Location

I teach on story making, so it makes me laugh that I stumble on some of the basic principles of my own story. Don't even get me on "those who can't..."

Needless to say, I have (perhaps) made a breakthrough with my work. Today I stepped back and looked at my piece and asked myself what was holding it back. I realized it was too similar to other works that I love. Then I asked, "Why?"

I realized that the setting was something linking it to other "hero's journey" stories. So I went with my other location for the setting and POOF! One of my biggest issues may have just been solved.

I suppose what I need more than anything is to sit down and have a mentor walk me through the big picture, just like I do for my students. I think that sounding board is important. Those close to me are probably sick of me chattering about the ideas and details...

Which leads me to my next step. A professional critique. I think I am almost ready to get someone's official word on this. Not someone who knows me. Not someone who wants to tell me good things. Someone professional who will push me in the right direction...

Time will tell.

Fairy Time

I am working on my writing.

I have never claimed to be a great writer, but I hope to improve my craft. (Sorry, Mr. King, I think it is possible.)

This month--well, November and December--I plan to retell some fairy tales in order to improve and refine my voice. If I ignore my creative storyline worries, I will gain confidence in my word choice and story focus.

It should be a fun process. From it, I hope to create a little treasury of writing I can one day read to West and teach him about the fairy tales I fell in love with as a tot.

First up, The 3 Pig and then The Gingerbread Boy.

Memoir

Here is an excerpt of something I wrote a few months ago...

My teacher’s legs are so long and willowy coming down from the big old rocking chair. She holds up a card and I see the large M marked onto the construction paper. I wave my arm around in the air. My name starts with an M. It must be my name!

“Not you Michael,” she reproves and holds the card up to a girl picking her nose next to me.
“Melissa, this is your name.”

Melissa turns her head and her wispy blond hair nearly thwacks me in the face. I tuck my small body down to my knees and wonder when I’ll be called.

I glance out the window and see the green leaves fading from the cypress tree. I imagine climbing up it, feeling the wind press against my pale skin as I venture up to the highest point God put in this world of mine. But I don’t dare climb trees. My knees could get skinned; my hands could get cut by the bark. No. I hold the thought in my mind, and grab my blue slacks imagining the material dirty and worn. No, that’s not for me

Harry Potter Expert

This past month I have been writing a number of things (none of them being Nedge).

1. I was asked to write a little editorial piece on Harry Potter for the local newspaper. I googled my name and found I had been listed first as a Harry Potter Expert then as a college professor. It made me laugh. The article is nothing big, but it will be the first time my writing has been in the local newspaper (that I know of). It should be in the paper this or next Thursday.

2. I finished the first full draft of "First Generation" to good success. I am going to submit draft #2 in December and hope that it is closer to the final. Our goal is to have the final draft penned by February so we can send it out to more test sites.

3. I am writing way too many lesson plans for myself. I like this year, but it feels so fresh and new that my ears keep dripping. I know that is a weird visual, but it represents the moment quite well.

Sleep

Irony is: Not being able to sleep, so you read about sleep disorders and how to cure them.

Two minutes too late. I think I should have read it the night before to learn how to fix my problems. There's always tonight...

I Dreamed a Dream...

This is one of the more  inspired dreams I’ve had. It all means something to me and perhaps it will mean something to you too. I hope I did it justice...

We were all living together; walking amongst each other, living life, and laughing a lot. But each person received a call to break into a room in this mansion and do a couple tasks. One of them was to listen to a recording, which would determine what you did next. You could choose to believe what the recording said, and if you did you were suddenly compelled to dip in the river which flowed from the house.

As I walked, waiting for my turn, I remember enjoying life. Laughing, singing even as I climbed a large escalator anticipating my turn. But I didn’t want to do the task, it seemed silly even a waste of time. But I climbed through and in that room, which was like a small pit of a theater, I realized how much I wanted to listen. I slipped on the headphones and a message came on, revealing the truth to me—telling me what was really going on around me. Darkness and apathy was all about. I needed to wash in the river. I needed to go in there and start new. I remember as I believed in the message wounds of blood came down my right arm and left. And a similar wound formed at my brow. I was wrapped in bandages of gray and tied them around my wrists and head. But they weren’t shackles. I was free. I could feel the weight of hopelessness escape from me.

