Novel

I seem to work on this a lot. A lot less than I did before but still a lot compared to everything else I attempt to do. I still don’t seem to get very far into it. My problem? I want to get to the good parts and skip all the small parts. You know, the parts people consider the glue. But I realize that I have to put in all of the small parts or it wont make any sense. Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and be done with it.

Easy button anyone?

Right now I am attempting to finish chapter nine. Mostly because I have been in this chapter way too long. Too long being nearly two months. I set myself a goal and at this rate I won’t achieve it.

What is the goal? I wanted to be done with the first draft by December 2013 – which would be a year. But at the rate I am at right now, it won’t happen. I have decided though, I won’t be hard in myself if I don’t achieve it. It sometimes takes people a couple years to write their first book. With jobs and every day life, sometimes you have to take what you can.

I have faith in myself and I know I can. It just takes time. Hopefully sooner than later I will be able to share my novel with y’all. A clip or something. Hopefully I write more often – typing on a cell phone can get annoying fast.

So until next time..

…

I haven’t wrote in a while. Not because I don’t want to, but because I have no ability to log onto the internet. That fact saddens me. I have all intentions of getting it – the only thing that i have left that I don’t have – but right now the funds don’t agree with me. Will it ever? I don’t have the answer to that.

Another question? Am I really missed all that much? Do people sit down at their computer during the day & think “Oh, Barbara hasn’t updated her blog lately…” No. No one thinks that. No one misses me online. Because no one knows who I am. One day possibly, but for now – I’m just a silent writer who aspires to be much more. Much, much more.

I was sitting in my bedroom the other night looking at my novel-in-the-works and my mind began to wander. (It does that often.) I began wondering what it would feel like to walk into a book store and see this large display of my book. Books with my name at the bottom. To stand there with the largest smile on my face because I know I accomplished something for myself, and now I am a published author. I sat there and wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like, to know that I can go around and tell people that I am a published author.

Then I began to wonder : would I actually tell someone that I am published author. “Oh hi. What do I do? Oh, I’m a published author! Take that bitches!” *snaps fingers in air* No. I wouldn’t say that. I might be thinking it. But I honestly believe that I would still reply with the normal “I’m a security dispatcher at a the second largest casino in the world.”

Other thoughts began to roam my brain. I have read a lot of books in my life. I love to read. But if you google the authors of all of these books none of them, but one, is below the age of 30. Is that because publishing companies don’t like to publish people below the age of 30? Or is that because most people below the age of 30 cannot write a book well enough to even be considered a great book? What makes a book great? Worth publishing.

I’m still on chapter seven. I’ve been on chapter seven for nearly a month. I am near the spot I wanted to be. But I’m no where near finishing chapter seven. Nor do I really know how to. I got advice from an older guy I work with. I’m not sure if I’ve ever said it before so just in case, he told me instead of writing from the beginning – to write to the end. I have no idea how I’m going to end chapter seven. I want it to end with a bang. Something nice. But what?

I need another brain. A working brain. I might talk to my ‘editor’. Wait. Not that kind of editor. A friend that isn’t afraid to tell me the harsh truth to tell me that my “hick is showing”. Stop giggling! My hick shows a lot. Sadly. But honestly what do you expect from living in Southern Oklahoma all my life. Shut up! I know that you don’t have to show your hick. It just depends on what I say. I’ll work through it. Stop giggling!

I don’t know. I’ll figure chapter seven out somehow. Or throw away the first six chapters and say to hell with it!

Inspiration Gone.

I was looking for inspiration. It’s been awhile since I have posted anything. But I have found nothing. None. No inspiration. So now what? Sit here and ramble about any and everything I possibly can think of. No. I will not do that. Today anyway.

I’m sitting here staring at my laptop. That’s actually something I have been doing since around eleven o’clock last night. I have been staring at the screen as I write. I finished up chapter five and began writing chapter six.

I’m tapping my fingers loudly on the coffee table as I sit in front of the television flipping through channels trying to find something to watch. I am starting to believe that television is becoming overrated. Nothing on. Ever. A person could have over three million channels and still have nothing to watch.

My mind is running amok in my head. A thousand thoughts are flying around in circles hitting each other in the head but none of them make any sense to me. It’s all a bunch of mumbling to me. The thought of being able to pick one out and understand it would be a great feeling.

It’s 8:30 in the morning. I’m sitting in my brother’s living room floor with my laptop in on his coffee table watching a television show, “House of Payne”, because there is nothing else on to watch.

