The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
July’s question is: What would make you quit writing?
Writing has become part of the package of the life I’ve built, but it isn’t what sustains or supports me. It is something I want to do and that I have recently found satisfaction in.
I’ve always known I needed a creative outlet, but it was an aspect that I ignored or boxed up to be let out ‘later’. I was far too busy for writing, I didn’t feel I had anything to write, and I preferred to read in my free time.
I also had landscape designing as my creative outlet. A few birds with one stone there, so to speak.
Since garden design is at a minimum now, I have searched for other ways to be creative. I can’t draw, I’m not musically inclined in the slightest, and poetry is ok, but I’m not often inspired in that manner.
Once I decided to write my own novel and stories, it has all come down to TIME.
It is a huge challenge to get in words when I can, in between gardening, living with three active dogs, house stuff, farm activities, and last but not least, starting and managing an editing business. So far, I get them in when I can, and I’m happy with that.
What tends to happen is if I get ‘into story’ then I stay there until that piece is written and let other things lag, like my blog.
I’m putting my faith in the tortoise of the proverb, content that ‘slow and steady’ will get the book, story, alternate world written. When the muse whips me along, I go with it as much as I can.
Writing is the thing that I can put aside and pick up later, and it uses more energy than reading, so it takes some preparation during the day. Time is certainly the deciding factor.
If I write, it’s because I have the muse and the time. If I don’t write, it’s because I don’t have the time.
And now that I’ve started, if I stop, it will most certainly be a matter of something else requiring that time.~
Another of my writing group pieces, this one came from the prompt of:
Write a story that takes place in the same place but at two very different time periods.
Enjoy!
the location of note
One of the underlying threads of my decision to live in my hometown again was that my dad and I would renovate the downstairs apartment in the farmhouse so I could live there.
I had two pretty noisy, active dogs and I knew there was no way I would be able to find an apartment with them, and I didn’t have the money to buy a house. It was an idea we had kicked around for some years at that point, and my decision to leave my then-situation cemented it.
I’d come home and stay with my brother until the apartment was done.
We had been demolishing this particular room for days, it felt like, and every wall we opened up revealed more problems. The list was continually growing longer, and my patience shorter. At times telling myself that it would all be worth it in the end worked, and other times it didn’t.
Today was one of the latter days. It was blasted hot, I was in as little clothing as possible when working with nasty musty horsehair plaster and lath, old cellulose blown-in insulation, and mouse infested fiberglass batting—or what was left of it. I was dusty, dirty, and cross. But I refused to stop. I wanted it done, the clock was ticking.
We had already discovered two layers of flooring, and because I decided to rip out the built-in cabinets to make room for more bathroom closet space on the other side of the wall, the upper layer had to be torn up. I wanted this room done right, it would be my office/study/reading room because of the big windows and the morning sun.
Actually, it is the room I’m in now, and in fact the exact spot I’m in now.
After all the cutting, wrenching, prying, and levering, the chunks of plywood began to come up, revealing an entire hardwood floor of two-inch planks, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. My frustration instantly morphed into curiosity—how old was this house, really?
My dad didn’t seem to know, just that it had always been here, and the previous owner had added on several times, even in his lifetime, with his help.
The floor had vestiges of greenish-gray-blue paint, typical of older farmhouses, and dips where it was worn thin from travel. Then under the windows, we uncovered several holes, possibly those of pipes, but not necessarily.
By the time we finished clearing the room back to the studs and lower floor level, it became clear that we had uncovered the first kitchen in the house.
As it stands now, the kitchen is in front of me, through two walls. But to see the arrangement of cabinet marks and holes, it made complete sense that this room would have been the kitchen. Even if the barn that is out my window now wasn’t there, there would have been a barn of some sort, and the kitchen would have been located at the back of the house to look out on it for keeping track of family members, and catching the rising sun because it faces east.
