I really don't know.
Just sort of musing out loud here. Nothing really meant to inspire. Although that'd be my luck to have it be the one post I never intend for anyone to read is the one that actually gets me some attention on this blog.
When I started this blog I did it just to be...loud. I don't know.I think I thought I would be lucky and lots of people would read it and I'd be one of those people that someone would go, "Wow! That's so cool! I want to do something like that!" Instead, I'm off in some dusty corner of the internet where I'm fairly certain no one reads anything.
My page views are practically in the negatives. I have one follower and she doesn't use her blog anymore. Ever.
So then why do I still try? Why don't I just delete this blog? Why do I keep updating? What am I hoping to accomplish? The answers to all of these are simply this: I have no idea.
I think I keep hoping for something miraculous to happen and I'll be noticed. Sadly though, it appears as though I tend to fade into the background everywhere I go. Whether reality, story, or even on the internet. I'm someone that seems to get forgotten.I get dusted into a corner and I'm that one pile of dust that you forget after a whole day of cleaning. It isn't till three months later that you realize you've got this pile in the corner and you're frustrated it's still there. But you ultimately do nothing about it.
This isn't meant to be anything like I'm seeking attention. Then again, everyone says that. I just wanted to think aloud. And the best way I do that at all hours is to write. My journal is packed into a box for Easter break and I have no desire to unpack everything just to find one small book only to put it all back again. That and...I can't remember which box it's in. So yeah, here I am, musing on the lost corner of the internet.
Anyway. I think I keep writing on this because I'm hopeful. I don't really know what for exactly. It might be the hope that when I'm published one day maybe my fans will find this blog and actually enjoy what's here. Or maybe it'll be like everything else. I'll just stay here. A dormant candle, flickering forever but never bursting forth like the fireworks.
And for some reason, this tiny candle aspires to be a firework. But I'm not even a trick candle. I just sit there and burn steadily. I can't do anything else. My skills are too limited. So how does something with no skills to become a firework turn into one?
*Shrugs* I dunno. This is life. It's an adventure and no one said it would be easy. So I guess I'll just keep doing what I can and keep trying. In theory one day all the attempts will amount to something actually reaching fulfillment.
Currently Writing: Unseen
Currently Reading: On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner
Currently Listening to: "Rainbow Connection" by The Muppets
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Running Forward
It's hard to believe, but a month ago I started writing my fourth book. Today, a mere 29 days later, I'm over halfway done with my fourth book.
Sometimes I wonder what's going on.
So, I'm in my senior seminar class which is basically as simple as come in, sit down and write for two hours. It's the easiest class ever. Anyway, so my professor and I keep exchanging emails about my progress and when I finished my goal 1 1/2 months into the semester, he was kinda like, "Um, okay?" Then I met with him and told him that I was gonna start on my fourth book while I waited for feedback on the novella I wrote.
Still waiting for feedback, I keep plugging away at my fourth book. And whenever I see my prof, he's constantly asking about how the writing's going. His responses to my updates are usually shakes of his head followed by comments like, "Your word production borders on phenomenal," and "You must type as fast as your fingers will allow you," and "Some day I'm just going to sit and watch you during class. You must be a word machine!"
These comments, sporadic in their nature and random in their wordage, give me encouragement. If a professor at my college, one who primarily excels in poetry, is surprised and enthusiastic about me as a writer, perhaps I'm not so far off. I think most writers agonize over whether they can actually do what they want to do. Writing seems like such a daunting task and finding someone to support you in a genuine nature seems near impossible.
And somehow I've been blessed enough to have not only friends and family members that encourage me in my writing, but now a professor of writing as well. How lucky am I? Far luckier than I realize on most days. Most days I forget how fortunate I am to live where I do, attend school where I do, have the friends and family that I have, and have a creativity that I suppose some people are envious of. I always think that my creativity is bland and nonsensical. I tend to look at myself in a rather 'ho-hum' kind of light.
However when I talk to other writers or classmates and tell them what I do in my free time, I get shocked reactions. About a month ago I was in one of the school's print centers, bunkered down for at least a half hour of printing, as I gathered multiple copies of my novella and the rewrite of my first book. I had been there nearly twenty-five minutes when another student I didn't know walked in. We exchanged the usual social pleasantries that people tend to offer around Houghton (you know, when we all act like we've already been friends even though we only just met one another).
Anyway, I was nearly done with my printing as he turned me to and asked with a tone of jocularity, "What're you printing over there? A book?"
