Authors Align Yourselves

(A Series of Writing Exercises)

              

     Today’s post will be the first of seven and includes, writing exercises, tips, memory recall and character building. The Chakra’s will be discussed and briefly explained but the focus of these posts is to strengthen writing skills. (If you want to know more about chakra’s click here). Writing exercises strengthen the brain, increase daily word counts and help shape and develop the skills pertinent to the craft.

     There are seven chakra’s that need to be aligned for balance to be found. Each one will be addressed in order from head to toe.   What writing chakra is blocked for you?

      Chakra’s -from Sankrit cakra ‘wheel of circle ‘from an Indo-European
base, meaning turn shared by wheel (dictionary.com) and often translated in English as Lotus.  The mystical practice of yoga in Ancient India first codified these theories. https://tantricacademy.com/history-of-the-chakras/   
          (7 Chakras)
1. Crown 2. Third Eye 3. Throat 4. Heart 5. Solar Plexus 6.Sacral 7. Root

     Any author who takes the time to center themselves, mind, body, and spirit, takes the initiative to discover depths of the human soul, including their own. The knowledge obtained from diving into their personal ocean may be worth the plunge. Aligning the chakra’s helps restore balance to self. The method of doing this practice can be beneficial to writers.

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Crown Chakra-(Top of Head) This chakra is associated with enlightenment, the element of thought and is described as the connection to spirit. When this chakra is balanced, a realization comes that we share a universal consciousness and essentially, we are one. The act of balancing this chakra brings knowledge and wisdom and is represented by the color purple.

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First, we will focus on thought building. Consider the following questions when creating characters.

· What are the inner thoughts of your character?

·    Does your character speak their mind? 

·     Are they timid and afraid of confrontation?

The thought of a character is just as important as the attire they choose to wear. If you want to create memorable characters you must
allow the reader to enter the main character’s mind.

                                               Challenge Yourself

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If your character has a strong point of view on a topic, arrange for them to encounter someone with opposing views. Because we are dealing with the Crown Chakra and for it to be balanced, it must be
understood that we are not separate from each other. We are a connection of each other, therefore set up your character to achieve enlightenment.· What ordeals must they first face? · What’s the small moment that nudges them onto the path? ·  What practices do they use to calm their mind and alter those nasty thoughts that pound and beg to come in?

Photo by Juliana Stein on Pexels.com

This next part is designed to inspire different thinking patterns. The crown chakra is located at the top of the head. What’s does the head of your character look like?

• Does a crown, hat, scarf, or wig rest atop?

• What’s the Hair length, color, texture, style etc?

     Characters have many attributes and features. They are more than their given name or their life circumstance. You need to walk along their streams and submerse yourself in their rivers. Ask them the questions you don’t like to be asked. Make them reply in ways you never would.

     Challenge yourself to create a character opposite of the people you naturally gravitate to in life.

• Try writing in a new genre!
• Think of a person in life you may have disputed with or didn’t play well with.

Only write down the good things about them. Make them a loveable character instead of a love to hate character. Utilizing this method stretches the mind and allows it to go beyond the normal way of thinking.

                                                               

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   Imagination

  Imagination is located within the mind and may not be officially associated with the crown chakra but for this exercise we will pretend that it is.

    Imagination lies in the minds of all people, but it’s a muscle that needs proper exercise. Children are filled with imagination. The key to rediscovering the verve may be to reconnect with the inner child. When you were a child where did your imagination take you? Did you play in a kingdom built from cardboard boxes? Did you toss a blanket across your shoulders and claim it to be a cape? Did you build communities using Legos and objects?

Imagination Exercise_

Recall a memory of yourself as a child playing. Go back into the mind of the child you were in that moment in time. Ask yourself the following questions, then write out your replies.

1.What are you playing?

2. What made you choose this to play with?

3. Why do you like to play this game?

4. Where are you pretending to be?

     Take this moment to pretend as if once again you are that child. Close your eyes and recall being in that small body with thoughts full of play and fantasy.

• Where is the child?  A bedroom, a field, backyard etc.
• What did you look like as a young child? (Give detailed features, body build, hair style and clothing)

    You can use photographs of your self as a child to help recall a moment to write about.

• Do not give descriptions based on how you saw yourself at that time, instead describe the child as if observing from afar.

  Include a scene where there is dialogue.

• You can sprinkle additional information through character conversation. E.g. Sound of child’s voice, was it high in pitch, raspy, soft, etc. Use the vocabulary spoken at that age. If they are playing alone, you can have someone enter the room or call to them so you can sneak in the voice description.

