What Makes a Story A Story?

You'd think after taking a class I'd have that question more sorted out, but I really don't. In part, I think all writers struggle with finding the story, it's all part of the craft. But I can't seem to see when I don't have it. I'm not sure I've really found it yet for any story...

The trouble is, I don't like conflict. I really don't. So the bits of the stories I'm drawn to, that my mind seems to easily come up with is the... back story.. The bit that happens when things aren't interesting. Just everyday kinda life stuff.

I keep finding characters I like, bits and pieces of stories, but I don't know where to take them. I know something is missing, and I can't seem to figure out what it is/how to fix is.

One thing I've not yet tried since the course is just blurting it all out on the page. I want to try that. And soon. Just write everything I can about the characters, the scenes that speak to me, and see if somewhere in it all a story presents itself.

Our teacher told us that the story begins when the status quo is challenged, that's the crux of things. But it's tension and conflict, overcoming obstacles, that's the story, that's what makes a story as opposed to a pleasant anecdote.

Part of my trouble is, of course, is that I love pleasant anecdotes. That's what I've spent my life telling myself when my life isn't what I'd wish. Or when my life was too full and I needed to to drift off to sleep. I'd escape to another world, be another person, live another life. I wouldn't go have adventures, so much as I'd go have romances. Gods, that's embarrassing to admit! But I guess, for most of my life, that's the bit that was most glaringly missing. We didn't have conflict/trouble/adventure to pull us together, but rather time. A slow, true deepening of trust, knowledge, etc. Or sometimes they'd just be hot flings. Much more like life than any story.

All this leaves me wondering if I'm capable of writing stories at all. It's the conflict, the tension, where it all seems to fall apart for me. *sigh*

Maybe I just need to keep writing. Maybe I just need the courage to allow myself to try, and fail. It's okay to fail, as long as you keep trying, as long as you keep writing. If Alice Munro (who is apparently amazing) has false starts, and takes many wrong paths before she gets to where she knows what she wants a story to be, then it's perfectly natural for the same thing to happen to me, a novice.

I just have to learn to let go. To just write, without expectation. To just see. To not feel the effort wasted if the story doesn't come immediately. *sigh*

So where do I get all this courage?

Assignment #5, Option 2 - No Strings Attached - 500 words

Maddie stared out the car window at the dark, empty street, her heart in her throat, a question on her lips. Phantoms of the salsa music from the club pounded against her skin. Tonight the silence between them was suffocating; it stole her voice. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Alejandro?"

"Yeah?"

“Um… Friends of mine are having a party next Saturday. It's a couples kind of thing.” Maddie squeezed her eyes shut, "I'd really like to introduce you to them. Will you come?"

"No," he replied, staring resolutely forward.

She sat silent, still, waiting for him to say something more; he didn’t. "Is that all the reply I'm to expect?" Maddie finally asked, fighting a bad English accent as she stole Mr. Darcy's line from Pride & Prejudice. Had her pride led her astray, just as Darcy's had, she wondered.

Alejandro shrugged, "What more is there to say?"

Maddie watched his broad, muscular shoulders roll gracefully under his tight polo shirt. She would not be distracted. "How about why?"

"Does it matter? The answer is still the same." He said sullenly.

"Yes it matters, damnit." She said, crossing her arms.

Silence filled the car, every long moment more stifling than the last. Alejandro rotated his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Very carefully, he pulled onto the entrance ramp for the QEW. Her heart twinged; he was taking her home.

Maddie broke the silence first. "Come on, Alejandro, talk to me. I deserve a better answer than just no. Why don't you want to meet my friends?"

"It's not that."

"Then what?" she asked, her words sharp.

"I don't want to talk about it," was his churlish reply.

"Of course not. Well I do. Why are you being such a closed mouth jerk?"

"Do you really want to have this conversation right now?" He countered caustically.

"Yes!" She all but yelled.

"We aren't a couple," Alejandro said with hushed venom. "I'm not lying to your friends."

"I didn't ask you to," she said from between clenched teeth. "I just, want to introduce you, to, my friends," her words haltingly pushed through the sea of her emotions. "Is that too much to ask?"

"What kind of relationship do you think we have?" He asked in a carefully neutral voice.

"What?" She replied, genuinely confused.

"Just answer the question."

She brushed her bangs behind her ear. "I don't know. I mean, I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure."

"So what did you think?" He pushed.

"I thought..." Maddie shook her head, her eyes glassy. "No, I'm not humiliating myself further. Clearly I was wrong."

"Maddie, don't be like that. I like you, you know I do. We have a lot of fun together. You dance..." His voice went husky, low, "like sex incarnate. And everything you promise on the dance floor, you deliver. You're amazing, really. But I like things how they are. Casual. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," She coughed, choking on her tears, "I understand."

