Tag Archives: edits

~Without You~

Thirty pages, that’s how much I have left until I’m officially done with my first edits and rewrite. Just thirty pages to go before I get to send off my baby to school and teach it grammar and punctuation. 

Unlike my real children I can’t wait to see it go.

I’m tired of coddling, and nurturing it’s whiney little arse, and I’m ready to see it all grown up and in the real world.  I love it, I do, and I’m giving it my all… but I’m ready to shove it out of the nest and watch it fly… or crash onto the concrete with a thud and a splatter.  Either or, it’s getting close to the time where it must sink or swim.  And I think that’s a good thing.  Knowing it’s almost ready, knowing it’s time to release it from my hard drive.

And my mind is constantly thinking, “What’s next after this?”  And I know the gun hasn’t even sounded and I’m off past the first marker, or just off my rocker.  But there’s other ideas and needs and wants, clawing inside their shells.  Other paths I want to try… and it’s all hopped up on sugar and caffeine and keeping me up at night.  Each potential avenue and thought dancing around waiting for Santa to arrive.

And I want and I want and I want…

So it’s baby steps of torture, and calling myself off of the chase before I dive off of the cliff head first.  Big breaths and little steps, but allowing the dreams to slam down one more pixie stick before bed.

And it’s about giving thanks to all of you.  With the kind comments and constant encouragement, feeding the monster in my head, the monster that keeps the inner voices at bay, the ones that try to get me to quit it all.  Without you all, the casual readers, the faithful commenters, my friends, I’d still be on page one, afraid to peek around the corner.

Thank you.

~Emily

Don’t forget to sign up for the GIVEAWAY!

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Don’t Say I Never Gave You Anything

There’s been a few complaints, eh demands… fine requests to hear a synopsis on the novel I’ve been working on for years.  (okay well, it hasn’t been years of work, just years since it’s start date and today)  I’m not big on sharing, if you haven’t yet figure that out, because I have nightmares of people running away with my work and publishers turning their noses up at me because too much has been posted online.  So this is it, your last glimpse of my novel, until it becomes published in the next fifty years or until I give up and self publish it… either or.  And please note, this is just a glimpse for you, this is not in any way a finished product or what I’ll be sending off to agents in my query letters hopefully starting next month. 

Here’s your Synopsis for Denali:

Vacations are supposed to be the get-away from it all, stress relief, time of our lives. That’s all that Carly and Scott wanted, a break from their everyday lives. Years of saving and planning led them to a backpacking adventure on the side of Denali in Alaska. Two weeks of hiking, fishing, archery and campfires. Two weeks of escape from everyday lives. But two days into their vacation all they wanted to do was to escape back home, far away from that mountain. As animals started turning up dead, and their campsite ransacked, they knew this wasn’t the vacation they had dreamed of.   And then members of their group start to disappear… And when the group leader turns up dead, all blood drained from his body, they knew the great mountain was hiding a secret, a secret that was hunting them down one by one…

And one last snippet:

I finished up as quick as possible and was struggling to get the gun to stay put in the band of my pants when a loud crash sounded just feet away from me. I bit my tongue to keep my mouth from making a sound, and hunched down against a large tree next to me, carefully gripping onto the pistol.

Two Shadows emerged in the darkness. Human figures, defiantly not wolves. My heart instantly slowed down, people, just people. Maybe even Susan and Gregory! My insides swelled with hope, and my grip relaxed on the gun. But why were they being so quiet, out here in the trees? The camp is just right there, what are they doing here?

Before I could make a sound the skies opened up, and released a threating bolt of lightning. Just enough light, for just long enough to crush every single hope I had of making it back home.

Two male figures stood just 20 feet away from me. I couldn’t make out more than profiles in the darkness, but the way they stood, the way they moved. Every inch of my core told me that these men were not the kind you run to for help. The hairs standing at ends on my body told me these were the type of men you run far, far away from, as fast you can.

I took a slow deep breath, trying to keep my body from trembling. The rain was falling harder, and I was beginning to panic beyond control. I squeezed the handle of the gun as tight as humanly possible, trying to displace the tension from my body to the metal object. The men were still just standing there, not talking, not moving, just… sniffing the air? My mind got lost in the image I was seeing, who sniffs the air? What the hell are they doing? What are they trying to smell out here?”

