Ever Feel Like You’re Being Watched?

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I am debating getting a little bungalow somewhere so I can write uninterrupted. While not popular with my spouse, right now I’m looking at two valid reasons.

First there is our cat Tilly, who has decided that the paper I was editing would make a lovely place to have a lie-down. Then the younger of our three beasts, Jezebel, has decided to join us in the bed I tried to claim for my evening workspace. It won’t be too bad if they don’t end up fighting. The playful bouts seem harmless to their health but they are most distracting.

And the constant face-marking upon my computer screen is another disturbance. Last night I sat at my desk, turned on the light, and discovered a fine coating of short, gray hair. Thanks Jezebel. That was from another wrestling match upon my ski machine. And she’s the one neighbors said “didn’t shed” when they foisted her upon us. The truth is that you can’t tell that she is shedding until it builds up. And boy, does her fur build up fast.

Luna, my oldest, is often the worst of all. Sunday evening I tried to type in bed, was quite comfortable doing so, and she suddenly appeared on the pillow beside me. “Okay,” I thought, “we can share the space.” But she wasn’t content to be close without touching. Before long I had her pointy little chin tucked into my elbow from behind. She was determined, gradually sticking her neck further out to lay greater claim to my arm until I finally had to pry her off. I felt bad when the old girl made a fuss. Before long I just gave in and settled down to sleep. Having turned off my laptop at a reasonable hour, I must admit to getting a fairly full nights’ sleep. At least I did when there weren’t paws tangled in my hair.

As for tonight, at least Tilly has decided to go check the food bowl. Jezebel followed. Good. Now I’m alone with my wrinkled manuscript. Luckily I can still read it. Tilly is not a lightweight. We’ll just have to see what happens as the evening goes on. Perhaps it’s time to set up the seldom used spare bedroom as my office. I like having my desk by the bookcases but without a door the space is not terribly helpful. Then again, they’d probably just bang on a closed door.

I’m told cats are the traditional pet of authors through the ages. Indeed, our page-a-day cat calendar is full of witty and truthful words from many novelists and poets. And the cartoonist of “Simon’s Cat” really has nailed the humorous aspects of their nature with fun drawings. But having the flesh nearly torn off your elbow by a bored feline tapping an arm for attention is far from lyrical. Maybe I should check into football padding.

Just some random poetry

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

So, apparently, my understanding was off and my Christmas reverie was a week off… So, since this is technically my day (again) and I have a plans tomorrow. So, instead of another thought-filled blog, I’ll give you a thought-filled poem, instead.

A perpetual sea,

a blue sea,

a calm sea,

The sea is the essence of life.

The sea sustains life,

The sea takes life.

The sea surrounds us,

moving endlessly in all directions.

An impenetrable wall,

rising,

surrounding,

destroying,

sinking.

Our dream is dead.

Our dream of life,

Our dream of love,

Our dream of civilization.

Lost forever under the endless sea.

Lost forever under the blue sea.

Thursday 13

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

It’s that day of the week again, when we corral lists by our contributing authors. Happy Thursday!

Darla M. Sands

Nikki Memmott Now

Tess Miller

And from Lucius Antony:

Thursday 13 – December 10, 2009: Thirteen of the best Star Wars Quotes

For this Thursday Thirteen, I’ve decided to take a look at one of my favorite movie series of all time: Star Wars. So, here are some of my favorite quotes from the Original Trilogy (back when the writing was actually pretty good):

1. “I want to come with you to Alderaan. There’s nothing for me here now. I wan to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father.” Luke Skywalker, Episode IV: A New Hope

2. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Darth Vader, Episode IV: A New Hope

3. “Greetings Exalted One, allow me to introduce myself: I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and friend of Captain Solo. I know you are powerful, mighty Jabba, and that your anger with Solo must be equally powerful. I seek an audience with your Greatness to bargain for Solo’s life. As a token of my good will, I offer you a gift: these two droids.”
“What did he say?”
“Both are hard working, and will serve you well.”
“Artoo, you’re playing the wrong message!” Luke Skywalker/C3P0 Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

4. “You have your moments, not many of them, but you have them.” Leia, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

5. “You’ll find that many of the truths we believe in are all dependant on our point of view.” Obi-Wan Kenobi, Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

6. “Young fool! Only now, at the end, do you understand.” Emperor Palpatine, Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

7. “Obi-Wan once thought as you do. You don’t know the power of the Dark Side, I must obey my Master.” Darth Vader, Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

8. “No, try not! Do, or do not. There is no try.” Yoda, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

