Discipline

This has always, always been one of my least effective personal skills.  Self discipline is hard, ah but only as hard as I make it.  For most of my life it’s felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders. Making myself do things I am somewhat fearful of is like climbing the sheer face of a cliff without the proper gear; I will fall to my death.  Trying to do something I am highly afraid of succeeding at (or failing at – perspective people. I touched on this in another blog post) is like walking the path into the fiery pits of hell.  Since we all know where my head is, then maybe we can glean the magnitude of this conquest.  Writing.

See, I still don’t know if it’s something I can do well, something I can do with meaning and oomph and something people will enjoy.  I know my kids enjoy reading what I write, but I have the feeling they have a little bias towards me.  I’ve asked a friend of mine to look at some of my work & he has been helpful, but anything artistic is subjective.  How can someone tell me something is good if they are not entirely enthused about the content of the writing?

Another acquaintance of mine has written a novel and it’s out to her editor.  I asked her, along with another friend of mine who is published a few times over, how they do it & it all boils down to discipline. Haaaahahahaha!  My fatal flaw that has to change. I need to fix it.  I’ve also asked about the process.  This is something I need to research because the process for me seems all over the place.  Like, I get an idea & I want to run with it.  Even if it’s a part of the story that is much later.  Bits and pieces come out of me at different times.  Also, editing what I’m writing as I’m writing it, I can’t help it!  I see what’s on the screen & I go back to fix it.  Now, this is often grammatical in nature, mostly spelling & typos, but still, I edit.  Should I outline my ideas to make them more fluid or should I wait to outline after I get some down for a chapter?  So many questions, so little … what? I was distracted again.

 

Flyin’ and tryin’. It’ll never end until it does.

I got me a planner.  Now, we all know the only thing to keep me going here is me.  I am hoping, however, that setting a schedule up for doing this writing thing will keep me more focused. I like the practice. I enjoy the fun of this.

I was looking at prompts the other day from an old site I used to go to.  It was called the Red Dress Blog and it’s writing prompt section was called Little Red Writing Hood and is now done.  There hasn’t been a post there since 2011 and the link to the “new” site is dead.  There is still a lot to glean from that blog, though.  Plenty of prompts to choose from, not to mention the inspiration from other writers who may or may not still be at it.

Another place I checked out was the SITS girls.  When they were just beginning to really grow, I was a very novice blogger. And Tiffanie had one time given me some good criticism on my blog. At the time, I wasn’t having it, so I kind of fell away from them. Had I stuck it out & listened, though? Maybe I’d have been one of the elite mom blogs skyrocketing to internet blogger stardom.

…

…

Bwahahaha!  I’m so totally kidding.  That’s so not who I am, but it’s fun to think about for 10 seconds.  I still had commitment (to writing) issues then.  They haven’t gone away.

I let my daughter down. I know she doesn’t hold it against me, but that book I wanted to write which she helped me pull together ideas for, I failed to meet the deadline I set for myself.  It was  loooong deadline.  I suck at this.

Here I am, writing again.  They say to write what you know, so there might be a lot more of what I do with my life up in this thing.  Fictionalized, of course. We wouldn’t want anyone in trouble for anything. Wait, am I saying that things I do are not kosher?  Of course not.  I’m saying that some silly stories, well, some of those involved, may not want those things posted anywhere. I will take measures at times, and sometimes it will be pure fiction.  I wonder if my friend will get back to it with me?

Sandwich prop (writing prompt), who cares what day it is because I already messed it up.

*disclaimer to all my works here, especially the writing prompts – they are unedited first drafts. Always, except for the parts I edit along the way (a thing I have to stop doing), like word changes, spell corrections & little things like that.

This piece is going in the book.  It will most likely be edited a few times before it goes in, but whatever tips can be offered, I’d appreciate them.  Constructive criticism is good.

Shit…

Stay tuned for conversation blurbs after this brief passage. *wink, wink  I am still overthinking the title of this story.  While I really was feeling “The Blackest Golden Birthday” I am pretty certain it wouldn’t fly with first glance people.  The people who glance at a title of a book & want to read it instantly.  Nor would it fly with many others, just because.  So, I am seeking synonyms or a different title altogether.

Why you shouldn’t read this blog (writing prompt) day some such or other.

I was totally going to take this to a fictional level.  I was going to write about a curse on the blog or a monster would get you if you read it.  But just now, I was thinking the reality is – you shouldn’t read my blog because then you’d be admitting, in a small way, that you care.

If you read my blog, maybe that means I mean something to you.  Maybe it means you’re nosy and want to have a peek into my life so you can compare the bad in mine to the good in yours, or vice versa.  If you read, maybe you’ll read something interesting that might take up some time in your day.  All our time is valuable to us, why should you waste yours on me?

