Category: Writing

Backlogged

Art, Cosplay, Drawing, NaNoWriMo, Writing

I am embarrassingly behind on my critiques for the Facebook group I’m in. These critiques have helped my writing tremendously. It’s amazing what reading snippets of different writers’ styles will do to help develop your own style.

I used to be able to knock out three or four critiques in a couple of days, but lately it’s taking me longer and longer. I think I’m so bogged down with other writing, cosplay, and art projects that I have trouble focusing.

The Whispers of Death novel is very near to being ready for submission to agents and publishers. It makes me nervous to even think of sending it out. Though I don’t think I’ll be particularly crushed if I get rejections (and I really think I have something worthy of traditional publication), the idea of actually doing this, of getting the process started and making it real is a bit daunting.

The cosplay is coming along nicely. The skirt is started, and self-drafting is tough, but I think I’ll get it figured out. I have a friend who can help me, and I think once I get the corset finished and can see how much belly bulge it sucks in (if any lol), I’ll better be able to finish it to a better fit.

Unfortunately, the art project is stalled worse than the critiques. I’m trying, but I’m artistically “stuck.” I’ve got drawer’s block. I’m thinking of moving on from the latest drawing I’ve started (which is frustrating the hell out of me) and moving on to other characters in order to have more to send in to my client. I think that once I’ve finished with the novel prep I’ll be in a better frame of mind to draw more.

Oh yeah, and I have NaNoWriMo next month. It’s coming up fast, so I need to prep that as well.

Why do I do this to myself? Lol

Flash Fiction Friday: The Dot-Com Match

Writing

Mary’s forehead shone with sweat as she stared at her captor. She had no choice but to stare, after all. He had long since flayed the skin from her eyes, pulling the raw muscles of her lids back with rusted wire to hold her eyes open. At first, the streaming tears burned as they rolled down her face; now, there were no more tears to be had, as her eyes had dried up hours ago.

She wanted to scream. She tried to scream. All that came out, though, was a muffled groan.

He had stapled her mouth shut.

When he moved out of her line of sight she cringed. In the mirror directly across from her, she saw strips of skin hanging off her naked body. Barbed wire bound her arms, legs, and head to the chair she sat in. Rivulets of blood covered what was left of her skin.

His form slowly came back into view. He had walked a circle around her, examining his work. She looked into the eyes that she had once found so charming and now saw only a monster.

His online profile had seemed innocent enough. He was young, handsome, athletic…Mary was sure she had found a great catch. Little did she know what lay beneath the surface of those clear blue eyes and sculpted jaw line.

Though she had emptied her bladder earlier when she regained consciousness to see the scalpel aimed at her head, she once again felt the urge to urinate. She knew better, though; the first time, he had doused her mutilated body with salt water collected from the same ocean in which they had swam just hours before the terror began. Mary wasn’t about to make that mistake again. Salt had dried into her crusting wounds, causing fresh pain every time she shifted her weight. She tried not to move…a difficult task when she was being skinned alive, inch by agonizing inch.

Her captor—he had told her his name was Matt, but that could have been a lie—reached over to a table beyond her view and picked up something that sounded like metal. When he brought his arm forward, she saw the object: a large wrench.

This was it. This was the end. He was going to cave her head in, crush it like a melon.

At least the torture would be over.

A wild grin spread across his once-handsome face. He raised the wrench over his head…

…and, with a crack that echoed through the small basement, a hole opened in his forehead, dropping him to the ground.

Yes! she thought. Someone has come to rescue me!

Slowly, a male form came into view. At first, Mary could only see his back. She didn’t care what he looked like, though. All she cared about was freedom.

Then the man turned around.

Once again, she was staring into Matt’s face.

“So sorry,” the other-Matt said. “My twin is something of a psycho.” He reached to the table and picked up something. When Mary saw that it was a pair of wire cutters, her muscles relaxed. He was going to free her.

Other-Matt walked over, a friendly grin on his face. He cut the staples on her lips first.

“Thank you!” she gasped. “I was so scared, I—“

He put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said. “You need to save your voice.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing hers before he whispered in her ear. “You see, unlike my brother, I like to hear you scream.”

