I have an aria
made up of words
like cells replicating within me.
My hands at the ready,
fingers tapping against the keys,
searching for the string
of perfect words, nouns, phrases,
to make up a sentence
that says it all.
My own perfect concerto
on to a blank page.
I use Grammarly’s plagiarism checker because my mother always said that imitation was the greatest form of flattery, and because the internet took her advice too literally I no longer can.
When I’m writing and fear I may be imitating a beloved writer too closely Grammerly is my “go to” tool to ensure that my words are indeed my own.
Whew! The last two weeks of October feel like a daze! My husband was tasked for a surprise deployment and so he’s off doing Air Force things and I was swamped with volunteer obligations, and making my boys Halloween costumes. I also had to help my younger son transform a cardboard box into a Police Car for his Kindergarten’s Transportation parade that conveniently took place on Halloween. Last night my boys actually got to celebrate Halloween and show off their Minecraft costumes. They had a great time and their costumes garnered a lot of attention from kids and grownups a like so I was happy they were happy.
I can not believe we’re already three days into November and I’ve not written a single word for NaNoWriMo! My friend Michelle challenged me to write the 50,000 word goal in five days, yes it’s absolutely insane but apparently there are a lot of us who are keen for the challenge, all you need do is Google, Five Day Novel (#50K5DAYS). I’m going to start that on Tuesday or Wednesday, but today I will be jumping into NaNoWriMo today! Yay!
I cleared off my desk of all the crafting stuff that had accumulated and tidied up my office and I’m ready to go! I made myself a homemade London Fog Latte ( at Starbucks ask for the London Fog Latte, if you get a blank stare from your barista, simply ask for an Earl Grey Latte with a shot of vanilla syrup.) I’ve got my playlist cued and just recited this prayer I love by Marianne Williamson who in my opinion is a profound writer of prayers, via her book
Illuminata: A Return to Prayer. This prayer speaks to me and I like to recite it before I begin writing as I’ve found it helps me relax and clear my mind of all the clutter. I thought I’d share it with you just in case you were feeling stressed out over the 50K word count goal!
This prayer is listed as a “deliverance” prayer in
Illuminata if you’ve got a copy and want to look it up for yourself.
Deliver me to my passion.
Deliver me to my brilliance.
Deliver me to my intelligence.
Deliver me to my depth.
Deliver me to my nobility.
Deliver me to my beauty.
Deliver me to my power to heal.
Deliver me to You.
Here’s what my Muse has found pleasing…
I made this little graphic so I could print out and tape into my journal – but quickly discovered that my printer is out of ink. Grrr, I purchased those before I left Miami, but I guess not using them for nearly six months can make them feel all ignored and decide their not in a printerly mood.
I so do love Shakespeare’s Sonnet 43… The way it speaks of yearning is so poignant. I’m totally channeling this feeling for one of my characters.
The photo I used I found via Tumblr. Apparently it’s a statue located in Rome. So it’s on my list of things to see when we visit. I just have to figure out where.
Music definitely helps rev up my creativity. I recently discovered The National, I’ve had their album High Violet on near constant replay. They’re heading straight toward being one of my favorite bands.
Florence + the Machine… Two songs specifically I’ve found to be quite thematic, for my writing these days, Cosmic Love and Blinding off of the Lungs album.
Le Sigh. Love those.
Here are a few links to the two albums I referenced. These links are affiliate codes…
One of the things I struggle with when drafting a novel is plot. Or rather really big plot-holes that the Titanic could re-sink itself in. I have to remind myself that (for me anyway) character is more important. I love character driven novels and so it is very important for me to write a novel with characters who are real. The plot holes I know I can fill in later so long as I’ve got the main plot points down.
I wrote myself a little note to remind me of this…
Of course, a character who stuffs her bra, actually could be pretty cool to write! I was simply using this analogy to remind myself that I want real characters, not ones full of fluff and nothing substantial.
She can be frequently seen staring off into space.
People have described her as having “her head in the clouds”.
She loves to read…Voraciously.
I’ve had my butt in my chair and my hands mostly on post-it notes.
I’ve been busy story-boarding my manuscript in an attempt to figure out some plot points that just weren’t working for me and how to best arrange a few things that “need” to happen.
I’ve also been dealing with more “skin cancer” crapola -as I’ve had to have three more skin extractions and am convinced that I should change my name to Frankenstella.
But it is something that had to be done.
I’ll get more into it in a later post.
My post-its are calling me.
What follows is the result of a sleepless night spent with a restless brain.
I can’t promise it will be good.
I am a paradox and a little bit strange.
I hope for sunshine but relish the rain.
I catch my breath and let it go.
I’m loud when I should whisper low.
I am awkward I am shy.
I long to dress like Grace Kelly.
And pray for happy endings.
I love sad songs, and ballerina flats.
I toast to fallen stars and broken glass.
I sometimes feel like a balloon floating on the horizon,
Both free and doomed to get tangled up in a turbo prop engine.
I believe in Angels. I think I spied one once.
I don’t think all accidents happen by chance.
I’m present in the moment but get lost quite often.
Twisting and churning like a falling leaf in the middle of autumn.
In my youth I tried to fit in. I’m sure I did, with a few select friends.
Sometimes I felt, like someone on the outside looking in.
I can’t say, I don’t feel that way still upon occasion.
I like long exploring walks where I can laugh out loud
and marvel at all I behold.
While shedding a tear for the decay that will eventually unfold.
Yes. That is definitely not good. It is quite bad.
Oh well. It was a good writing exercise to say the least.
Last night while my husband and I were tidying up after supper I remarked, “If I could sing, I wouldn’t speak. I’d just sing.” It’s something I’ve said, here on this blog a few times, I’m sure and in passing to friends. My husband was tolerating my choice of tunes as he isn’t a big fan of Lana Del Ray. But to my ears her voice is like like liquid amber and the way she can mix the melancholy with the sweet is so lovely which is what sparked my comment on this occasion.
I can not sing. I mean, I can. I do. It just doesn’t sound very nice.
Then my husband said something to me, that to my tone deaf ears, was sort of profound.
He said, “Nicky, you may not be able to sing, but you can write. So by your account you should be writing all the time, and you’re not doing that.”
With his sagacious words I had a moment of clarity.
He was absolutely 100% right. So profound was my reaction to his observation I became very still and quiet-the proverbial deer in the headlights. All I could do was stand there in the middle of the kitchen with a dishtowel in my hands. After about a minute all I could utter was “wow”, which by the way is the exact same thing that occurred the night I met him.
I guess I never looked at my writing as a “talent” like singing. It was and is simply something I must do.
Therefor by my own account, I’m not using my talent as I would have myself do.
Sure I’m constantly “writing” in my head, or making little notes on my iPad or journals, I have my manuscript, and a few other stories I’ve written, and I can’t discount this blog – so I’ve never – not written- but even my blogging over the last two years hasn’t been what I would call prolific.
By my account my talent has been neglected. I should be a prolific writer and I’m not.
I have only one thing to do, write. Write so that should I one day loose the ability to speak, my voice would continue to be heard.
Oh and in case you were wondering, we were listening to Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Ray.
I love swans. They somehow manage to elicit the ethereal, graceful, and magical all at once. They are indeed my favorite bird, and play a symbolic roll in the novel I’ve been working on.
They seem so delicate and precious too…So much so they make me wish I could cup one in my palms much like The Childlike Empress cradled that single grain of sand in The Neverending Story.
I’m a blabbering whimsical mess tonight. I’m off to go drown myself in a yogurt parfait. (As any self respecting adorer of the chimerical would do.)
love & whimsy,