. It was so nice to sit and talk with another writer, to share our writing experiences, and discuss our trouble coming into the writing world. So after everything I have learned over the two months I didn’t write, and the support from my group I feel ready, prepared to get back on the horse and get to writing. I was even reading through my first draft looking at it with new more knowledgeable eyes seeing where I could change and improve my manuscript.
So here I go to write, excited at the possibilities of implementing my new found knowledge.
When I first decided I was ready to write a book it was suggested to me that I join a locale writers group. At the time I only found one, and it wasn’t for me. I can’t remember what style they wrote in, but it had to be that one, but I don’t write in their style. So I settled for online groups, but it’s not personal. Yes I got some good advice, and took heed of what most told me. However I also got comments that told me I should not post a thing because I wasn’t experienced enough, my work unpolished. Reading comments like that made me think ‘But How am I supposed to learn from this if all you have to say is I need to learn more before posting. How do I improve without critiques?’. So I recently decided to start my own group in my area, and open to writers of all forms. So I posted an ad on Craigslist. As of now including me there are three members. Our first meeting is Sunday June 2nd at Barnes and Noble in Webster, NY 7PM. I am proud of my self for taking this step, for putting my self out there and starting this group. I don’t have a name for it, I don’t have a set meeting schedule, and we are few in number, but it is started. I have taken another step forward, a step closer to my dreams. Even if my group stays small, if it fails, or we gain more members, no matter what I know I tried my hardest. I can be proud in the fact that I did my best.
I want to invite all writers in my area to join us.
Barnes & Noble in Webster NY
Sunday June 2nd at 7PM
Every writer needs constructive feedback. I chance to learn what areas they are strong and weak in. The opportunity to converse with other writers. Find their voice. become a better writer.
I have read many blogs, books, and posts in online writers groups. But nothing can beat that personal connection. I look forward to my first meeting with great excitement.
In this post, part two of ‘Growing in Writing and Blogging‘, I will discuss the varies ideas I have learned through connecting to other writers, reading books about writing, and doing many online searches. I am aware there are many people who go in to writing thinking they know what they need to know, that it will be easy to write a novel. In truth it’s a journey one must take, a discovery of self and knowledge. Becoming a writer is no easy task, and the information out there is often overwhelming and at times misleading. With such conflicting information floating around the Internet it can leave you wondering what is right and what is wrong. I don’t think its about what is wrong, or what is right, but what works for you. On the other hand there are key points that should always be followed.
Show Vs. Tell
Now this is a big one, key to writing. When you tell you are saying to the reader how to see and feel your words. When you show you lead them to the conclusion, letting them feel and see it for themselves. Simply telling a reader will tern them off, and what you have written and worked on so hard will be put down never to be finished. Colorful words go a long way, practice show vs tell by observing your surroundings and describing them.
Tell : The tree was tall and old.
Show : I stood beneath it’s branches, as they gently sway in the cool breeze. Towering above all the others it appeared to touch heaven its self. Roots reaching deep into the earth it would take many people hand in hand to reach around its base. I wondered to my self how long had it stood untouched and undamaged to grow so immense. Shame they want me to cut it down.
With the first sentence you have a stated fact about a single tree, but with the second you can imagine standing at the base of the tree looking up at its towering size, even see the light come through the branches as they sway, see the immense roots digging into the earth.
A Dictionary and Thesaurus are your best friend
There are amateur writers that tend to use the same words over and over again, I admit I found I was even doing it. The best thing to do is keep a dictionary and thesaurus on hand. In writing they have become my best friend. My vocabulary has grown, my ability to ‘show’ useing more colorful words has grown by leaps and bounds. For me I can’t keep two big books around and spend time thumbing through them with three kids running around so I found something better a web site with both : http://www.merriam-webster.com/
Keep on target
Now there are two ways to accomplish this and both should be followed.
One: Make the time two write a little every day. Try to keep to a routine. Its okay to take a day or two off, but if you write a little every day you will eventually finish your first draft. Not keeping to a scheduled can make it hard to randomly site down and write, getting distracted or even drawling a blank when you try.
Two: Its alright to get off topic with a little bit of a side story adding to the back ground of your characters or settings. Going overboard with the side story can confuse your reader and loose the main story line. Keep these short and sweet, they will add depth to your characters and novel but you don’t want to get lost in them. This is another problem that will leave your novel unfinished and siting on a shelf never to be read again, confusing the reader and loosing the real story puts readers off.
These are three of the best tips I have learned. They have helped me improve my writing more then any other tips I have found. I use my knowledge in both my blog and writing, even my readers have told me I have improved immensely sence I first started. Remember to use these tips to the fullest and you to will improve in all your writing rather you blog, write poetry, write novels, or short stories. Happy writing and remember practice makes perfect. Yes it’s an old saying and everyone has heard a thousand times, but it is true. The harder you work at it and the more you practice the better you will become. Remember writing for the first time is a journey, and every journey starts with the first step.