Enjoy!  And don’t say I never gave you anything!  lol.  Now back to editing.  And don’t forget to enter my GIVEAWAY!

Q&A and Excuses, Lots of Them

It’s funny how the interwebs works.  One day your blog is sitting there, petting all of its wee little interweb dust bunnies, watching them multiply and then the next day your spam box is standing room only and your reading list and need-to-reply-to list is longer than the Mississippi.

Not that I’m complaining.  It’s nice to open things up and think, whoaaa.  It’s just not so nice that it ALL happens when I’m 100% dedicated to doing other things.  Because unintentionally I’m going to miss something, someone and then I’m gonna feel all guilty months later and ruin probably what was going to be the best friendship ‘evah

So here’s the deal, my readers ROCK!  Like rock it in leather pants, and tie-dyed hair ROCK.  And I love them all.  Even my newest fan Glerf.  (long story)  But I can’t possibly go through all the chain awards and games right now (okay so maybe if I wasn’t typing this long arsed thing), and link 15 people here and there EVEN THOUGH I DO WANT TO PUT ALL OF YOU IN SPOTLIGHTS!  And I do appreciate the time you all have spent highlighting me!  ❤ ❤ ❤  So do me a favor… go check out my blogroll (that I’m currently still adding to, so keep checking back)  visit everyone on it and share some love.  Seriously, comments are like skittles, booze, and a good tune on a gloomy day.  If you’re not listed, please let me know because either I’m still in the process of getting to you orrrrrrrr I don’t have your correct link! 

With that said, I do happen to love me a little bit of Q&A, so even though I’m not gonna follow the rules with tags and what nots, I have to answer the questions Beckey over at My Really Real Reality tagged me in:

  1. What is your favorite book?  There’s one book I’ve had since I was in grade school.  I can’t part with it, even though I’ve had it since I was like 9, and I haven’t read it since.  Basically you had this young girl with a tough as nails father, and they lived out in the country (which was always my dream) and she found a mustang that her father had trapped to save his crops.  Long story short her and the mustang fell in love, and her father finds out.  The ending breaks my heart and the book started my obsession with reading. 
  2. Favorite sweet treat?  Hrrrmmm, I can’t pick just one.  But I love things with dark chocolate or cinnamon and sugar.  I dislike complicated concoctions and anything with coconut.
  3. Who would play you in the movie version of your life?  Eeek, I’m not so sure I’d want my life to be a movie.  But I’m going to go with Angelina Jolie.  Sure we don’t have anything in common besides both of us having tattoos, but at least she’d play me straight, and demand to keep the movie real and un-hollywood.  She drives me crazy as a person, but she’s damn good at being a character.  (and yes my actress would need some wicked talent to play me *snort*)
  4. What was your favorite subject to study in school? In Highschool I’d say Art, Religion and Creative Writing.  (Yes I see it says SUBJECT, in the singular)  In college it was defiantly Political Sciences. 
  5. What are you grateful for everyday?  Without writing a novel: my husband whom I don’t deserve, the minions, being able to create, faith, life, time, the little wisdom I do have, and getting another day.  I truly don’t deserve any of it.
  6. Do you still have your tonsils?  Hell yeah.  I don’t do surgery. 
  7. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?  Macaroni and Cheese.  Honest to gawd.  It’s the perfect shade of orange for every coloring book.  Andddd I like to be cryptic like that.
  8.  Who do you miss the most?  My nan.  (aka my grandmother)  She taught me how to do five hundred things at once and get lost in creative messes.  She created my fire, or at least soaked it in lighter fluid for YEARS.
  9. If you could be any fictional character, who would you chose?  Eh, I’d pass on the offer.  Every character at some point has to go through such extremes.  Even cinderella is going to need years of therapy and drugs for living in ashes for half her life.  I’ll stay right here where I already have half a grip on my dysfunctions thank you very much.
  10. What is your favorite sound?  Hahahahahahahahahahaha.  No sounds would be my favorite sound!  A 6-year-old, a 21 month old, 3 dogs, 7 chickens, a goat, a husband, a band, 2 buggies and two cats… this momma likes the quiet.
  11. When was the last time you were nervous?  Every dang day.  Probably once an hour, at least.  If my children aren’t busy trying to defy the laws of gravity, it’s the sharing of thoughts and words with the public interwebs, and if it’s not that it’s the whole something is always happening around here.