Sidetracked

NaNoWriMo, Writing

A little bit of derailment on the cosplay. Not that anything’s going wrong, per se (ok, so I have some seam ripping, cutting, and resewing to do), but I’ve come to the realization that if I don’t get my novel polished and sent out, it’s not likely to get published.

There’s just one little plot wrinkle I need to iron out, then it’s off to write a query letter and send it out into agentland.

Next month is NaNoWriMo, so I can’t waste precious time on the next novel by procrastinating (further) on this one. I have to get it done in the next week or so in order to devote my full attention to my NaNo novel. It shouldn’t be too hard; I already have an idea how I’m going to “fix” the problem. I just need to get to it.

I’m feeling a lot of trepidation when I think of sending out my novel to potential agents or publishers. The weird thing is, I’m not afraid of rejection letters; I’m just anxious about starting the process.

Just a few more days. Then I can get started and, hopefully, not be so nervous.

The Write Stuff?

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing, Social Media, Writing

I mentioned before about the Cosplay Closet Essentials posts I’ve started writing for Talk Nerdy With Us. So far the results have been positive, but how long will that last?

As an artist, I’m plagued with insecurity. Is this painting any good? Is the cosplay I’m sewing going to turn out? Will my novel get published?

Will people like the articles I wrote?

Don’t get me wrong; I love the interviews. I love doing most of the work myself: approaching the cosplayers for an interview, writing up the questions, editing and posting the articles for review. It makes me feel good when I’m able to organize something myself. But is that something good enough?

Artists, at times, can be fragile creatures. We put our souls into our drawings and our paintings, our sculptures and our clothing, our poetry and our prose. Think of Harry Potter: every piece of art that is created from the artist’s muse is like a horcrux. Souls torn into a million pieces, each one weakening the artist a little yet making the artist strong enough to live forever.

Some people might say that an interview isn’t the kind of writing that can be considered “art.” I disagree. I put just as much of myself into an interview as I put into a detailed drawing or my latest cosplay. I don’t just phone it in–except for phone interviews. I guess technically I phone those in. But that’s beside the point.

These Cosplay Closet Essentials posts are my horcruxes, just as are my paintings, drawings, and stories. So think about that the next time you read an article that you don’t agree with.

You could be dissing a part of someone’s soul.

NaNo, NaNo

NaNoWriMo, Writing

It’s almost time for National Novel Writing Month. Though I’ve been terrified to participate in the past, I’m going to give it a shot this year.

You’re supposed to start with a blank slate (i.e. no words written until November starts), but I’m going to start with a work in progress and just only count the words I add from my initial word count. Can I get 50k words written in a month? We shall see.

I’m usually half planner-half pantser. (Yes, that’s a writing term; writing by the seat of your pants.) I plan the general storyline, but I let the story evolve as I go. With my first manuscript, I kinda sorta knew how it was going to end, but one character showed up out of nowhere to help out. I was surprised by it, and it was my story! Lol

Given that this is my first time participating, I am of course apprehensive, but I’m also stubborn and determined. So there’s a good chance I can get this done.

Can I win? Most likely not, because I don’t think I’d be eligible with the story already being in progress before the challenge starts. Do I care if I win? Most definitely not, because I’m doing this to get a draft out & practice writing faster and longer.

Well, off to get ready for the “real” job. I doubt I’ll ever make enough money writing to do it full time, but it sure feels good to have confidence that I will be published some day and see my book in a store.

Jumping the proverbial gun

Cosplay, Crafting, Geek, Sewing, Writing

I started sewing the corset panels together this morning. Why do this when I don’t have all the materials to complete it, you might ask. Well, it’s simple: if I didn’t start it, I was going to chicken out and possibly buy a cheap, pre-made corset and just sew the fabric I want on top of the corset, which would look weird. So I started what I can do, and will finish once I have the boning, casings, and binding purchased.

Next up: the skirt. This will be probably as much of a challenge as the corset, as I will be self-drafting most likely. I want to make a sort of fishtail/mermaid skirt, with the exploding TARDIS fabric for the train. I need to decide for sure, though, because it will be tough to figure out how to keep the train from getting stepped on at Comicon. There’s the option of putting a small loop on the inside to pick up the train while I walk, but that might look silly. Then again, who cares if I look silly? It’s my cosplay, my fun.