The pictures that formed in my mind drew on images from Little House on the Prairie, but that wasn’t really right. At the time of this kitchen, the whole hill would have belonged to this farm, from the apple orchard and the Thayer Estate on one side to Sterling Road on the other. This house most likely would have had all the amenities of the time.
Though I don’t know much of the history of the property before my father’s time, I have often thought about this house and who sat here in this kitchen taking meals, or preparing them.
How many people were in the family, did they have servants, (can you tell I have been reading a lot of historical fiction?), and most importantly, how did they deal with all the rocks in the land that we have thousands of dollars of equipment to deal with now?
Were they successful?
I tend to think so. It was a large property and traces of it are still visible on the land; there must have been enough impetus to continue. It’s difficult to see any of the age of this house now, with the modern improvements we worked so hard on for two years, but knowing that the bones of it stretch back to a time past is only more fodder for my imagination some days.~
The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
April’s question is: Are you a risk-taker when writing? Do you try something radically different in style/POV/etc. or add controversial topics to your work?
When I first glanced at the prompt I thought “No, I’m not a risk-taker in my writing.”
But then while pondering it further, perhaps I am somewhat. I don’t think of it as risk-taking, more like trying to make myself stand out in the sea of fantasy writers and bloggers. Building an audience is all about standing out and getting noticed, as is all the marketing I do for my freelance editing business. And is standing out risky?
It sure can be.
Well, it is to me, as I’m sure it is to many followers of this group (the word ‘insecure’ is what draws us together, right?). But it is also something I MUST do if I want to be a successful business owner and author.
Like many fantasy authors and game players, I have created a fantasy world where my stories will take place.
I say ‘will’ because they aren’t written yet. There. I said it. I’m going to write stories.
Even saying this feels risky to me. I’ve just put it in writing that I’m going to write novels. What if I never get to?
Honestly though, I have enough of the story on paper that there is no way I can’t write the books now. I’m dying to.
On to risk number 2. The blog series is written in the first person, from the perspective of the narrator who is doing the traveling, but she is telling the story to an audience (the readers) actively. Throughout the narration she ‘breaks the fourth wall’ and talks to the audience, giving them candid info about the scene or episode or answering questions they pose to her (the questions are implied in the answers).
It’s not a typical construction, but I need it to be more than boring blog posts talking about a fantasy land. It needs a purpose, a reason, and to be more conversational. What’s more conversational than someone discussing their travels to a foreign land and answering questions about it? It works well enough for me writing it, I can only hope it works for the reader.
Risk number 3. I suppose some of the idiosyncrasies within my fantasy world could be considered risky. For example, it is a matriarchal society. Heredity is through the female line for rulers, family lineages, and names, and the offspring remain with the mother’s family until they are at least 9. Marriage exists, but it rarely happens. There is no reason for two people to be only together.
There is no worship system, no houses of worship, no gods. Only what the people interact with on a daily basis- sky, earth, sun, moon.
I have a difficult time terming these points as ‘risky’ because it is fiction, and fantasy at that. There is the real risk that some readers won’t identify with it enough to read it, which is ok. That’s what target audiences are for.
Risk inherently implies that there is a reward. I am rewarded when I write the story and see it come to life on the page, and I can be rewarded if readers consume it and enjoy it also. Growth and change come about through risk. Without it, it can be difficult to move forward in life, business, career, in many things. Maybe my risks aren’t earthshattering, but for me, they still seem large. And I’ll keep taking them.
Nyssa has two favorite times of the day—walk times and feeding times, both of which occur twice daily. Isn’t she lucky?
Since she was old enough, I have taken her for a walk first thing in the morning. Many people say it helps a dog merge into the day easier if they go out to “patrol” their surroundings first. It seems to work fairly well in the 25 years I have been doing it with seven different dogs.
We speed-walk three-quarters of a mile down the street because she can’t wait to get to the furthest point away from the house that I will go. Then we amble back, or rather I tow her back. She truly loves her walks, no matter when they happen.