And the real rules go something along the lines of sharing unknown things, tagging people and asking new questions, if you really want to follow along.  But I say, for the heck of breaking rules, I wanna hear your answers right here to the same questions.  I’m such a renegade.  😉

~Emily

Blood, Carnage and Being a Good Hostess

Today marks my first official day of my “Edit or Die” mission.  And I’m starting to wonder about the negative effects this might have on me.  Is it normal to be up at 4:30 am, sipping your first cup of coffee and submerging yourself in death, and total carnage?  Eh, so maybe it’s not all that gory, but still, not quite my ideal way of waking up.

So almost two hours of death and arguments and I’ve found myself at a stand still.  I want to keep going, but my muse is getting bored, or rusty, or a wee bit a.d.d.   I’m gonna have to have a talk with her.  Or cut back on her caffeine allowance.  Deadlines don’t allow for slackers.

Unfortunately deadlines don’t have much of a say when company is coming from out-of-town to stay over for an extended weekend.  And I’m betting it might be in bad form to be sitting at my laptop all weekend with my guest staring at the back of my head.  And I probably should get all those dishes out of the sink, and the toys out of the tub sooner than later.

And I really hate trying to get ready for company.  I like having them, but can’t we all go to hotel where everybody gets taken care of, ’cause this momma’s plate is full and she’d love to have someone else fold the sheets for her just once.  *Dreams*

Back to the carnage, here’s a clip for you, feel free to critique:

Dead wolves. More than a dozen of dead wolves heaved along the forest floor.

The wretched smell and brutality of everything instantly had me dry heaving, on my knees. I stopped trying to fight the reflexes of my stomach, and waited for my insides to allow me to take a breath. As I panted on the ground, clutching my mouth with my shirt in hopes that the foul air wouldn’t dig deeper into my stomach, I could see Dennis exploring amongst the corpses.

“No, really, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” I grumbled, still shaking slightly from the workout, inflicting as much sarcasm as I could without risking anymore heaving. With slow and calculated shallow breaths I stood back up, backing slowly away from the scene.

With a muffled chuckle Dennis carefully turned back towards me, stepping delicately over the bodies. If I had been interested in him in any way, he would have just lost all points right there. What, you can check out bloody corpses but you can’t help the girl you’ve been hitting on as her guts try to escape out her mouth?! I’ll remember that one.

I could not help from thinking out loud, as my eyes darted from one bloody corpse to another, “I wonder if I’ll get a refund?” This wasn’t a cheap vacation after all.

And before I get anymore random or rambley I’ll wrap this thing up, because just like edits, dishes don’t do themselves.  ;p

 

~Being You~

This is probably redundant.  And you probably do not need a reminder, but I do daily.  So now you’re stuck with my own reminder.  Ha.

I get trapped often by the interwebs world.

“Hi, My name is Emily, and I compare myself to other bloggers/writers.”  There, I said it.

I have my moments when I read a blog written by a mom of 8 perfect kids with the perfect house with white picket fences and Better Homes and Garden rooms and gardens, the perfect husband who fights super villans at night, makes uber bucks and builds beautiful barns and bathrooms on the weekend, she does perfect crafts and sells them on etsy, she runs a church on Sundays, has two kids who are Doctors that can cure every disease while working in a hut in Africa, she cooks better than everyone on tv, has a doctorate, and just wrote her 5th best-selling book.  

I hate her, and she makes me hate me. 

The self-pity then spins you into reaching for things that just aren’t you.  You strive to be just like someone else and lie to yourself the whole damn time.  You hide your own talents to be more, to be better, to be perfect.  And all you do is perfect your own flaws.  And then you break down.  And then the hate sizzles, bubbles and boils over. 

