Posted in Writing

The Chapter of Sludge

Ya know, there always seems to be that one chapter or scene that seems forced. Now, we all know creativity can’t be forced. But, sometimes it just is. So how do you get past that? Sometimes you just can’t. You have to wait. That was my day yesterday. I sat down to continue working on chapter 37. At first I couldn’t think of anything. My characters were standing around getting ready to do a fight scene, but they wouldn’t do anything. This writer’s mind was stumped. To rectify this problem I put on some fantasy music hoping this would stir the creative juice pot. It did to some extent, and I completed 600 words. Am I happy with it? Eh. Maybe. Maybe not.

One has to consider what is going on around them that might be a cause for the creativity rut. Part of our house is being renovated, so there are workers here during the week. I am taking care of the business end of this renovation. You know, phone calls, questions, updates, paperwork, etc… I think this has much to do with throwing monkey wrenches into any creative situation.

The show must go on. Keep writing even if it’s a slow and/or disruptive day. The story must get written.

Posted in Writing

Story Tracks

Keeping track of your story as you’re writing it can be daunting the lengthier it gets. You have to remember from one chapter and scene to the next what happens where. How does a writer track their stories information so that they can refer back? Story tracks, or at least that’s what I call them. In other words, note cards.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

For each chapter take a few note cards and jot down a brief summary of the chapter or scene, or jot down the main ideas about what is going on. By doing this, if you need to refer back to a previous scene or chapter in your manuscript, you can refer to your note cards for each chapter first before scrolling back through all those pages worth of text in your manuscript. Trust me, it will save you lots of time.

Posted in Fiction

The Triunix of Time

Chapter 1
(Please enjoy the first chapter of my novel)

Tora drove straight through from Norfolk, Virginia where she lived. This trip was temporary. Quick in quick out. She would go through everything in her parents’ house, pitch and toss, fix what needed to be fixed and sell the place. Then, it would be back to Virginia. Michigan was still a welcome sight though, to a certain extent. But there were still ghosts to deal with as well. She wanted to be back home but dreaded it at the same time. Without her parents, it wouldn’t be the same. Thoughts of her mother came flooding back. Nothing Tora achieved was ever good enough. There was always something more she wanted from her daughter. Her dad was different. Always loving, always interested in what Tora did. This difference in affection for Tora between her mother and father plagued her. Now she’ll never know. Damn, why did her parents have to die? Why then, why at that time? It’s as if her mother planned it that way. Oh, but that was ridiculous.

She pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house. The two and a half story stood untouched. This house Tora once shared with her parents stood in silence in the afternoon sun. Facing east the house cast its shadows forward, lurking, as the sun pushed itself from the backyard. Tora parked her car near the front, stepped out and took in the fresh air. No breeze. Usually she enjoyed the late afternoon glow of the sun passing through the trees. Today was different. But why? she couldn’t shaker her unease.

Shrubs flanked either side of the front of the door and along the whole front of the house. The bird house Tora made when she was eight still hung from the large oak tree on the far end of the yard. The grass bragged a lush green today as usual. She strolled up the curved sidewalk taking in the fresh scent of June air and tried to smile. The house itself stood back from the road and was surrounded by woods. This and the peaceful landscape made for a relaxed atmosphere. She saw the gardens had been tended to. She would make to thank Mr. Lyons later. Now she needed to get settled.

Inside appeared to look the same, but the feel was all wrong. Whether it was the lack of her parents’ presence of something else entirely different she couldn’t tell. The arched entryway closed in around her. Suspicious, Tora walked through the large entry hall. This grand room that glowed any other time was dull now. The smoky rose carpet now dull. The silver trimmed staircase so grand before, so small now. She strolled into the living room and caressed the plush sofa cushion. The cuckoo clock whistled from the kitchen, startling her thoughts to that fateful day when she last saw her parents a year ago.




“What do you mean I was acting out?” asked Tora. “Acting out against what?”

“You know, back then you were only sixteen and didn’t really know how to show your feelings,” said Tora’s mother. “Your father and I were having some problems, and you decided to show us how you felt by acting out.”