When we return, she has her food and then settles in to perhaps play a little, but certainly nap the morning away. All is good.
I find the early morning walks energizing as well. It helps to set the tone of the day, or bring to my attention what my tone is so I can correct it, if need be. It gets my muscles moving and my brain working. I rarely have any sleep fog lingering after the first couple of minutes down the road.
It also gives me the opportunity to witness some truly amazing celestial moments and gorgeous sunrises. Because the traffic gets busy very early around here, we are always walking in the hour or so just before dawn.
The quiet is perfect for a morning mind-sort.
So though at times I rail against morning walks in my mind, (think winter and rain), I do enjoy them.
The open promise of what the day can become is so tangible in those hours before dawn. Starting the day this way has been part of half my life now, so it must be something good.
It gives you more of an opportunity to enter the editing day with a sunny outlook.
Or if you write, getting your own words down first can make the difference between finishing your book and not. You are, after all, your number one customer, right?
Put yourself first and do something that makes you feel good before sitting down to better someone else’s work. Mindset is everything.
Do you start the day with something that makes you feel good, feel strong, feel positive? Try a walk one warm morning, and I guarantee you will feel uplifted the moment the birds start singing while the sky changes color in burgeoning silence. Or get that next paragraph written, or master that yoga stretch. A few little endorphins patrolling around your brain and you will be ready to take on that block of text you gave up on last night.
Shake off the sleep, wake the muscles, drop off the dregs of yesterday, and walk home with a spring in your step and your tail curled high on your back. Like Nyssa does. Akitas do know best.
Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo!~ 🐕🦺
What is your morning routine, does it start with something that makes you feel good? If not, would you like it to? Let me know in the comments below 👇🏼, maybe we can help each other better our mornings.😊
If you’d like to get more editing tips for your own editing endeavors, subscribe to the Red Leaf Word Services newsletter and get your copy of my 15 Tips for Self-Editing checklist.
You can find the checklist popup at www.redleafwords.com, or use this link here to sign up and get your copy! You may even get more of Nyssa in the newsletter too 😉.
One of the editing tips I recently posted on my social media channels for Red Leaf Words Services had to do with rephrasing clichés in your own unique way when you want to use the basic idea. This post from the informative ladies at Writers Helping Writers shows you how to do just that. Your readers will thank you!~
One of the things that pumps me up the most when I’m reading a book is when the author phrases things in a way I’ve never seen before. It could be a familiar concept or image—red hair, an urban street, fear—but when it’s written differently, I’m able to visualize that thing in a new way,…
Hello Everyone! Are the signs of season change cropping up around you? We are in a bouncy weather pattern of random days below freezing in between seasonable days in the 40’s. It’s annoying for wardrobe choices, I’ll admit, but it is keeping mud season somewhat at bay. For now. March is certainly my least favorite month of the year.
The signs of spring are burgeoning, though, birds are singing, maple sap is running, and my turkeys are getting restless 🦃. And we change the clocks soon! That is certainly a highlight of spring! Let’s head back to Huphaea now, where it is already warm and sunny, shall we?
When we last left Ivy and Elahna, they had just finished having a pitcher of cider with Lissa, the tavern-keeper, and were heading off to the bathhouse. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?~
During the bustle of the evening downstairs a few other boarders had claimed rooms upstairs. Partially open doors allowed the sounds of luggage being wrangled and tired travelers to accompany us down the hallway. Ivy un-barked our doors and I shucked off my sandals, happy to be out of their dusty, gritty soles. I fished around in my sack for a few clean items to don after the soak and we headed back out to the bathhouse.
The water was crisp and clean and blissfully warm. I sunk into it, knowing it would be difficult staying awake with the gentle sounds and rhythms of the bubbling water.
“Do you know many people here in Sawyerset?” I asked.