Assignment #5, Option 1 - The Adulterer - 502 words

Maddie stared out the car window at the dark, empty street, her heart in her throat. Phantoms of the salsa music from the club pounded against her skin. Tonight the silence between them was suffocating; it stole her voice. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Alejandro?"

"Yeah?"

"Um.. Friends of mine are having a party next Saturday.” Maddie squeezed her eyes shut, "I'd really like to introduce you to them. Will you come?"

"No." His anger dripped from his short, sharp word.

She sat silent, still, waiting for him to say something more; he didn’t. "Is that all the reply I'm to expect?" Maddie finally asked, fighting a bad English accent as she stole Mr. Darcy's line from Pride & Prejudice. Had her pride led her astray, just as Darcy's had, she wondered.

"You know I can't do that Maddie. I have a fiancée! I can't be seen going to a party with someone else. What if Carmen found out?"

"Are you going to tell her?,” she asked, her voice flat with anger, “Because no one going will; they don’t know her.”

“No, of course not.” He rotated his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“We go dancing almost every weekend, how is this so different?" Maddie stared at Alejandro expectantly.

"You're just my dance partner to her. Like a football buddy, it means nothing." He said, his eyes obstinately on the road.

"Bullshit! Are you telling me if she saw us dancing tonight she wouldn't mind?! Your hands were all over me! Anyone could have seen us!" Maddie ranted, her hands gesturing wildly with her words.

The streetlights strobed across Alejandro's face. He paled visibly.

“So why is that okay, but you won’t come with me to a private party? Why?” Her words were so hot they almost burnt her lips.

“Because we don’t have that kind of relationship Maddie!” Alejandro snapped, his hand smacking the steering wheel. In a strangled calm he continued, “Whether we like it or not, I’m going to marry Carmen. I have to show her some respect.”

"Wait," Maddie shook her head to clear her thoughts, "whether we like it or not? You don't want to marry her, do you?"

"I didn't say that," he spat.

"But you aren't denying it either. Shit, Alejandro do you love her?” Maddie asked, forgetting her own troubles to deal with the bigger issue.

“What's love got to do with it?” He countered.

“Everything! Marriage is about love!”

“No. Marriage is about duty, honour, family,” he explained, every word bitingly crisp.

“Is that why you're marrying her? Duty?” Maddie asked, shocked to her core.

“You wouldn't understand. It was how I was raised. How we both were. Carmen gets it.” His voice was sullen now.

“Marriage isn't a short term commitment… How can you risk it?” She breathed, her mind reeling.

“I'm not risking anything.” He scowled.

“Oh Ale, you're risking everything.” Her voice betrayed her heartache; she’d thought she loved him, but here sat a perfect stranger.

Playing to Your Audience

So, assignment 5, the last one, is to revise a previous assignment in 500 words. I decided to go with Assignment 2, about Maddie the homewrecker and Alejandro the adulterer. No one liked my characters. It's hard to be likeable when you're dating an engaged man, and the audience is all married. LOL But I like her. I want her to be likeable. A younger woman I know read my piece, and said she felt badly for Maddie. So maybe it's just that they're all old?? I really don't know.

Anyway, the point is, I revised my work. Twice.

The first time, I reworked their relationship entirely, so they were dating casually, with no strings attached anywhere. The cravat being that Maddie wanted more from the relationship that Alejandro wanted to give. Argument ensues.

The second time, I reworked the piece so the ending was very different. Maddie was still dating an engaged man, but we learn that he doesn't love her (the woman he's going to marry), doesn't want to marry her, but is. Maddie is shocked to say the least, and heartbroken for him.

I'm not sure how I feel about the casual dating rework. It feels kind of wishy washy to me. I'm not sure how to explain, but I guess it feels unreal to me, the argument feels false. Maybe that's because I've never had that particular argument.... Maybe it's because I didn't write it well. I can't really tell. Maybe it's because I know full well that I'm playing to my audience of white middle-class, conservative, married women, and it rubs me the wrong way.

I'm not why playing to my audience irks me so, but it does. It just feels so damn wrong. Though I"m sure part of it is, I really don't identify with them. I guess I am technically middle class now, but I don't feel it. I was raised by labourers, that's who I identify with, that's the kind of life I understand. I'm a practical person, but I'm also very young at heart I think. I understand that you can fall in love with someone you really shouldn't, that you can't always help it.

I want to write this story. I want to write it so badly. But I'm afraid it won't make sense, that no one will understand. That, as my husband put it, I've bitten off more than I can chew. *sigh* Maddie is so much a part of me that I can't help but love her. Heck, I even love Alejandro a little bit, and he's pretty much a jerk. I want to tell their story.... but I'm not so sure now which part of it IS a story. Blarg.

