Tag: #amwriting#

Frozen in Fear

Writing

Querying. For some authors, the bane of their writing careers.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I can’t stress how much I want my first novel to be published by a publishing house rather than on Kindle and/or Createspace. I want it out there. I want it on bookshelves. I want people to buy it and read it and review it and beg for more. Of course I want these things; I’m a narcissist at heart. I want all the credit.

This morning I tried Googling informational blogs and articles on the query process. First let me tell you, an 8 point font at three in the morning is not conducive to learning. I’m good to be seeing single at that time, let alone being able to read smaller print. The synopsis was fairly easy to understand, but when I can’t even read the articles it’s harder to pick up.

Another hindrance to beginning the query process is my sheer terror of querying. It’s irrational, but then again panic attacks are not always rational.

Researching agents is another thing that is holding me back. As with the query letters, I find the task daunting and intimidating. Do I possibly have more of a fear of rejection than I thought I did? I’m well aware that it comes with the territory of writing; you write, you submit, and you wait for the dreaded rejection letter or email. I thought I was past the point of caring about that. I mean, it happens. There’s no avoiding it, so why worry? But, as my psychiatrist pointed out, if I’m not worried about rejection then why am I so apprehensive about sending my work out?

I guess I have to push past this, just like I pushed past my fear of making a corset. It must get done, so it will.

Eventually.

From the Bottom of His Heart

Poetry, Writing

He loves me so much, never wanting to be separated

He loves game so much, never wanting to stop

He loves his TV shows so much, never wanting to miss an episode

Some call him nerd or geek

But he is so much more than that

He is a lover, through and through

He loves the things he loves with all of his heart

He loves completely

He loves purely

He loves passionately

There are few who ever achieve this level of love

Total devotion

To all that he holds dear

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.