Success: The New Approach Works!

As you guys know, I'm approaching my goals a different way this year. By creating a chore and create box, I've forced myself to have concrete deadlines for my goals every day. I have 24 hours finish two items: one is a chore, one is creative.

We're 22 days into January, and right on time, I finished all the chores in my chore box. Time to rinse and repeat, but since I'm trying to be more creative in all aspects of my life, I decided to do a quick photoshoot. The idea was to have a portrait with my head in the middle of an arch of things I've accomplished thus far.

Of course, Gerty had other plans. He said, "This looks like a good place to flop." Flop. Stretch. Roll. Lick paw. Look at the camera with a "What?" face.

I feel proud of myself for sticking to my plan and accomplishing a lot more than in previous months. I take one day at a time, and I do a little bit every day. This year has been a lesson in consistency, and so far, so good.

A photo posted by R. A. Desilets (@radesilets) on Jan 22, 2016 at 1:38pm PST

I'm 15% through editing The End Diary (read the first two chapters for free), I've started writing two new books (Ferals and Shrinking Violet (In a Blue Moon #.01)), and I've read four novels. I have a long way to go, but two of my books are in the last round of querying. This means, results of querying pending, I should have at least two more books out this year. The End Diary should be published this year as well. Lots to do, but I'm working every single day!

Shifting Sands

Melting into swirls

The hot sun pressed us

Into the sand, drifting,

Nothing ever shifts

More than the footprints

Buried, neck deep

Swallowing salty air

Lungs dried and settled

Rusty, lengthy gasps

Ruined memories of dust

Nothing ever shifts

More than the light

Day to night, we end

Fighting to pretend

That footprints never change

Turn away and walk

Down the alleys of dark

Hide in the shadows

Drown on the sorrows

Kneel before what used to be

Ruined memories of dust

Nothing ever shifts

More than the footprints

Left in the old sand

That no longer reaches my heart 

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There was once a time in my life where I would do anything for anyone.  I would stand up and fight for them even if they stabbed me in the back.  For me, it usually takes three backstabs and then I drop you (unless, of course, we are playing TF2, in which case, if you backstab me, I will hunt you down and kill you just the same - but that's a video game, not real life).

My friendship is like some horrible baseball game.  Strike one, okay, forgiven, just get it right the next time.  Strike two, okay - maybe I shouldn't have taken you back so easily, maybe I should have given us more time to reflect, but I still love you just the same.  Strike three - out.  Out of my life, out of my heart, forever.  I'll take the memories and crumple them up and burn them in the next bonfire I attend.  Little pieces of paper that hold all the thoughts of you and me together tossed away in an instant. 

Recently, I felt something shift in me.  It's no longer three strikes.  It's not even two.  It's one.

I'm still processing how I feel about this shift.  Maybe someday I can talk about the situation more candidly.  While I have been "mourning" what used to be and how that will never be the same again, a part of me feels free somehow.  My whole life, I allowed people to stab me three times before showing them the door.  And now, I have the strength, the disconnect, whatever you want to call it, to let go. 

People change.  The way you feel about them changes too.  And sometimes I hate it, that the impressions someone makes on your heart can never be the same again.  Someone once said to me, "You can never go back."  Tears threatened my eyes and I refused to believe it was true.  No, I told myself, my friends that I had just left behind in Boston would never change.  We would always be friends.

This is the first instance where I realized how true that statement is.  While I still have good memories, I can never live in those memories again.  I cannot curl up in the comfort of a sing-a-long by the bonfire because those memories are false.  They are real, as real as ever, but they will never happen again.  You can never go back, but that's why here and now is so important.  You need to continue forward, head up high, knowing that people changed you and that you changed them.  Maybe you can never go back to the night that you spent staring at the stars, but you can get the stars today.  You know you were happy then, and you know you are happy now, and you can wish them the same.

But you can never go back.  And now that I think about it - I've changed too much to want to go back.

I still love my memories.  I still love the people in them.  But that's all they are - precious memories.

My Internal NaNo Dialogue

Anyone that is interested in seeing the method behind the madness.  This is literally what I think about while I'm writing, specifically my NaNo project (for which I did go off of an old story, but I completely revamped, rearranged, and changed the whole thing).