I so longed to go in the waters. So I did. I don’t remember how, but there were others there watching and cheering me on, welcoming me to this new found place.

I walked out of the house and rejoiced as I saw my wife too had been transformed, not because of me, but because she too had gone and listened to the message. But there were those who listened and did not feel compelled. I looked at them, they looked just as I did—a coworker of mine stood out—and I saw that he hadn’t been changed by the recording. I wanted to tell him to run over and listen, but it wasn’t my time yet. I couldn’t get to him, he was many houses away.

There was still another tape I needed to listen to. I had to sneak into the house, for there was something like an army of people trying to prevent me from this next step. A militia wanted me to just be changed, but not to be a change-agent. I broke in, somehow, by the help of an older woman and a her family, I broke in.

There were three of us in that room. I wish I could remember who they were, but there were at least three of us. I sat there and pushed play on the player. A foreign language of some sort came on and I didn’t know what to do. One of the people suggested we just listen and then try to speak the language. I didn’t understand what I was saying, but I tried. And as I did, I started to understand the words. They were beautiful yet still so new they sounded foreign.

Next, a tall woman  named Kim with blond hair, guided me with her family and told me to wash in the river. She said it would be so free. I looked at her and thought she was a little crazy, but those waters looked so refreshing, and while there was a roaring torrent, I wanted to get in those waters. I submerged in the cool, afternoon waters and realized how hot I had been before. But now I was refreshed and anew.

I came out of the waters and looked around me. There were many wearing the bandages I was wearing, and others who removed their bandages boldly.

“Why do they do that?” I asked.

Kim said, “To show others. It is very brave and not everyone needs to, but if you can you might.”

I looked over to her and she was now wearing something like a wreathed crown of vines. Small buds and leaves grew from the vines. I admired it.

“This will come to you too,” she acknowledged to me.

She had been so strange, even flighty before. But now, having been washed in the waters, I could see she was more aware and determined than anyone around me.

But there was urgency now. I needed to go tell others to get to this recording that had started the change. I needed to bring them to this place. I walked by the escalator and saw thousands of people waiting for their turn. Some seemed to be happy to wait, while others seemed annoyed and upset they had to be in the line at all. Not all of them would come to know what was on the recording, as there were other things to enjoy. But not as great as what was on that recording. Nothing could compare to it.

I was suddenly whisked away to a place where I was with my wife. She too had been changed, now standing in bandages. I couldn’t contain my happiness. We embraced and then set off in a car being driven by a friend. The friend hadn’t been changed and complained about all the people in bandages. Maybe he knew we were those people, or maybe he didn’t, but he complained.

The road was curvy and hard to stay on as he drove us, but we didn’t mind. I think we were headed back for the house—the mansion with the recording. But his path didn’t take him there. Then there was a gruesome sight. A baby was tossed, carelessly, into the road. The friend driving swerved to miss the baby and we were plummeted into the river, which unbeknownst to me, was meandering next to us all the while. My friend panicked, but I told my wife to accept it. We opened our doors and let the water take us in. It was refreshing again, calming. But my friend didn’t see that. He beat his arms and kicked his legs against the water. I didn’t understand, but I remember climbing out the water with my wife and sharing two thoughts, “We need mentors.” She knew it was true. This world was new to us and we needed a guide.

We decided to return back to the mansion, that was our place of solace and refuge. We broke into the house and I met the same woman, Kim. Her crown was now budding with greens and she celebrated my return and embraced my wife. She whispered something to me or my wife, it didn’t matter which and I in turn told my wife I would be her mentor and guide. She seemed relieved to hear my acceptance of the role then we walked off together, excited as we acted upon my second thought I shared with her back at the edge of the water.