Stories, good stories, are the significant moments in people's lives. Little blocks of time, at least the ones I tend to read, where they are faced with a decision, with a change to the status quo.... I can't write them falling in love, that bit takes time. But maybe, just maybe, I can write the moment when Maddie realises she has fallen for him, and her decision process on what to do about it. Is that a story?? I'm not sure I can tell anymore.

Assignment #4

So, assignment #4 is 300 words, open. Write anything you want. I didn't know what to write, so I took the advice of my brother-in-law (I still can't believe I have brothers-in-law! Squee!), and wrote about my groping incident on the Bathurst streetcar a little while back.

Without further ado, here it is: (302 words)

An thin, elderly gentleman with a briefcase fought his way to the back of the streetcar. He sat beside Gwen, a tall, round, thirty-something.

“There was an empty seat in front of the pregnant teacher, but he just had to sit beside me,” Gwen thought, irritated, her claustrophobia kicking in.

She glared at him. He tried to speak to her. The sharp, rank scent of booze accosted her. Instantly, she turned away, ignoring him.

The boys in front of Gwen voraciously ate fat cinnamon buns in brown paper bags. The pretty pregnant woman’s eyes sparkled as she talked with the teenagers surrounding them. They laughed and joked with their teacher. Gwen smiled. “Good kids this lot,” she thought.

Gwen froze. Something was touching her; no, someone. She could feel it on the underside of her thigh, through her jeans. She had to be mistaken. No, there it was again. A distinct sweep of fingers ending in a definite grope. Shocked, unable to make eye contact, she looked at the old man. He was reaching across his body under his briefcase to do it. This was no accident. Her stop was soon, maybe she could wait it out. His hand flexed, rubbing the underside of her thigh.

“Nope, can't do it,” she thought, half-panicked.

Too shy to say anything to him, ashamed of her fear, Gwen got up, staring resolutely forward, and walked the length of the streetcar to the driver.

She paused. “Should I say something?” she wondered. The consequences flashed before her. She would inconvenience everyone. “It was only my thigh,” she thought.

Gwen sat in a single seat, behind the driver. The next stop was hers. She got off the streetcar in a daze. Her brain finally catching up, yelled inside her head, "I WAS GROPED ON A STREETCAR!"

Opinions? Comments? Thoughts? No?

Urban Fantasy

So I finally figured out what the name of my favourite genre is. My favourite genre to read, that is. Urban Fantasy. Kim Harrison and Laurell K Hamilton are icons of the genre, and two of my favourite authors (well, when just considering Laurell's earlier works anyway).

I love fantasy in general I think. I mean, I learned to read with Dr. Seus, and it doesn't get more fantastical than him to me. As a teen, I learned to love reading, and expanded my vocabulary with, what I'll call, traditional fantasy (knights questing on fictional worlds) with David Eddings. Seriously, that man has an amazing vocabulary!

I'm not entirely sure I can write fantasy well, urban or otherwise. The one thing my teacher keeps mentioning is my lovely, poetic word choices. Perhaps I'm a poet at heart? Buried under the years of practical engineering training? LOL. Anyway, where I'm going with this is, I do choose words well, for the most part, but I have so much trouble with everything else. I'm just not good at challenging the status quo. I hate conflict. I'm not good at creating tension. And that's the whole point of telling a story, damnit.

I don't think I could ever write things like Kim Harrison or Laurell K Hamilton does. I love mysteries, and a bit of violence, don't get me wrong, but writing them? I'm hopeless. I'm not a fighter. I'm like the exact opposite. I wouldn't even know where to begin in describing a fight, never mind creating it in my head! As for the mystery part, I love reading them, but I don't actually have any interest in writing them. Does that even make any sense??

So what do I want to write? To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I have a story in my head, and it's what I want to get out, it's what my brain goes to when it goes quiet, it's what a mull over before I fall asleep, it's what I think of when I look at a blank page. Until this story comes out, until I turn it into a story instead of just a dream, I'm not sure anything else will come out, or matter.

What kind of story is it? Well, I'm not entirely sure yet. Paranormal. That much is certain. Possibly romance, though, of that I'm not certain. I have characters, I have a setting, I have desires, but I'm still not convinced I have a story worth telling. It's still muddy. And it's making me a bit crazy. Maybe I just need to take the time to get more of my thoughts on the matter on the page. I'm not sure. I'm just not sure.

I wish I could talk it over with someone, but.. who? I don't really have friends... certainly not ones willing to listen to be babble about a novella. I could babble at my husband, but he'd just get angry with me, and wouldn't give me any kind of feedback, which is what I need. *Sigh*

Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a writer?