9. “Luke, don’t give in to hate, that leads to the Dark Side.” Obi-Wan Kenobi, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

10. “The Force is with you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet.” Darth Vader, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

11. “Will someone get this walking carpet outta my way?” Leia, Episode IV: A New Hope

12. “Would you prefer another target, a military target? Then name the system! I grow tired of asking this, so it will be last time. Where is the rebel base?” Grand Moff Tarkin, Episode IV: A New Hope

13. The Wilhelm Scream, used throughout the saga.

Writer’s Block

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

All writers find themselves struggling to write at one time or another. Maybe they’re facing the proverbial “block,” maybe the story’s changing direction, maybe the writer is stressed, or tired. Regardless of the reason, however, every writer must work through it and put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) again.

But what should a writer do? What is the secret to unraveling writer’s block?

I have spent the last couple of weeks beating my brain against this issue, and the only answer I have come up with is that there is no one right answer.

Most of the time, the best solution is simply to keep writing. Whether words are pouring out of you or being pried out of you one painstaking letter at a time, just keeping the juices flowing at least puts you in the position to take advantage of inspiration when it strikes. Just seeing the page start to fill up can be a boost that will silence a Critic and give you momentum and energy.

Sometimes, though, plugging away just doesn’t work. In my case the last couple of weeks, I got so worn down trying to write that I couldn’t even come up with ideas anymore, let alone execute them. That kind of freaked me out, actually, since one line of a song on the radio will usually send me off on a story tangent. I’m not as disciplined or as fast at writing as I should be, but coming up with ideas for stories is one of my very best things, and I couldn’t do it.

Finally, last week I tried my other method for getting over writer’s block. I just left the computer off and gave myself permission not to write for like four days. I watched TV, and read, and went to bed earlier, and didn’t even try to write. Today I worked through an exercise for Chapter 5 of the Fiction Writer’s Workshop, and had a fanfic muse babbling at me about adding a section about him in a WIP. No drama, no stress, just smooth and normal.

The frustrating thing about the whole experience for me is that my instincts were telling me to take some quiet time and just recharge my batteries, but I ignored them. I had fixated on the idea that I had to just keep writing at all costs, and when I finally did give in and take a break I needed twice as much time away as I would have needed if I had listened to my brain and body earlier.

My learning lesson for the last couple weeks, then, is to go with your gut. It’s important to do your best to understand what is really driving the block (You don’t want to enable a fit of laziness, for example, but if you’ve been working more hours or are under more stress than normal, then you have to take that into account.) but for the most part I believe that we will instinctively know the right thing to do. The key is to do it.

What about everyone else? What are some things that you do when you’re having trouble writing or you need inspiration?

Ruminations on Christmas and Christmas’ Past

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

It’s officially December, and do you know that means for all the gentiles, materialists, and people who simply listen to the radio or watch television? That’s right, the Christmas season started over a month ago.

When I was younger, Christmas was probably my favorite time of year. I suppose, like every other kid my age, I was simply materialistic, and really liked getting all those presents (the dollar went a lot farther back then and there would always be a big stack of presents under the trees). It’s not really the same any more, to be honest. I’m still materialistic, I won’t lie, but there are also fewer items for me to covet. My Christmas list, or lack thereof, isn’t really the focus of this post, however.

Back in the day, Christmas had a clear feeling. I can’t really describe it, I can barely even remember the feeling itself, to be honest. But, I do recall the feeling being there. A type of awe, or jubilation perhaps, in the pit of my stomach, exemplified with everything else that comes with the Christmas season: lights, the tree, music (sing it with me, everyone: “Grandma got run over by a reindeer…”), the cold and the snow. Making snowmen, playing outside, shoveling snow and making tunnels out of the huge piles of snow that would accumulate on the side of the drive (we may have only done that one year, but it’s a fond memory) all helped. All of that led up to the day itself.

I remember waking up at ungodly hours of the morning on Christmas day (times where I would probably still be awake recently) and having to wait until the stroke of… I think it was 7… to wake up anybody else. It would still be dark and we would open our presents after eating a quick breakfast of cinnamon rolls. All of that in my pajamas.

All that changed, however, when I hit high school and started working at the family jewelry store during the holiday season. I’m not sure if it was work or the “maturity” I reached in high school that did it, or some other factor.

Now, that feeling is gone. Like I said, I’m up until 2 a.m. even on the 24, and sleep in until around 11-12 on Christmas, shower and then join my family, waiting for my brother to finally wake up.