     Give internal thoughts throughout the writing, so the reader understands who the character is outwardly as well as internally.  

• What are they thinking about as they sit constructing a Lego castle? Do they have quirks (can you remember if you did)? Eg. Humming while concentrating, or do they fidget?

     Remember this is about you as a child so only (for this exercise) include things you remember about yourself. Use this exercise as the starting point for a short story, personal essay, picture book or perhaps an autobiography.

The final exercise will focus on color. The addition or absence of color can impact scenes and allow the reader to gain better images of the story they are reading.  

Photo by Jonny Lew on Pexels.com

• What color walls are in the room? If outside, what hues paint the landscape?
• What color clothes does the character like to wear? Bright and cheery or dark and dreary?
• Color can also be used to help define unseen things such as emotions. If you were asked what color you would give to a great day what would your response be? What about a horrible day?

     The color associated with the crown chakra is Purple. What was the first thought that came to your mind when you read the word purple?  Add purple or one of its shades to a work in progress. Use your imagination to incorporate the color in a unique way. Purple is often associated with royalty which may be why it’s the chosen color to represent the crown.

     Writing may be a gift to some, but for others it’s a craft that needs to be honed in order to obtain the necessary skills. Hopefully these exercises will allow you, the writer, to come to a clearer understanding of self, nature, animals, and others. For all writers looking for enlightenment, I hope for you a beautiful crown.

Next up: Third Eye Chakra

The Mad Writer

Photo by Eva Bronzini on Pexels.com

     One of the first responses I received when I declared myself a writer, was from an older gentleman. “You know, some of the best authors were deemed mad, battled alcoholism and labeled crazy by many.”  The man who spoke this was a customer that I waited on weekly. He didn’t know me because I was never the type of waitress that stood at a customers table and divulged my life story while they ate the food, I served them. The conversation began when he asked what I liked to do when I had free time.

     He relayed this information with an impish smirk and an unsettling glare. It was obvious he was attempting to insult and ridicule me.

     “I guess that’s why I love to write, because I too, am crazy,”  I responded. He smiled, raised his bottle of beer, tipped the neck towards me and let out a roar of laughter. “Aren’t we all,” he said.

     That two-minute chat with a man whose face I can barely remember and a name I never knew stayed with me since that day in the dimly lit Italian restaurant.

     Prior to the conversation, I had never heard that about writers. I learned in high school about the artists that were known to have been crazy (Van Gogh to name one) but I didn’t know writers had a reputation for being “Crazy,” as well.  So, I went straight home and researched the information for myself and thought Huh, he wasn’t joking.

     Some well-known authors whose books are loved by many suffered through life with mental health conditions and addictions. A few of them succumbed to the demons that overpowered their mind and unfortunately took their own lives.

     I pondered on these facts for many years. I couldn’t understand how someone with such talent and the power to convey what so many think but fail or refuse to express could not see their own worth. How could they of all people not understand that life can always get better. They may have been one moment, one day, one month, one year away from the best day of their life. How could they give up hope when their words inspired so many to hope.

     I didn’t understand until I found myself in dark alleys of my mind where dreams were massacred while crowds of voices chanted, taunted, and chastised the once sunny, cheery, empathetic region of my brain.

     I lost myself on paths I knew not to turn down, on expectations that were too grand and maybe even delusional. I disappointed people who I only wished to please. I stopped being content and started searching for more of what I didn’t know then, but I do know now.

     People who I adored and would have fiercely protected because I knew in return they would do the same for me disappeared from the earth. There was no prayer I could pray; no favor I could beg for or no words I could write that would bring them back. They were gone forever from this world.

     I began to question everyone and everything. I built walls around my heart which was broken, but not yet shattered. I walked in the forest of my mind and met the beasts who camouflaged themselves behind the happy thoughts I was accustomed to. I fought those creatures with my bare hands (Note to reader, this is a metaphor), I was slashed, clawed, and bloodied by the gnarling monsters. I got stuck in the muddied junkyard of overthinking and over analyzing and felt myself being crushed by the weight of disappointment, shame, failures and realizations of my own actions and the effects they have on others,

     I visited the same mad lands as those “crazy” writers, and I gained a new understanding for the desperation they were in, and the inability to allow others to know. But, for today I have decided that I’m taking the detour back to the peaceful meadow of my mind where the voices come from choirs of angels and the words they sing are encouraging, uplifting, and motivating. I have forgiven myself for the errors of my ways and won’t allow malefactions to feast on my guilt or parade their cruel hearts through the flower filled bed I made myself.