Tora was dumbfounded and unable to believe what she was hearing. She felt like a teenager all over again even now at the age of thirty. Her mother wasn’t even listening to a word she said. But she had to make her understand, now that she fully understood that whole situation herself for the first time since it happened.

“Mom, you and dad were having problems?”

“Oh, now don’t act like you didn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Look, that incident didn’t happen as a result of my acting out against you and dad. It happened because I was too young and immature to know how to handle the situation.”

“Tora, you were sitting at the picnic table with a glass of wine. You should have known not to drink it. You knew better, or at least I thought you did.”

“Yes, I did know, but I…”

“You see? You did it out of spite.”

“I didn’t say that. If you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

“Alright, go ahead. I’m listening.”

At that moment her father, Thomas Jasper, stuck his head inside the back door. “Hey, Kath. Come on. We have some figuring to do.”

“Wait a minute. I’m coming,” said Tora’s mother, a hint of irritation in her voice.

“He got that bottle of wine for me. At the time I knew I wasn’t supposed to drink, but I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t, plus I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I was sixteen and faced with a situation I didn’t know how to handle. Then, when you drove up to the campsite, I was hoping you would tell me to get in the car. At least then I wouldn’t have had to deal with the situation.”

“Oh please, Tora. You would have pitched a fit if I had told you to get in the car.”

“Didn’t you hear anything I said? Damn it, mom, it has been almost fourteen years and you still blame me for something I had no control over and didn’t know how to handle.”

There was so much her mother misunderstood about that whole thing. All Tora wanted was for her to really pay attention. She still felt her mother blamed her for what happened that day. What mother daughter closeness they did have, which wasn’t much, declined since then. Her trust in Tora was gone.

“You did have control over it, but you chose not to. Look, your father and I have to go. We’ll be late.”

“Mom, all I want is for you to listen, really listen, to what I have to say because you never really do. Instead, you take what you want to hear and twist it around to suit your purposes, and you’re using this incident in the campground as an excuse to further push me away. Our relationship has always been strained like this. Do you hate me? Dad doesn’t treat me this way. He listens to what I have to say. He knows me much better than you do.”

A fleeting hint of a flinch in her eyes told Tora that she had struck a nerve this time.

Tora pressed on. “Why is that mother? Why is it that dad shows more affection than you do? Did you not want me when I was born?”

Her mother’s haunted eyes gazed out the kitchen window, so Tora know she’d struck a nerve. But it didn’t last long.

Her mother gathered her composure, took in a deep breath and blew it out slow. Finally, looking back at Tora she said, “Of course I… You have no idea what… We’ll finish this later, Tora. You father and I have to go.”

“But I’m not finished…”

“Oh, yes you are, young lady. Drop it. I said we’d talk later.”

“But…” But she left out the door before Tora could get another word in.

“Tora?” Her father entered the kitchen from the back door. He stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “After your mother and I finish dinner, there is something I must do for you.” A smile played across his face and a twinkle sparkled in his eyes.

“What is it ? Does it have to do with the figuring you told mom about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Don’t be so impatient.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Yes, I do.” With that, he gave her a kiss on the forehead then said, “See you beyond today.” Then he hurried out the door.

Tora rushed after him asking what he meant by that, but all he did was wave to her over his shoulder.




That was a year ago today, the day of their 30th wedding anniversary. That last statement made by her father puzzled her. To any other person it would mean ‘see you tomorrow.’ But her dad had a habit of being cryptic at times, so she knew better than to take what he said at face value.

After that she never saw her mother or her father alive again; all she saw were their dead corpses. Her mother always did have to have the last say in everything. But fate had other plans for them. The thought of reconciliation with her mother fell through her fingers like sand. There for a second and then trickling away only to be taken by the wind. The only chance to mend things with her was gone.

There were two things her mother always said to her. Both were equally puzzling. The first one was so random when her mother said it. She would pass by Tora and say, “Tick tock, Tora. Tick tock.” She asked her at one time why she kept saying it, but all her mother did was smile. Not a warm smile, but an, I got a secret, type of smile. Or was Tora reading too much into it?