My Third Assignment

So today was class, again. We got our 4th assignment, which is 300 words, open topic. I sure hope I get some middle-class, middle-aged, married, white woman friendly inspiration sooner rather than later!

Trouble is, I feel like writing for that group totally puts me at a disadvantage for what I'm good at, but I guess in a way that's a good thing, as it challenges me. But it does also make me wonder... Like if writing within my favourite topic, if I'm better or worse at it. Maybe I'll see if they have a course in paranormal.....I'm not sure if science fiction/fantasy is close enough, but likely as close as I'm going to get..... And they do have a course in that. So perhaps that will be next. Not entirely sure.

Anyway! I wanted to share my last assignment, #3. The goal was to show, not tell, a character's desire. Though, I've realised she wants more than just that, and tried to hint at possible obstacles to him getting what he wanted. Apparently I should have had more interaction, and shared what those obstacles was. *Sigh* How the hell was I supposed to do ALL that in 250 words, I ask you?!

I feel like my teacher is just never happy. I was happy with this piece until I got her feedback. And damnit, I still like it. I made a conscious decision not to have there be a conversation. I made a conscious decision to only hint at the obstacles, and in doing so, from comments made by my classmates, they all took it in different directions/ways than I meant it, they made it more romantic than I thought it was, more meaningful. And damnit, that's a good thing. *sigh* And for the record, yes, cuddled is the right word.

Without further ado, my piece:

Nate stared at the woman in his bed. A wistful smile stole across his lips. Even in the dark, he could see the pale outline of her arm and shoulder against his red sheets. She was curled up on her side, a teddy bear clutched in her arms, pressed against her cleavage. He remembered how incredibly shy and embarrassed Lizzy was when she asked to leave the teddy bear at his apartment. He would’ve said yes to almost anything in that moment, so adorable she was then.

She was still adorable, and so very inviting. He undressed quickly and crawled into bed beside her. He cuddled his tall muscular body around her soft shapely one; they fit perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” Nate sighed happily. He’d been waiting all week for this moment.

Half asleep, Lizzy wiggled her butt, snuggling in against him. She wrapped her arm around his, her long fingers playing over his hand.

"Please God, let me keep her, just a little while more." he prayed, his lips caressing her back.

His world was too complicated by half: one life for his mother, one for his company, and a third for himself. Silently, he prayed for guidance, and the courage to follow through. He tucked himself in closer to her warmth, pressing every inch of himself he could against her soft, smooth skin. Nate closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.

Today, I think, is a Good Day.

So yesterday Chris took the magnificent coconut cake I'd made (minus the few slices we ate) to work. It was gone by 11:30am, which, at far as I can tell from Chris is a good thing. He also said he got lots of "thank you"s, and "thank your wife for the delicious cake" so yay! I really do like it when people like my work, be it cake or knitting or writing or what have you.

Poor Chris has a nasty head cold that seems to be getting worse today. He messaged me to say he was congested and woozy. This is not good news, but the fact I've yet to catch does add to my good day. I want him well, but I also don't want to get sick. I'm not shunning him, just no mouth to mouth kisses until he's better. He still gets hugs and cuddles.

Oh! Which reminds me, on my way home from class, by way of the grocery store, I nearly got run over. Again. Drivers seem to pay such good attention to stop signs on U of T campus, yet two short blocks from there drivers barely pause at four way stops. Makes me crazy! Anyway, I started to cross the street and had to stop because the minivan driver thought he'd take his turn while I and a taxi were crossing his path. I stopped and glared at him. He stopped, rolled down his window and called out "Sorry sweatheart!" I just glared at him, then turn my head and grinned. I smiled full out the rest of my way home. I couldn't help it. He seemed genuinely nice about it, and it's the first time ever I've had a driver acknowledge they were in the wrong. It was kinda nice. But I still have to glare at him, cause I'm a bitch, especially when I'm sore. I haven't yet been rained on today, but boys oh boys is it damp, and my fibro just makes my body sing with pain in the dampness.

Class today also went well. There was kind of quietness about it, likely due in part to the fact that our regular teacher was sick so we had another lady sub in. She was really nice, and helpful and all, but I guess it just wasn't the dynamic we were used to? There was a lot of long silences between one of us reading, and the rest of us collecting our thoughts I think. That's what gave the whole thing a feeling of quiet. The best part for me was everyone seemed to like my piece this time. Yay! They got a good feeling for my main character and what he wanted, but also that he was conflicted, and that they were a new sort of love. All the things I'd hoped I manged to get across. So yay!