     Writers may be known for their unstable minds and if that’s what I’m known for then that’s ok. I have come to learn that a lot of writers are empathic, observant, emotionally intelligent and what drives them insane may be the fact that they absorb the energy from the people that inspire the characters they create. Unfortunately, not all that energy feels like a breath of fresh air, some of it feels like pollution and attaches itself to the membranes of those that were chosen or decided to write.  I’d rather be a CRAZY writer than someone who goes through life void of emotion or lack of desire to figure out one’s mind.

      Every piece of knowledge is gained from a writer writing down the information needed to obtain understanding.  Every book someone dives into to forget about reality was created by the writers. Every movie enjoyed was born from the mind of a writer who came up with the plot. Writers leave their mark. They are not perfect, absent of sin or always a blast to be around. Some are the loners who had to create their own worlds because they never fit into the world, they were living in. And unfortunately, some of the greatest writers left the world without knowing that their words were going to become sought after, cherished and preserved.

     So, are writers crazy?  I’ll use the words from the man who inspired this blog, Aren’t We All.

      Below is a list of some well-known authors who others deemed Crazy. Have you read any of their work? Can you name a few others?

1. Sylvia Plath- The Bell Jar, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems of Sylva Plath
2. Edgar Allen Poe- The Raven, Annabelle Lee, The Fall of The House of Usher-many more
3. Ernest Hemingway- The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, Winner Take Nothing
4. Leo Tolstoy- War and Peace, Anna Karenina
5. Jack Kerouac- On the Road

I’m a lyric girl.  Hearing a great lyric feels as good to me as reading a great book. As I was typing this blog, this song came to mind. Give it a listen but make sure you hear the words being spoken.

And I hope that you are having the time of your life

But think twice, that’s my only advice

Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you

think you are

Ha ha ha, bless your soul

You really think you’re in control

Well, I think you’re crazy

I think you’re crazy

I think you’re crazy

Just like ME

ODE TO SILVIO

       ODE TO SILVIO

  Beautiful, sleek mysterious soul

Your magnificence and strength, makes me whole

  Eyes so dark, trimmed, glimmering, placed on a background

so White

  Other’s see your darkness, I only see your Light

Skittish but Confident

  A predator, a protector, a gentle but ferocious Cat

A gentlemen in black, a mischievous, bold little Brat

  Come rest your weight so heavy upon my lap

You are safe here, I wish nothing more than to admire you

as you take your nap

THE PANTHER

CREATE

“Chill Relax” by Jeremy Bishop/ CC0 1.0

Create Space

Create Love

Create A New Face

Create Moments

Create Music

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Create Lyrics

Create Creations

Create Clothing

Create Art

“Mural Spraypaint” by Alex Holyoake/ CC0 1.0

Create Sculptures

Create Locations

Create Paintings

Create Forgiveness

Create Stories

Create Landscapes and Escapes

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Create A new you with a new form

Create Laughter

Create Dances

Create Love Languages

Create Mindfulness

Create things using nature

Create Hairstyles

“Braided Hair” by Candace McDaniel/ CC0 1.0

Create Creatures

Create Prosperity and imagine it showering over you

Create Communication

Create Harmony

Create Acceptance

Create the interiors and exteriors of your homes and your souls

Create Smiles

Create Speeches for only your eyes to see

Create Tattoos

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Create Technology

Create Graffitti

Create Bridges to Walk Across

“Brick wall art Melbourne reads“/ CC0 1.0

Create Fields of flowers

Create Delicious Foods

Create Beats

Create Poetry

Photo by Ena Marinkovic on Pexels.com

Create Life

Create! Create! Create! And when you can’t do much, pledge to create a happy thought.

ALONE IN THE DARK

I thought by now, I’d  have a few books under my belt. My dreams are still there but each day I swallow reality and it looks as if it may never turn out the way I imagined. I went through some of my short stories today. I like to do that now and then. Often they inspire me to keep writing. I have so many little pieces that I decided I will post them on my blog.

This story contains an exercise. Maybe you would like to try it.

“I have an assignment for you,” she said. I wanted to knock her teeth down her throat.  Every Tuesday, she sits there in one of her French suits staring at me with condescending eyes. She hates that she can’t get in my head. Sure, she smiles that fake bright red smile but I know she thinks I’m hopeless.

