Why did you ignore me last night?
I was so tired…now I’m even more tired. You do remember I work with children right? Erg, now I’m cranky and it’s all your fault…kay, maybe I’m just tired. Sorry I got so upset.
You must have got mad when I hung out with coffee last night. You do understand I have more then one friend. When did you start really getting angry? Around the sixth cup, or was it eight?
Wow…now that I wrote that…I’m sorry that I wasn’t thinking of you. I understand, nine cups of coffee at seven o’clock, not such a good idea.
I am sorry. Please forgive me.
With lots of love,
P.s. I hope to see you to night. I have a great idea for a dream we can play in. See you then…hopefully.
P.s.s Coffee will understand.
I finished my first draft of WICKED this passed weekend. A mile stone my husband Mark, Sketch and Taz (our kitties), and I celebrated with a few drinks and some good books. A great way to spend Saturday night.
My path to that point took years. I finished Wicked once before. Edited more then few times, it went to beta readers. During that time I read blogs, books, tips, and discussed with others about all things inside and outside the covers. My brain filled with sentence structure, dialog, description lengths and wording, characters, and grammar. More and more and more. Everyone had many views, some liked it one way, then others contradicted what I previously read. It was hard to get everything put together in a way that was uniquely me without over stepping invisible boundaries. By the time I learned more then I ever knew…the manuscript I wrote…I trashed it! Yes that’s right, tossed the whole thing in the trash.
It was time to put everything that I learned over the years of writing my first manuscript in to a newly written story. I kept most the characters and added in more interaction between them and their environment. But where to begin…what new twists could I add to make it more interesting?
Before I put down my first word a parent at the daycare I work at had posted on her Growing Up Gaudy blog, I ended up in it. The next day we talked blogs. When I go home I sat down at my computer…she made it look so easy, all the bloggers made it look easy. Post what you know, I told myself. Hm, what if no one likes it? What if I make a mistake? It was hard to face, the world reading, seeing, what happens between my ears. Then I realized even the greatest make mistakes. We are all human and we all make mistakes.
By the time I wrote six or seven chapters this blog was born. I had no clue what I was doing, still don’t…as time moves on and days pass I like to think I’ve gotten better.
I wrote my next version of Wicked in eight months. It seemed to fast, how could I have written it so fast, is it good enough? I never left its side. The story was on my mind day in and day out. Even dreamt up most of the parts. When I move to editing I will find out.
Now the writing is done and the edits begin, a little bit of studying is necessary and I’m okay with that.
The hard spots:
Having cute kitties
Things that helped:
Coffee, and lots of it
A pushy husband
Not wanting to be Brian off of Family Guy
A deadly desire for wanting my story to be heard
I love to write, and learn about how to write. Everyday has been one learning curve after another.
Do you have any helpful hints that help you?
You come in all shapes and sizes. Everything about you makes me happy. On the days I feel blue and crummy, you sneak up on me when my husband acts silly, even when the children give me a small pebble. The moment my lips curl I can’t resist the sensation and let you reach my eyes.
Silly faces, goofy stories, humorous jokes, you’re there with me through it all. Every moment we share is precious to me, keep on shining!
P.S. You’re like your brother Yawn, how you ask? Ever notice how your contagious?
Today my husband Mark and I went to Kinsol Trestle at Shawnigan Lake. I am terrified of heights and the sucker’s high! I concurred my fear and galavanted across, Mark and I towered over the river bellow.
On the other side a trail lead us to the rivers shore. The bird sang in the greenery around us. The river rushed past as we stood on its bank astonished by its beauty.
Mark dipped his toes in the cold water and let it pound against him. Leaves and feathers swirled in the crystal clear water. I sat on the rocky mound to admire the peaceful tranquility all around us.
Hunter green needles shift to a shimmer of emerald green as the light spring breeze toys with each thin branch. The broad leaves around them rustle in light melody that picks up into a swirl of tones as the invisible force gains speed. The hot beams of light warm my skin, I could seek the shade of the cedar and maple but the cozy heat melts away the ability to move.