When I told him yes his eyes nearly bugged out of his face.
It's reactions like that that make me wonder if perhaps this is cool. Perhaps I am allowed to be excited about what I'm doing because, well, let's face it, I'm writing books. I'm taking pictures in my head and making a story out of it. Granted not on my own. Heavens no. My gift is from God and that's the long and short of it. Goodness knows my limited creativity couldn't produce half the stuff I've come up with. I think it's only through God's grace that I've been given this opportunity to do something that I think is extraordinary.
Granted, to a world-view, writing a book is minuscule. I'm not curing cancer or world hunger or stopping heinous crimes. I'm sitting on my bum, smashing my fingers against a keyboard in an almost robotic like fashion (my friends tend to stop what they're doing and look at my fingers as I type. Apparently it's interesting to watch them fly along). I'm not doing anything grand or amazing. At least not on a major scale. However...
I like to think that what I'm doing is pretty cool.
But, that might just be me.
Currently Reading: On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner
Currently Writing: Unseen
Currently Listening to: "Sticks and Stones" By Sigur Ros
Sometimes I wonder what's going on.
So, I'm in my senior seminar class which is basically as simple as come in, sit down and write for two hours. It's the easiest class ever. Anyway, so my professor and I keep exchanging emails about my progress and when I finished my goal 1 1/2 months into the semester, he was kinda like, "Um, okay?" Then I met with him and told him that I was gonna start on my fourth book while I waited for feedback on the novella I wrote.
Still waiting for feedback, I keep plugging away at my fourth book. And whenever I see my prof, he's constantly asking about how the writing's going. His responses to my updates are usually shakes of his head followed by comments like, "Your word production borders on phenomenal," and "You must type as fast as your fingers will allow you," and "Some day I'm just going to sit and watch you during class. You must be a word machine!"
These comments, sporadic in their nature and random in their wordage, give me encouragement. If a professor at my college, one who primarily excels in poetry, is surprised and enthusiastic about me as a writer, perhaps I'm not so far off. I think most writers agonize over whether they can actually do what they want to do. Writing seems like such a daunting task and finding someone to support you in a genuine nature seems near impossible.
And somehow I've been blessed enough to have not only friends and family members that encourage me in my writing, but now a professor of writing as well. How lucky am I? Far luckier than I realize on most days. Most days I forget how fortunate I am to live where I do, attend school where I do, have the friends and family that I have, and have a creativity that I suppose some people are envious of. I always think that my creativity is bland and nonsensical. I tend to look at myself in a rather 'ho-hum' kind of light.
However when I talk to other writers or classmates and tell them what I do in my free time, I get shocked reactions. About a month ago I was in one of the school's print centers, bunkered down for at least a half hour of printing, as I gathered multiple copies of my novella and the rewrite of my first book. I had been there nearly twenty-five minutes when another student I didn't know walked in. We exchanged the usual social pleasantries that people tend to offer around Houghton (you know, when we all act like we've already been friends even though we only just met one another).
Anyway, I was nearly done with my printing as he turned me to and asked with a tone of jocularity, "What're you printing over there? A book?"
When I told him yes his eyes nearly bugged out of his face.
It's reactions like that that make me wonder if perhaps this is cool. Perhaps I am allowed to be excited about what I'm doing because, well, let's face it, I'm writing books. I'm taking pictures in my head and making a story out of it. Granted not on my own. Heavens no. My gift is from God and that's the long and short of it. Goodness knows my limited creativity couldn't produce half the stuff I've come up with. I think it's only through God's grace that I've been given this opportunity to do something that I think is extraordinary.
Granted, to a world-view, writing a book is minuscule. I'm not curing cancer or world hunger or stopping heinous crimes. I'm sitting on my bum, smashing my fingers against a keyboard in an almost robotic like fashion (my friends tend to stop what they're doing and look at my fingers as I type. Apparently it's interesting to watch them fly along). I'm not doing anything grand or amazing. At least not on a major scale. However...
I like to think that what I'm doing is pretty cool.
But, that might just be me.
Currently Reading: On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner
Currently Writing: Unseen
Currently Listening to: "Sticks and Stones" By Sigur Ros
Monday, March 26, 2012
Battle Writing, Part II
So I'm onto the major battle of my fourth book (woohoo!). Once again, I find myself having made my life difficult. Sometimes I wonder if I've done all of this solely because I want to make myself work harder than might be necessary. Then at other times I assume that I'm actually smart and this is merely something random that happens along the way.
