Tag: Frost

Do Dreams Come True?

I wonder how many people actually say their dreams did, in fact, come true. I have a dream. Other than finishing the book that I really need to finish but I’m too lazy to actually do it… I want to own && operate a food truck.

I have two loves in my life. Writing, of course, && cooking, which I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned a few times. I also do believe I said my dream job would be a food writer. Combine the best of both worlds. Travel all over the globe while trying different foods, cooked by different people and just write about it.

But I’m trying not to span too far into the atmosphere. But as I sit here and write this I find myself wondering is wanting to own, run && operate a food truck too far out the scope of reality for me? I get it. It takes money && a lot of it. I can save; I know how to do that. But lets say I did save the money, would I actually ever get to the point where I can do it before I die?

I think that’s half of my issue. A part of me is scared that I won’t see the part of my life where most people do find && achieve their dreams. Sometimes, it takes people into their 40’s & 50’s to actually get it. So I wonder – do I have that long to keep hoping that maybe I can get what I truly desire out of life.

Lately I haven’t felt well. I mean, I don’t feel like I’m knocking at deaths door, I just haven’t felt well. I have been sluggish, and still depressed. Angry, and annoyed. My medicine makes it where I don’t have an appetite so I’m not hungry half of the time. They’ve put me on insulin which I’m pretty sure is half of the depression. I thought I was moving forward, day by day, but I feel sometimes that them putting me on insulin is back tracking. But in reality, I’m pretty sure it’s not.

So that’s me. I’m scared, worried, and freaking out that I don’t have time to do what I want with my life. I want to leave a mark on the world. I want people in the future when I’m no longer here talking about something I achieved. Something I did. Something that makes people remember me. Will it be in the food world, writing world, or both worlds?

Do I think I’m going to write the next literary masterpiece? No, I don’t.
Do I think I’m going to open a food truck that eventually turns into a million dollar business that has restaurants in different countries? No, I do not.
I am realistic.
But at the same time, I don’t feel like I’m achieving anything && I know part of that is because I’m not trying to achieve anything.

I was talking about my food truck dream at work the other night && someone said it’ll never happen while the others either didn’t say anything or said food trucks make bank && if I apply myself I can achieve it. But… where do I apply myself at? I told Boyfriend that I’m working on it && my first step is that I ordered a credit card reader that goes into your phones charging port. It’s something silly and small, but at the same time I feel like I’m heading into the right direction.

What I need is a million people to give me one dollar. That’s it. Spare one dollar for me. If anyone is interested please let me know && I’ll set up the account. In the mean time, I’ll either keep thinking about my dreams, dreaming about my dreams, or trying to crawl out of this round of depression.

Either way, I seem to be doing something, right?

&&& I was like, “whatever bitches”…

Angel reruns, a banana popsicle and making tator tot casserole for dinner made my brain rumble. Actually, no, what made my brain a rumble would be me reading Gabriel’s Inferno again – for like the, 1,000th time. (So many times a friend asked if my book was still together: which it is, by the way.)

What makes a writer a writer?

I have been asking this question to myself a lot lately. Not because I doubt what and who I feel – but because – am I allowed to call myself a writer? Are you only considered a writer if you have published a book? If so, are actors who write autobiography’s writers? Are chefs who have twenty cook BOOKS, writers? But can you consider a person who is always thinking about writing, but doesn’t write daily; who stares at blank word documents and sighs because they words won’t flow out of her fingertips? Someone who can read book after book and get so many ideas for a novel, but cannot seem to get passed the first sentence to make anything happen? How about the girl who has actually written a novel, but can’t seem to finish editing out the crap parts without dousing it in gasoline and lighting it on fire?

Am I considered a writer or am I a wanna-be writer who dreams of it, but won’t let herself have it because she can’t center her brain enough to do it? But in the same sense, how can I consider myself a writer but not the girl next to me who writes poetry in her basement wearing all black with candles lit and Nightwish playing in the background? What makes me a writer and not her? Are we both considered writers?

I feel like a fraud at times. I’m probably just overthinking things – like usual – but how can I be something if I won’t allow myself to be it? I feel like a fraud because I only think about doing something. I did it, once, but now I’m stuck and afraid. I’m afraid because what if my story that I wrote is as bad as I feel? I mean, it cannot be too good if I can’t bring myself to read it to edit it – can I? &&& I don’t want to ask someone else to edit it, right now, because I know how bad it is.