If you read, you might have to care if I succeed or fail in the writing of my book.  You might have to care whether or not the writing is good or bad, maybe take a second and tell me I suck or that the writing is really good.  Maybe you’ll read and take something away from a passage, a lesson or a feeling.

You shouldn’t read my blog because if you do, I will know and think that you care what I have to say.  You shouldn’t read it because I might think you are in my life for a reason and want to know more about me.  You shouldn’t read this blog because facebook has most of me and my life on it and that’s much easier to access. It’s much easier to glance at memes or photos and click a like or love or wow or sad or angry, than read.  You shouldn’t read this blog because it really doesn’t have a lot to say, but maybe it says it all.  Don’t read this blog because if you do, I know someone cares at least a little bit.

5 days later…

Guilt has me a bit.  While I have been busy, I could have taken some time to write, but by the end of each of the last 5 days I was too tired.  Right now, I’m writing this because I had this shit in my head before I went to bed and it won’t let me sleep.  I wish I could say that I’ve been penning the book, that I had a few chapters written, but that isn’t the case.

What is this Earth? (writing prompt) day 7

To bespeak of me would be to call me Naunet. I only have learned the Earth languages in the past 2 light years of my travels. This report will be told in the one called English.  The planet I am arriving from is aquatic.  Not most aquatic, all aquatic. Our planet would be called, in English, Taura ( Ta-oo-ra).  We are a water people. We communicate in a way that humans do not, or cannot. What a human calls a brain, we call tefnut. Our tefnut allows nonverbal communication, or what a human might call telepath. If I encounter a human, the communication for me will be most difficult.  I’ve never used my rillette to verbally communicate. I intend on remaining stealthy to avoid such a possibility. Henceforth will be my discovery.

Recipe… of DOOOOOM. (writing prompt) day 6

So, this was simply supposed to be a recipe. Any recipe.  I saw “doom” without seeing the humor in it and thought, hmmm, I can maybe write a recipe of doom.  Like murderous recipe.  After thinking on it, I really am running short on ideas. Also, I’d hate for my blog to get flagged and have anyone in my life ever turn up dead and be looked at suspiciously.

I am going to share a recipe for Kugelis.  This Lithuanian dish is one that my mom grew up with, learned how to make and passed the recipe on to me.  My grandmother was Lithuanian and she made the best kugelis I’ve ever had, though my mom’s is up there, too.  I was told not long ago by my cousin Michael that my kugelis tasted just like Grandma’s. That made me happy.

Top 10 list of things that make my daughter and me giggle (writing prompt) day 5

I am never good at these top 10 lists because I’m uber indecisive. I like too many things, too much to make a list of my favorites.  This might not be too difficult if I can remember enough things that make us giggle. I’ll probably ask her for help with this one.  & Thanks to my awesome friend Caralie for giving me this gift of an idea.  Even tho it’s true, I usually forget what it was that made us start laughing in the first place.

10. “Itsy Bitsy Spider” our version

9. Look up… “Waaat?” Not like that.

8. Funny faces

7. Gas

6. Ruby’s affection for her raccoon

5. Dad’s special vocabulary

4. Dad dancing

3. Maia asking me if I want to see something cool and she shows me something…oh so      NOT cool, like wiggling her fingers at me.

2. “You smell like butt.” or “You smell like onions.” An inside joke between us.

1.  Chunky chocolate tears.  Or chunky chocolatiers, whichever feels funnier at the time.

A Day in the Life of a Mayfly (writing prompt) day 4

Tangerine merging into golden hues was the sunrise mirrored off the calm lake.  The smallest of bubbles lifted at the surface and emerged from that was a tiny little nymph. The dun sat atop the water, awaiting its next transformation.  It is vulnerable here, fish might see it as a meal, albeit a small one.  The cute little colorless winged creature shimmies across the surface to hide in the banks behind and upon stalks of cattails and lush water grass.

The imago reveals itself as it takes flight to land on the tall greenery.  It is now a more colorful version of itself. Several hours have passed and the noonday sun warms the shallow waters.

I shall sit and become…. might be the thoughts of this magnificent insect.  Whiling the hours, with nothing really to do but wait for another revision of itself, a final becoming.  Other creatures skitter across the glinting sheet of lovely drink, oblivious to this little fly awaiting the only thing he lives for.  The calm waters produce the mouths of hungry fish, in search of sustenance.

A breeze ripples the reflective blue of the sky.  Dusk is upon us, now.  Only the final stage remains.  It is becoming.  The mayfly flutters high then swarms with the many others.  The females dive into the fray and copulate, only to drop and imminently dip into the water to attach their eggs. Most often, they succumb to the currents or as a meal.  This one, well, he flies away to perch himself on the greenery.  Not long now and he will meet his end.  A day in the life is the entire life of the mayfly.

 

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