Day 25: When killing off a character

When I started writing my current book, I had no intention of killing someone off. Nor did I have the intent for it to take the turn that it has. I have found it difficult to convey the feelings and emotions my characters are experiencing but the story must come out like it has. It is not that I am having difficulty coming up with the circumstance, but I scare myself when the words begin to flow. I assume that is how it is supposed to be. If the author can invoke emotion by simply rereading and tweaking the paragraph, the first successful step has happened. Or is it something else?

I find that I have pieced this together haphazardly and can only hope that the finished product (for this part of the story at least) conveys the amount of terror and fear that I intend to convey. I am by no means a horror writer but I have found that I hate this character just as much as the character that is committing this brutal act. I am not saying the person doing the killing is right or wrong or evil or not. I will leave that for you to decide when the time comes to publish. I just scare myself sometimes. It also has become an all encompassing thing in my thoughts. I dream about it, I eat it, I breathe it, it is in the far reaches of my brain and I feel I can only get over it when it is finally on paper.

Therein lies the difficulty.

I am by no means a monster but I have created one. It bothers me. Just like seeing someone hurt someone else in real life or on a Facebook video bothers me. It keeps me awake at night and I just know if I can get this damn thing done, I will be ok. It would be different were it someone real I could base my vengeance on and do what the general public believes authors to do. You know, piss me off and I will kill you in my book. That is a terrible connection. What if the writer has always been one who writes in the horror genre? I have a hard time believing that writers like Stephen King and (in other genres) Dean Koontz or eve Louis L'amour had that many people piss them off in their lives. Come on people, be realistic (hehe, get it? Realistic in a fiction author's mind? Ah, I digress.)

This is the first time I have tried my hand at a fiction novel. I have done short stories and paragraphs before and this thing is making me sick. Not in the sense that I hate it but in the sense that if I don't get it out of me soon, I will explode! I used to wonder why people took so long to write books. Some authors will put into their forewords or introductions how long they worked at a piece. I now understand.

Just. Wow. I get it peeps. I get it. For those of you who write, what is the most difficult piece you have ever done?

What do YOU think?

Day 24: I am not an editor

When writing a paper in high school or college, they always tell you to go back over it and check for grammar mistakes, miss-spellings, and other things that just do not "flow."  In this modern age, spell check has made us lazy. Well, most of us anyway. I have never been one to "edit" my work. Aside from my books and novels, I rarely will edit anything. Since I have been blogging more, I do make a half-hearted effort to go back over and speed glance over my post before hitting publish. This is a vain attempt to find anything that may look like it is miss-spelled. I will say that my phone, from which I do most of my blogging from, does not have a spell check feature. Sometimes when I re-blog my own work between blogging sites, I see how horrible and stupid I must look. Those squiggly little red lines are every where. It makes me believe that is why this particular post did not get much attention on the other site or vice versa.

Were it not for the lovely folks that created Word or similar programs, I believe the half hearted effort I put into editing would probably be a little more sincere. Maybe....  Even in high school, I was not one for going back over my papers. I made C's and B's and once entering college, I could fork out a good B+ paper in a matter of minutes. (Speaking of which, I have one I need to be working on. See, even as a student, writers procrastinate the important stuff. Ugh....such it is that we are. But I digress.) I am certain if I honed my editing skills, I could be a straight A student and my stuff will likely flow a little better.

But computers have made me lazy. This is why I write my novels by hand first, then into my word doc and then I "edit" for pure sake of editing. I feel that editing is like hearing your own voice on a recording. For most people, it is uncomfortable to hear yourself talk from anothers perspective. I hate the sound of my own voice. I will put a vacation message on my phone and people can believe I am on vacation for years simply because I refuse to change it. My own voice coming from the speaker of my phone. Ick.

What do YOU think?

Day 23: Dad's Little Red Car (Originally posted on WP)

Dad had a little red Fiat. Fiats are notorious for being little cars. If you think about it, have you ever seen one all grown up? Yeah me either. I remember he had this car for many years and It certainly seen many miles of this country. This is also the same car which was the instrument of my near death at the ripe old age of seven. Let me digress from my story by retelling this little snippet of my life. (Hrmmm, now that I think about it, from ages six to nine, I was a pretty persnickety child. But I digress from the digression. Haha, now THAT is talent!) Car…death…seven…ok. I used to spend time with Daddy by playing nearby and bombarding him with questions about what he was doing while working on the cars. He fiddled around with them a lot. I believe he was good at it because I don’t have a recollection of taking a car to a shop for repair when I was a kid.

One sunny afternoon, Daddy was working on something kn the interior of the car. This was different than sticking your face under the hood or sliding on a box under the car with your back. Curious, I hopped into the passenger side of the car and started berating him with questions. (After I gave birth to uor daughter, he told me it helped him figure out tough fixes sometimes. :)  ) This conversation is very clear to me because it was the day I received my education about the meaning of the letters next to the gear shift. Park, drive, neutral, reverse, one, two. Got it. Daddy warned me to neverr messwith the gear shift; even when the car was off because it could roll away.  Ok. Got it.