I have said before that I try to do to much. For the first time I have to do something, make a choice. After talking to my older brother I know what I now have to do, even though I don’t want to. I have to post less on my blog. I spend so much time researching my blog posts I have no time to write, to read, to do things I need to do for my son’s after school activities, and all the little things that go with being a mom of three young boys. I guess that is why most writers either don’t have kids or wait until they get older. So, what do I plan to do? I plan to free up my time by blogging less. I love blogging every day, or almost every day, but kids take up a lot of time and I do still need to work on my novel. So I will go back to doing an artist of the week, and my segments will run for 1-2 months. I apologies to all my readers, I will post again on Friday so I can do a great post for you all. Thank you all for reading and liking my posts.
As I suspectedd at the start of this segmant ‘Dark Writing’ will run more then just a week. I knew Edgar Allan Poe would take up two or three posts, I don’t have to do this thired post but I always like to add some of the artist work. Now I know most people are formiluer with his work, Poe is requiered reading in most High schools. But as I have said before I love Poe’s work. Tomorrow I will post on someone new, but today enjoy one of my favorite short stories by Poe.
The Tell-Tale Heart
Copyright 2000, by the Rector and Visitors of the University of Virginia.
TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, “Who’s there?”
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when over- charged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, “It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or, “It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.
I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.
When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o’clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.
No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND — MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no? They heard! — they suspected! — they KNEW! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again — hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! –
“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!” END.
I have only been nominated but there is no reason why I can’t take the steps now and nominate others.
In order to claim the Kreativ Blogger Award here’s what I and the next lucky recipients need to do:
1. Thank the blogger who gave you the award and provide a link.
2. List 7 interesting things about yourself that your readers might find interesting
3. Nominate 7 other bloggers, provide links, and let them know!
Seven Interesting Things:
1. I am 25 and I still have nightmares, almost every night. But I don’t always see them the way most would, I drawl inspiration from some of them. I may not have used the ideas, but they are there ready and waiting.
2. I once wrote a poem for my creative writing class in 9th grade that scared my teacher. I wish I still had it to share, probably one of my best. At that time it had only been a few years (I can’t remember how long exactly) seance the columbine shootings. I can’t remember the exact parameters of the assignment, but I did my poem on that subject, from the shooters point of view. I have always been able to place my self in the mind of another, someone I have never meant. So as some one who had suffered the torment of my pears for years, it wasn’t all that hard. Lets just say that when I read my poem to the class not only did I get a grate response from them, but my teacher pulled me aside at the end of class to ask if I was planing to shoot up the school. That made me laugh.
3. I don’t think I am interesting at all
4. My mind never stops moving. Even during intimate times (You know what I mean) I have half a dozen things swimming around up there. Its a pain in the a$$.
5. I surprised one of my teachers in middle school one day by reading a paper on her desk upside down. I can read upside down and backwards, because I am dyslexic, but adults in my school wouldn’t test me because they didn’t believe my parents.
6. I have been through such bad experiences in my life it was thought I would end up with severe mental illness. Things that would and have damaged people to the point of drug abuse, mental illness, and even suicide. But here I am, you can say I am a little crazy but its who I am. I overcame the things that happened to me, and came out stronger on the other side. I know I am not the only one to ever do so, but its a personal triumph for me to prove the masses wrong.
7. The people I love and care about think I am more talented then I do. But I know I should think the same as them. I won more awards for art and writing when I was in school then I can remember. I paint, tattoo, sketch, write poetry, and I am working on a novel, But I know no matter how much I do I can learn more, do more, be more. So I can’t bring my self to believe.
Now for my nominations, the blogs I enjoy on a daily bases! Check them out, you may love them as much as I do!
My 7 Kreativ Blogger Award Nominees:
So there you have it, my seven. There are meny other blogs I love to read, so just because you aren’t on this list it doesn’t mean I don’t like you!
After being told my imagery is week I did a little searching for helpful sites. Whether you write poetry, short stories, children’s books, or novels these sites can help you improve that writing. Also a site I was given that can help you improve your spelling.
It is no secrete I can’t spell my way out of a paper bag, lol. As someone who missed a lot of school, the reasons I feel I can’t share, I missed out on the education I should have had. Now I am 24 almost 25 and still struggling with spelling. Don’t get me wrong I have improved a lot! It was hard to get to this point, but the journey continues. I have found I am not the only writer with this problem, so it is nothing to be ashamed of. I simply have to continue bettering my self, for my benefit and for my children as well.
Later today I will post the rewrite for my prologue (Unsure whether or not I will be using it), for the rewrite I utilized these site. And so I feel I am obligated to share them with you. If I can help even one person then I will be satisfied.
So here you go :
And one site to help you better your web sits : Nine Website Creation Mistakes