A Snip of February

I've always liked when people posted snippets of their stories.  So I decided to try that in this post.  These are from the First Nightin book.

"Warmth radiated from the bricks and seeped in through his jacket.  The warmth of the building and the sound of feet on the cobble stone street made his eyes droop and he could only think of the comfortable warm sun.  Dart Nightin stretched his legs and let his body sink into the bricks."

""Dart Nicolas Nightin!!!" 

Dart started awake.  The stool swayed.  He clutched at the desk.  Stool, boy and books hit the floor with a clatter that was almost defining."

"The last warm winds of summer shook the gnarled trees making them sing like a torrent of rushing water.  Seed pods hung thick and green on most of the trees.  Dart snagged one as he went by and absently tore it apart dropping peaces along his path.  Soon the wind would blow cold and the seed pods on the trees would turn black and dry up.  Cold weather would come and hold tightly to their mountain city for the next six months."

""Now it was really a fight.  Both of them turned on the Nightin.  On his feet Haven could hold them off and beat the energy out of anyone who came close enough.  He targeted Dan as the weakest of the two.  But that left the other Klassdotter a little more freedom to work Haven back into a corner.  With his back pressed against the wall Haven suddenly leapt into an aggressive attack.  Faking a kick to Dan's legs Haven drove his punches hard into the young man's face.  The other Klassdotter took the opportunity and rushed in from the left.  His weight pinned the Nightin to the wall for a minute.  Silence filled the room like a heavy fog.  Only the ragged breaths of the three men made an impression on the quiet.

`It's over Nightin.  We're done.'

The words were low, barely a whisper in Haven's ear.  But in that hot and heavy silence it was easy to hear.  Unceremoniously Haven dispelled the silence with a loud grunt and shoved himself off the wall.  Taking a few steps away the Klassdotter let him.  Fabric snapped taught as Haven straightened is shirt and re-buttoned his vest.  Dart breathed in the thick smell of beer and sweat."

I hope you enjoyed these snips.

Have a blessed week,

Morgan J

Inspiration of Cold Rain

Cold rain; perfect weather for writing.  It's also perfect sleeping weather.  You look outside see the gray sky, dripping trees and you pull the blanket a little closer.  Once your all warm and snug your ready to write right?  Till your eyes get heavy.  Just a blink to rest them.  Maybe just one more.  A minute later you head starts to nod.  Just a little rest.  The words aren't coming just now anyway.  Forty five minutes later you have to go pick up your brother or meet some friends for a movie and you've slept away all your writing time.  But maybe your not like me.  Your one of those super people who can resist the hypnotic glare of a blank page.  But the words don't sound right.  No matter how you word the sentence it never comes out right.  Every time you write your secant guessing your choice of words and structure.  So you avoid writing.  There is no time.  There are other things that need to get done.  There is a project I've wanted to do for the past few months.  Let me be the one to break it to you.  There is always another excuse for not writing.  We need to stop looking for them and focus on the reasons to write.   Why do you write?  What made you pick up a pen and tell that first story?  I've written several books and never did anything with them.  A few days ago someone asked me why I kept writing when the stories just sat there.  Because I love to write.  I love the feeling of words flowing through my fingers.  Getting to know a character so well that I almost regard them as a friend.  Watching my story take a turn that I didn't expect and be totally surprised.  Or getting mad at my own characters for misbehaving.  What is there not to love about writing?  Well . . .  there is always editing.  It isn't that bad.  I'm getting the hang of this whole rewriting thing.  Without a doubt I love writing.  I just need to remind myself of that sometimes.  When your avoiding your book because the words aren't flowing or your drooping over a blank page try having fun with it.  Forget your inner editor and remember why you love what you do.  Sometimes you need to inspire yourself when your eyes are feeling heavy and the words are all tangled up.

Have a blessed week,
Morgan J

There be Monsters

This is not my picture

There be monsters just behind that first page.  The front may look passing maybe even good, if you squint one eye and strain your imagination.  But after that; beware.  Past that opening scene or first page the words contrive to scramble themselves into undecipherable knots.  Even the best characters suddenly find they can not bare the weight of the plot and pressure.  They over react to the smallest things and fall flat on their faces.  But please don't mention the plot.  It throws people here and there with no regard for them personally.  Even Hercules would not survive the terrible plot that is waiting behind this first page.  In fear and quacking I open the book and try not to let the panic and drama that is pulling the words down make me forget how much I like this story.  This story that I've worked on for the past two years, how could it be so bad? 

This past week I started editing the first Nightin book.  At one point I had Talitha read a scene from the beginning.  When I had first written it I thought it was pretty good.  But listing to her read it was agonizing.  Afterwards I wanted to delete the whole thing, so no one else would ever see it.  Instead I quickly changed documents and started working on something else.  The next day I was back at it, forcing out the words that fought against me.  Finally I had to stop for a minute. 

"What am I doing?  This whole story is terrible, what is the point of rewriting it.  The rewrite is as bad as the first draft." 