“Reagan, if you don’t do this assignment I will have no choice but to let your parents know you are not cooperating.”

I peered at her. I wanted to jump out of my chair and scratch my initials into her face so she would always remember that she pissed off the wrong girl. But, I knew I didn’t want to be shipped to a boarding school half way around the country. My friends wouldn’t survive without me. Lyn would get beat up the second I wasn’t around. Sam would do something stupid again like getting caught slashing the principal’s tires if I wasn’t there to keep an eye out for her. I had to agree to the assignment. My friends needed me to stick around and I had to prove to my parents that I am not influenced by my “troublesome friends,” if anything they are influenced by me.

“What do I have to do?” I mumbled.

“For one week, I want you to lie in your bed with the lights off and think.”

“Are you for real?” The sarcastic reply raced past my lips before I could stop it.

Her shoulders arched and her chest flared. “Yes, I am.” She said before forcing that annoying smile.

“You will need to set an egg timer for twenty minutes. “ She lifted one from her desk, “During the quiet time, you are to reflect on your thoughts and behaviors then record them as they come.”

She won’t give up until she has my thoughts. I should have guessed that she would have figured out a way.

“At first, you will probably feel uncomfortable, but by weeks end you should begin to feel free.”

“Free?” I laughed at the ridiculous comment.

“Yes Reagan, our minds are very complicated and keeping thoughts and feelings in will affect everything you do.”

I was surprised when she handed me a small black recorder. “I bought this for you.”

I couldn’t believe I actually felt guilty for wanting to scratch her skin off. I have never felt guilty for anything I have done. But, for the first time I think I felt remorse. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to thank her for it.

“Okay, the assignment starts tomorrow. I suggest you do it when you feel most awake. You don’t want to do it when you are sleepy because you may end up falling asleep.”

“Are you going to let my parents hear this?”

“Absolutely not. To make it a little easier, I have written topics on index cards. Each night you will pick one of the cards and record what your feelings are based on the topic.”

“I guess I’ll see you next week.” As I was about to slam the door she rushed up to me. “No, Reagan we will meet every day this week to discuss the topics you recorded.  I have arranged it with your parents. I will see you tomorrow at the same time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh and then I slammed the door.

Wednesday Night, I speak into the recorder.

     This is stupid. This is stupid. This is so friggen stupid but here it goes. I am alone in the dark. The only light I can see is the tiny blue light on my ipod charger. I hate the dark! I’m not afraid of it, I just hate it. I hate my voice too, so I doubt I will ever listen to these dumb recordings. Okay, the timer is set. I didn’t set no egg timer, how stupid is that. Why would I get an egg timer when every cell phone has an alarm on it, duh. Wow, twenty minutes, do I really have to talk for twenty minutes?  I wonder how many minutes have passed.

     I picked the first index card tonight and the topic is hate. I guess it could have been worse. I hate a lot of things so talking about them for twenty minutes should be fairly easy. I will start with myself. I hate that my arms don’t look good in a tank top. I hate that I can’t wear shorts. My legs are fat. I hate that my voice sounds like a transvestites. Not that there is anything wrong with a transvestite, but I’m a girl and I want to sound like a girl.  I could definitely pass for a man if someone only could hear my voice. I hate that I have things to hate about myself. I hate that right now I am talking so much. I guess I figure it will make twenty minutes go by faster.

     What else do I hate? I hate sitting in the front row of Mr. Townsends class. History sucks, if I was sitting in the back, I could at least nod off but with Hawkeyes staring at me I have to stay awake. Okay, right now I am just going to sit silent for a minute…I guess I should say what I was thinking about in that silent minute. I was listening to the sounds. I could hear my brothers rap music through his bedroom door and I thought about how much I hated rap music.

     I could hear the faucet in the bathroom dripping but I wasn’t about to get up and go turn it off. Then I heard a car drive down the street and I thought about how much I hate that my parents drive a beat up Volkswagen when they have the money to buy two brand new ones. I hate that they are stupid.

The light flicks on, my younger brother stares at me like I am a crazy person. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business shut off the light.”

I hate that my bedroom is the only bedroom without a door.  Hooray, the alarm went off. I don’t hate that I’m done.

Session with Therapist

“Okay, Reagan, I have listened to your recordings. First I’d like to say, good job with your first assignment.”

I nod. There is a smile fighting to emerge but I cover my mouth and pretend to cough. I don’t want her to think I actually care if she thought I did a good job.  She looks different today. It’s the first time I have ever seen her wear pants.  She actually looks less stuffy.