Hey - what are you doing here?  I didn't recall giving your character more than two lines originally.  What are you doing in the shop?  Now my main character has to interact with you?  Is it going to be embarrassment or further proof that my MC isn't, in fact, crazy?  Regardless, you are hindering my whole plot by being here, but fine, I'll go with it.  Yay conversations.  Are you don't yet?  Awkwardly shuffle out the door - that's better!  Main plot line, GO!

Okay, so this is actually coming together, it's actually making sense - but that conversation between the two of them seemed a little too heartfelt.  Then again, who am I to say that?  They've been dating in high school puppy love for about a year and a half - so naturally, yes, they are going to be a little heartfelt, right?  Hopefully?  But now what?  They had this awesome conversation that reconnected them, but they aren't supposed to be reconnecting!  If anything, he's supposed to be turning villainous and vapid.  Then again, his concern could grow more now, making him slightly more... protective?  Overbearing protectiveness to the point of driving my MC crazy is now a GO!  Success, gold star, now let's wrap this up so I can get some coffee/tea/wine.

I guess it is good that some things happen that are very unplanned.  It makes for more realistic situations, I think, and keeps me on my toes.  When I feel like things are getting too easy for my MC, something else comes in to make things a little.. different.  Even if they don't change dramatically, it is the little things that make a story come to life.

Gearing Up

Pardon me for not posting more frequently.  I've been neck deep in RUHE revisions (which are going along nicely, but not as fast as I originally hoped).  On top of that, I've been doing some brainstorming and character building for NaNo - and really, really inspecting their past.  I found that with RUHE the characters surrounding my main character were weak.  I knew little to nothing about her history or her decision to stop speaking - simply that she did stop speaking.

So I took to my new mirror of doom.  I scribbled furiously across it.  If you've never tried writing on walls before, I encourage you to do it (somewhere that you can eventually wipe off, of course).  There is something very satisfying about writing until the whole wall (mirror, in my case) is full and then your words are just staring you in the face.  I know, I know, I'm a little crazy, but aren't we all?  And isn't that why we write?  To hide behind the "It's okay, I'm not crazy!  I'm a writer!"

Regardless, I've been scrambling.  I want to polish my manuscript in order to submit it into a contest (November 1st).  I want to finish outlining my NaNo story so I can actually start with a solid basis on November 1st.  And that's that.  I haven't felt this kind of pressure since I left college.  And I suppose that's a good thing, because there's really this fire that's been lit under me.  I needed it, I needed the shove and push back in the right direction.  I mean, heck, I finished RUHE in a week (not polished, but finished the main story arc)!  If I can do that, dedicate a week of my life to being insane once every two months, then maybe I can finally get somewhere. (:  I'm a lot closer to wherever "somewhere" is than I was a month ago.

A Pause

Writing will never leave me.  I know that now, more so than ever before.  It is intrinsic in my natural, my being to be able to make words out of what I'm feeling.  To put myself in haunting places and scenarios, places I may never even dream of being, but it is where my characters take me.

I used to worry when I didn't write for days on end - that this was it.  That was the last thing I would even put down on paper, into words.  But more often, now, I find myself ever forming stories - random bits and pieces that I come across throughout the day, ways to keep my brain entertained - and sometimes, on the moped ride home, I create fabulous lyrics, ones that can never be heard again by anyone but myself as I sing softly along with the hum of my motor.

I worry less because this is me, it's what I do.  My day job, whatever it may be, will never change the solid fact that I am a writer.  When I stop writing, it is my pause, my time to reflect, my moments to gather myself for the tasks ahead.  Although, I feel more of a desire to finish my unfinished pieces than ever before, I still don't have the motivation and drive to sit down and produce them.  But the desire is there, hungry, gnawing away at my heart valves.  One of them will burst someday and a fountain of words will spill out onto the page in a unyielding, passionate rage.

Until then, I will sit down and read my books, watch my television, and be the constant observer of people, facial expressions, conversations that shouldn't be overheard.  I am the creep that sits by you at lunch staring into the distance, a long look on her face, and you wonder - is this girl listening to us?  Yes, in fact, she hears every single word.  When you look away, she studies your face, feels your voice and your words, takes in your essence, only to use it some day, covering the white blank page with your secrets, or words inspired by your secrets.  And you'll never think, connect two and two together, that she was there while you were conversing with your co-worker, that you, in fact, inspired her.