The other thing her mother used to say was, “Get it right, Tora. Get it right.” This above all else, annoyed Tora. When she was in sixth grade and taking ballet classes, there was one step Tora couldn’t get. Then, finally she got it right and the dance instructor praised her telling her she did it with perfect precision. But her mother, who had been seated in the studio at the time said, “You forgot to smile, Tora. Get it right, Tora. Get it right.” It was like that with most of what Tora did. She loved her mother, but at the same time there remained an emptiness. Her mother was right about one thing; she never got anything right.

Whether it was her mother’s lack of affection toward her or something else entirely, Tora didn’t know. Sometimes she felt like an old pair of shoes one keeps around because they’re your husband’s favorite. At least she had had her father. He was there for her; teaching her to see the good in all things, to stand up for oneself, to do self-defense, and to hunt and fish. But she will never forget the bedtime stories. The stories were all part of a larger story. They all connected. Then one day they all stopped. Funny, when asked if he would continue, he said he didn’t know the ending; that they were passed down from his father who never finished them either. She also had asked him if he could make up his own ending, because it needed one. The answer was still no. When she asked why, all he said was “Someday you will.” At the time she didn’t think anything of that statement. Now, looking back on it, it was strange. It was a story. Tora smiled and felt blessed that he shared them with her. One day she would pass them on to her own child and come up with an ending.

She had to give her mother some credit though. Everything she learned about being a lady, she learned from her mother. How to sit up straight, dress right and present oneself with poise and elegance. Those were the fun times she did have with her. The luncheon invites and trips to Toronto to see Phantom of the Opera and things to that nature, were all part of it. At least, through all the nitpickiness, she cared enough to take the time to teach her something. At least she was able to get that right.

Tora, now standing in the kitchen, started to turn to head back to the living room but stopped short. Her father’s sunglasses sat on a shelf built into the wall above a side desk; an extension of the kitchen countertop. She smiled. He loved those sunglasses and never went anywhere without them. Not only that, he never let anyone else wear them. She giggled at how people get so serious about such simple things.

The ringing of her cellphone broke her thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hey there. When you due back into town?” asked Maggie.

Tora was glad to hear her best friend’s voice.

“Hi, Maggie. I arrived home and am taking everything in,” said Tora.

“Something wrong?” asked Maggie. “You sound different.”

“I’m fine, tired is all. Hey, why don’t you stop by? I’ll fix us something to eat and we can catch up,” said Tora.

“Sure. Be right there.”

Tora’s phone rang again, but the number was unfamiliar. She answered anyway, but no one was there. Dead air lingered on the other end. She clicked the phone off, and it rang again. Still, dead air. The good thing about cellphones was that they could always be turned off; as in this case.

She opened a few windows and flopped down on the couch. A lite breeze whisked her hair back; the scent of pine floated in. She swept her hands through her black hair and sighed. Her tan eyes grew heavy with lack of sleep from driving straight through from Virginia.

Her schedule would be busy during the coming weeks. the house needed to be gotten in order and her parents’ things needed to be gone through. But it could all wait until tomorrow. Tonight all she wanted to do was relax and catch up with her friend.

As if on cue, Maggie walked in letting the door slam behind her.

“Hey, Tora. It’s been way too long. How was your trip?”

“Long.”

“Have you thought of what you’re going to do?”

Tora notice a conspiratorial look on Maggie’s face. “Ok, Maggie, I’ll bite. What’s up your sleeve?”

“Well, I know you said your stay was only temporary, but there is a teaching opportunity at the high school I think you’d be suited for. I already talked to the principal Mr…”

“I appreciate the gesture but no thanks. Teaching is not the right career for me right now. There’s so much to think about. I need to go through this house and get rid of some things. It’s been a year since my parents’ death, and all that I was able to take care of were their finances. No, It’s best I come and do what I came to do and go.”

“You’ll have all summer to prepare your classroom and get ready for next year. That will leave you with plenty of time to go through the house. Besides, I’ll be here to help when I’m able to. You know that.” There was a pause as Tora considered this. “Give it a try. How do you know you won’t like it? The students are great, and the staff is very friendly.”

