A Wee Bit of NaNo...

Ah! Thanksgiving was fabulous this year, and I hope my readers had an enjoyable holiday as well!!

As promised, I'm going to start posting bits from my NaNo Novel. It is still slowly growing, despite my injured right arm, as preparing the first bit for posting brought my word count over 11K. It's still a far cry from the 50K I'm supposed to reach by 11:59 pm on the 30th, but it is something all the same.

This story is largely a character study more than anything, and I apologize for any boring bits in advance. This is still very much a rough draft, and it will go through extensive editing before I'm even remotely 'done' with it.

Before we start, I'd also like to thank my friend Scot for sharing his extensive knowledge of all things British with me. He's saved me from making a great many silly mistakes already.

And now, without further ado...

Chapter 1

------------------------

“Look at the castle I made, Miss Gracie!” young William Arden cried happily, tugging on his nurse-maid’s skirt.

'Miss Gracie' Sinclair pulled her attention away from her intent, but aimless, study of one of the garden’s beautiful roses.  She looked down to where William was playing and smiled down at the excited little boy.

“It’s lovely!” she told him, gently ruffling his head of curly, blonde hair with her hand.

William grabbed her wrist with his small, chubby hands and pulled her down. “You have to look closer,” he said very seriously.

Grace chuckled and obliged, settling herself on the grass beside William. “Let us take a look at this magnificent castle of yours, Sir William the Great,” she said, imitating what she supposed were the manners of a lady at court.

William giggled and grinned happily.

”Ah, I see your soldiers are all out for inspection,” she commented, pointing to the little tin soldiers lined up in the loose soil. Their painted red uniforms gleamed merrily in the sunlight as they stood before William’s ‘castle.’

Grace smiled at her young charge’s handy work, impressed by William’s imaginative construction. He had levelled a patch of loose dirt and gathered small stones and twigs to construct the walls of his miniature fortress. Fresh spring leaves waved jauntily from the parapets and a strip of old bark served as the castle’s sturdy drawbridge, although a moat had yet to be constructed.

“Yes, ma’am,” William replied, beaming proudly at his youthful foray into the field of military architecture. “When the inspection’s over, they shall go out on field manoeuvres.”

“Very good, valiant knight! I am sure your leadership will do wonders for their discipline.”

“Aye! And they’ll be able to keep an eye out for any French spies lurking about,” William added, his voice lowering as he looked about as if expecting a spy to pop out from behind a rosebush at any instant.

Grace nodded solemnly. “This is a very good plan,” she whispered. “I think you had better send them off on those manoeuvres if we’re going to be safe, Sir Knight.”

William saluted her smartly and then immediately absorbed himself in the task of rearranging the ranks of his army. Grace smiled fondly at him, and then relaxed, resting on her elbows and leaning her head back.

The morning sunlight warmed her cheeks and she shut her eyes for a little while, enjoying the sounds of the light breeze rustling through the rose garden and young William quietly at play beside her. It wasn’t often that they were blessed with such lovely weather so early in the season and she intended to fully take advantage of it.

Enjoying the outdoors was a nice change from being cooped up in the nursery all winter long, as well as an escape from the preparations that busied the entire household. Everyone was in a fluster at the arrival of the Master’s sons, and although they had arrived yesterday, the activities of the house servants seemed even more frenzied.  There were now two more rooms to keep spotlessly clean, two more fires to keep lit, more place settings to prepare at table, not only for the young Masters, but also for the neighbours who were sure to visit. In the country, much to do was made of sons who went away for ‘better learning,’ and the Master’s sons were no exception.

James Arden, the eldest, had contented himself with learning the ways of managing his father’s estate and so didn’t set out to be a huge success at university. He learned what he set out to learn and then returned home to be educated by his father in the particulars on maintaining the family estate.

Robert, the next eldest, held the greatest hope in the eyes of his Father, being currently a student of Divinity at one of the country’s best Universities. Master Arden, being a staunch and devout Anglican, had no greater desire than to see one of his son’s take the cloth, and Robert seemed to be fitting into his role perfectly.  Master never looked half as happy as when he was speaking of his “dear son, Robert, who’s to become a cleric.”