One thing that worries me though. There is one member of the class whose writing I really don't care for. I find it, kind of jarring and unfinished. I just don't think it's good. But I can't say that. At the same time I want to.... help her by giving her useful feedback, so she can learn to write better, but I just don't know how to do that, without being.....harsh. I did speak to what confused me, which I hope is helpful. But there is no nice constructive way to say that I feel her writing is....clumsy.

*Sigh*

Realizing today that I just didn't like her writing, but wasn't able to express it, so I tried to pick up on bits and pieces I did like.... The images/scenes she was describing were interesting enough, but the way she described them was less than stellar. Like her words were falling over each other to get out, and ended up falling on the page in a jumbled mess. Yet I managed to sound positive about her piece, and so did everyone else. This makes me wonder how much of what anyone said about my work was real and how much was just...being constructive. Though the woman in question did manage to go away realizing her work wasn't 100% clear to us, which is good. So maybe they did really like my piece this time? I hope so. I still like it anyway.

Now I have to somewhow find the energy to make soup and wash dishes. Almost every dish in our apartment is dirty -- neither Chris nor I has been feeling too great this week. At least I don't hurt at badly today as I did yesterday! Small mercy that!

Blogger Fail, Mel Success?

So I posted my working assignment and Blogger had a moment of FAIL and lost my entry. *Sigh*

Thankfully, I didn't use Blogger to keep my only copy of it. Ha. I just lost the comment. At least I have the email so I know what was said! Thanks Jess for commenting!! <3

So this is what I have so far (the assignment is, in 250 words, to show not tell what a character desires):

A sleek black lexus crawled between vibrant grassy hills on a white gravel road. The tires crunched to a stop in the silence of the cemetery. The car door gleamed in the weak sun as it opened to reveal a three inch, thick-heeled, leather boot attached to a long leg in slim black slacks. Silvie unfolded herself from the low car and slammed the door. Her hands buried deep in the pockets of her short, black trench-coat, she strode across the grass. Her chestnut locks bounced with each step.

Silvie stopped in front of a tall, grey headstone. Her hand shook as she reached for the cold marble. Her tears fell freely. Her fingertips caressed the smooth stone.

"Oh Marty," she breathed. My brave, brave human, she finished in her head. “I should never have let you talk me into it. Never,” she whispered. A succubus demon in love with a human. Of course it ended badly.

Silvie read the tombstone hoping, somehow, it would bring her comfort this time, ‘Beloved husband and father’. She blinked fresh tears. The wind flung her hair in her face. Impatiently she pushed it behind an ear.

“I want to raise our daughter, but…how am I to keep my sanity without you Marty?” She asked in a strangled whisper.

Her knuckles went white as she gripped her own elbows, hugging herself. She longed for arms that would never again hold her. Tears fell in angry grey streaks down her face; her waterproof eyeliner finally failing.

I rather like it, as a thing, but I'm not entirely sure I convey her desire well. I think her desire is a muddled thing. And the one thing I really wanted to convey that I think I fail miserably at, is her utter terror of loosing her sanity again. But, at the same time, this is where this piece wanted to go. I think it makes sense as a stand alone. I hope so anyway.

I think part of the reason my last writing assignment didn't go over as well as I would have like is two fold:
(1) I tried to cram too much story in too small a space, resulting in nothing working out well, and
(2) I didn't stay true to myself, and what I love writing/reading about -- paranormal romance/life/adventure

So this time, I slipped a little paranormal in there, and I tried to go where the piece wanted me to, what made sense for the word count instead of the founding idea.

Not completely satisfied, I'm working on a second piece, but it's not jelling just yet. And it's no where near as compelling to me as this one is. We'll see. If nothing else the exercise of trying to show not tell is good for me! I tend to expound more than I should, but thankfully not as much as some romance writers!

I just finished this romance book. Took me forever to read it because it was just bad I couldn't handle it in big pieces. The author did way too much expounding, it was ridiculous! Made me feel better about my writing, I tell you what.

Update:
So Blogger found my last entry, and snuck it back it, formatting and comment was gone, and the tags were a mess, but the meat of it was there. So not bad for a recovery that was none too elegant on their part. I deleted it, since I no longer needed it. But I thought I should give Blogger credit for getting it back.

Setting - as in City

So I'm trying to work out Maddie and Alejandro's story..... Alejandro is clearly of some kind of Hispanic descent, as is his fiance. That doesn't necessarily mean the city has to have a large Hispanic population, but... that was where I was leaning.