“I am sorry that you hate yourself Reagan. I’d like to help you learn to understand why you hate yourself and maybe begin to embrace who you are. Just by doing something as simple as this assignment you may find the choices you make will be different.”

     I don’t answer. I stare passed her out the bay styled window behind her desk. I can see the train bridge in the distance and I can’t help but wonder if Sam and Lyn were hanging out on it without me. I hoped Jimmy Michels wasn’t there flirting with Sam. She wouldn’t do that to me, I don’t think.

“Reagan, don’t drift off. Tonight I think you should choose Love as your subject. I’d like to know about the things you love. “She rises from the desk and hands me a leather journal with a thin leather strap that wraps around the center. “This is for you. If ever you feel uncomfortable verbalizing your feelings, please feel free to write them down.”

Another gift?  Wow this lady is either super cool or completely determined to learn every deep dark secret I have. She’d probably be disappointed to find out that I don’t have many.

     “Reagan, I also want you to know you can be creative about where you are in the dark. I know originally I said lie on your bed but please feel free to choose different locations.”

Thursday-Love

I took my therapists advice and decided to take a sleeping bag out in my backyard and lie underneath the stars.  Good thing my parents know I have an assignment or for sure they’d be shipping me away.

Okay here goes nothing. Love! I was told to start with talking about what I love about myself. Ugh, not much. I guess I love that I’m strong. I love that others fear me and no one would think about hurting my friends because they know I would kick the shit out of them if they did. I love the small birthmark on the underside of my wrist. It almost looks like an arrow. I think a lot of people think it’s a tattoo which I also love. I love that Jimmy Michels thinks I’m funny. I love that my little sister thinks I’m cool regardless if the rest of my family thinks I’m trouble. I love Mrs. Roman’s creative writing class. She once told me I was meant to be a writer which I think was neat. Okay recorder, I’m sitting in silence again be back soon…

     I love the sound of the crickets. I wonder if they are talking to each other in their own special language. Okay, I love some bad things which I guess might make me a bad person. I love sneaking a cigarette with Sam and Lyn on the train bridge. I love skipping school to hang out with Jimmy Michels and his friends who are much older than me. I love pool hopping in the summer and I love the taste of peach schnapps. Twenty minutes is up. Goodnight crickets.

 

Therapy

“Another great job Reagan.”

Today, I smile. I don’t know if verbalizing my thoughts is making me a little bit happier or if I’m just in a good mood. I actually washed the dishes for my mother today. Her face was priceless. I even told Sam and Lyn that I’m planning on doing one good thing a day and they laughed. They said if I did they would. Sam brought her younger brother to the park and Lyn washed her father’s car. I guess I can influence people in a good way too.

“I will not preach to you about smoking and drinking but I do hope you choose to give both of them up.” She shows me a photograph of a beautiful woman with silky brown hair. The woman is sitting under a tree and smiling up at the sky. “This is my mother. She died of lung cancer.”

I stare at the woman and for the first time feel sad for my therapist. I don’t know what she is doing to me I’m thinking differently and feeling emotions I often dismissed.

I can’t bring myself to respond. I want to say I’m sorry for her loss but I’m not there yet. Maybe I’ll write about it in that journal she gave me later.

“I want you to write down one thing every day that you love about yourself and one thing that you hate about yourself. At the end of the week, take a moment to reflect on those things and see how you feel and then write that down too.”

She lifts a black rectangular box from her laptop case. “I have another small gift for you.”

I feel giddy. I have never received so many gifts in such a small time other than on Christmas morning.

I lift the lid to the box. A shiny black pen with my name written in gold letters rests upon velvet.

“Verbalizing and Writing is very therapeutic Reagan, it’s how a person learns about themselves. I would love to read one of your creative writing pieces one day.”

“Okay, thank you.” I said thank you. It wasn’t even hard it just came out.