That’s the great thing about cosplay: the fun. It may take hours, days, weeks, months of work (more like months for me, because I’m taking my time & because I have Attention Deficit Artistic Disorder (not a real medical condition, but it should be)–but in the end, it’s about having fun with costumes. I mean, it is COStume PLAY, after all.

It’s too bad I haven’t ordered the boning/casings yet, because I would love to be able to get this done before Halloween, or at least before the next nearby convention. I think that Tucson Comic-con is in November–maybe I’ll try to be done by then.

Of course, next month is #NaNoWriMo. So I’ll be preoccupied with getting as much writing in as possible. We’ll see.

Killin’ it…serial style

Cosplay, Crafting, Sewing, Writing

My third submission of an original concept post to #TalkNerdyWithUs was a hit! My editors liked it, my interviewees had fun, and, since I mentioned that it would be a series of posts, I got introduced to another person to interview for the next installment.

I’m enjoying coming out of my shell more and initiating more posts. I like that I can have an idea, roll with it, and watch it actually pan out. With any luck, this will be a weekly event.

As far as my own personal writing goes, that has stalled, but I’m not currently worried about it. There will be more. Just as there will be more art, more sculpting, more cosplay. I won’t let my creative well run dry. I’m just getting started….

Flash Fiction Friday — Caroline

Writing

Caroline turned and glared at Jimmy. “This order isn’t right.”

Jimmy laughed. “Carrie, stop being paranoid.”

She looked at the plate again. On the surface, it looked like a normal meal. Spaghetti with a side of corn. Innocuous enough, but it just didn’t look “right.” It didn’t help that it had been served to her with the meatballs arranged in a grotesque smile, oozing bright red sauce. She knew it was silly, but her stomach churned regardless.

“Is that part of a fingernail?”

“It’s an onion. These restaurants actually put spices and flavors in their food, unlike the crap you make at home. Just eat it.”

“I don’t make crap. I get the expensive sauce; I just like it better with the chunks strained out.” Poking at a meatball with her fork, Caroline fought to keep from gagging. “Why did we come here, anyway? We have Italian at home all the time. We didn’t need to go out.”

With a sigh Jimmy slammed his glass down on the table, spilling a few drops of wine on the tablecloth. Caroline jumped and watched the stain spread. Why wasn’t it turning purple? Red wine stains turned purple; this was still blood red. Blood. Red. She shivered. Was that wine a little thicker than usual?

“You do this every damn Halloween, Carrie. Jesus, I can’t take you anywhere. Just eat the damn food and quit complaining. This place isn’t cheap, you know. I doubt they’d charge us thirty dollars a plate just to feed you junk.”

Shrinking back from his glare, Caroline set down her fork and put her hands in her lap. He was right. She shouldn’t be complaining. It was Halloween, and her boyfriend had brought her to a nice restaurant for her birthday. Maybe being born on Halloween had made her paranoid after all.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’ll eat it.” She picked her fork back up and aimed for a meatball.

Before she could stab one, Jimmy gagged and grabbed his throat. Caroline screamed and watched with wide eyes as his face turned white, then red, then purple. Within seconds, Jimmy fell face first onto the table, splattering spaghetti sauce over the tablecloth.

“Waiter! Waiter! Someone come here, quick!” Caroline shouted. A spindly waiter appeared at her side, his apron askew.

“Oh, my! What seems to be the problem?”

She pointed at the table in disgust. “There is not one single body part in my meal. Is it too much to ask to get a little protein with this overpriced slop?”

The waiter flushed and reached for her plate with a shaking hand. “Terribly sorry, miss. An oversight on the chef’s part, I assure you.” He turned to Jimmy’s still form. “Would you like me to take away the other plate? Your companion seems to have finished.”

“Oh, he’s finished, all right,” she said. “Can you bring me another plate? Get the order right this time.”

“Of course, miss.”

Paranoid, indeed. She knew they’d gotten her order wrong.

Baby steps

Health, Writing

So the #insomnia is still a thing, but I’m making progress.

I’ve started forcing myself to try to go back to sleep in the mornings. So far, I’ve gotten up to 4 or 5 hours of sleep the past two nights–which is kind of a new record lately. Sad, I know, but I’m hoping it leads to a good 6 or 7 hours, even if it’s broken like it has been.