And you find your self drowning in coffee at your keyboard, looking for someone else to tell you how to be a better you.  Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Maybe it’s just me.

I doubt it.

The problem is that in emulating someone else you hide your own talents. 

I’ve been blogging, journaling and “writing” for years.  I’ve had a few supporters who repeatedly suggest that I push the envelope, that I have something there and that I’m missing out on a oppurtunity.  Naturally I didn’t get it, and tried to do what I thought they were telling me… I tried to do what others did.  I tried a homemaking type of blog… FLOP.  Okay so then I tried focussing on politics… FLOP.  Fine, how about witty stuff… FLOP.  Well, I must just be a complete failure then because that’s what the masses of blogging queens do!  Those supporters MUST be idiots.  THEY LIED!

But because I never learned, I tried to dip my toes into E-Books.  I thought I was being all smart and stuff and picked the topic of Dog Training, something I know tons about.  feverishly I typed away.  Then I shared it with a few close people.  FLIP, FLOP, FLIPPITY FLOP.  What the HELL!?! 

Oh and then, then my husband really ticked me off, “This reads too much like a story, a novel.  This isn’t your thing.”  Like it’s my fault if he doesn’t get the flow.  *insert 3 bottles of a wine induced pity party*  And he wrapped it up with something along the lines of how I should write cards for Hallmark.  I might have programmed a few lawyers’ phone numbers into my phone that night.  That was NOT what I wanted to hear.

Why is it so hard to find my niche out there when there are millions of people succeeding so well at it?!

Probably because I am not them, and I had my mind-set on following their footsteps, instead of my own.

It’s difficult, having dreams similar to those around you.  Seeing them succeed, seeing them doing what you want to do.  Logically you think you have to do it like them, because it worked for them.  That must be the one and only path to happiness and success!

It only brings self-pity and hatred.

And the first step to recovery is to stop perfecting your flaws.  And to do that you have to discover your talents.  PS.  You have to discover them, they can’t be pointed out.  I don’t know why that is, but for some reason you can’t own something that someone else gives you, you just never trust it.  At least that’s the case for me.

But how do own your talents?  How do you accept them without thinking you’re full of it, without thinking that you’re patting your own back over a huge pile of crap?  I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.

Then a friend asked me a very tricky question, I wanted to poke her in the eye with a stale cheeto for being so hokey, but there’s a lot of depth in what she asked.  Paraphrasing she asked,

Give yourself one compliment about your writing.

Immediately I thought, “Hell she’s going to laugh at whatever I come up with.  She’s sooooo going to judge me on this one!  Who am I to compliment myself!?!”

So pressed with time and the threat of her reaching through my computer screen to choke me I quickly scanned my mind for those times I actually felt “successful” at what I loved to do.  The answer flooded my mind, “Emotions”.

My writing is emotional.  Wait, do you feel it?  There it is, peeking out of the depths of self loathing… I might have a knack at making my readers feel emotions.  Maybe, I don’t want to get too carried away.

And you know what?  As I sit here this morning, writing a novel of a post, it’s easy to connect the dots, and I’m not afraid to give my self a tiny pat on the back.  My talent is not writing witty blogs, and that’s okay.  I have a talent for telling a story.  I have a knack for going on and on in great length to get my emotions out.  And there’s actually people out there who feel a connection in what I have to say.  And I’m not afraid to own it.

I’m pretty sure that that’s what my husband ment when he suggested Hallmark as a career.  It wasn’t an insult, it was his way of saying “you might suck at writing how-to’s and such, but you really do have something with this mushy crap you write, but I’m a man and can’t say it that way.” 

And it’s probably why my other blog that’s all from nights of spilling out emotions on a touchy subject has gotten remarkable response and views, while my others get zilch. 

And it just might be what people have been trying to tell me all along.

And I could be wrong about it all. 

But that’s not the point. 

The point is putting yourself out there without the goal of someone else’s success.  The point is to find your own talents and to own them, to accept them.  To know who you are, and to not blur the lines.  Don’t be afraid of encouraging yourself without worrying what others will think. 

Life happens in between the edits.