I bought a indie writers book – she self-published &&& one of the authors I enjoy reading was promoting it. So I bought it, why not? It was only 1$. As I was sitting at work reading it on my Kindle all I saw were errors. Spelling errors. Sentence errors. Run ons, and paragraphs that made no sense. I even read through a part that sounded like the character in the book was a pedophile. I eventually stopped reading it because it went on && on &&& on &&&& on about absolutely nothing. At one point I couldn’t figure out what was happening. That’s what I fear. &&& I know for a fact that a part of my story is exactly that. It’s rambles. It’s nothing. It’s pure crap.

When I started writing Frost, I read how long people think romance novels should be and I went with that. So instead of going for content I wrote for numbers. Page numbers. Word numbers. I was trying to reach 100,000 words without realizing just how much garble I had. So now, when I edit it, I’m trying to take out the garble and leave the story. The content. The thing that will bring readers back. But when I sit to edit the garble I get sad because of how much there really is.

I swear I have a chapter where one of the characters is making dinner. I wrote paragraph after paragraph him making dinner and their thoughts and their crap. It LITERALLY has no place in the story. No one cares that the character likes spaghetti or that they know how to make it. I could have simply wrote “before she arrived he busied himself in the kitchen, making the only dish he really knows: spaghetti.” But no, I wrote how he put the water in the pot and salted the water, and how he boiled the noodles to perfection and made the sauce and poured the wine and she watched. The other character just watched him do it without them ever saying a single word to each other. Instead I could have wrote “he pulled out her chair and poured a glass of wine, living in a small town he doesn’t know much about fine wines, but the lady at the store recommended this one. She took a drink and smiled, showing her affection for the wine choice. She has never been a fan, but knowing that he picked and offered it, today – she loves wine.” I went on to say how he made the plates, put down the spoon and fork, sat in front of her, and then went on to talk about how they ate it. HOW THEY ATE IT! When I could have said “he was no chef, but when it came to spaghetti, he felt it. He gently sat a plate down in front of her. ‘Do you want some cheese?’ Her nerves collided with her brain, but nodded and smiled. He smiled, thinking it was cute every time she blushed, and grated some parmesan on top. Not a lot, but enough to top it right off. She looked around the table at the spread and felt like a queen. It had been a long time since she was offered so much and was allowed to sit at the table and enjoy it with someone. He is going to spoil her, was the only thing she was thinking.”

But here I am. My story isn’t written like that. Maybe I should stop complaining. Complaining doesn’t get me anywhere or do anyone any good. It doesn’t get the story edited or completed. It doesn’t help me in publishing it or allowing someone to read it. What I NEED to do is just get back to it – open the story back up and finish it.

But how do I get passed my irritation I have with the story to actually finish it? I still love the idea, the concept, but a part of me doesn’t like the characters. That’s the problem – I think – I don’t like the characters I built &&& that’s something a writer must do. When I read interviews or listen to authors talk – the one thing they all say, “I love the characters and I loved watched them grow and build into something great!” I have changed and rearranged and renamed and rebuilt my characters so many times – that I am just fed up with them and all they are about. I keep thinking about things I have to have in my story and I keep screwing it all up. I don’t NEED a gay character. I don’t NEED a suicide attempt. I don’t NEED guys being animals. I don’t NEED girls being damsels. I don’t need half of what is in it, but I Have it, because a part of me thought it had to have everything in one. If I put everything into one story then I will have nothing left for my other twenty novels I want people to read.

&&&& who said I had to have 300 pages? If I don’t make it to 300 pages, that’s fine – that just means it’s a shorter book. But of course, I wanted words and length so I wrote and wrote until I had such and such amount of crap and garble that now I have to… you know.

&&& now I’m sorry for the rambling but I think I’m just mad at myself. In 2012, when I began this story, I really believed all of this. Now, the 2019 me is trying to fix the crap that 2012 me wrote. It’s aggravating…

Just let me mope…

I have spend years trying to think of that one thing in life that brings me joy. I narrowed it down to writing and cooking – writing first, cooking second. It’s how it has been for the last few years. You know, it’s not like I don’t talk about it enough.