John, on the other hand, seemed to be in the least favour with his father, his name hardly ever being mentioned at all. Grace wasn’t even sure she knew what the young Master was in university for, if anything at all.

The gentle breeze played with the edges of her linen cap and apron and she smiled to herself, enjoying the tickling sensation as the fabric brushed against her. She hoped that the good weather would hold, because secretly she was afraid of the Master’s fashionable sons. James was a regular resident, so she didn’t mind him, but the younger Mr. Arden’s were completely unfamiliar to her. She had heard the rumour from the other servants about Master John’s drinking habits, and there were whispers of other things besides.

Not that she thought she’d be worth noticing by the young master, of course, but it made her innocent soul tremble to think of spending any amount of time in close proximity to a man of his sort.

The sound of voices travelled on the wind to where Grace and young William sat. Grace opened her eyes at once, for the bark of angry, shouting male voices was unmistakable.

William looked up from his tin soldiers, excitement brightening his expression. “Is it them, Miss Gracie?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, rising to her knees and peering through the shrubbery towards the house. Through gaps in the foliage she could see three men, one of whom she recognized as Master James. They were congregated at the bottom of the porch steps, their stances unsteady, which, added to the shouting voices, indicated some trouble.

“I want to go see if it’s them,” William announced, collecting his soldiers into his hands.

Grace placed a hand on his shoulder. “No. Not yet.” Something wasn’t right, she could tell. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on the scene unfolding before them. One of the gentleman, his dark hair unruly and his clothes rumpled, took a step towards Master James and raised a hand threateningly.

She gasped as the dark haired man tried to land a blow on the Master.

“What? What is it?” William pleaded, tugging at her hand.

“Nothing. Just…” She tore her eyes away from the angry men and looked down at her charge, her gaze intense and serious. “Stay here, William. Do you understand?”

William knew from the tone of her voice that she meant what she said. He nodded silently, his grey eyes wide.

“Good lad. I’ll be right back.”

Leaving William amid the rose bushes, clutching his toy soldiers close to his chest, Grace moved towards the house. The voices grew louder as she approached and she held her breath as she strained to make out words.

One of the voices was definitely that of Master James, his resonant baritone carrying easily on the spring breeze. To her surprise, she heard James laughing, and her brow furrowed in puzzlement at the sound.

She peered around the hedge surrounding the rose garden, holding her skirts clear from the branches threatening to catch themselves in the folds of fabric, and looked towards the house.

The dishevelled gentleman was now seated on the ground, the force of his swing obviously having unbalanced him, and a dark scowl marred his features. Grace instantly recognized him as one of the Master’s sons, John, the family resemblance unmistakable in his high brow, strong jaw line, square shoulders, and trim form.

Fortuitously, the breeze picked up again and she could hear Master James playfully chiding his brother.

“Hah! That’s what you get for raising your hand to your elders! Don’t ask me to help you up now!”

“Stuff it, Jim,” John growled, his words slightly slurred. “If I’d had my way, you’d be the one decked, damn you.”

Grace stifled a little gasp of surprise at Master John’s surly attitude, and she was instantly sure that she wasn’t going to enjoy having this man in the house.

“Come now, you two. You’re behaving like children,” the third gentleman remonstrated gently from his perch on the steps.  His words were soft, and Grace had to strain to hear them over a strange pattering sound that she recognized as that of running feet.

She quickly turned to see little William racing out from behind a nearby rosebush.

“It’s them! It’s them!” he shouted joyously, ducking neatly away from Grace’s intercepting arms as he ran past, showering tin soldiers from his arms all the while.

“William!” Grace called helplessly as the three gentlemen turned their attention to the sudden interruption.

 -----------------------

A Great Day... but with a wee bit of disappointing news.

Ah, what a lovely day!

University is on break for the Thanksgiving holidays, I got to sleep in today for the first time in a long while, and I have nothing to do today besides whatever strikes my fancy.

When one has a schedule as busy as I, days like this are joyous, indeed!

The only thing marring the glad state of things is the unfortunate problem I'm having with my right arm.