That's what I was thinking to myself.  Then I remembered all the times I heard about not giving up on your writing.  Every time I would hear about cutting yourself some slack I always nodded sagely.  "Oh yes of course, I never expect perfection from the first draft."   Till I actually did some editing, and discovered that I couldn't even expect mediocrity.   Editing is scary.  I have to go back and read that terrible story and try somehow to turn it into something worth reading.  Something I could give to someone else to read without cringing.  But the only way I know to make it better is to go over it.  Then go over it again.  And again and very likely a few more times.  I just have to keep telling myself that I am a writer even when I don't feel like one and even when my stories look like a bad soup opera.  I'll have to be brave enough to look that story in the face and pray that one day it will be worth so much work. 

If you have any advice for chasing out the monsters please feel free to drop a comment.
Have a very blessed week.
Morgan J

Stiff Fingers

Shivering there on the couch, my fingers almost numb with cold, I understood why people say you should write about what you know.  My two main characters were hiking up a mountain in a snowstorm and my hands were stiff with the cold.  For the past few weeks, the temperatures have been hovering around freezing.  Which is really cold for this area.  The mountains in the story are colder, but that doesn't keep me from relating to their discomfort and danger.  When I described how the girls hands were stiff with cold I was thinking about how my own hands were stiff with the cold.  When she clung tight to the thick fur of the tiger I could almost feel the warmth seeping into my hands.  Now I would personally not want to do that again.  Below sixty-five is not really my idea of good writing conditions.  But, I was able to show through the words just how cold she felt because I was right there with her.  The next time they are walking in a snowstorm I can pull from these past few weeks for memories of shivering and my own reaction to cold temperatures.  I may have never walked in a blizzard, but I can easily imagine it.  The drifts pulling at my boots and the snow clinging to my eyelashes and matting my hair into snowy dreadlocks. 

I hope everyone is having a great winter and staying warmer than me.
Have a great week.
Morgan J

New Yeat Resolutaion: Change

 Image source: wikipedia.org

The new year is almost here.  I've been thinking about what my new year resolutions would be and I think I have it.  It's time for a mental change.  Writing has always been a fun hobby for me.  Something I loved doing and hoped one day to do for a living but only when I was grown up.  Well this year I will change that.  I'm still thinking like a want-a-be writer.  If I want to get better I need to change that and start thinking like a professional writer.  So that is my goal this coming year.  Take writing seriously and put all my effort into it instead of a casual attempt.  The way I think has to change before my writing does.

So what are your new year resolutions?

Have a great week 

Morgan J

Bright, Colorful, Loud,

Merry Christmas.  I thought it best to start out with something cheerful because I have been so blatantly neglectful of my blog the last month.  Christmas is almost here.  The tree is up, the lights are lit, hot chocolate has been made and drunk, all the presents have been bought.  Food still needs cooking, still some presents need rapping and the last few candles wait to be light.  This is a bright season.  Bright and colorful and loud.  With lots of demands for my attention and time and money and focus.  I'm trying to remember that this year.  Last year all the hubbub depressed me during one of the happiest times of the year.  Not this year.  This year I will laugh at the business and find the joy and funny behind all the noise.  This year will be the best Christmas ever.  And next year will be better.  Can you tell I'm feeling optimistic?  This a really short post, sorry.  Christmas has been on my mind sense Dec 1 and everything about Christmas has already been said.  I'm happy, excited, and ready.  What else can I say?

All of you have a joyful Christmas.
Morgan J 

No Excuses November Is Here

I don't like excuses.  Excuses are me trying to blame someone else or circumstances for my own failures.  But still I catch myself saying things like "I got busy and forgot."  Yep I confess I made that excuse just a few minutes ago when I looked at my documents and it suddenly hit me that I had not written a post yesterday.  But honestly it is not true.  I remembered yesterday at lunch time and decided to put it off and get my NaNoWriMo writing done first.  So it was my fault and I'm sorry if any of you were waiting in agitated expectancy for my post.  
Speaking of NaNoWriMo how are all you novelers doing?  I'm just keeping up with it.  I have a little friendly competition with Della.  Every time I get ahead she goes on a writing spree and passes me.  Then I'll write a few thousand on the weekend and pass her.  It's really funny how excited we both get about it.  Yesterday when I passed her word count I was bouncing in my chair with joy and telling everyone in ear shot that "I passed Della!"  It's more fun when your doing it with someone. 
For lack of anything better to say I have picked out some samples of my writing so far.

"Everyday he pushed them all harder, moved quicker.  He could feel the forest and mountains closing in on them each day."

"Two mountains loomed on either side marking the end of the Salto Mountains.  Between them ran a great valley with flat open land that sparkled green and lush under the summer sun.  It looked like the welcoming arms of Cypress to the tired group."

"They have traveled hard at your warning for six full days now.  We have reached the end and I say they deserve a night to catch their breath and sleep without the forest to bring bad thoughts."

"The grass smelled sweet and comforting, but the way it constantly rustled in the wind made it hard to catch foreign movement.  Kneeling down the Jaden dug his hands into the cool damp earth.  It gave way under his weight.  The grass rubbed against his shoulder.  There, a movement.  Two, no five dark shapes against the silver grass.  The young man froze."

"One of the big men grabbed her up and carrying her back to the corner dropped her down harshly.  As the girl bounced up immediately he hit her a ringing back hand to the cheek.  The blow spun her around and her head cracked on the wall.  She slumped to the floor, her crazy red hair spread over the floor like a puddle of blood."

Yes I tend to beat up my characters.  "I'm sorry Resh."  She is alright I promise.  You all have tons of fun writing and have a blessed week.
Morgan J