Being a sucker for nostalgia, I tried desperately last year to rekindle that feeling I had as a kid. The best way I thought of doing this, was to watch the old video tape we have with all the Christmas specials on it (Garfield, Rudolph, probably the Grinch, etc.). I found the tape I thought it was (clearly labeled “X-mas cartoons)… it was the wrong tape. It still had a couple of the specials from the old Nicktoons that I loved as a child (I recall Doug and Rugrats… don’t think there was anything else). The thought had crossed my mind to borrow my friend’s DVDs of the specials I was looking for, but the vintage commercials on the tape had as much to do with the memories/feelings as the program itself. Needless to say, I don’t think I ever really got that feeling back.

All things change, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. I’m still undecided on which this is.

I no longer have the same feeling I had as a child, but Christmas has a new feeling, now. Again, it’s hard to describe (can you ever really describe a feeling exactly?). It now has to do with all that comes along with Christmas in this time. Working until dark, the cold and the snow (still in Ohio, still have the cold, and occassionally some snow), coming home and playing video games with just the light from the television and Christmas lights.

The world always changes, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. But it’s not so bad. A quote from Escape from L.A. comes to mind:

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Flash Fiction Fridays!

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Each Friday, the writers of the Writer’s Retreat reflect on their favorite flash fiction ficlets created over the course of the week, or sometimes even farther back, or maybe even something brand-spanking new. While we never know quite what we’ll share, we can guarantee that it will entertain! Join us!

A. Catherine Noon: “Succession”

Darla M. Sands: “More Than Meets the Eye”

Lucius Antony: “The First Assignment”

From the Journal of Shawn Talric concerning the Dar’ny’uil Insurrection

I wanted action, how foolish.

After a year of training, they gave me my first assignment. After learning to use my new powers, they told me to ride a train to the destination. Not only was I to ride a train, but I was also only suppose to apprehend a rogue who was not expected to put up much resistance.

I played with lightning in my hands as I sat in the almost empty cargo car of the train. I thought about the day this all started and that woman, Jamie, who tried to keep me away from Ibarra and failed.

As I thought of the possibilities of what would’ve happened if she had succeeded, I felt a familiar pull, and mental sensation.

He was outside.

There was a flash of light from my body as I transported outside, in front of the rogue who had felt me coming, and waited for me.

He had dark hair and blue eyes that twinkled like the sea at sunset. His loose clothing was a better choice for the hot, arid climate than my leather coat, but I didn’t choose the setting.

“You’re new. What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was coarse, probably from years of heavy smoking.

“Ibarra sent me. I’m supposed to take you back to New York.”

“Tell Ibarra to go fuck himself.”

He turned away from me. In another small flash of green light I appeared in front of him, the ground beneath my feet black and sizzling. I lifted my hand and conducted some lightning with it, threatening him.

“Tell him yourself,” I replied.

He changed his form: his skin melting off of his body to reveal a pure white form with a blue aura surrounding him. His pupils and irises disappeared and his hair became unruly and changed to same shade of blue as his aura.

He attacked first, throwing a fireball. I extended my hand, forming a shield of nearly pure energy to protect myself. The fire dissipated against my shield, and retaliated with striking at him with lightning from my left hand.

I noticed his disappearance in the same instant that his foot connected with the back of my neck. I fell to the ground as a sharp, searing pain racked my body. I cut off the sensation of pain, a handy trick I had learned during my training, and caught his fist in my palm.

I saw the skin on my hand begin to crack and break off, revealing the same pure white, luminescent skin and green aura. I began to encase his arm in ice while he struggled to free himself from my grip. He forcible cut his own arm off at the elbow, and flew into the air.

At a safe distance, he held out his good arm and shot three sharp crags of ice in my direction. I played into scheme and created a shield to protect myself. His attacks shattered and I retaliated with a wave of white fire. He emerged from the attack unscathed; I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know how.

He landed, and I started to feel sick. It had started with a slight headache as I was freezing his arm, and had escalated to a migraine and a terrible contortion within my stomach. He started laughing and walking towards me as my vision started to blur.

I fell to my knees and retched. My skin and hair slowly dimmed and faded to their normal complexion, and my aura had disappeared completely. My breath came in heaves and my sweat dripped onto the ground below.

“Young fool!” he laughed as he powered down. “You used too much energy, and now you’re completely helpless. Killing you would leave a bad taste in my mouth, just leave me alone. And tell Ibarra to do the same.”

He turned his back and I shot him. They could fix him when I get back to headquarters.

Thursday 13

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Every Thursday, the writers of the Writer’s Retreat participate in the Thursday 13 meme and this Thursday is no exception.