On Saturday, while working on staging scenes for an opera, a colleague and I got a little to enthusiastic about a quick exit we had to make off the stage, resulting in an unhappy accident. Said accident has left me with a bruised radius, which thankfully did not cause a stress fracture as well. This makes it painful to open doors and jars, carry objects in my right hand, play the piano and type.

Sadly, this leaves me unable to complete NaNoWriMo this year, as typing with one hand is  exceptionally slow. I'm a bit upset about it, but not too upset, as it means I won't have to make the mad dash to get caught up over break that I was planning on.

Honestly, I wasn't doing too well this year, especially with all the troubles we've been having with Dad's health, but who is also doing much better now! Thanks for your prayers!

As it stands, my word count is currently at 10,784. I think that's still a respectable bit of writing, considering. I'm really enjoying the story, so I know that I'm in no danger of letting it fall to the wayside just because NaNo will be over.

I'm actually thinking of posting it here in bits, much like Seraphic is doing over at her blog, in order to help keep my momentum up. That is, provided I have reader feedback. It is very helpful to have feedback, especially when you hit a rough spot and you're tempted to think, "Gah! This is just rubbish anyway! Who would even read this?" and then give up.

I think I'm less inclined to let that happen in this case, but if you feel so inspired, feel free to leave comments in my comm box. :D They'll be much appreciated!

Now, I must let my hand rest for a little while, and then I may post the first bit later on.

If I don't blog again, I'd like to wish a Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!

A fun Blog Gadget!

I found this nifty little gadget thanks to Mac McLernon over at 'Mulier Fortis'!

I write like
William Shakespeare

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

The funny thing is that I used bits of my NaNo Novel that I'm currently working on, and I came up with several different writers! One scene gave me Rudyard Kipling (which I suspect was due to the mention of an elephant [Thank you, Seraphic's inner child!]), another gave me Agatha Christie, and there were a few others for various different scenes. I did get Shakespeare twice, though!

I must say I'm happy that I managed to get British writers for the most part... I really do think they've given us some of the best contributions in Literature. Never mind the fact that I'm an Austenite through and through. :)

But if this little gadget says anything, it tells me that I really do have my own style. My writing may have undertones from other writers, whose work I've studied and read a lot of, but I'm not consistently writing like someone else does.

I write like me. :D

The End of Life as I Know It

a.k.a. NaNoWriMo

a.k.a. National Novel Writing Month

a.k.a. 30 days of insanity as I attempt to write a 50,000 word novel amidst the 'normal' insanity known as school, housework, keeping Husband happy, work, music, etc.

So, yeah. I'm insane. Someone should really institutionalize me now, because even I'm not sure what I'm thinking...

This is my fourth year doing NaNoWriMo. I've met or surpassed the goal twice now, and only once was my novel a complete failure (I was 14 and really had no idea what I was getting myself into...).

This year I have a pretty good plot and for a change it's original fiction. I may post bits of it here for readers to review as I go along.

The only trouble seems to be that I'm not in much of a writing mood this year. It's day 8 and I'm only at 1447 words, when I should be somewhere near the 10K mark. But life has become increasingly more complicated and stressful, and I really don't have the ambition like I've had in the past to dedicate myself to these characters for 30 days. Real life is strange enough at the moment, never mind bouncing around in other people's heads...

I don't know... maybe sticking with it will be good for me. Maybe it'll help me to get some of my pent up emotions out on the page, rather than keeping them locked tightly away.

We'll see...

Of Blogging and Music...

Well, I have an awesome topic upon which to blog, but I must hold it in reserve for now, as I'm waiting to hear back from the person who has inspired the post. I would like their permission to write about said topic, as the intellectual property is theirs and not mine. So, for now, I must wait.

In the meantime, I shall leave you with another recording of our choir, which is quite lovely. It's Palestrina's Sicut Cervus, and again I will note that our full choir was not present for the session and the recording has not been altered at all. Husband and I are both on this recording, I singing the soprano line with our choir director, and Husband singing the bass part with another of the schola members. I will note that the tenor and alto lines are performed by a father and his daughter (who is only 14!!), and I think the similarities in their voices has done wonderful things for the blend of our little choir. As one choir member so aptly said, the recording "sounds like you're floating on a cloud."