See, I had this dream, and it stole into my brain the setting for this story. A hot city street, so hot there were heat waves rolling off the pavement. Flat roofed, five story apartment buildings with stores on the first level lined the street. Above the street everyone had windows open, fans on. Old woman were sitting in the shade of their balconies with hand fans, trying to beat the heat. Above the street there were wires strung from one building across the four lane street to a sister building on the other side of the street. Maddie is sitting in her convertible at a red light. She looks up to see a young man start across one of the wires. On the other side another young man appears. The two young men walk to each other, long heavy poles in their arms. There are men on the ground watching, some are taking money, making bets. There is an eagerness to the men that wasn't there a moment ago. The heat forgotten as they watch the young men risk their lives. The light turns green, a horn honks, Maddie tears her eyes from the young men, and speeds on to her next job site, utterly flabbergasted.

I don't know why, I guess because of the later dream, I just always assumed the above scene would happen in a Hispanic district of some kind. It's just where my brain went with it.... But that would mean Southern US. Arizona, New Mexico, or Miami Florida maybe. The more I look into a real city, the more I realise I don't know shit about life in places like that. I mean, jesus fuck, how do you survive regular summer highs of 40˚C???? How do you live without a lake, or river near you? How do you live without a good source of clean, fresh water? I live in Canada, on the great lakes for fuck's sake. I really don't understand land locked at all.

I just don't think I can write about a city I don't know..... So much for wanting it to take place somewhere in Arizona. *sigh* I just can't picture life there. Now I have to figure out how to make it believable *here*.

Hell, can it be?? I mean, I wanted part of the 'in' for Maddie was that she spoke Spanish or Mexican (I don't even know if there is a difference. Ignorant, I am). But if it takes place here what's the likelihood of there even being a Spanish/Mexican/Cuban/something Hispanic community, or hell, even just one of the young men being Hispanic of some variety?? I mean, I live here, but honestly, I don't think I could tell Hispanic from general Caucasian without hearing them speak. I see other Countries represented, but it's more clear.... Can I just assume there has to be some number of Hispanics here since Toronto is such a diverse community? I don't mean assume there is like an area that is very Hispanic, I haven't found that to be true, but would it be too much of a coincidence if at least one of the young men was from Mexico, just as Alejandro's family was?? Hrm.. I just.. I don't know...

What I do know is, I can't fake American. Maddie is... well, she's a demon, so that needs to show through, but.... Land locked, hot as fuck cities? I don't think I could fake that. I'd have better luck with Miami. At least I've seen aerial views with CSI Miami, not that I believe I know the city from a tv show, but at the very least I've seen bits of it which is more than I can say for the rest!

If feels kinda.... boring writing about Toronto, but I don't know any other city, aside from my hometown, even in the least. I mean, I have the GTA in my brain, I have a feel of them, but elsewhere, not a clue. I've visited Montreal more than any other city, and I don't think I could write about it. There is a culture there that is foreign to me, I wouldn't get the feel right. So I guess I'm stuck writing about what I know. That's a saying though, isn't it? "Write what you know".

It's not that I wanted to hide that I'm Canadian or anything of the sort. I love where I live! It's just......I had an image in my head, and where I live didn't seem to fit in a reality/believe-ability kind of way. Maybe it's the hole tightrope walkers thing.... But I want that to be crazy. That's the point.

Maybe I'm thinking too much.

Setting Assignment

I thought I'd share my assignment... In 250 words I had to describe the childhood bedroom of a character. Here it is as I handed it in:

Sun filtered through the curtains, soaking the room in warm yellow light. The faint smell of apple perfume, and melted wax hung in the air. A feminine wallpaper of tiny red roses covered three walls; the fourth had a vintage Disney print and was the only wall not covered in some kind of poster. A dark oak double bed anchored one corner of the room. The headboard was a series of nooks, crammed full of stuffed animals, meticulously arranged. An alarm clock was nestled between two bunnies and a bear in the nearest nook. The bed was neatly made, with a chocolate brown, plush velvet pound puppy placed delicately on top. A quilt in soft hues of greens and blues, showing signs of recent repair with brighter patches here and there, covered the bed. At the end of the bed, pushed against the wall, sat a folded quilt in bright blues and white. In the opposite corner, behind the door, was an abandoned Lego city. Above it was a small bookcase. The bottom shelf was empty but for a handful of notebooks. The top shelf held a budding collection of fantasy novels. "Is this the real life, is this just fantasy," rang out from the boom box sitting on the edge of a glassy black dresser across from the bed. In the last corner was a matching, tall, glassy black dresser. The tops of both dressers were barely visible under the crush of toiletries, costume jewelry, candles and the like.