Anyway, so I'm working on, really, the only battle of the fourth book. It might be only one battle, but it'll encompass at least four chapters (possibly more upon revision). So I'm writing it and I'm discovering things along the way, which I'm always open to. Especially because my ability to understand the time of events has always been so clumped that pretty well everything from book 2 on I just said, "And then stuff happens!" So I'm glad for the chance to actually get it all figured out. Or at least, kind of figured out. But a part of me doesn't want to finish this battle.
Have you ever been afraid of the dark?
I mean, most kids are afraid of darkness at some point. Then one day we grow up and say, "Monsters aren't real," and get over our 'irrational' fear of the dark and nighttime. That's great. I'm not afraid of the dark to a degree. If I haven't seen a scary movie trailer or been dabbling in sin recently, then darkness is pretty much harmless to me.
Now how about the darkness within yourself?
I'm terrified of that. Absolutely terrified. I know once the battle is over, I'm going to have to delve into the darker sides of my brain to write the scenes necessary for the story. I know this is coming. I even have a playlist on my iPod all ready to go. I don't want to listen to the music though. I don't want to write those scenes. I don't want to get into my antagonist's head right now. Sometimes he's fun to write, but I know he won't be fun to write in these upcoming scenes.
For me, personally, he poses such a temptation to just say, "Well, I have to write it for the character," and easily can then find myself slipping into the temptation to sin. And my biggest stumbling block is my own mind. It's no one else's doing but my own when I stumble and fall into sin, because the biggest sins I struggle with are those dealing almost entirely with the mind.
Heh, and here I thought writing would be a good thing.
So I'm afraid of the darkness within my own being. The darkness within my own mind. But I know I need to get past that and get to the end of the book. I can't just sit back and say, "I'm not ready to do that yet," forever. Eventually I need to write it. At least, I need to if I ever want to finish this series. Which, naturally I do.
Such a strange conundrum this is. Maybe when I get to that point in the story, if I pray hard enough and be sincere enough, this won't be as detrimental to me as I fear it will be. At least, that's my hope.
For those who are interested, here's a picture of what all I have open on my computer for this battle scene:
Currently writing: Unseen
Currently Reading: On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner
Currently Listening to: "503" from the Angels and Demons soundtrack
Anyway, so I'm working on, really, the only battle of the fourth book. It might be only one battle, but it'll encompass at least four chapters (possibly more upon revision). So I'm writing it and I'm discovering things along the way, which I'm always open to. Especially because my ability to understand the time of events has always been so clumped that pretty well everything from book 2 on I just said, "And then stuff happens!" So I'm glad for the chance to actually get it all figured out. Or at least, kind of figured out. But a part of me doesn't want to finish this battle.
Have you ever been afraid of the dark?
I mean, most kids are afraid of darkness at some point. Then one day we grow up and say, "Monsters aren't real," and get over our 'irrational' fear of the dark and nighttime. That's great. I'm not afraid of the dark to a degree. If I haven't seen a scary movie trailer or been dabbling in sin recently, then darkness is pretty much harmless to me.
Now how about the darkness within yourself?
I'm terrified of that. Absolutely terrified. I know once the battle is over, I'm going to have to delve into the darker sides of my brain to write the scenes necessary for the story. I know this is coming. I even have a playlist on my iPod all ready to go. I don't want to listen to the music though. I don't want to write those scenes. I don't want to get into my antagonist's head right now. Sometimes he's fun to write, but I know he won't be fun to write in these upcoming scenes.
For me, personally, he poses such a temptation to just say, "Well, I have to write it for the character," and easily can then find myself slipping into the temptation to sin. And my biggest stumbling block is my own mind. It's no one else's doing but my own when I stumble and fall into sin, because the biggest sins I struggle with are those dealing almost entirely with the mind.
Heh, and here I thought writing would be a good thing.
So I'm afraid of the darkness within my own being. The darkness within my own mind. But I know I need to get past that and get to the end of the book. I can't just sit back and say, "I'm not ready to do that yet," forever. Eventually I need to write it. At least, I need to if I ever want to finish this series. Which, naturally I do.
Such a strange conundrum this is. Maybe when I get to that point in the story, if I pray hard enough and be sincere enough, this won't be as detrimental to me as I fear it will be. At least, that's my hope.
For those who are interested, here's a picture of what all I have open on my computer for this battle scene:
Currently Reading: On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner
Currently Listening to: "503" from the Angels and Demons soundtrack
Monday, March 12, 2012
Fighting Through the Rubble
Despite having my computer crash and having to use a loaner machine that's super irritating and having none of my documents readily available to me, I'm continuing on with writing my fourth book.