I still have no inspiration. My mind is thinking about – mostly – my story. Frost. Chapter Six. I began this story the last week of November 2012 & I’m on Chapter Six. Chapter. Six. This is the first story I’ve wrote this much on. Normally, I would have already given up. But look at me! Excitement bubbles up every time I make another chapter. Excitement. Even if as I write further into the story it’s not the way I had planned. I planned it in November. Figured out what I was going to write. As I finish a chapter I rewrite the chapter. Then, as I’m writing the chapter, I rewrite it again. I finished chapter five and began chapter six. Went back and rewrote chapter five again. So in turn, I had to rewrite chapter six.

I still want to write y’all a short story. But every time I sit down to do so, I end up working on Frost instead and never finishing the short story. Yeah. I still have that problem. Start something and never finish it. I might give it another try today as I sit here waiting to watch my normal morning shows that I have missed all week. Yeah. Morning shows. Shows that come on in the mornings.

Summing it up…

I guess you could say that I am a little on the ‘slacking side’ Every year bloggers usually say what happened throughout the year and how much they’ve changed. I normally do. I think I did last year. I’m not sure. I’ve slept since then. Since I am not really doing anything I figured I’d go ahead and give it a shot.

1. I said goodbye to my normal November movie. The final installment of the Twilight Saga ended last year and once the movie is out on DVD, it’s done. Over with. Complete. I’m sad. Now I have to find something else to get obsessed with. (Besides 50 Shades of Grey and Gabriel’s Inferno.) And just an FYI, I bought my first popcorn bucket at Carmike 8 Theater and will probably never use it.

2. I began writing a novel. It’s called ‘Frost’ & as the end of the year ended I had three chapters wrote. I am, right now, working on chapter 5. I decided that if I want to be a writer I must begin writing something. So I began writing my twist on the famous Cinderella. Except mine isn’t the average (how many times will this story be wrote? I found one the other day that is about Cinderella being a robot (Cinder)…) I have been wanting to write this story for a long time & last year I decided just to do it.

3. Read an article in a newspaper that a co-worker gave me and realized that I need to get into the ‘writing community’ & get a following. Because publishing companies go by that when it comes to figuring out who to publish. They figure if people follow you to begin with then there is probably something there that will make them money. I completely understand but I’m having issues getting into it & getting followers. I have a few. & when I post something they like they hit ‘like’. But compared to a lot of people – three likes isn’t doing it. (Sometimes I wish they’d count my Facebook On one status I get nearly 20 likes. BUT – my family/friends think I’m hilarious. Strangers haven’t figured that out yet. Trust me, though, I’m HILARIOUS!)

4. April I moved out on my own. My own house. Paying bills myself. & I have decided it was probably by far the worse idea ever. Not living on my own. Living in this particular house. Right now, as I type this, my water is shut off because I have a leak in my bathtub & no one seems to be in a hurry to fix it. (I’m withholding rent until they fix it. They don’t know this yet. They’ll figure it out the first. They seem too busy to fix it. I’m too busy to pay it.) This is actually the THIRD leak I’ve had & I haven’t been there a year. My landlord’s husband done all of the plumbing. They should probably pay someone to do it for them. Because not only has he had to fix my plumbing but he had to fix it in EVERY house they own. I’m seriously thinking about moving into apartments in April when my lease is up. I’d hate to move out of a house into an apartment but at least they will fix it. I’ll miss living across the street from my brother, though.

5. I don’t believe I have a number 5. That seems to have summed up last year. Oh, other than the fact that we are still alive and I hope that no one done anything stupid. You know, for an example, run through your life savings. Buy a bunch of stuff you didn’t need just because you thought we wouldn’t be here anymore. Eat someone’s face because you thought you were a zombie. *rawr*

This year I’m hoping for a better year. I’m hoping for the best year of my life. Then next year I hope to have an even better year. I’m hoping that each year that passes just keeps getting better. Starting with this year of course. What do I hope happens? Just like every year I hope to get into shape. Mostly because I have the risk of dying young in my face. What do I mean? My great-grandmother died in her 60’s. My grandmother was in her 50’s. My mother was 40. I don’t have great odds. But I know that I can beat that if I lose weight. That’s common sense.

I hope to finish ‘Frost’. At least through the first stage of it. I haven’t reread any chapter yet. I get irritated at it and never finish. I have done that all my life. Right now, as I’ve said, I’m at Chapter 5 & I have been writing since the last week of November ’12. So keeping hope alive I hope to be done by July and then have the final draft by December. Possibly then will I be able to have it published. If not – at least then I can say that I have finally finished a full story. Start to finish. That is an accomplishment for myself since I’ve never done it. (I realized that the other night. I have never finished a story from start to finish & it bummed me to the core. I realize though, that I’m young and I have learning to do when it comes to writing. As I get older my writing will become better. But I also know that when it comes to publishing, an editor does a lot to ‘help’ the story a long. I don’t want to rely on that, though. I’d like someone to read my writing & say ‘oh it’s good the way it sits.’)