“Some, but certainly not all. It’s difficult not to know some, what with our towns being joined by the Saywer’s Run, the mills, and that we all manage the forest together. Many of us at Rosewood have talents that are particularly beneficial to forestry, so we monitor the health of Venrood Forest and help as needed.”
“Makes sense. So how many actually live at Rosewood? I saw maybe twent- er, quinduary people while I was there, are there more?”
“Oh yes. I’m not even sure how many are part of the Scion, really. Many of us are scattered throughout the land using our talents where they are needed. So, for example, there are several other forest tracts in Huphaea which all need managing for production and in general. Those Arboreans that are drawn to those locales may only venture to Rosewood every few years, but they still belong to it and the Scion. They are still part of us.”
“I see. What is your talent, Ivy, if I may ask? I don’t mean to be rude, if it is rude to ask about that. I am a horticulturist at home, so plants and trees are my thing. And you did grow that bark out of the door…”
“I have bark-related abilities. I can enhance bark growth on the southern side of trees for winter protection, sense insect infestations, heal bark wounds, actions like that. I can work with deciduous and evergreen trees, but I have more success with the deciduous.”
“You know the center tree is a planetree?” Ivy smiled at me, and I sensed that I just scored a point or two with her.
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve recognized most of the species we’ve seen. And if not directly, then they fit into an oak family, or a willow family, or something I know. It’s pretty cool, actually.”
“It must be because our worlds are so closely tied that they can support the same forms of life. That would be something to ask the Scholars about.”
“I have to say, though, that everything I see and know here is so much more vigorous than on Earth. That has to be due to the vitae and your magics. Are all individual magics that specific?”
“Many are, yes. It’s what makes each of us unique. I also have the ability to work with color some, as my patris is an Arister. An illustrator, to be exact. So I can match the hue of something to another thing. It is very helpful with wound healing. I can make it look like the tree wasn’t ever injured.” She sat up a bit straighter as she said this, and I surmised that she was quite proud of this bit. To illustrate the point, she gazed at the sky blue bath sheet on the table and taking a lock of her hair in two fingers, turned it the same bright color. That explained the matching braids and leggings I noticed earlier.
“That is amazing!” I said. “I’m sure the sawyers appreciate that ability, as well as the trees.”
“Yes. They do. Both of them. And some of the wood Aristers as well. It makes me feel useful.”
I began to notice some of the riding muscles in my legs heating, almost like I had applied linament to them, and then they tingled almost like they were going to sleep. I fidgeted with the new sensation and noticed Ivy doing the same. “Is there something in the water? My legs are all tingly.” I asked.
“Healing stones.” She replied. “After contact with them for some time, they correct imbalances in energy.”
“Seriously? Well, isn’t that handy. Which ones are they?” I started hunting for something that would mark the healing stones as different, but couldn’t see anything.
“No idea. Only those with healing abilities can tell. You could be standing on a mountain of healing rocks and be none the wiser.”
“Wow, that could be good or bad, right? Either way, its pretty excellent right now.”
With sore muscles eased, we climbed out of the pool, dried off, and dressed again for the short walk back upstairs. Outside, leaning against the back wall of the tavern, three of the fellows we met through Lissa were sipping pints and trading jokes, by the sound of their laughter. Ivy shot me a quizzical look, one brow raised, and smiled in recognition. One of them stepped over to open the door, it appeared, but he delayed the motion enough that we had to pause ourselves.
“It was lovely to make your acquaintances earlier, ladies, will you be returning to the tavern for a nightcap now? Allow us to accompany you, the taproom is a fair bit more crowded than before.”
I instantly got a bit uncomfortable, a surge of butterflies rising in my stomach. The buzz of noise from the taproom spilled out the partially open door, and the sharp clink of glasses as the barboy washed them in the giant tub inside indicated the state of the evening. The speaker was still holding the door, smiling.