Friday Recording

     I’m in a closet. I know, I’m weird but I wanted to be creative and this felt right. I brought in my pillow and blanket so I would be comfortable. It’s definitely dark in here. I can feel a small vibration underneath me from the ceiling fan below. It’s a bit annoying. Tonight I picked Happiness from the index cards. Happiness. What makes me happy? The first thing that comes to mind is Jimmy Michels smile. It’s wide and beautiful and I feel happy whenever I see it. Knowing that Lyn and Sam think of me as their best friend makes me happy. I shouldn’t be happy when I get away with skipping school but I am I can’t help it. The music of the Beatles makes me happy. It reminds me of being young and dancing around the living room with my parents to the song The Octopus’s garden. It was long ago when my parents still actually loved me. I guess receiving the gifts from my therapist made me happy. I am getting used to recording and I have written a few things in my new journal with my new pen. The alarm is going off. Twenty minutes is flying by. One more thing that makes me happy is losing weight. I lost ten pounds once and I felt great. I need to try that again. Bye recorder.

Therapy Session

“Reagan, it sure looks like you are getting the hang of this.” Today my therapist actually has on jeans. They are a pair I might even attempt to wear if I was thirty pounds thinner. They are faded and have small rips in the knee. Each day I think she seems a little cooler.

“So, how did it feel to talk about happiness?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You know Reagan, your parents still love you very much. If they didn’t they wouldn’t have you here. I know it’s hard for you to comprehend but one day you will understand that everything they are doing is because they love you.”

I have heard that before but I don’t see it. My mom barely speaks to me. I can feel the disappointment in my father every time he is near me. I think he thought by age fifteen I’d be a musical prodigy playing the piano in recitals all around the world. I liked playing the piano but I never loved it the way he wanted me to.

I can’t help but wonder if I get another present today. I guess I’m expecting one, but have no idea what it will be.

The therapist sits in her leather chair and swivels back and forth while jotting down something on her notepad. “Okay, Reagan, I want you to talk about disappointment tonight. We will talk about it tomorrow.”

I stand there waiting for a gift and quickly realize today I won’t be getting one. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Saturday Recording

I am back to lying on my bed in the dark.  I didn’t feel like being creative today. I guess I was disappointed that I didn’t get a gift. I didn’t expect one, okay maybe I did. I was hoping for one. I’m sorry; I know you will be listening to this but if I am trying to be honest, I should let you know I was disappointed that I didn’t get a gift from you today. I am disappointed often. I am disappointed every time I step on the scale and see I’ve gained weight. I am disappointed every time I hear Jimmy Michels tell Sam that she is hot. I want him to think of me as hot not just the fat funny friend. I am disappointed when I walk into Mrs. Roman’s writing class and see a substitute. I am disappointed in myself for not being a better daughter but I don’t know how to become one. I can’t stop hanging around with my friends, I love them. I guess I could stop cutting classes and stealing liquor from my parents’ cabinet but then I would disappoint my friends and doing so would disappoint me. Twenty minutes feels like eternity tonight. I don’t’ feel like talking. I am going to be silent longer tonight. I’ll let you know what comes to mind…

     I didn’t pay attention to any sounds. I guess being disappointed puts me in a bad mood. I never realized that before. Hmm, I suppose that’s what the therapist meant when she said I would feel free. That bullshit she said about verbalizing and talking might be working. I think I’m beginning to understand myself a little more. I don’t know how or why.

Therapy Session

     “Reagan, I want to explain a few things to you today if you don’t mind.”

     I shrug my shoulders.

“Most people never pay attention to what’s inside their heads. If you are happy, there is a reason for it and if you want to remain happy you must know what makes you happy and seek it out.” She holds up a cd. “I know you were disappointed yesterday that I didn’t get you a gift. But, today I did. It is a Beatles cd and the song The Octopus’s Garden is on it. Anytime you find yourself going into that funk of sadness or disappointment I want you to promise you will play this song so you can get back to your happy place.”

Immediately my feeling shifts. I know trying to hide my happiness would be pointless. “Thank you,” I say again. It’s becoming easier to say thank you.

“You’re welcome Reagan. I am happy to give it to you. But, Reagan, I want you to take a moment later on and ask yourself why it took me buying you gifts before you would give me a chance.”

The recordings were complete and my therapist Miss Raven assured my parents that my behavior was nothing more than teenager antics and I was normal. She encouraged them to practice the “Alone in the Dark” exercise so they would gain a better understanding of love, hate, happiness, sadness, disappointment and a whole laundry list of other emotions.

I still record my thoughts once a week and write in my journal and whenever I need a spirit booster I visit the Octopus’s garden and dance.