My skin tightens as a scurry of teeny tiny feet touch my shoulder. I am visited by a black pinhead sized arachnid. My heart jumps to my throat. It’s so small, no need to fear. The tense muscles relax and the right corner of my lip turns up, just a tiny creature. I swipe it from my warmed skin and watch as it carried on its way through the grey-blue gravelled ground.
By the silver chain link fence, a Robin plucks through the wood chipped covered yard. It’s tiny beak scoops up a small wiggly treat. With a proud joy-filled flap of strong brown wings, the bird takes flight. Vanishes in the denseness of the greenery.
Whenever I need you, you’re there. Whenever I sing to you, you never complain. And whenever I need someone to listen, you never interrupt. You’re a wonderful friend, thank you.
Steering Wheel, you’ve never let me down in my time of need and listen to my mindless babble. You enjoy the loud top of the lungs singing, and the silent cruises.
You are the greatest friend.
Written with love,
Can you control your dreams?
Lucid dreams are really amazing. At first, realizing what was happening was difficult, and sometimes nothing would happen at all. Now, I can manipulate the dreams to my disire. Fighting zombies, ruling the world, you know normal things people dream about. The only thing I am still unable to do is change from inside to outside, vice versa. When I am inside I can change the walls from shades of green to vibrant purple amathist, but can’t add a window. If I am outside and come to a building. The walls are barren… No doors or windows. Empty.
When I was a child I had many nightmares and began logging them in a diary I hid in my closet door. They happened at least three or four times a week. After a while I realized that I could remember the slightest details. Then I wrote them like short stories.
One night I fell asleep and realized I was dreaming, lasted for a minute or two. When I awoke I remembered the feeling I had. I wrote it down.
Then one night the wall of the house was an ugly dull yellow, with the slight shift in thought it faded green. A dull ugly green, but any colour was better then yellow. I wrote it down.
Every time you dream, write it done right when you wake up. Recalling the images of your dream helps you see the difference from the dream world and reality. Play with it, your dreaming. Have some fun. Fly. Breathe under water. Move objects with your mind.
Working in a daycare my creative side is put to the cutesy test on a daily basis. The children love their art and expect new fun ideas. This sometimes interferes with my adult creativity. Mature art forms are harder to apprehend when I spend eight hours a day, five days a week, thinking of craft ideas for children.
The manuscript I’ve been working on is for mature audiences, and is an escape for my mind. A way that I can let loose all the horrible thoughts and twisted ideas. Everyone needs an output. The woman that lives below me yells at her man daily, I really don’t want my output to be that way. I love and respect my husband to much to yell and swear at him. It all got me thinking. My writing is my output, has always been, even when I didn’t know it. I had wondered why I would right such dark passages within my pages… I’ve been yelled at for being overly positive before. Always looked on the bright side of life. Why? The answer is the way I relieve my frustrations, fears, and release. Escaping to writing has helped with my anxieties and when I have became depressed.
After I figured this out I looked at creativity in a whole new way. At the daycare if a child is having an off day I would asked them to draw or build with play dough. Its been working wonders!
I shifted my eyes to my friends creativity. My roommate, this tall metal head, and nicest person you’d ever meet. For months and months I’d hear him play the same song on his accordion, singing it all over the house, and having it play over and over on his iPhone. It was tough, and a little annoying… then I got to see the video. Amy, the singer/song writer created a beautifully creepy music video. I really enjoyed watching and hearing the song in full for the first time. Those that put their time and ideas in to Amys’ creative blender cooked up delicious food for the eyes and ears.
Below is the video that Amy created, click the link to watch.
The Dead Man Is Missing
By Amyrose Hamelin
The Dead Man Is Missing
Music is in all their hearts, flows out of them with every breath. Each of them played with their own personality, you can see their passion, their love. I only know Andre and Amy, both are really
nice amazing people.
Everyone has something to give to creativity, even if you think you don’t look at around you. How you hang things on your walls, how you’ve set up the room to fit the way you like it, your pictures you took and posted on Facebook, or the way you’ve done your hair. Most things we do take time to think about and readjust till it’s right.
Painters, sculpters, writers, musicians, and everything after and between. Excluding those who view and admire. Everyone has given something to the creative mind.