Tora let out a huge sigh. “Maggie, did you not hear what I said? I am not staying. There is nothing for me but…” She let her words die away.

“You can’t let what happened destroy you like this. At some point you must stop.”

“It’s not destroying me. You’re being dramatic. I don’t like being here. I mean, I do, and I don’t. There are too many bad memories, especially the bad ones.”

“So, you ran away instead.”

“No, I happen to live somewhere else.’

“Then live here instead. It really is very simple, Tora.”

Tora leaned back on the sofa, rested her elbow on the backrest, and started bighting her nails. How could she even entertain the idea of living here again. Her mother having still been angry with her, even after years had passed and never giving her a chance to make amends. Most importantly, her father getting killed while doing something for her. It was her fault they died, and if her mother was there right now, she would tell her that too. No, she couldn’t stay here. The memories remained way too heavy.

She then thought about he idea of having her own classroom again. She remembered her first year at Tawas High School seven years ago. She graduated from there, went to college and obtained her teaching degree in English, taught for one year at the same school, joined the army, and now she was being asked to go back. Life felt as if it had come full circle. A never-ending circle, always coming back here. Is this what her life amounted to? Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she didn’t have the motivation or the knowledge to really make something of herself.

“You look a million miles away,” said Maggie.

“I’m ok, I promise,” said Tora.

The phone rang. Tora jumped at the intrusion. She forgot about he house phone. The number on the caller ID was the same strange number on her cellphone from earlier. It rang again, her hand went for the receiver, then stopped. She froze not sure what to do. Her instincts said not to answer, but curiosity got the better of her. It rang a third time. Again, her hand went for the receiver, clasped around it and gingerly picked it up.

“Hello,” said Tora.

Nothing.

“Look, if you’re not going to say anything, then stop calling. I don’t…”

“Hello, Nadira. It’s your mother. It’s time.”

“You have the wrong number. There’s no Nadira here.”

“No, you are Nadira. This is your mother, and it is time.”

Posted in Editing

The Tight Rope of Story Telling

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We write and we edit. We try to get the story on paper or the computer screen, then we go back when we’re finished and edit what we’ve written. That’s how it’s supposed to be done anyway. Does that always happen in that order? No. Not always. There are times when we try to edit as we type. The left side of our brain wants to insert itself at the same time our right side of the brain is trying to be imaginative and creative. This process can cause you to slow down when you’re trying to come up with a story.

Let’s say you’re a paragraph into writing a scene. So far you like it, but then the analytical side of your brain (left) is saying ‘No, no. That won’t work’. You go back and rewrite parts of that paragraph. You like what you came up with and move on to the next paragraph. You’re a couple of sentences into the second paragraph when your analytical side starts rethinking what you rewrote in the first paragraph. So, you go back and look at it but aren’t sure how you want to fix it. You end up sitting there thinking. Your fingers start strumming on your desk and you lean back in your chair and stare at the ceiling. An hour later you haven’t fixed anything, nor have you moved on with your writing. Had you waited to fix what your analytical side of your brain wanted to fix, you would have been MUCH further on in your story. You may have even gotten a chapter done.

How many of you can relate to the scenario above. I know it’s happened to me at times. So, how do we turn off the left side of our brain and make its impatient self wait? It’s quite easy actually. You make it wait. Turn it off. If you don’t like something you’ve just written, make a note of it so you can go back at a later date and fix it when you’re not writing. Choose a specific day and time when that’s all you’re going to do is edit and fix.

Loosen the “rope” when you’re creating and “tighten” it back up when you’re editing.

Posted in Writing

Out of the Way

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Sometimes we put up barriers when we write. This is different for everyone. Some of us analyze too much, while others plan too much. Yet some may strive for perfection before moving on. My barrier is the analyze thing. I question everything. Not that questioning things is bad to do. We should do that, but when you continue questioning whether what you wrote or in which place a scene/scenes was put, it takes up precious writing time.