What kind of writer do I want to be? I want to have at least one person in my life tell me ‘your book touched me in ways a story never has’. I’ve said that before about books. Because it was true. I have read books in my life that still, to this day, awe me in ways I didn’t thinking writing could. No, Frost I can tell you now, will not be that story. One day though. Or one of the writers that someone reads the work of and turns it into a movie/television show because it was just that good.

So… know people who want to follow someone on their blog that rarely blogs because they don’t have internet at home & their phone is not good enough for blogging. Send them my way. Fine me on twitter – follow me there. I need a following… I guess I don’t ‘need’ a following. I’d like one. Trust me. I’m hilarious. I feel like I’m pimping myself out. @HightowerBarb I’d put my Facebook on here but I use that for family/friends & I’d never accept anything. I might have to make one for my blog or something. We’ll see.

Lima Beans Equal Love

(Another short story I wrote at work. Yes, I really am this weird.)

Lilly stood in the middle of a field and chewed on a leaf she found hanging from a large tree. Her mouth moved almost to the speed of sound. At least that is what she tells her friends in school when they are standing beside the dumpster eating lunch and chatting about the boys. Her friends always kid with her saying she’s very ‘boy crazy’ falling head over heels for every guy she meets. Her eyes lately have been set on Michael, a taller boy with bright green eyes that sparkled and danced when he laughed.

She met Michael during physical education in second period when she tripped herself in the volley ball net and went tumbling up bleachers. Her face was red as she told her it’s nothing to worry about, he’s done it too. Lilly felt a little better until she realized he was lying just to see her smile. Most girls, however, would love that; for her, it was an abomination. She always dreamed of being told the truth all the time not just when it seems like a good idea. So when she met Michael she thought he was going to be different. Her other half.

Lilly reached up into the tree and pulled down another leaf from the tree and began chewing. Her teeth loudly chomping on the leaf as it sways back and forth in her jaws. Leaning against the tree she heard whistling from the bottom of the hill she sat on. Glancing down she saw a beautiful unicorn galloping up the hill. Her heart rate sped as she realized that it was Michael that was galloping toward her. Lilly quickly fixed her hair as he got closer. Her giraffe body posed deliciously as she waited for him to get to the top.

Michael stopped, standing in front of her, holding a large white pail. He smiled his heart stopping teeth showing grin as Lilly forgot how to stand. Her knees began to wobble as she fell – hard – on the ground. Michael flew toward her dropping his pail on the ground, tiny lima beans landing everywhere around the two of them.

“Lima beans?” Lilly asked as Michael wrapped his arms around her.

“I remember you said you liked them more than leaves.” He embraced her tighter.

She smiled. “Oh, Michael, You’re so sweet.”

“I aim to please, Miss.”

Morty Pants : A Love Story

(I have been promising a short story for a while now. So Saturday night at work as I was supposed to be working I wrote a ‘story’. Around three o’clock in the morning I was bored out of my mind & began writing. This is what I came up with. I just want to stretch – this was three o’clock in the morning & I get very loopy. This isn’t what all my writing is like, I just thought this was cute & funny. Enjoy!)

Hello, I’m Short Mort wearing Morty Pants.

They are referred to “Morty pants’ because they are Mort’s pants.

You see… when bought there was a tag in the pocket.. “Dear Consumer.. Please take these Morty pants to Mort. Address (censored because of stalkers)”

So the dear, nice, awesome person who bought them dropped them off on Mort’s porch with a note “Dear ‘mort’, I bought these pants and they spoke to me. Scared me poopless. You keep them.”

Mort picked up the pants and dropped them as soon as they began to wiggle in her palms. As if being aired up by an air tank, they grew & grew until they were a full grown pair of pants. It’s pockets blinked.

Mort flew backwards skidding across the wooden floor slamming her head into the bottom of the leather couch. She stared at this pair of pants, now dancing across the porch, with her jaw on the floor. Every single piece of sanity was sucked out of her face and escaped into thin air.

She drooled.

The pants began to move toward her. A small gap between the bottom of the pants & the floor, as if someone was in them. They approached her slowly. Stalker-like. Mort’s eyes grew wide; fearful.

They stopped abruptly at her feet and dropped to the floor. Mort heard a small whisper and watched as the waist band moved up and down, “Mort. Put me on. You’ll love me.”