Remember I told you I was seven? Remember I said I was curious? Remember I was persnickety? Yea. One could say I was an “amazing child.” Keep this in mind as I lay out the scene…

We lived in a Seattle neighborhood in the community of White Center. We didn't have a traditional driveway. Instead, we had a gravel/dirt area that ran along the street at the front of the house. Sort of like a parking lot, you would just pull onto the dirt and park the car. There was a wooden fence that divided the parking area from the front yard. Our house was two upper stories that could be seen from the street. There was a slight opening that went from the street to the house. What you could NOT see from the street was a sheer drop to the back yard. If you were to look at the house from the alley, it would be a three story house as there was a full apartment in the basement. There was a wall on each side of the house which had stairs leading up to the front yard.

Back to the front yard. Looking from the street, Daddy parked his Fiat on the right side, perfectly in between two bushes that were on peering over the fence from the front yard. This means there was nothing but grass and open space to the wall that dropped to the back yard. Note seven year old Micaa playing nearby. (Ya that's me.)

I decided to hop into the drivers side of the car and pretend to drive. After about ten minutes, I looked down at the gear shift. Surely the car wont move while it is off. Daddy just told me that so I would not mess with it whole he was working on it. I reached out and pushed the button and pulled the gear shift back. It stopped in neutral. What happened next seemed like five minutes but it was more like five seconds.

The car began to roll. It crashed through the fence. Just flat ran it over like knocking over a domino. It quickly rolled across the yard toward the wall leading to the back yard. At first I panicked. I just watched the crab apple bush get bigger as I rolled toward it faster and faster. I snapped back into reality, looked down, and popped the gear shift into park. The Fiat came to a jarring halt. The wheels inches from the edge of the wall. The fiat was a millisecond from dropping 12 feet into the back yard with a seven year old driver.

Whew! I got out of the car, looked around, making sure no one seen me and went to my room to play. Later, when asked it I knew what happened, I pretended I didn't know. The car was put back and the fence taken away. (Breathe!!! Mini digression over. But yea, not so mini.)

Dad had this Fiat for many years. When he could not fix it anymore, he traded it in for something else. It was still in “driveable” condition. He drive up to the lot and swapped cars. A few days later, the owner of the car lot angrily called the house and gave my mother what for. Now Daddy is a smart man. He told my mother not to worry about it. He went on to tell her that “I proved to hom tha Fiat was driveable. He never asked me if the bottom was going to fall out of it 45 minutes after I left the lot. Its his problem now. The papers say as-is, Pat.” He then flashed that smile and did that Douglas giggle only a Barrett can do.

That was the end of the Fiat.

What do YOU think?

Day 22: Little late is better than big never

Yea, I have fallen behind on this. I was hoping to at least get to March or so before I became slack. I have such great ideas and wonderful intentions. However, my mind as of late refuses to let the follow through get up and go to work. I seriously hate feeling like this. I DID write something on the 23rd and I will post that here in a bit and HOPE that I have inspiration to write here again for today before the gumption leaves me.

I apologize dear reader, I have let you down. Booo.

Day 21: Reality Smurf Hunting

The elusive Teen Smurf lives amongst the trees in the Miles house forest. She grumpily migrates from Meadow Room to the Kitchen Watering Hole when she is in search of food. It is custom for this creature to play a game by which she bounces a sphere upon the ground and amazingly tosses it into the hoop tree. The hoop tree is outside of her natural habitat in an open meadow called Street. While Street is very dangerous, Teen Smurf takes great care not to bother other creatures visiting at the same time. Munchkins, trolls, behemoth v6 creatures and the random wheeled mice all share Street Meadow with the Teen Smurf.

Let it be known we have been observing this creature for almost seven years. When she is aware of our presence, she growls and even snaps. Similar to other curous creatures, she will, on occasion, come close and be nice. However, it never lasts long. I have only observed one such creature with these characteristics. I am certain there will not be another.

Here we see Teen Smurf observing us through the forest near the Kitchen Watering hole. Amazing.

What do YOU think?

Day 20: Alarming. Isn't it?

About a month ago, my husband happily got a new phone. It is always fun to explore the phone setting and see what ring tones and alarms it has. While you can download ringtones and noises to suit your personality, getting a new phone is "like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are gonna get." (credit Forrest Gump, of course!) This particular phone makes me want to shoot the world when the alarm goes off. 

Let us take a step back for a moment. I used to have a lovely "Good morning! Bing Bing Bing. Good morning!" song on my phone. While it was grating, it was not terribly annoying or shake you out of sleep type of thing. It was just bad enough to make you want to get up and at least move around. That is the point of an alarm clock isn't it? To get your azz out of bed to start the day? My Cal hated that alarm. I believe I now know why.