And below is what it became after revision, using suggestions from my teacher and classmates. I couldn't keep it under 250 words and make it what I wanted it to be, so this is 320-ish words:

Sunlight soaked the room in warm yellow light. Apple perfume, and melted wax hung in the air. Rosebud wallpaper covered three walls. Scenes of Mickey Mouse frolicking with his compatriots repeated across the fourth wall, even Pooh, Tiger, Piglet and Eeyore were there, all sketched in thin grey lines, some coloured in, others half drawn as if the artist had just walked away and would be back any moment. In spots hidden away from grown-up eyes, the wall was lovingly coloured in by small hands and waxy crayons. A full size oak bed anchored one corner of the room. The headboard was a series of nooks, crammed full of stuffed animals, meticulously arranged. An alarm clock was nestled between two bunnies and a bear in the nearest nook. In the opposite corner, behind the door, was an abandoned Lego city. Above it was a small bookcase. The bottom shelf was empty but for a handful of notebooks. The top shelf held a budding collection of fantasy novels. "Is this the real life, is this just fantasy," rang out from the boom box sitting on the edge of a glassy black dresser across from the bed. In the last corner was a matching, tall, glassy black dresser. The tops of both dressers were barely visible under the crush of toiletries, costume jewellery, candles, and the like. A thirteen year old girl sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, a chocolate brown, plush velvet pound puppy gripped in one arm. She started down at the journal in her lap, her long wavy hair a dark shroud around her. A tear dropped to the page blurring the fresh ink. Her free hand caressed the quilt under her. Her fingers roamed the patches, some smoothed with age, others crisp and new. She revelled in the feel of the stitching, rough against her palm, strong and familiar. This was home, so why did she feel so lost?

Thoughts? Opinions? Maybe?

Journey

Learned two very important lessons in class today.

(ONE) Always bring a spare pen

(TWO) Only trouble makes for an interesting story

I went very low key in terms of accessories for this class. Not even a real notebook. Just a clipboard, pad of paper and a pen. Yeah. A pen. On the bright side, my pen died with ten minutes left in class, not at the beginning! I will be bringing two pens from now on.

In today's class we talked about story arc, and how conflict and tension breed interest. I'm not good with conflict. Not in real life, not in stories. I often have the beginnings of a story, but it's the conflict bit where I fall flat. At least knowing what needs to be there will help me create stories around ideas and characters I've created/found/invented. And my teacher gave me a wonderful tidbit, in that she said writers often find characters, and create scenes, create lives for them, before they invent the conflict that will make their lives a story worth telling. This makes me happy. I've gotten that far, I have people and a place, I've started to write about them, and then it just feels flat, or I'm unsure where to take things. This class totally gave me something to think of, another way to view the creation of a story. Even through all the pain, you can tell I'm excited. Can't you? Well, I am.

This week's assignment is interesting, I have to write a very short piece about two people in a car having a fundamental conflict: one wants something the other isn't willing to give. I've been thinking all week about what kind of conflict I want to write about, what characters I want to use. To be perfectly honest, I don't want to invent anyone new. I'm just not that good at it. But mostly, I really want to work on Maddie and her world, make it more real, make it solid, believable. I want her story to work. I want there to be a viable story there! So I'm thinking of Alejandro and Maddie in the car. I'll still need to do character work as I don't feel like I have Alejandro nailed down yet, he's still too nebulous for me. So I want to do that before I begin, or as I work on it anyway.

I'm not sure how well my idea will work... The argument I want Maddie and Alejandro to have aren't one I want to fully explain to my class. They are all so middle class, white bread, vanilla beans. I just don't think I could. So I'm going to have to be careful about it.. Also, with the wording, I'm not sure how exact we are meant to be. I'm thinking Maddie wants Alejandro to go with her to a party at her friends, and he refuses. Argument ensues. 250 words is not a lot to get that all out. I hope I can manage it.

I doubt I'll have time, but another fun idea I had would be Jazz, my succubus assassin arguing with her manager on a phone headset while speeding down a highway in a stolen sports car. Arthur, her manager wants her to take a job that's on her NO list (children, families, politicians), but the money was so good, he just had to ask her first. I like the juxtaposition of the revving car, the sleezy manager, and calm Jazz. We'll see. I still haven't done the demon bar idea from assignment one. Chronic pain, it eats time.

Breaking Point

I can't get his words out of my head, "I'm tired, and in pain, and you're nagging me!"

My first thought was, 'great, I've turned into what I wanted to never be - the nagging wife'. My second thought, for better or worse, was, 'now you know how I feel.'

I'm tired and in pain every moment of every day, whether I'm awake or asleep, I'm still in pain, I'm still exhausted. I have to push myself to do anything. Showering, making something to eat, hell, even eating, it's all hard to manage. Some days I don't manage at all.

My body twitches, sometimes violently because my muscles are exhausted by the pain. Do you have any idea how demoralizing that is?! To know that even my muscles are calling foul, even they can't handle the pain I feel. How the hell am I supposed to cope with this?! If my muscles can't take it, how am I to cope mentally, emotionally with it all?