I am the quiet observer, and I'm taking my time off from writing to gather new materials, new phrases, new words to stitch together my sentences. 

In the past three days, I have read the Young Adult novel FLIP, by Martyn Bedford, and half of Ender's Game.  I haven't felt this desire to read since I was much younger.  Maybe that's why my characters have been lacking - I haven't kept up myself.  I feed off of words formed by others, I am motivated by seeing, devouring finished pieces of work - I see and feel all the possibilities of my own life, my own ideas, just by reading.

FLIP was actually pretty good.  The one downfall of most YA Fiction is the lack of intelligence in the characters.  I really think we should be challenging young readers - especially if we assume that these readers are high school, maybe middle school level.  When I was in ninth grade, I had finished Moby Dick - and at that point in my life, yes, it was the most boring read ever - but looking back, it was a huge challenge.  I learned so much from just one challenging book.  That's not to say that FLIP is bad, I guess I was just hoping for a more challenging read.  And yes, I'm an adult, but I was reading books like this in sixth grade.  The concept - awesome, the characters - great, believable.  I think it is definitely worth the read, especially if you do have a child, you should get them to pick it up.  It is probably one of the more solid YA Fiction novels to come out in awhile.

As for Ender's Game - I am so upset that I didn't read this earlier.  I cannot put it down.  So many of my friends read it before me and I always wanted to get around to it.  But I thought, "Well, I'm not THAT much into Science Fiction, so maybe later."  Then I started reading it.  Goodness, it is like The Giver meets space, meets some crazy Ayn Rand novel, meets awesomeness.  Honestly, if you like Sci-Fi, you need to read it.  I found it in the Classics section at the Library (which is, ironically, in the corner, stuffed next to the YA section).  I have three more YA books coming my way - and as long as I'm reading, I might not be writing, but I am creating vastly new universes for myself.

If nothing else, I will at least review what I am reading until I feel the urge to write.  Once I'm back, I'll come back with a huge vengeance.  That's a promise.

Picture of a Woman

Who was this woman?  I knew what to call her before, what to say a few months ago.  She was a loving wife, an aspiring photographer, a real estate agent, but really, most of all she was a mother.  She prided herself on that.  But this woman that stood before me was a shell of that, someone so convinced that her life was over that she was willing to give it all up.  This woman was spineless, she lacked motivation, she had fallen into the trap of being content.  Her eyes frozen on mine, hollow in the deepest meaning of the term.  No more green reflecting the world with glimmers of hope and fascination, it’s all replaced by anger and hatred towards her situation, towards what happened.

As the picture of her clouded over from the steam of the shower, I didn’t bother wiping it off again.  I didn’t want to see this woman, I didn’t want to admit that this was where I was.  Couldn’t I live in ignorant bliss?  But that’s the problem, when you know what you once had, you can’t live without it – at least, not as happy as you once were.  I knew what I had to do, but I had no idea what to tell him.  What do you say to a man?  How do you tell him you’re no longer in love with him?  That you were never in love with him?  How do you say, “You were just a means to an end for me – yes, I was using you, but I’m terribly sorry about it.”

But had I been using him?  That was the part I would never quite get, because it wasn’t true.  A part of me had fallen for this man, but he wasn’t mine.  And that was the difference, I supposed.  He never stood a chance against the man that I loved, no one did really – but why did it have to be him, of all the thousands of other people in the world that I could have taken solace in – why him?

I wanted to destroy the mirror, but instead, I walked into the shower for the third time today.  I watched my fingers turn to wet, hot prunes.  “I have something to tell you…  I have…  I have to tell you something…  I have to be honest, look…  I have…  Ugh.”  I concentrated on the water rushing down my face, dripping off my nose.  I had to convince myself, for the hundredth time this month, that it was all going to work out.  Somehow.  The impossible had already happened – so what’s one more “miracle?”

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This may, or may not, end up in my final piece for a longer work.  Haven't decided yet, but I wanted to get into her head again - so that I can continue writing her story.  Yes, it is ambiguous, but I don't want to give away too much about this novel until it is actually done.