This will either be the death of me or it'll be wonderful and I'll get a lot done. Or, further still, it'll be something that God's trying to keep me from and I'll lose everything in one giant fell swoop. I'd like to think I listen better than that. But, as we all know, I'm far too prone to falling down.
So onward I trudge, hoping that the six chapters on my laptop will be preserved through the power of God and that only the motherboard crashed.
Let's do this.
This will either be the death of me or it'll be wonderful and I'll get a lot done. Or, further still, it'll be something that God's trying to keep me from and I'll lose everything in one giant fell swoop. I'd like to think I listen better than that. But, as we all know, I'm far too prone to falling down.
So onward I trudge, hoping that the six chapters on my laptop will be preserved through the power of God and that only the motherboard crashed.
Let's do this.
Lent
This is something I don't normally do, although I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps it's a good option to follow. Giving something up for lent to focus on God's purposes and plans seems like a great idea. I mean, listening closer to His voice is always a good option, and why not follow something that encourages that behavior?
Without meaning to, I'm going to be somewhat participating in lent. See, on Saturday early afternoon, my laptop crashed. Probably the motherboard finally dying. Anyway, this caused for my weekend to look pretty much like this:
I walked around my flat aimlessly, watched lots of movies and TV shows, red a few chapters, and overall, did NOTHING.
I would love to give up my computer for lent. I would love to give up the constant stream of 'necessity' having a computer brings. However, in today's day and age, and especially in college, that is impossible. I've had professors emailing me all weekend and I only just got back to them this morning because my computer is shot. And you would think that removing a constant thread of work and glaring necessity from my life would make life easier.
It hasn't.
For two days I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't write properly because I wanted to look back at what I had written for my fourth book before I continued on. I couldn't get on and check my emails to see if any jobs had gotten back to me (none of them have, of course). I had none of the familiarity of my computer. It was gone, taken in an instant.
Am I that reliant on a piece of technology that when it's removed, I don't know how to live? It seems that way. That raises concerns for me. I shouldn't be so dependent upon a pile of plastic and pieces that culminates in a computer. And yet somehow I am.
I'm attempting to not let this bother me. However, I feel like an awful person for relying so heavily on my computer. I used to be someone who could go without it, and now somehow, I've reached a point where I feel as though I've gone bonkers without it!
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I haven't been capable of writing recently. At least, that's what I assume has happened.
Without meaning to, I'm going to be somewhat participating in lent. See, on Saturday early afternoon, my laptop crashed. Probably the motherboard finally dying. Anyway, this caused for my weekend to look pretty much like this:
I walked around my flat aimlessly, watched lots of movies and TV shows, red a few chapters, and overall, did NOTHING.
I would love to give up my computer for lent. I would love to give up the constant stream of 'necessity' having a computer brings. However, in today's day and age, and especially in college, that is impossible. I've had professors emailing me all weekend and I only just got back to them this morning because my computer is shot. And you would think that removing a constant thread of work and glaring necessity from my life would make life easier.
It hasn't.
For two days I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't write properly because I wanted to look back at what I had written for my fourth book before I continued on. I couldn't get on and check my emails to see if any jobs had gotten back to me (none of them have, of course). I had none of the familiarity of my computer. It was gone, taken in an instant.
Am I that reliant on a piece of technology that when it's removed, I don't know how to live? It seems that way. That raises concerns for me. I shouldn't be so dependent upon a pile of plastic and pieces that culminates in a computer. And yet somehow I am.
I'm attempting to not let this bother me. However, I feel like an awful person for relying so heavily on my computer. I used to be someone who could go without it, and now somehow, I've reached a point where I feel as though I've gone bonkers without it!
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I haven't been capable of writing recently. At least, that's what I assume has happened.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Completely Unrelated
I'm going to talk about something entirely different from what I normally talk about. At least, normally as of late.
So my friend Amy invited me to join this phenomena called "Pinterest". It's interesting and somewhat fun. Occasionally I get on when I can't find the gusto to write or just want to take a break from the world. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen.
Anyway, so the other day I was on, just perusing what was popular and what people were posting and 'repinning'. It was then that I saw that most of the pictures of guys that were being posted (and by guys I mean celebrities), were of them shirtless or worse, in their boxers or briefs. Then on top of that, probably eighty percent of the pictures of women were of them in their underwear or in their bikinis.
