about buying a castle & my LEGO family

It’s been terribly quiet on my blog. The IDEA of THE BLOG had shrunk to inhibit a tiny piece of my brain to slumber while I was doing LIFE things. Let me explain.

I have a LEGO family.

My partner has three kids, I have one and together we’ve been building our new family over the past six years. Block by block. Constructing/deconstructing, figuring out how to make this work. When you mix up families from previous relationships you don’t get the shiny LEGO instructions in a book. You get a box of blocks and a vision to build the most terrific building ever, and you just start. It fails a couple of times, you’ve to start over a couple of times, you browse the Internet in search of instructions more than a couple of times.

And if you persist, you eventually get to where we are now. We’ve melted into a family with our own dynamics, traditions and feel. And now it is time to move. We bought our first home together, a castle (not really a castle, but you get it).

So dear blog, that’s why I’ve abandoned you for a while, but I haven’t forgot you. You are a significant part of my identity as a writer, and I fully intend to pour words on the page and paste them to this website.

Pinky Promise.

The Art of Fooling Thyself

I’m writing this blog post, to postpone getting to my story. Ha! The ways I fool myself, but since something is bothering me I might as well tell The Internet about it. I know your time is precious, so I’ll tell you beforehand that this short post is about me learning how to edit. The title pretty much sums it up. So if you’ve something better to do (like writing haha), then I suggest you go do that 🙂

In my first draft, I wrote my chapter one, literally to set the scene. I wanted to create a dark mood by introducing a person who had zero to do with the main story. She dies at the end of chapter one. I wrote her back in, later in the story, solely for the purpose of letting her live in that first chapter. [Hope you’re still following me on this]. Chapter one was set in Paris, because Paris is cool.

In draft two I realized this is not where the story actually starts. I ignored this for the better part of draft deux. It also started to sink in, that Paris is “used” in a lot of fiction, AND, even though I’ve been there over ten times, I don’t really know Paris. A change of scenery was needed. With an ache in my heart I cut chapter one, and moved from Paris to Amsterdam (a city I actually know). Chapter two now was chapter one, and it didn’t work. A rewrite was needed. It still didn’t feel right. I changed POV from third to first. Better, but still the first chapters didn’t work. Well written, but not enough spark, if you understand what I mean. And after I finish this post it is time, yet again, to cut chapters TO WHERE THE STORY ACTUALLY STARTS. This is way harder than it might sound. For now I’ve rearranged some of the chapters, and pasted them somewhere in the middle. I’m hoping I can still use them, but chances are I won’t. But I deal with them again, when I get there.

Conclusion:

WHAT FUN THIS WRITING THING AND NOT HARD AT ALL –is what you think when you read a finished book.

I AM DYING HERE. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF- Is how it feels writing it.

Cue Insecurity

I’m in the midst of rewriting a YA contemporary fantasy, and my inner editor is sabotaging the flow. I’ve got a rough outline to guide me through the structure of the story I’ve in mind, I have a Beginning, at least one major Turning Point and an End, so a few of the big building blocks are there. But still I’m creatively stuck. I’ve read/rewritten/read/rewritten some chapters so many times, that I’m bored with my own writing. Cue insecurity.

I should abandon this project.

I am never going to finish.

If I finish it is going to be Boring (yes capital B) and no one is going to read it.

 

Maybe this is the point where I should try to find some Beta readers. Cue insecurity.

 

I won’t find any.

I can’t possibly let anyone read this boring story.

If someone reads this, you are never going to finish.

 

Guess this writing thing means: continue writing. Even when your brain is in the way/ you are bored/ you feel insecure/ you want to abandon the Thing.

 

Send help.

Writing Excuses or: Dreams about Henry

Every writer procrastinates, I think (and if you don’t, do NOT tell me). My favorite pass time is PROCRASTACLEARING, cleaning already clean objects is what I do, or I move things around. I also vacuum way too often.

That’s the reason why I’m going to buy myself a Henry when I ever get an agent/ sell a book/ get published. It’s my ultimate writer goal, if I earn enough money for a Henry I’ll consider myself a successful published writer.

henry 1

I daydream about Henry tagging along the room, me vacuuming and thinking about plotpoints, he smiling all the way.

henry 2

Look at him.

But dreaming about Henry is not the reason I came to my blog today. Lately I’ve been thinking about what I should write on my blog. I enjoy reading writing tips/ tips on craft so I thought maybe I should try some of those. AND THEN IT HAPPENED (see how I’ve inserted that important plotpoint in this post hahaha)

I was notwriting on my story and listening to a podcast while vacuuming. The Podcast?

Writing Excuses.

!!!!!!!!!

Why?

Why didn’t I know this exists, it is so good! ANd now I don’t want to write on craft anymore, I just want to hear them talk and do the homework.

The tagline: fifteen minutes long. Because you’re in a hurry and we’re not that smart.

They Lie. They are smart. Go listen.

Wallow. Yell. Exit.

One thing I love about writing stories is choosing TITLES, especially chapter titles, but today I’m very much annoyed.

Part of that has to do with a HUGE bill that arrived before the weekend, lack of sleep, and not being in the mood for the Day Job, but most of it is the result of title writer’s block. Not for the chapters but for the story.

The problem?

THEY ARE ALL TAKEN.

EVERY SINGLE ONE I CAME UP WITH ALREADY EXIST!

Wallows in self-pity. Yells at Internet Void. Exits blog.

I look Like a Panda when I cry (or: a weird post about tears and nothing in particular)

Yesterday I watched the season’s finale of The Good Place, and ugly cried until I resembled a panda.

The mascara of days before was smudged over my face, my eyes turned puffy, and I hugged my black and white panda cat to make the SAD feeling go away. In case you’re wondering why I’m writing this on my blog here’s a spoiler alert: I don’t know.

So know you know I look like a panda when I cry. The obvious reason for this is that I need to clean my face more and better, so make-up residues won’t get mixed up with tears. You also know TV/movies make me cry. Sometimes I think my tears dwell on the surface, grabbing every opportunity to get out. Maybe I haven’t cried enough over the years.

Now I wonder if tears turn sour. I also think of Snape and his last tears and now I kind of want to write a story about a tear stealer.

A sneak peek into three seconds of how my mind works. Kind of want to change the title again, but won’t because otherwise chances are I’ll wake up Pie (inner-editor) and she’ll delete this whole post.

Bye.