Also, for anyone interested, one of the stories I was working on over the summer (another SW fan fiction) has been posted online. This one was tricky because I was inspired to write in 3rd person present tense, which brings with it all sorts of interesting complications when writing. (Oh Muse, why must you be so difficult??) Overall, I must say that I enjoyed the voicing of the piece, and I'm working on finishing the second part in my free time. Let me know what you think either here or in the thread! Permanent- http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/31285873/p1/

That's all for now, but hopefully I'll hear back from my contact later today and have the other post up by tomorrow afternoon!

Sicut-Cervus-MP3.mp3

Text to the Sicut Cervus-

Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum, ita desiderat anima mea ad te Deus.

As a deer longs for springs of water, so my soul longs for you, O God.

(From Psalm 42)

Small Word of Great Consequence

I couldn't think of anything to blog about all day, but I was determined to blog about something because I no longer have any (legitimate) excuses not to follow through with my AugBlogWriMo. Opera is finished, work is (slightly) less crazy, and school hasn't started yet. So, that means technically I have all the time in the world to write a blog post every day.

Yeah, right.

I spent most of my free time today reading other people's blogs (and listening to the awesome new music my sister home shared with me...), and wondering how it is that so many of them manage to blog on a regular, if not daily, basis. Granted, there is the occasional blog that is withering like a dehydrated cactus in the desert of writer's block (or perfectionism, or whatever).

Occasionally, you even find a dead blog. Maybe I'm morbid, but I find those dead blogs kind of funny. I mean, it's so ironic when you read the last posts on those poor deceased blogs, before they wandered into the expansive deserts of inactivity, and finally collapsed and expired in the sweltering heat of Real Life. Nine times out of ten, those last posts are a final cry of 'I promise to blog here more often if...'

Ah ha! And there's the culprit!

IF...

It's the IF that does them in, I'm sure! As soon as you let IF in- that tiny little word of indecision- you are doomed! IF is the first step on the road into that lonely wilderness filled with dead blogs. IF is the beginning of the end of all will-power and fortitude.  IF has been known to reduce mighty fortresses to rubble, to turn a brilliant plan into a ridiculously stupid idea, to...

Well, you get the idea.

I almost wish someone would post a sign outside of the place where IF dwells. It should say something foreboding, almost Vader-like in it's terrifying-ness. It should be painted in bold red letters, and put where you can't miss it...

"WARNING! Do NOT enter here! Turn back now IF you value your Blog!"

Okay, okay... I know I used the Word-That-Must-Not-Be-Named, but I couldn't help it! It fit so perfectly!

But I promise not to become one of those dried-out, abandoned skeletons of a Blog-That-Was. I will continue to be a Blog-That-Is. Come hell or high water.

Now, IF only I could find something to write about...

EDIT: Because I couldn't spell desert properly... I blame the ice cream I was eating...

Ugh!

I can't believe I last posted on TUESDAY!!!

Does the fact that this was tech week for the opera, as well as opening weekend, excuse me even a little bit?

Eh... I doubt it.

I'm not excusing myself, in any case.

*sigh*

Tech week has gone well, however busy it may have been, and opening night was fantastic. We had a very receptive audience- they laughed at all the jokes, appreciated the ballet (which I finally got right... mostly), and loved the singing. It was a nice payoff for all of the hard work we've been doing. Now there's only one performance left tomorrow night, and then life will settle down for two short weeks before school starts again.

It's a good feeling, knowing I'll be to bed at a decent hour for a change. Or at least until Sophomore year begins...

In other news, I finally figured out the ending to the angst-y piece that was driving me crazy. Yahoo!! *does happy dance* I'm so thankful to feel like I've got a bit of my sanity back.

I was a little worried about publishing the piece however, because it is pretty dark and very creepy. Intrinsically, that's not so much a problem, except that the darkness and creepiness centers around a much-loved character and focuses on a recent development that hasn't gone over so well with most of the fan-base.