“I appreciate the offer, but it has been a long travel day. I’m set to retire for the night, with another day on horseback ahead. Glad to have made your acquaintance earlier, as well, and enjoy your evening.” I noticed there was no hint of speaking for both of us in Ivy’s words and her pointed look conveyed that I was expected to answer for myself.
“Oh, no, thank you. I couldn’t hold another drink. I’m ready for some sleep, morning will be here soon. It was nice to meet you.”
“Surely there is still time left to be enjoyed before the sun rises.” The speaker, (I couldn’t remember his name), said, a mischievous wink added to his smile.
“I, um, I’m sorry. I really am tired. Thank you for the offer, though.” I straightened and looked over his shoulder at the door, ready to brush past him if he stood firm.
He didn’t, and gave way for us to pass. “If you find sleep eludes you, the offer stands, and my friend here has room dua down the hall from you. Safe travels, Elements be.” The last was uttered at the bottom of a low, sweeping bow that could have been mocking were I at home, but here it felt genuine and even hopeful?
“Elements be. G’dag,” we replied and stepped through the door, pulling it closed once again. The barboy gave us a slight grin as we headed up the stairs. He had heard the whole exchange, I was sure.
“You could have accepted their offer, if you wished,” Ivy whispered. “If I weren’t truly exhausted, I probably would have. I’m sure it would be a lovely night.”
“Ah, what? Seriously? No, I’m good. Was that what it sounded like? Did they want me, or us, to visit that room?”
“Oh certainly. Did you not consider it? Why would you not, if you were of a mind?” She honestly looked puzzled that I was surprised at such a bold proposition.
“Well, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that, being a stranger here.”
“What does that matter? Don’t you express desires and wish them to be fulfilled?” We were outside my door now, my hand on the knob.
“Sure, but what would be said afterwards? I mean, wouldn’t there be social consequences of acting on those desires? There would be where I come from, if word got out to people I knew.”
Ivy stared at me blankly, the silence stretching into awkwardness. Heavy footsteps fell on the stairs at the other end of the hall and she broke the stare.
“You will have to explain the ‘social consequences’ of sharing the pleasure of another’s company and bed to me tomorrow. I am afraid my mind is too tired to make sense of it now. Shall we meet at siesla downstairs?”
“Yes, sounds good. G’dag.” I turned away feeling scolded, hearing her muttered “G’dag” in return.
The bed was soft, and the breeze wafting in the open window stirred the air in the room pleasantly. I was asleep moments after hitting the pillow, despite the crowd noise from below. My last thoughts were of how socially inept I must be for this land. And the dressing down I was likely to get in the morning.
Ivy did end up giving me a good talking to as we rode, and I learned some of the principles of Huphaean society in general. Namely that there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of anyone you wished to, were they willing. That was the main tenet, however, willingness. Refusal was an absolute and never questioned. She honestly did not understand the concept of judging someone for what they did or who they shared themselves with. Huphaeans believed in enjoying all life had to offer, as much as possible. I had a lot of adapting to do…
In case you are wondering, yes, I did manage to make a bollox of almost every social situation for quite a while… But what’s new, right? Would you have accepted the offer? One thing I was reminded of multiple times is how long it can take to shed prior beliefs and adopt those of the culture you are in. Have you ever experienced that firsthand? Share your cultural adjustments in the comments below, I’d love to hear them.
Wanna be a part of Huphaea? Subscribe to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Then you will be part of Eleanorah’s troupe of Nightingales, privy to extras and fun facts from this fantastical land of magic and elven kind once a month. You can join here:
On the heels of the finish of NaNoWriMo, this Writer Unboxed post discusses many of the questions authors need to answer for themselves as they decide on a publishing route. Indie or trad? Have you made your decision yet, before you start the editing process with your new manuscript? This post is full of information about this all important decision. Enjoy!~
I made my independent publishing debut back in 2011, and if this journey has taught me anything it is that realistic expectations are critical to a productive, rewarding experience. 2,413 more words
The Sun, a Book, and a Dog 