But lately – neither of them give me thrills like they use to. I don’t feel like cooking and when I do cook I’m grump, and uncomfortable. I haven’t made anything new or interesting – it’s basically what’s quick and easy. Writing has been worse. When I sit and try to write I barely get anything wrote. In fact, this is the longest thing I have written in months. I can’t edit Frost, and I can’t seem to write anything new.

I thought maybe I had a writing slump – sometimes that happens. Then I thought I had a cooking slump. I’m afraid, however, that I am in a life slump. I just don’t have the oomph to do anything and it shows. Lately, I don’t even want to go to work. Give me short term and just let me mope about at home. &&& what makes it worse, I have no idea what’s wrong.

The last time I felt like this my brother ended up shipping me off to Texas to stay with my grandfather for months. &&& now we can’t. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t do anything. I’m just blah and have to keep trudging forward. I just wish I’d stop taking it out on the boyfriend before he gets sick of it. Although, I did tell him beforehand, that I get moody for no reasons && usually can’t figure out how to fix it.

I need a vacation. Doesn’t everyone, right? Or maybe just a harmonica and I can play the blues. Does that actually fix anything? Probably not…

I should be asleep…

I was laying in bed messing around on my phone and came across the app for this site and I realized it has been quite awhile since I last wrote – so I thought I would write a little something. I’m not sure how this will end up or what I’ll talk about.

But something…

I want to say that I haven’t been writing because my life has been busy and hectic and I honestly didn’t have any time to write. But that would be a lie. I wish I could tell you that I have had my nose deep in writing and that I am near completion of the book I’ve been writing since 2012 (Frost is the title, don’t forget – one day.) But that would be a lie. If only I could tell you that I have this wonderful new job and I have been wanting to work hard and be helpful to everyone around. But that would be a lie.

Truth is – I have writers block so bad that I can’t unscramble my thoughts. Boyfriend && I have decided to buy a house (thoughts are glued to that so bad that I have actually forgotten to pay bills.) I don’t work any more or less than I have in the past eight years. So basically, my lack of writing is pure laziness on my part.

So, with that in mind, I opened the laptop today to at least write a small something or another.

I have been thinking about starting a YouTube channel. I have actually been thinking about that since 2015, but I chicken out. No, I wouldn’t say chicken out – it’s more about how I would come across to people whether they are in my life or complete strangers. I could never come up with a topic – YouTube channels have ‘topics’. Most of them are gaming, make-up, or tutorials. So I broke it down – I am not a gamer. I can not even do my own make up, let alone try to teach people to do it and I have no talent to explain how to do something to strangers. So that’s where I was at until earlier this year. Well, a few months ago, to be exact.

I find myself just messing around on Facebook a lot, not really doing anything, just looking. One night while Boyfriend played PUBg, I was watching videos on there and came across Mukbang’s. (Before you think, oh no, not another one)… I do not plan on starting a Mukbang channel. But what I did realize is that my love of food could be a channel – but for cooking. So that’s there – I don’t know if I’ll ever actually do it – I’m not sure if I have the face for videos.

It’ll probably never happen – It is probably a very stupid idea.

>subject change<

On the buying of house, that you’re probably wondering why I’m not talking about more – it’s… still in work of progress. I’ll talk about that more at a later date, but it’ll happen.

>subject change<

“Frost”.. isn’t any closer to be finished, but it’s there – always on my mind. Stalking my mind like a crazy man wanting a date. I have faith that one day I’ll finish it. I was hoping it would be by the end of this year (yes, I know, the year isn’t even half over… oh wait, this is the sixth month – so it’s half way over. But yes, I know I still have six months before the year is over; I’m just basically getting prepared for the inevitable.)

So yeah, that’s where I’m at – not on top, not on bottom. Just somewhere floating around in the middle. But it’s after two in the morning and I should be sleeping… Hopefully I can write more and stuff and other stuff and more stuff and less stuff and crooked stuff and side ways stuff and stuff filled with more stuff covered in stuff.

Until that stuff happens…

Once in a dream…

When I was younger I had a dream. It seems silly to me now, but as a child, it’s what I aspired to. I dreamed about what it would be like to stand in front of a crowd, chanting my name, holding lighters up wanting more.

I wanted to be a rock star!

I didn’t want to do it for the money or even the fame. If I wanted that, my choice would have been to be an actor – I just wanted to sing – to be on a stage.