A. Catherine Noon

Darla M. Sands

And from a brand-new entrant:
Debbie Cairo

Tess Miller

And from another brand-new entrant, Lucius Antony!

Thursday 13 – December 3, 2009: Thirteen Reasons Conan of Cimmeria is a Badass

Ok, if you didn’t know, my favorite author is Robert E. Howard. I like his writing style and I like his characters. The first character of his I was introduced to (that made me fall in love with the author) was Conan. So, here are thirteen reasons why everyone should agree that he is probably the ultimate badass.

1. He has his priorities straight. In the first Conan story (Phoenix on the Sword), Conan is already a king, and has to face a revolt of maybe around a dozen men, give or take. So, what does he do? He kills them, is then assaulted by a supernatural creature (which he kills) before anyone loyal to him arrives. At this point, he very injured and probably near death, so what does he want after all this? Wine. Why? Because “Slaying is cursed dry work.”

2. The man won’t give up when he finds something that he wants. In The Frost Giant’s Daughter, Conan is the last surviving man on the battlefield, on either side, and even takes a pretty bad hit to the head. Instead of waiting around or going to find the reinforcements that were suppose to arrive before the battle, he decides to wander off (this is winter in a very snowy land, under the easily seeable conditions he could get lost and freeze to death). Why does he risk death yet again? For sex. He chases after a woman, not stopping when she calls on her ice giant brothers to stop him… nor does he stop when she says “no” but his morals aren’t exactly what I’m looking at the moment.

3. He kills a man by throwing a chair at him. Need I say more?

4. In another story, he’s crucified. After the cross is cut to the ground, and the nails from his hands removed by tongs used for shoeing horses, he grabs the instrument from the man and pulls the nail out of his feet himself. He then proceeds to ride for at least the rest of the day before seeking medical attention.

5. Conan is not afraid to incite a rage from you by calling into question your parentage… even you’re a DRAGON.

6. As mentioned earlier, this barbarian from Cimmeria becomes king of a different country called Aquilonia. How? He chokes the previous king with his bare hands and takes the crown. ‘Nuff said.

7. The man is chivalrous. He always, always, saves the girl… even if “saving” the girl is more along the lines of “saving the girl the torture of walking through a desert with no water by quickly and painlessly killing her.” Just a note, he never actually DOES it, the thought just crossed his mind before they found a city that stands in the middle of the desert inhabited by people who are always sleeping. If it’s any consolation, he DID give her the last of the water first.

8. He’s so badass that the women love him enough to find a way to come back from the grave to save him.

9. He always pays back his debts. I’m fairly certain he married the woman that rescued him from prison, once… It’s never actually mentioned in Howard’s stories, but I believe it brought up in one of the pastiches. Either way, he doesn’t forget his debt to her at the end of the novel, which is probably several months after his rescue.

10. Loyalty. When a friend of his killed a guard for making a rude comment to his woman and fled the town, Conan didn’t rat him out to the judge, even under penalty of staying in a dungeon for the rest of his life. In fact, he did the town a favor by killing said judge because the judge was clearly mad.

11. The man is also a poet. Can you imagine how much more badass people would be if they could make poetry about your death after they kill you? Just imagine how much better The Iliad would be if Achilles had written it himself. If you doubt me, try finding a copy of The Road of Kings on the internet that was clearly meant to be written by Conan.

12. One of the things he does as king is correct the maps in the royal… map keeping place. .. because he knows from experience that they are wrong. Ok, I can’t really tell if this is really badass or not. My list topped out at 11 and there wasn’t anything I could do short of going straight to the tomes to find more.

13. Conan laughs at you for using the internet when there are battles to fight! Seriously, I procrastinated too long.

Poetry

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Intimacy, love and friendship – wonderful to have, horrible to lose and in all the ways these emotions can be experienced, sometimes very hard to understand.

My poetry is most often about relationship and the different forms it takes. I think it would be possible to write about the many faces of love every day, forever, and never come to the end of it. One of the most fascinating subjects to ponder, meditate on and write about.

Through Time

Transported by a tympani of steadily falling
rain sluicing from the roof; I sit, watching you
dance in the deluge, cold droplets
dripping from your chin.

You haven’t yet sensed my intent study of
your eyes searching a distant view with
focused intensity, turning the whiskey color
a different hue.

Raspberry colored lips twist wistfully
into a smile, whispering indiscernible
words–a name, a prayer, lover’s thoughts
drifting away on the air;

In the blink of an eye, I wonder: was I
really there?