I stood at the front of Mrs. Roman’s class and watched the mouths drop when I shut off the recorder. There were looks of horror, compassion, sorrow and even ridicule. I cleared my throat. Mrs. Roman nodded in encouragement and then I began…

Alone in the dark

As I sat alone in the dark I heard my thoughts

Happiness sang, Disappointment cried, Love hugged and Hate punched

As I sat alone in the dark, I came to understand who I was and who I no longer wanted to be

I’m a teenager doing the things we do. It doesn’t make me bad, troubled or crazy

As I sat alone in the dark I paid attention to sounds I have often ignored

The chitter chatter of crickets, the beat of a musicians song, engines from cars roared

As I sat alone in the dark things jumbled within my mind began to make sense

I can’t love others without loving myself.  I can’t ask not to be judged when I’m filled with pretense

As I sat alone in the dark something cool happened to me

I don’t know exactly when or even how, but, all of the truth I faced set me free

I walked back to my seat feeling proud of my poem and myself. I could tell by Mrs. Roman’s eyes that she thought I did a great job. There were some awkward stares from some of the kids but Lyn and Sam both gave me thumbs up which made me feel good.

“Class, for the first time in a long time, I have been inspired by one of my students,” Mrs. Roman said after I was seated. In her hand was a stack of index cards. She walked up each row and set one card on every student’s desk. “Reagan was very brave in sharing her recordings with us.” She looked directly at me. “She didn’t have to share something so intimate and I told her that, but, she said the poem wouldn’t be as good without them.”

I picked up the index card she placed on my desk. The word Anticipation was written on the card in bold black letters.

“I have decided to make the Alone in the Dark exercise a part of this writing class. Once a week you will be given an index card with a word. I want you to sit alone in the dark for twenty minutes, just as Reagan did and think about the word and what it means to you. You will then be required to write a short story based on the word and the emotions it evoked.”

I felt flushed.  Dozens of heads spun around. I was surprised to see most of the faces had smiles. I couldn’t be sure but I think the class actually thought it was going to be cool. I thought about my word Anticipation, I wondered what would come to mind when I shut off the lights. Then I thought about the gift I bought Miss Raven, a vintage French ormalu picture frame for the photograph of her mother.  I knew for sure I would think about her reaction when I shut off the light.

I know one thing; I don’t hate the dark anymore.

HAPPY BOOK LOVER’S DAY

Today is National Book Lover’s Day. Treat yourself to a new book. I look forward to the day where one of my book’s will be available to purchase. Until that moment, I will continue to get lost in the worlds other authors create.

What Books have you been reading? Here is a few that I read in the past year.

 

I am looking forward to reading many more.  My current To Be Read list looks like this.

I showed you mine, now show me yours. What books have you read recently and what books are you looking forward to reading?

 

I FEAR SUCCESS

I don’t fear rejection, I’m used to rejection. I’m familiar with the sensation that rejection brings. The stomach sinking, tears in your eyes, fists in the air type of feeling that I’ve experienced too many times to count. I’m an expert when it comes to rejection. I expect rejection.

I fear success.

I dream of success but the thought of it actually happening terrifies me. I have grown so accustomed to living life in a little corner of the universe that the idea of stepping out from the shadows to share with the world my imagination makes my heart pound faster than normal. What if my dream came true? Could I handle it?

I’ve never been on a plane. What if I did make it, would I be able to jet off to another state to promote my book or do author signings? Could I face that fear?

I have feared success most of my life. It’s a weird fear to have because there is no guarantee that it can be faced.

My fear of boarding a plane can be conquered. I can book a flight today to face this fear. But, there is no guarantee that one will become successful. Being successful means different things to everyone. For me, success would be becoming a well-known author with many published books. This may never happen and if it doesn’t, I can never face the fear.

Yes, I fear success. The thought of it makes my stomach turn and causes my palms to sweat, but the fear of never finding success may be worse.

Do you fear success?

WHY I NEED PITCH WARS

Writers know what it means to struggle. We struggle with words. We struggle with plots. We struggle with characters and their development. We struggle with word counts and then we struggle with trying to get our work published.

At the beginning of my journey, everything felt somewhat easy. I was only writing a few months, when a poem of mine placed runner-up in a contest held by the SCBWI. It didn’t take me long to get published in a few children’s magazines. I was over the moon, when a short story of mine was bought by ABC studios for a pilot series they were about to launch. I gained more confidence when another story was published in one of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books.

I was receiving many requests for my middle-grade story which my instructor at the Institute of Children’s Literature said he didn’t think would take long for an agent to snatch. I was hopeful. But all those requests turned into rejections. I received many personalized rejections, but they were rejections nevertheless.