Mort thought about this for a moment but ended up undressing and slipping on the talking pants. They button themselves and squeezed her tightly. She gasped for air.

Just as they began to squeeze they released leaving Mort feeling comfortable and relaxed. The pockets blinked and a small whisper began to speak, “see Mort. Don’t you love me. You know you love me. LOVE ME MORT! LOVE ME!”

Mort shook her head. The pants seeming unsatisfied squeezed her again taking with it all of her breath. Mort felt a little disturbed at these pants.

The Morty Pants released her. The button flew off and slid to the ground. “Step out.” The pants were dominant in their request. Mort stepped out and to the side. The pants blew up slowly, turned its back to Mort and smoothly exited the room.

They stood on the porch looking out across the lawn. “Mort, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be together.”

“We can still be together.” Mort sadly replies. Tears growing slowly in her eyes staring at the pants.

The pants walked down the steps and into the grass. “No Mort, we cannot. You’ve hurt me. HURT ME! And now…” It’s small voice trailed off into the wind.

“Pants…. no!” Mort screamed dropping to her knees.

The pants stopped for just a minute. “Don’t act like this bothers you. You don’t love me, Mort.”

Mort stood and dusted off her knees. Tears sliding down her cheeks and blowing off into the wind. She extended her hand out in front of her toward the pants. “Come back…”

Morty Pants took a deep breath, it’s pockets blinking back lint, a small sniffle escaped it’s waistband.

A small breeze blew across Mort’s face. “Oh crap! It’s cold.” She turns quickly and runs back into her living room shutting the door behind her. She leaned her back against the door and flicked her shoes off. realizing she still didn’t have pants on, she rushed to her bedroom and slipped on a small pair of shorts.

She drags herself away from her bedroom with thoughts of sleep sounding like such a great idea. She shut the bedroom door behind her and leaned her back against it and sighed thinking of her lovely Morty pants.

“Oh how I love thee…” She said out loud to a large tree sitting in front of her. She blinks rapidly. “Wait.. a tree?”

Mort stood there staring at this tree that looked like it literally grew through the floor, but never broke the floor as its roots penetrated the ground.

She walked around in circles looking up and down the trees trunk. She blinked. The tree was gone.

She blinked her eyes again. Morty Pants stood in front of her. She squealed. She blinked again. Gone. She pouted feeling confused she blinked again.

Morty Pants showed themselves again. This time she held her eyes open. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You know how to keep me here. For good.” Morty Pants sounded cryptic.

“How? Oh, please Morty Pants tell me!” She pleaded.

“Just admit you love me.” The pocket eyes blinked.

“Oh Morty Pants… I do love you.” She jumped toward the pants and hugged them. Quickly removed her shorts and slipped herself inside of Morty Pants. The button fastened and hugged around her hips.

Chapter Three : Updated.

One night at home I sat quietly by myself as I stared blankly at my computer screen. A page and a half covered in words that may or may not be something worth something. I placed my hands gently onto the keys and stopped thinking so much about what I was writing and how much and just let my fingers type. The idea that maybe I was over thinking what I wanted to say came to mind a lot.

Seven pages later I finished chapter three. Yeah. Seven pages doesn’t sound too good, especially for readers, but I can always go back and add more. Do more later. All I want to achieve right now is finishing the story.

Now I am slowly working on chapter four. The plan I had for the story isn’t going correctly and now I have to rethink what I want to put in chapter four. I’ll figure it out eventually. I usually do. Then I’ll have to find the words that are correct. :)

I should have a short story posted soon. For anyone who wants to see how I write. Maybe that will make someone out there excited about the finishing of my book and possibility of publishing it besides me – of course.

That is what I made my New Years Resolution. I would like to finish “Frost” & finally finish “The Letters” (even if it comes out to be a long short story. But I want to finish it. It’ll probably never be published, since it’s not an actual ‘novel’, but I want to be done with it. Once and for all.)

What about…

I was sitting here thinking about writing. But the question is “what do I want to write about?” I thought about writing about a book that I love. But then I thought well, it’s been a long time since I have read it, would it mean as much? Mind you, I talk like I’m in my eighties & I’m not. But it has been a long time since I’ve personally read a few of my favorites.

I thought about writing about Blood & Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause. Then I thought about writing about The Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause. Then I thought about writing about 50 Shades of Grey by E. L. James.

Here are my thoughts on my I haven’t. Both novels by Annette Curtis Klause I read in high school. I know I”m only 25 but I am a high school drop out who dropped out at 16. It’s been awhile since I have read them. I didn’t think I could write about it.