Another author I follow and get advice from, told of a first time writer working on his first novel. This young writer asked his advice on his first chapter. So the author read the young writer’s first chapter and ended up being very impressed with it. He asked for more. The young writer didn’t have anymore to show, as he had been working on the first chapter for months trying to get it just right/perfect. The author shook his head and told the young writer to stop striving for perfection. Why? If you do that, you will never get your book written. As long a time it took him to get chapter one finished, he could have had multiple chapters finished had he focused more on getting the story out.

The first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. You just need to get the story written. When that first draft is finished, THEN go back to square one and change what you don’t like. This may be difficult at first, but with practice of letting go and letting the story unfold as it comes, perfection will take a back seat eventually.

Posted in Writing

Writer’s Block

What do you write when you don’t know what to write? You can know what your story is about, but you aren’t able to put words on paper. Why? This article will seek to answer this question and give you ways to find your words again.

You’re sitting at your computer, and your typing away. The words are flowing and your mind is driven. You get to the end of the scene/chapter and you feel a sense of exhilaration because you’ve accomplished something. You’ve made progress. You’re in that writer’s zone. Eager to move on with the next scene/chapter, you move to the next screen and type the scene/chapter number, hit enter and stop. Your brain says, ‘huh’? So you sit there thinking about what you should write next. You can’t think of anything. Ideas may come but you push them aside because you feel they aren’t good enough, or perfect enough. This is the left side of your brain getting in the way of progress. Don’t let it do that. Forge ahead. Write anyway even if it isn’t perfect.

Reasons For the Block and How to Get Passed Them

  1. As mentioned above, the left side of your brain, the analytical side, gets in the way. It can be difficult to shut this part of your head down, but you need to do it. This has happened to me on a number of occasions. What I did was write anyway, even if what I wrote wasn’t any good. Later you can go back and change it, and who knows, this may spur on more and better ideas. Brainstorming also works, and sometimes you just need to work on the development of the story itself. I keep a binder with tabbed sections for various literary items, such as Character, Setting, World Building, Brainstorming, just to name a few. Writing in your binder, or whatever you keep, can create ideas as well. Read the following book by Henriette Anne Klauser called Writing on Both Sides of the Brain: Breakthrough Techniques for People Who Write. This book helped me tremendously. See link below.
    https://www.amazon.com/Writing-Both-Sides-Brain-Breakthrough-ebook/dp/B08537CTS1/ref=sr_1_2?crid=6XIUORJS0SZE&dchild=1&keywords=writing+on+both+sides+of+the+brain&qid=1600447565&s=digital-text&sprefix=Writing+on+both+si%2Cdigital-text%2C222&sr=1-2
  2. Indecision. Maybe you have 2 or 3 or more possible ideas regarding what should come next, but you don’t know which one to choose. This is a great time to stop writing and start evaluating. Yes, I said it. You’ll have to use the left side of your brain here. Write each idea down on a note card and place them in front of you. Think about what you’ve written thus far and decide which idea will move your story forward to where you want it to go. Does this mean you have to scrap the other ideas you don’t use? No, not at all. Save them for later.
  3. You finished your thought process. This is huge. Another author told me she doesn’t ever get writer’s block. When I asked her why, she said she doesn’t stop writing at the end of a scene/chapter. She stops writing for the day in the middle of a scene where it is easy to pick up on the movement of the story the next day. So she doesn’t allow her thought process for the story to stop when she stops. I hope this makes sense. There is just one problem with this though. You will come to the end of that scene/chapter eventually, which means you might get hit with reasons 1 and 2 above.
  4. Ordering of story information. Stories are written with the three act structure in mind. Act I: Backstory, Act II: The Chase/The Attach, Act III: Resolution. Certain types of information belong ONLY in their perspective acts. Put the wrong type of information into the wrong act, and your story will be thrown way off. The result of this can lead to writer’s block. How do you combat this? There is a book I HIGHLY recommend. See below. I’ve provided the link in case you are interested in purchasing.

Story Engineering by Larry Brooks
https://www.amazon.com/Story-Engineering-Larry-Brooks-ebook-dp-B004J35J8W/dp/B004J35J8W/ref=mt_other?_encoding=UTF8&me=&qid=1600447148

In the end your story will work out. It’s not the road you travel, it’s how you travel along that road that matters. You’ll get there.