I did post it yesterday all the same, and so far the reception has been pretty good. *crosses fingers*

Those who like Star Wars and/or are interested in perusing my vignette can find it here: What the Heart Longs For- http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/31169687/p1/?9

Rushing...

...to make the post before midnight. ;)

Today was another long, busy day at work, and then it was off to Opera Rehearsal right away, again. It really stinks that the company I'm singing with is a whole hour away. Those two hours of driving really cuts into blogging time. C'est la vie.

Not much exciting happened today. I did get bitten by another plot bunny and this time the whole 'fic is in my head, but it's making me moody and pensive until I can get it out on paper. I'm not sure why everything I'm writing lately has been angst... I should probably try to write something more lighthearted and funny to break things up...

I have been meaning to share this link with you all for the last week, but I kept forgetting to post it or I haven't had time. The story that follows is very cool and extremely edifying. There are some skeptics that will try to pass it off as superstition and an over active imagination, but I don't think it made international news by happen-stance. Divine Providence is trying to remind us all of the power of prayer, and especially the power of Our Lady's Psalter. Perhaps the story struck home for me because I lost a cousin to a landmine in Afghanistan no more than a month ago...

All the same...Our lady of the Rosary, ora pro nobis!

Soldier Saved By Rosary 

In Which An Account Is Made...

... of Soaring Soprano's Reading List.

So, now it is Day Two of AugBlogWriMo... and already I'm out of topics. Okay, well maybe that's an exaggeration. I do have things to blog about, but some of them are borderline on complaining, and if there is anything I don't want this blog to become it's that- an online outlet for my (oftentimes ridiculous) frustrations. As it is, complaining is hardly a good habit to get into, because it usually indicates that we're not accepting the crosses that we've been given as our means to sanctity. As the wonderful Jean-Pierre de Caussade points out in Abandonment to Divine Providence,

"...to attain the utmost height of perfection, the safest and surest way is to accept the crosses sent [them] by Providence at every moment, that the true philosopher's stone is submission to the will of God which changes into divine gold all [their] occupations, troubles, and sufferings..."

But despite this lovely bit of spiritual reading, I do still have the tendency to complain... but I'm determined not to do it here. When speaking with friends, however, things get a bit trickier, as evidenced by a conversation I had with a good friend of mine earlier this evening.

"I don't know what to write about..." I sighed via GoogleChat. (My friend lives on the other side of the pond [Scotland to be exact, and by virtue of this he will gain the appropriate, although hardly original, nickname of Scot for the purposes of this blog], and so Google has become the most convenient and inexpensive forum for our conversations.)

Anyway, I sighed, to which Scot very kindly replied that he was sure I'd find something. "You always seem to cover your bases," he said and despite the distance I could hear the confidence in that statement, for which I was grateful. (Sometimes GoogleChat is invaluable for increasing your self-esteem...)

So, I promptly started wracking my brain for ideas. I almost decided to do a bit of blogging about Husband, who was trying to eat an artichoke for the first time without knowing what he was about. It was quite hilarious to watch him actually, but I hid my snorts of stifled laughter behind the screen of my netbook. No, no extensive blogging about Husband today... it wouldn't be charitable, even if he was laughing about it too.

I went back to the drawing board again for about another thirty minutes or so... And then I had a scathingly brilliant idea and started collecting the necessary materials...

At which point in time, Scot pinged me again on GoogleChat. "How's it going?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "Okaaayyy..." (Oh, yes. I was going to be mysterious and hesitant.)

"What does that mean?" (Hee hee, I could feel the tension already getting to him.)

"It means," I replied, baiting the hook, "that I'm doing research..." (I couldn't help smirking to myself at this point. Scot is a very academic type of guy, into reading ancient manuscripts written in obscure languages and stuff, so research is like... well, I'm not sure what it's like, but it's pretty awesome.)

"NOW I'm intrigued!" he exclaimed, grinning. (And yes, I know he was grinning; one, because he's Scot and two, because he typed it. In bold font actually, like this: grins)

So, amidst all this intrigue, I really did discover what I meant to write about tonight, and I promise I'm getting to it. And, wait for it... here it comes...