In anticipation of doing the sheeple thing, by that I mean, waking up on time or even a little earlier so I do not have to rush to get everyone ready for the day, I set two alarms. One that is not so annoying and then the real one thirtyish minutes later. It is during that second alarm that my Cal's phone goes off. That alarm of his sounds like some catholic boys choir has suddenly caught the holy ghost and they are really flippin happy about it. It also sounds like they are conveying to you that the train is awake and is chugging happily away down the track, in open space, at full speed. "Goooood morning! Good morning! OH. OH! Good morning! Good good good morning! OH! OH!"  It starts right up in the middle of the happy crappy and will make you stand straight up from a horizontal position. I sleep pretty hard sometimes but that damn alarm does it every stinking time. To make matters worse, Now that I have been jarred awake, I look at my dear soul mate and he is just laying there....snoring away....like nothing has happened. 

That makes me want to shoot up the moon too. (Speaking of that, how in the heck can I do that. Really. The moon is made of cheese and full of holes already. Wait. Maybe someone already did that for me long ago. Poo, taking the fun out of being grumpy absolute first thing in the morning. Grr. Grumpier already and coffee is not even made. I digress.) I am already standing up and now have to look for his phone because he obviously is NOT going to turn that damn choir off. I got it babe. I find it. After much consideration, I turn it off. The phone lives to see yet another day. 

In the fashion of my peeples, I will do the same again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. At least every day after that until the phone dies a mysterious death. We won't talk about that right now. It will never accidentally die on purpose maliciously, will it? Never.

Off to get coffee. At least it is quiet. (Oooh! Imagine if I made coffee with red bull instead of water? THEN turn that alarm on. I bet I could SEE the choir then!  **Micaa shudders**)

What do YOU think?

Day 19: There are unsaid consequences behind the thought that counts.

There are organizations out there who help people get ahead in life. These organizations (assuming they are legit) have good intentions and mean no harm if something bad results from their assistance. Often, it is not noticed for years that the thought of helping someone could have ramifications. I am no exception. There have been times when I have needed help and have been offered it. Humbly I took the offer.

In a specific example, I am referring to where I live. My family had the opportunity of a life time after working several years with an organization. We were able to have a home built and purchase it outside of conventional methods. While it is all legit, I am constantly reminded that I am in an area which is not the best for me or my family. To begin with, the "development" was built against a lot of opposition from the neighbors. There was a large chunk of land that the community services office purchased on the cheap and were allowed to build about 8 houses on that land. The neighborhood the land was situated in is an older neighborhood and the majority of the people living in the neighborhood have been there their whole lives or were raised nearby. It has roots in American History and the people here have that lovely southern charm. When I say charm, you should hear black undertones of sarcasm. Against their protest, the new homes were built and we were placed in one of them. 

Don't get me wrong, I love our home and it is beautiful to me. While it is not perfect in anyway, it belongs to us and we have no plans of going anywhere. (However if we become filthy rich by accident, there will be a vacancy here. I am sure of it.) We have been here nearly ten years. 

There is always opposition or some type of drama here and it all amounts to jealousy and hate which can only be found in the deep south. To begin with, I am nearly the only white permanent resident here. This makes things difficult for me. Not because I am the minority but I am obviously "not from around here." I think that the existing neighborhood has accepted the fact that we are here to stay but our children are constantly picked on and whenever I have to walk past the end of my street for something, a cop will ask me what in the hell I think I am doing walking in this neighborhood. I can even go and pick up something from the grocery store or a child from a game and the  minute I pass a patrol car, I am followed because I am "out of place." They must think I am up to no good. It doesn't help much that there is a high homeless rate in this city and there is a severe problem with prostitution and drugs. Hello officers! Not EVERYONE fits those categories. 

Once, in broad daylight, I was walking to the bus stop to get our children off the bus and a cop stopped in the middle of the road and asked me what was I doing there. I told him I lived a few houses over and he told me to show him some ID and that, it was not good to provide false information to the police. Yea, I flipped him my ID. He was embarrassed. I told him that it is not a good idea to "assume" things about people. Especially when they don't fit the description of the "typical out of place white female in this neighborhood." When he gave me my ID back, I just walked away. He had no other reason to keep me there and the bus was already at the stop. I gathered the children and walked back home. 

There are also people who are around who have ill intent to ANYONE that is not an ingrown stitch in the fabric of this community. They like to start trouble. They play cruel tricks on people because they are jealous of what others have and dislike outsiders. These people cause problems and laugh when their efforts result in fights and arguments and disagreements. One such trick was played on me not long after we moved here. While it is something I would rather not talk about, to this day, I still get blamed for something I had no part of. 

If there was a way I could prove my innocence, I would do it in a minute. Even if it meant giving up this house and going back to renting for the rest of my life. 

Like I said before. I like my home. I like my yard. It is nice and it belongs to my family. However, some neighbors just need to quietly go away or (in a different life) we could just chisel out our hunk of land here and put it down somewhere else far, far away from here. I try to keep to myself and I do everything in my power to keep people out of my life. Too much drama. This place around here simply will not let things be. They want to cause my family and my marriage to fall and that is why they cause trouble. 

Jealousy. 

The result of helping me has made my life a living nightmare. They should have thought about what they were doing before they put me in this spot. There were other spots but apparently, it was the thought of "you are blessed to have your own home! You should be grateful!" Whatever. 

Yeah, no digression here. No funny here. I am sorry. Bad day. 

Also, I hit draft instead of publish so this is a day late. There will be another post later. 

What do YOU think?