That’s half the reason I chose to be in band – the other half, because I love music. Being in band (I played clarinet) gave me the opportunity to be on a stage multiple times a year. But it wasn’t enough, so in middle school I signed up for the talent show. First year I sang a Britney Spears song, yes, seriously, I was in middle school in the early 2000’s. The second time I sang an ‘Nsync song. (It may be the other way around – I’ve slept a lot since then.)

I may have lost both years but it was by far the best moments of my life. (That’s sad, right?) I probably would have kept entering it but thanks to a group of guys and their screamo, they stopped holding it. They eventually started again, but it was after I dropped out. (That’s for another day.)

As I have gotten older the feeling has calmed however the feeling still appears. My job has an event center which of course has a large stage. Sometimes we’ll have classes and I’ll space out staring at the stage – daydreaming.

The feeling has exploded but not exactly for the stage. I may still get that fuzzy feeling for the stage, but now I get that feeling for the printed word.

I was told once, “If you’re meant to do something you’ll always be thinking about it. When you go to sleep, wake up, and in between.” When I was younger it was singing, performing; anything dealing with the stage – that I thought about all the time. As I’ve aged my thoughts have changed and it’s always thinking about writing.

When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about it. That’s, I think, why I get so frustrated when I get “writers block”. It’s also why I get so angry at myself when I think about ‘Frost’.

I know I question whether I’m supposed to be a writer or not a lot, but it’s not because I don’t want to, but rather – shouldn’t it be easier? Is it normal for someone to take over six years to write a book? I mean, technically, I ‘finished’ it back in 2015. Since then I Have been attempting to edit it – all I seem to do is change things. I basically rewrite it, become aggravated, stop writing for months just to pick it back up – starting over at chapter one, to begin rewriting it again. I swear I have rewrote ‘Frost’ at least thirty times.

I’m never happy with it. I even know that I’ll always be my biggest critic – so why do I do this to myself?

I have this plan! My plan! A great plan! Since I am my biggest critic, and I will probably never like my writing, I decided that after it’s finished – COMPLETELY – I would offer three people the chance to read it and tell me what they think. People I know won’t sugar coat it, or lie because they don’t want to hurt my feelings. I know it’ll be rough, most first books are – I am not going to be the next Jane Austen (I find her work hard to read). I just want to find my voice, my way – be the best Barbara Hightower I can. That’s all I can achieve. I can’t try to be another writer – just me. Because I know, if I am not, I’ll always be disappointed in myself and that’ll be a crappy life.

But first – I must finish ‘Frost’ – which I say a lot. For most, that’s a simple request, but for me – Queen of Procrastination – not so much.

I figured I would end this with a poem –

Silence! I scream loud!
A void, I feel deep, expands,
Forming frustration.

Until next time!
Peace. Love. && Fried Chicken.

PROOF! That I am in fact, editing Frost. Was able to get two chapters done yesterday.


Goodbye 2018 : Hello 2019

2018 – was horrible.

I’ve noticed a lot of people seem to agree with me on how horrible last year was. I honestly cannot think of anything good that happened – just bad. Buried my grandfather && a close cousin. I watched as the days passed showing me nothing but grey skies and sadness.

But as I sit here, January 2, 2019, I am hoping for a better year. I would say it couldn’t get any worse, but that’s not true. It could get 10x worse, but I refuse to allow that. Hopefully.

2018 I made one resolution. One I honestly thought I could fulfill. I did not – so I am keeping it for this year too: finish Frost. Completely.

But for 2019, I am adding a new one: to get healthy. To be a better me. What it will take? Only time will tell.

For now, my top goal is my book. It may never be published through a big company, and be found on every bookshelf worldwide, but at least I can say that I finished it. Wrote it. Something that I have wanted to do since I began.

So, that’s where I sit. 2018 was crap. 2019 HAS to be better. 2018 I accomplished nothing. 2019 I HAVE to accomplish something. 2018 was not my favorite year. 2019 shall be the first of great many years to come. 2018 was not my worse years (that would be 2003 && 2011.) But it is up there. 2019 – please be better.