The cat has not been helping matters. He’s “trained” himself to wake me up early, because since I had insomnia when we got him he thinks that’s just how things should be. I’m supposed to be up at 2am–that’s just his perspective–so when 4am rolls around & I’m back asleep, he thinks something’s wrong and comes up by my head and starts crying. Guess I should be glad he’s concerned when there’s a change in my routine…I just wish my routine was less crappy.

It’s definitely going to cut into my early morning writing time, but if I can shift my sleep schedule to go to bed a little later I might be able to get more done in the evenings. Next month my husband’s schedule changes so he can train for a new job position, and that will give me more evening time to write. I’m also participating in #NaNoWriMo this year–my first time joining in this event. It’s scary to think that I’m going to have to try to finish 50,000 words in a month, but I’ve heard many good things about NaNoWriMo so I’m going all-in. I’m not going to write a fresh-from-scratch novel; rather, I’m using a work in progress as my starting point, and just aiming to add 50k words to what I already have. That should give me a decent first draft to start from.

The main issue is that I’m a “pantser”: a writer who goes by the seat of my pants, so to speak, rather than doing a lot of pre-planning and outlining. I do plan a little bit, but with this story I’m still not 100% sure of the outcome. That’s right, I’m not even certain how the story is going to end, let alone how to get from point A to point B. I have two chapters, during the writing of which new characters came out that hadn’t even been a thing when I started. It’s interesting, because I almost get to read the story as it’s written, almost like I was reading the book after buying it from a store. Fascinating to see the process, but also I get to be engrossed in the story without being overly distracted by hammering out plot points.

We’ll see how next month goes. I’m excited to see if I can meet the goal. I may have to take my tablet to work to accomplish more during the day, which will make for some tedious format editing once I’m done (due to the app that I will be using to type). Still, it gives me something to occupy my mind and get the creative juices flowing.

Flash Fiction Friday–Winston’s Revenge

Writing

Beaming with excitement, I took my brand new Huggy Bear stuffed animal from my father. I had been begging for weeks to get one.

Huggy Bears were the bestest. They were teddy bears that hugged you back. Imagine that! A stuffie that gives you hugs. I loved hugs.

Daddy didn’t give many hugs. He was pretty busy with work and all. Mommy only hugged her special bottle. I wasn’t allowed to touch Mommy’s special bottle–or Mommy–but now I could get as many hugs as I wanted from Huggy Bear. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.

I carried my Huggy Bear everywhere. I named him Winston, and Winston became my bestest friend. He wasn’t much of a talker–he didn’t talk at all, actually–but I didn’t care. I chattered on about my day and told him all the stories that were in my head. There were a bazillion stories swimming around in there, and Winston listened to all of them. Mommy usually told me to go away, and Daddy said he was listening but I knew it was just pretend; he never even looked up from his newspaper.

One day a week after I got Winston, I accidentally dropped Mommy’s dinner plate when I was setting the table for our Louisiana Baked Chicken dinner. Mommy got really mad. She even threw her special bottle at me; she missed, but I had to clean up the glass.

Then Mommy got scary. She screamed at me and took Winston from me. She blamed Winston for distracting me from my job of setting the table. I watched in horror as she pulled Winston’s head off. Mommy killed Winston!

I cried myself to sleep. Poor Winston.

The next morning, I woke to Daddy screaming. I tiptoed to their room, scared, and saw the strangest thing.

Winston’s head was back on. His neck was all red, but his head was back on, and he was hugging Mommy’s neck. Why was Daddy screaming? Winston was back and giving hugs again. He should have been happy.

Daddy rushed me back to my room and told me to stay put. After a while, I heard sirens and lots of people talking. When they left, Daddy opened my door and told me that Mommy had been really tired and had gone to sleep forever. I tried to reassure him that Winston would make her feel better with his hugs, but he didn’t listen. He never listened.

Daddy got mad at Winston. Just like Mommy, he ripped his head off, then he ripped off his arms. His arms! How was Winston supposed to hug now?

Two days passed. Daddy didn’t say a word, and I didn’t either. Who did I have to talk to? Winston was gone.

On the morning of the third day, Daddy didn’t wake me up for kindergarten. That was strange. I went to his room to check on him.

Winston was back, and he had given Daddy’s neck the biggest hug ever.