I did what a lot of writers do. I tucked my manuscript away and started writing a new one. It was my first attempt at writing YA. The idea came from a dream. Yes, you’ve heard that one before, but honest to God, it did. The dream occurred about a week prior to NanoWrimo (lucky me). I thought, Why Not? I had nothing to lose and some time to spare.

I can’t remember if I completed the ms within the month, but it was certainly on its way to becoming my second completed manuscript.

After many critique sessions and hours and hours of edits, I had a shiny new manuscript. After some encouragement and great feedback, I was ready to bring this new manuscript to a writer’s conference.

I submitted my first pages to a well-known author and a few agents prior to the conference and counted the days until I’d be in their presence hearing their thoughts.

I became giddy when during the one-on-one with the author, she told me that mine was her favorite and she even put stars all along the top to remind her when I came up to her table to receive my feedback. She said she saw this book as a movie and she, like my instructor at the ICL said she didn’t think it would be long for me to snatch an agent.

I also met with an agent one-on-one that day, who also seemed equally excited. She gave me ideas and said to forward her the whole manuscript when I returned home. She explained that she didn’t care if the writing was still raw and the story was still developing, she would help me hash it out.
I was there. I was close to achieving my goal. I imagined my book cover. I dreamed of going on author signings and now it felt like those dreams may come true.

But then, nothing happened. Nothing. The agent and I spoke via e-mail a few times and then she left her agency. My writing partner decided that she wasn’t going to write anymore. Hope turned to despair and I convinced myself that it was only a pipe dream. A silly dream that was never going to come true.

I sulked, I cried, I gave up. But, then I came back. I started again. I was not going to quit dreaming. I was not going to quit writing.

My journey began again. I started sending out queries. Once again, I started receiving requests. But, those requests turned into rejections and the new-found hope was once again starting to diminish. Self-doubt returned.

What I learned through the querying process for both manuscripts is that both have something that catches the agent’s attention enough for them to request, but there must be something lacking that makes them decide not to offer representation.

I need Pitch Wars because maybe the mentors can help me see what is missing. I’m not afraid of hard work. I will do what needs to be done.

Everyone entering Pitch Wars needs it for a reason, what is your reason?

Pitch Wars, Here I Come

I have a completed mg manuscript that generated many requests but in the end no cigar!

I have a completed YA manuscript that generated many requests but in the end no cigar!

I BELIEVE in both of these manuscripts. I LOVE both of these manuscripts. I poured blood, sweat and tears into these manuscripts.

I want to understand what’s wrong with them. I want to understand how to make them better.

So, I have decided that I’m going to participate in Pitch Wars again this year. I’m still deciding which one of my babies (manuscript) to enter.

Wish me luck. If you are participating in Pitch Wars and want to swap pages or bounce ideas off of each other, leave a comment or find me on the Pitch Wars forums. I posted the first 250 words of both for review.

Renewal Giveaway

 

 

UPDATE: Congratulations Barb, your name was chosen to win the bookmark. Thank you so much for commenting. I hope you like your bookmark as much as I like mine. If you send me your address to my email maribethpgraham at comcast.net I will forward your bookmark to you.

Somewhere along my travels of the mundane days of work, I got lost. I stopped dreaming. I stopped envisioning a life other than the one necessary to survive. I stopped trying. I stopped writing.

And when I did, I lost myself. I betrayed myself. I am a lot of things to a lot of people, daughter, wife, mother, sister, friend, employee but in order to be good at any of those positions, I must first be true to myself.

I’m a writer. I’m eccentric at times. I have a weird sense of humor (and usually connect best with those who share it.) I’m a daydreamer. I’m an empathetic human who can see myself in everyone I meet. I can be an air head at times but also a force to be reckoned with. I’m silly but intense and will not apologize for my imagination. It is the gift I was given.

We all have a purpose. We all have struggles, self-doubt, moments of self-hate, but we all possess, beauty, talents and share collective thoughts. We need to inspire each other to become the best versions of ourselves. We need to help one another see the gifts within. When we start to do this, small parts of the world will change.

I may have taken breaks through my writing journey,but, I always seem to come back to the craft that makes my soul feel at home.

To celebrate my renewal of spirit and my newfound excitement to get back into what I so adore, I’m having a giveaway.

These hand-crafted book marks are made by Trades of Hope. These women have faced many struggles. They use their talents to help support their children and community.I’m in love with these bookmarks. I want to share one with you.

All you must do is comment on my blog a positive word. I’m old-school, the list of winners will be thrown in a hat and picked at random.