EVERYBODY writes about The 50 Shades of Grey. & when I say EVERYBODY I literally mean everyone. Every time I click on the internet someone is writing about it. Mind you… I do love those books & I have read them multiple times. But there are books I’d rather read over & over than them. For an example: Gabriel’s Inferno & Gabriel’s Rapture by Sylvian Reynard. But, I’ve already wrote about those books.

I don’t know. I should probably just get off of the internet and work on chapter three. Or go hide in a corner & pick my nose. I will say this much. If you’ve never read Blood & Chocolate or The Silver Kiss, read them. One is about werewolves & the other is a vampire. They really are great books. & if you haven’t read 50 Shades of Grey; seriously?

Off to find a dark corner.

Chapter Three.

I have made a decision. What is this decision? Chapter three will be the DEATH of me!

I wonder if all authors go through this. Is author a proper word to describe me? Eh. Probably not. I’m still going to use it. Live. With. It.

I have been trying to write chapter three for nearly three weeks & I have gotten no where. I am up to a page and a half, when after twelve hours of writing the previous chapters, I’m done. As soon as I begin to tackle chapter three, even if I have notes & the knowledge that I need for the chapter, I cannot write it. Three is the chapter I always seem to stop writing. I’ll put the story aside & tell myself I’ll go back to that later. I just need a break. Three hundred years later, it’s still collecting dust in the corner of my bedroom because I haven’t picked it up.

When I was still in college, English Composition 2, I wrote a short story. (I italicize ‘short story’ because a lost of people couldn’t consider it a short story because it was over twenty chapters, as we speak.) I have been working off & on with that story for the last few years attempting to finish it. I’ve been working hard on getting it to the point that I like it. There were a few, when it was still a short story, that liked it. As I have looked at it the last few years with a large clip on the top I feel like there should be more to it. So I have been adding and taking away. But I think – ~~THINK~~ – think I am going to take it back down to a short story and be done with it. Just end it. And be done with it. But who actually still reads short stories? What exactly is a short story?

When I was nineteen I began writing something called Ctrl. Alt. Delete. Third chapter – stumped me. I never finished it. That work is still in a shed at a house that we own in a whole different town.

Frost. The work I’m attempting to write right now. Chapter three. A page and a half. I know the details & I know what I want to happen. But putting the words on the paper is beginning to give me a hernia. Is that even possible?

I write the best at work. That’s where I wrote chapters one & two. I tried all weekend to write chapter three & nothing. A few words. But nothing worth keeping.

I still keep wondering if I am able to do this or not. Writing, that is.

Daily Prompt : Live to Eat

Today’s Daily Prompt is called Live to Eat. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to write this, but I will give it a shot.

“Some people eat to live, while others live to eat. What about you? How far would you travel for the best meal of your life?“

I remember a time where I could actually answer this question that I live to eat. That every moment of the day I was wondering what I would eat next. That everything in my life revolved around food. I remember, when I lived in Marietta the first time, I sat in the kitchen in front of the ice box and anything I could reach I ate. I didn’t chew it. Just shoveled it into my face and swallowed.

Food is one of my issues, always has been.

I used to call myself an emotional eater, but it began getting farther away than that. Emotional eaters eat when they are sad, mad, extremely happy. I didn’t have to be sad. Mad. I did it because it was there and I didn’t have anything else to do. Is boredom eater such a thing? Or is that still emotional eater?

As the years pass I have slowly come up from the depths of issue eating. I still have my issues, and I think I always will. I do find myself, even to this day, thinking about food constantly. It’s not that I want to, but it’s something I cannot get a grasp on. I know it’s possible. I know a person can go from this state to knowing better and doing better. I’m just not sure how long it’s going to take me to do it.

Sadly, the only way I can find that I can get over this is to have no food in my house and only buy it for the moments that I need to eat. But is that honestly anybody than having the issue to begin with?

I will one day get passed it. Find a way that I am not always fighting with food. Finally be able to put the guns away and use a fork and knife instead. One day I’ll be able to look at food and it not look like a three headed devil beast drooling out of the mouth. Until then I’ll find a way not to die from a heart attack. I’ll find a way to look at food and not wonder to myself “is this going to fill me up?” and know for sure it will fill me up.

How far would I go to get the best meal of my life? I’m not sure if I would. I have some really good food in my 25 years of living. Although, I’d love to go have pasta in Italy, or a Philly cheese steak from Philly. Other than that? Probably as far as my kitchen because I’m one hell of a cook. There lies another issue with food I have. I’m a good cook so as I’m cooking it I’m eating it. Then, I eat again. Maybe I should start cooking horribly. That might fix my issue all together.