We were going to wait alongside our son who was waiting for his turn to hear the recording. We would live with him, eat with him, and enjoy the world with him, but expectantly wait for the moment when he would listen to the recording that eventually would change him.

There it is. There is a ton of allusion and symbolism in this dream. We can chat, if you'd like.

Bond, James Bond

After watching the Olympics, my wife and I decided we wanted to watch James Bond--come on, you know you liked it when the Queen jumped out of the heli with 007.

Nevertheless, we were watching the odd Quantum of Solace last night and were amazed at some of the chase scenes. As we were amazed, I commented how incredible writers are. Most people watching the film would think about the actors, stuntmen, or the special effects.

Not I.

No, I looked at it and saw a clever storyboard creator and editor who are telling a suspenseful story based on the ideas that originated from a writer and director's vision. Well done to those who conceived the idea. Sure, all of the other people deserve a pat on the back for their ability to make the work come to life, but remember the idea started in the mind(s) of a person.

Incredible.

It inspires me to think of my writing as though it is being splashed on the big screen. Where will my audience need pushing to feel nervous for the characters? Just when you think the hero has made it out of the situation, is there a large beam or cable that can suddenly come crashing down on his head? What about the best friend of the hero? Can she suddenly reveal she is a baddie by making a secret exchange and then gun fire ensues?

All I can say is, it reminded me to up the stakes.

2012 Goals

For those of you who care, I am very excited. Wait, strike that. If you are reading this blog, you must care. So here is my news of the month:

1. I have been asked in a roundabout way to write an article/essay for an online magazine.

2. I have been asked by a dear family friend to write a short article on Harry Potter for a local newspaper.

3. I have reached the half-way point of the curriculum I am writing and will be done by the end of August.

4. I am experimenting with a different Point of View for my novel I penned last year.

5. I am in the editing stage of my kids' chapter book about dinosaurs.

All in all, I am very excited. In the smallest, and possibly biggest, ways possible I am going to be published this year in a newspaper, curriculum, and an online magazine. That's pretty cool.

#reachingMYdreams

Where the Sidewalk Ends...

At any moment in my life when I think I hold a little bit of talent, I look at what the students at my school can do. AMAZING. Some of them have so much potential and talent, I am astounded. Here is a sample of their sidewalk chalk art... Now, take a moment to think, "What do I do when I have a piece of Crayola chalk?" Probably not this:

3 Works

I have been hard at work on my writing. There are three projects I have been working on:

1. A curriculum I have been hired to write--a little more like technical writing, but I love writing curriculum so this excites me a little.

2. Max and Jax--I wrote the simple chapter book I told you about a few weeks ago. I have been looking at it and checking out comparable books at stores and online. As of yet, I can't find a book like the one I wrote. So that's a good start.

3. Edgy Teen Novel--I started an edgy teen-centric novel that will follow a father and son and their tumultuous relationship. I have a good start, but it is a HUGE departure from my normal work.

Now, I am excited to fold up my laptop and head out into the real world for some family fun.

New Starts

Poor Nedge 2... I think it will be like the Dead Sea Scrolls...

At any rate, I have started this new story which came to my mind after an evening of movies and prayers. I came up with this edgy story that really has a new voice for me as a writer. It is for a teen audience and pushes the boundaries of my writing much more.

I like the tone so far, but I have only written two chapters. More to come in the coming days...

Hooray for new starts and fresh ideas. We'll see where I take this...

Query

I love the look of a finished query letter.

A query letter is the letter writers attach to their work when they are asking an agent or publishing house to look at their work.

It is probably one of the hardest parts of the entire writing process because it is your ONE (and I mean one) shot to sell your work. You know that 50,000 word novel you just wrote? You have about 300 words to sell it. The worst part, to me, is there is a formula for the letter YET every "successful" query letter I have seen breaks one of the cardinal rules.

ARG!

As a first-time author this bugs me. I'm not sure if I should follow my creative gut and go out on a limb to get my letter to stand out OR if I should trust the English teacher in me who screams, "Follow conventions, idiot!"

Sigh.

That is why I love the look of a finished query letter.