Now, this is something that's bothered me for years. I've just never talked about it on here. But I find this all kind of sick. This isn't flattering and it isn't something to motivate me to work toward becoming a size 2. In fact, all it makes me want to do is hate myself for not being that size and that tan and that perfect and whatever else might be shoved at me. And I'm happy with who I am. I can only imagine what pictures like that do to women with low self-esteem and depression.
This is porn that we're looking at. I get it, it doesn't seem it because we've been told that so long as they aren't completely naked, then it's a-okay. But when did that become the case? You walk by Victoria's Secret and there are ten foot tall pictures of super skinny, super perfect looking women for everyone to see. EVERYONE. Children, teenagers, boys, girls, men and women. Doesn't that bother anyone? No wonder guys have problems! Hollister isn't much better! First off you can't even see properly in there 'cause it's so dark. Then they've got these shirtless models of guys and girls with six packs and perfect bodies to advertise their clothes.
And this is all in public places where people go in their spare time. So it's all okay, because their pants are still on - maybe. Well, if that's the case, at least they aren't butt naked.
And so long as they aren't completely naked, no one cares. It's just the world we live in, right?
No, it's disgusting and it's MILD PORN (and I'm not so sure that it's mild). Women ogle men that are half-dressed and men ogle women that are half-dressed. I mean, no wonder we have problems in this society. Everywhere we go the perfect imagine is shoved at us, and if we don't fall into that category then what? Go get plastic surgery to make yourself look perfect? No thanks.
I'd much rather see us go back to the days when seeing an ankle was too much. Sure, it would be irritating, but at least the minds of our society wouldn't be filled with images we have no right to see. The only person that should know what you look like naked is yourself, your future spouse and God. Not your friends, not your boyfriend, not your girlfriend.
It's unnecessary and I'm thinking about writing a letter to Hollister and Victoria's Secret. It might not do me any good, but I think it's time that someone at least tried to oppose this madness. There is no need for the trash we see on a daily basis. And I'm sorry, but there's no need for me to see a celebrity bare-chested. I don't need to see that, and neither does anyone else.
Okay, my rant is over. Return to your regularly scheduled life.
So my friend Amy invited me to join this phenomena called "Pinterest". It's interesting and somewhat fun. Occasionally I get on when I can't find the gusto to write or just want to take a break from the world. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen.
Anyway, so the other day I was on, just perusing what was popular and what people were posting and 'repinning'. It was then that I saw that most of the pictures of guys that were being posted (and by guys I mean celebrities), were of them shirtless or worse, in their boxers or briefs. Then on top of that, probably eighty percent of the pictures of women were of them in their underwear or in their bikinis.
Now, this is something that's bothered me for years. I've just never talked about it on here. But I find this all kind of sick. This isn't flattering and it isn't something to motivate me to work toward becoming a size 2. In fact, all it makes me want to do is hate myself for not being that size and that tan and that perfect and whatever else might be shoved at me. And I'm happy with who I am. I can only imagine what pictures like that do to women with low self-esteem and depression.
This is porn that we're looking at. I get it, it doesn't seem it because we've been told that so long as they aren't completely naked, then it's a-okay. But when did that become the case? You walk by Victoria's Secret and there are ten foot tall pictures of super skinny, super perfect looking women for everyone to see. EVERYONE. Children, teenagers, boys, girls, men and women. Doesn't that bother anyone? No wonder guys have problems! Hollister isn't much better! First off you can't even see properly in there 'cause it's so dark. Then they've got these shirtless models of guys and girls with six packs and perfect bodies to advertise their clothes.
And this is all in public places where people go in their spare time. So it's all okay, because their pants are still on - maybe. Well, if that's the case, at least they aren't butt naked.
And so long as they aren't completely naked, no one cares. It's just the world we live in, right?
No, it's disgusting and it's MILD PORN (and I'm not so sure that it's mild). Women ogle men that are half-dressed and men ogle women that are half-dressed. I mean, no wonder we have problems in this society. Everywhere we go the perfect imagine is shoved at us, and if we don't fall into that category then what? Go get plastic surgery to make yourself look perfect? No thanks.
I'd much rather see us go back to the days when seeing an ankle was too much. Sure, it would be irritating, but at least the minds of our society wouldn't be filled with images we have no right to see. The only person that should know what you look like naked is yourself, your future spouse and God. Not your friends, not your boyfriend, not your girlfriend.