I'm just so damn tired of being in pain, tired of being so exhausted all the time. How the hell am I to survive this?? I want to get better, I want to get healthier, but that just feels like cherries on the sundae right now. How the bleeding hell am I supposed to handle 'dinner', never mind 'desert'??

I keep waiting to feel better. I keep waiting for a day where I'm not overwhelmed in pain, but that day never comes. Some days I'm in so much pain it makes me nauseous, some days the pain is at more of a level where I can ignore it, can push through it, at least for awhile. Today I'm nauseous. I'm exhausted. I want to go back to sleep. I could sleep all day. But I have a class to go to. *Sigh*

This is not what I hoped my life would be.

Setting

So, I've had my first class. It's a tiny group, only 6 students! Which is good and bad I think. Good because I'll be less scared reading something I've written, bad because more exposure to other budding writers can't be a bad thing.

Setting is our first topic. Thinking about what our teacher said has me realising just how BAD I am at setting. So this is good. Hopefully by reading the things she gave us, and hearing what others write, and just plain thinking about it/practicing myself I should hopefully get better. Right?

I haven't started my assignment yet though. I'm totally at a loss as to what setting to write about. We basically have the choice of writing about a place that is familiar to us, as in our childhood bedroom, or home, or writing about some character's childhood bedroom or home, as seen from the point of view of being a grown-up and looking at how the setting has changed/not changed.

I really don't want to write about myself or my own home. It's just... too damn personal. I feel like I'm really putting myself out on a limb just with the whole sharing of my work, sharing my life just...... I don't think I'm brave enough for that.

On the other hand, I'm terrible at setting a scene, so it might be easier for me to write about a place that I'm actually familiar with instead of some place totally fictional.

I just can't seem to decide what to do! *sigh*

I also sort of want to write about Maddie's home because I really want to make the story of her and Alejandro work. I'm not sure if I've 'got something' with it, but I know it's..... a reflection of my own life right now, and part of me feels like if I can't work out a solution for the fictional me, then I'm never going to work out one for myself that I'm happy with either. I want to make it work for her. I want hope. I want to feel hopeful. I want to chase away the fear and defeat. I don't want to be lost and useless, and I don't want Maddie to be either damnit.

But back to the point. Setting... someplace from someone's childhood. I'm just. hrm. I'm not entirely sure. I've got a good bit of time I think. Like all of tomorrow, and part of Sunday and all of Monday. Today what I really want to do is something useful in my own personal life. I need to feel like I'm making headway there before I do this otherwise my attention is going to be...all over the place. So, off to tape off part of the living room for painting! ^_^

Creative Writing Class

Today is the first day of my creative writing class, and I'm nervous. I'm sure it will be fine, but I just can't help the nerves. It's always the details that worry me, not the action. For instance, the first time I traveled alone I was more worried about my luggage being under weight, and if I was going to have to pick it up at LAX, then to re-check it, because my ticket said I might, than I was about the actual traveling alone. heh.

So today, true to form, I'm more worried about being able to find my classroom, what I need to bring, if I'm going to have to prove who I am, than I am the actual class. I guess I figure the class will take care of itself, it's all the details that keep me nervous. Though I am nervous about meeting my classmates, and what they will be like. I don't actually figure on making friends, I'm not very good at that anyway. *sigh* I just hate having to explain myself to people and being judged for my circumstances in life.

I am looking forward to it. I really do want to improve my writing. It's something I've always loved to do, and since I can't do fuck all else with myself at this point, why not give the pipe dream a shot? My mom's comment of, "so you think you can write do you?" really irks me, but then she didn't really think I could finish university and come out the other side with an engineering degree. It's not so much because she didn't think I was smart, more that she never finished any kind of schooling, and I don't think all of her kids finished high school, never mind doing more, so it's just so out of her scope she couldn't fathom it. It took me awhile not to take it personally. I don't think I really understood until I'd graduated and she'd explained part of it to me. She was so genuinely proud of me then, I knew there was no malice in her words before. So I'm know I need to take this the same way. I mean, she even mentioned a friend of my aunt's has a couple children's books published and how unbelievable it is to think we know someone that's a published author. It also helps that she's never read anything I've written as an adult, so she has no way of knowing if I can or can't write.

Anyway, I'm babbling and stalling, and trying to fill my mind with other things so I won't panic, or let my nerves eat me. Gah. It will be fine. I know it will. I just sincerely hope they don't need me to prove who I am. I don't have any ID with my married name on it. I thought my damn health card would be here by now, but noooo. Bah. I really need to get on changing my name with the bank and such. doh.