Been a while…

I hope everyone is still hanging around especially since it’s been a while since I’ve wrote anything.  Whether it’s been a blog or just writing in general.  Sometimes I get in slumps and cannot get anything to flow out of my fingertips.  (At least that’s the excuse I’m giving as to why I haven’t been writing on Frost.  The blog excuse is different…)

A few months ago we adopted two cats, a white one named Milo && a black one named Chang.  (We lost Chang on Sunday &&& I miss him terribly.)   The Boyfriend and I left for work and apparently the cats got extremely upset and went crazy in our bedroom knocking over a glass of water I had sat on my side table.  The end result?  Well, I just bought a new laptop, if that can give you any indication where the water landed &&& what it destroyed.  Yeah.  I had to wait until I had the money to replace the laptop.

o&&&& I would just like to say that I never realized how much I depended on my laptop when it came to writing.  I bought it, got it home, opened the box and sat it up then I just sat there staring at it.  My first thought?  “What am I to do now?”  I mentioned my thoughts on Facebook &&& everyone basically said the same thing, “You could write now?”  

&&& they are right, I could write.  I could write all kinds of things.  But the part of my brain that has control over my writing is dead.  Actually, no, it’s not dead – it just has so many ideas that I can’t keep up with it.  Then there is Frost.

Oh Frost.  Remember when I said that Frost was finished.  The first draft, that is.  It is, I didn’t lie.  However, every time I sit down to edit the story I always seem to change things.  Then I stop working on it for a while and when I pick it back up, I change things again.  I can’t stop myself!  IT’s like a bad habit.  Almost like my own little drug.  

My drug of choice?  Changing my story over &&& over again.  If only they had a meeting for that.  Or an app.  Maybe an app that would zap my fingers every time I thought of a new way to change it.  (((I’ve also changed my characters names at least eight times since I started writing it back in November 2012.)))

How long does it take before people stop believing you about writing a book?  I started this story in 2012, can still remember what I was doing, what I felt like and the fact I sat on my bed (didn’t have a desk) for six hours straight writing. I feel like I’m doing something wrong, most people finish books within a year, and here I am six years later.

I don’t know. 

Off thought, I think I may like this new editing screen.  I’m not sure how long it’s been different, but this… I like.

Maybe…

…I’m not well read enough.

The one thing all authors tell you when you ask about writing books is to read.  &&& read often.  Other than of course writing.  &&& writing often.

I find myself jotting down sentences to paragraphs all the time.  I have a notebook that I keep in my bag (work bag) that has writing all over it.  A sentence, or paragraph, words or names, or even ideas for a story.  Some of it is something I read in books, or something I thought of while sleeping.  I keep notebooks beside my bed, and in my purse.  There are some in my car, and in my dresser.  &&&& to make sure I write at least once a month I am still contributing to a work newsletter where I put a few pages and write on a story for months.  I just finished on, The Cure (which the last part will be uploaded here soon.)  I’m about to start another once I figure out what I want to happen in it.

But what I have been lacking a lot of lately is reading.  I got into a slump a while back and just never finished books that I started or even series.  I told myself this year, 2018, I want to read at least 50 books.  That’s approximately four-ish books a month.  I’m sadly not on part with that, but I’ll get there.  I hope.  I am keeping up with my totals on Goodreads so I know how many I read and how many more I have to go.

As of today, February 8, 2018, I have read two and never finished another.  It tally’s the book I never finished because I left a review for it so according to it I have read three.  I have been wanting to read a series that has been out for about a year, I am reading the first one right now, but I don’t have the other two and cannot find reason to purchase them when I have at least fifty books at home, right now, that I Haven’t read.

But that’s my goal.  That’s my thing this year.  I plan to read this year and hopefully it can help me with my writing.  I also plan to continue wiring for the work thing and hopefully soon I can pick back up Frost (which I think I’ve decided to rewrite it, yes, again.)

So I’ll keep that up and keep this updated on how my progress is going.  But one thing is for sure – I need to get to reading.  Because I still have 48 books to go which is approximately 4 books a month (still) leaving me with 8 more to go.  Yup!  I’m behind.  I sadly don’t want to finish “The Raven” by Sylvain Reynard because I have read all of the other books I own by him and I don’t have “The Shadow” or “The Roman”.

But that’s okay.  I have a few others laying around on book shelves that I need to finish.  The Crossfire Series by Sylvia Day and a few by Christina Lauren.

I’m rambling now.
Closing now.
Have a good evening.
I’ll talk soon.

Last minute thought.  I am also putting in a goal to write in this more often.  If I cannot seem to write stories I can at least write in this blog daily.  Most days.  Maybe not everyday.  I don’t have that much going on in my life.  But a couple times a week.  More than once every three months.