It's unnecessary and I'm thinking about writing a letter to Hollister and Victoria's Secret. It might not do me any good, but I think it's time that someone at least tried to oppose this madness. There is no need for the trash we see on a daily basis. And I'm sorry, but there's no need for me to see a celebrity bare-chested. I don't need to see that, and neither does anyone else.
Okay, my rant is over. Return to your regularly scheduled life.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
World Creation
I've been reading Orson Scott Card's book Writing About Science Fiction and Fantasy and one of the main sections he stresses is world building. As writers of new worlds, it's important to understand the world we are placing our characters into. If necessary, make histories that go back to the dawn of that world. Our understanding of it is a requirement. Because if we don't understand it, then no one will.
I've begun writing my fourth book and I know come the end of the series, I have to destroy the world I've built. I have to look at it and it's beauty that I've wished to walk through, and tear it apart. When I started out it seemed like the logical thing to do. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Now, when I started out, I was fourteen.
I didn't even understand that there was a world there to really explore. But that's a story for another time. No, instead I'm going to talk a bit about the fact that one day I'm going to have to tear everything apart that I've built. It's a necessary part of it all, although I couldn't explain why without first explaining everything else. At the same time, I can't give away too much because I know Kara knows about this blog and might pick something up that she shouldn't. (Yes Kara, I'm keeping an eye on you, even from 400+ miles away).
I don't look forward to that day. I didn't look forward to the deaths of characters and I definitely didn't relish in those agonizing hours spent in front of my computer, bawling my eyes out as I tried to write the words to the saddest things I could think of.
But I know it's there. I know one day I'll finish my series and put the books on a shelf and say, "It's finished." And on that day, I'm going to step back, look at what I've done, and ask, "Okay, now what?"
Aside from End Game, I have no idea what I'd do afterward. I mean, I think I've only got that one good idea. I really don't want to write anything else right now because I'm filled to the brim with stuff just for this one idea. I can't imagine adding a different world, different characters, and different situations into my brain at the moment.
Will it still be the same when I finish my series? I don't know. If it is, I won't complain. I'll enter the mission field. I'll write a memoir or something. Maybe I'll start a college. I don't really know.
I won't run away from it though. In starting my fourth book, I'm running toward a finish line that I've set up for myself. A goal that only I instated, and I'm glad I'm the only one to say, "Okay, by here, we've gotta be done!" It makes it more manageable to me. I don't know how, but it does.
And who knows? Maybe by the end of the summer, I'll have all five books done. Wouldn't that be awesome?
Currently Writing: Unseen
Currently Reading: The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien
Currently Listening to: "Sleep" by Polyphony & Stephen Layton
I've begun writing my fourth book and I know come the end of the series, I have to destroy the world I've built. I have to look at it and it's beauty that I've wished to walk through, and tear it apart. When I started out it seemed like the logical thing to do. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Now, when I started out, I was fourteen.
I didn't even understand that there was a world there to really explore. But that's a story for another time. No, instead I'm going to talk a bit about the fact that one day I'm going to have to tear everything apart that I've built. It's a necessary part of it all, although I couldn't explain why without first explaining everything else. At the same time, I can't give away too much because I know Kara knows about this blog and might pick something up that she shouldn't. (Yes Kara, I'm keeping an eye on you, even from 400+ miles away).
I don't look forward to that day. I didn't look forward to the deaths of characters and I definitely didn't relish in those agonizing hours spent in front of my computer, bawling my eyes out as I tried to write the words to the saddest things I could think of.
But I know it's there. I know one day I'll finish my series and put the books on a shelf and say, "It's finished." And on that day, I'm going to step back, look at what I've done, and ask, "Okay, now what?"
Aside from End Game, I have no idea what I'd do afterward. I mean, I think I've only got that one good idea. I really don't want to write anything else right now because I'm filled to the brim with stuff just for this one idea. I can't imagine adding a different world, different characters, and different situations into my brain at the moment.
Will it still be the same when I finish my series? I don't know. If it is, I won't complain. I'll enter the mission field. I'll write a memoir or something. Maybe I'll start a college. I don't really know.
I won't run away from it though. In starting my fourth book, I'm running toward a finish line that I've set up for myself. A goal that only I instated, and I'm glad I'm the only one to say, "Okay, by here, we've gotta be done!" It makes it more manageable to me. I don't know how, but it does.
And who knows? Maybe by the end of the summer, I'll have all five books done. Wouldn't that be awesome?
Currently Writing: Unseen
Currently Reading: The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien
Currently Listening to: "Sleep" by Polyphony & Stephen Layton
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