SoaringSoprano's Reading List

I've always got a bunch of books that I read simultaneously, and so my idea is to blog a bit about what I'm reading. It'll help give me stuff to blog about for the next month, and maybe I'll even finish a few of them by the time September rolls around.


1. I've already mentioned Book #1, which is actually my *coughdailycough* spiritual reading: Abandonment to Divine Providence by Jean-Pierre de Caussade. My parish priest had recommended it to me when he learned that I had enjoyed Conformity to God's Will by St. Alphonsus Liguiori. Both are full of fantastic little bits that you can mull over all day... which is the whole point of spiritual reading, I suppose.

2. Trianon by Elena Marie Vidal. Now, this is a fantastic little gem. It's an account of the events leading up to the French Revolution, centered, of course, on Queen Marie Antoinette. The refreshing part is that the story has been carefully researched and for a change we can see the life of the Queen and her husband, King Louis XVI, from a truly Catholic perspective. And what a perspective! Nowhere are their faults excused or the mistakes that were made glossed over. Rather, they are addressed honestly and straightforwardly, but through the light of grace and Catholicism.

This is probably my fourth time reading the historical novel, and I love it even more every time I read it. Last night I got through the Prologue and Chapter One. What's interesting is that Vidal changes the point-of-view every chapter, giving a multi-faceted view of the Royal couple. The Prologue is from the perspective of Madame Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, who was the portrait painter of Marie-Antoinette, while Chapter One is from the viewpoint of Madame Louise of France (Louis XVI's aunt), who was also known as Mother Thérése of St. Augustine.

Each of these characters reveal interesting little pieces of information: Vigée-Lebrun muses about the change in the Queen over the years, how her eyes changed from being "large, bright and expressionless" to having "a warmth, a light, a genuine amiability," which the young painter attributes to the Queen's love and approaching motherhood.

Madame Louise prays for her nephew and his bride, contemplating the difficulties the couple are facing. She remembers how her heart went out to the pair when Louis XV died, and the twenty-year-olds fell to their knees, weeping, and begging God to save them because they were too young to reign. And still, thirteen years later, Madame Louise knows they are still scared and beset with troubles and decides to send them brown scapulars and Sacred Heart badges, knowing of the Royal couple's devotion.

3. Okay, well, I need a little segue before revealing the last book, which will come in the form of more dialogue between Scot and I, since it is more than fitting. (Honestly, the double meaning here was intentional... but he didn't know that.)

"I want to work out what you're doing!" Scot says, grinning again. (Oh yeah, the research bit really got to him... go me!)

I laughed. "I'm glad your curiosity is piqued..." I replied, smiling mysteriously.

He grins again. "So am I..." (Aww, how cute! But now, for the set-up...)

I laughed again. "You may be disappointed however..." (Oh, I'm clever...)

Scot shoots me a wry smirk. "I rarely am." (Well, I'll admit it. I giggled at that.)

"Well, don't get your hopes up too high..." I warned. (I was grinning like a Cheshire cat by this point.)

And I really meant it... because you do know what they say about Great Expectations, after all... (I'm so witty sometimes...)

So yes, Book #3 is Charles Dickens' Great Expectations. I've never read the book before. I've only seen the film adaptation with Ioan Gruffudd and Justine Waddell, which I enjoyed, despite the very Dickensian weirdness in places. So, I'm going to tackle the novel finally and see if I can't get my head around it.

I read the first two chapters today, and I must say, for all the complaining I did about Dickens and his descriptions while in High School, I'm really enjoying them now. He's not just describing stuff for the sake of filling up page space. His descriptions manage to lend flavour to the scenery and insight into the characters. My favourite by far is Pip's description of his sister, Mrs. Joe:

"My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in front that was stuck full of pins and needles."

 In one short paragraph, Pip establishes for the reader that his sister is not a very refined woman. She's rough and ready, and the pins and needles in her apron very subtly set up the sharpness and prickliness of  her personality. Mrs. Joe certainly isn't a very lovable person, at all...

I couldn't help laughing at Pip's descriptions of things either, as his voice seems so fully to have captured that of a young boy. The narration aptly puts you into the world of this young boy and the uncomfortableness with the circumstances he's found himself in. The best bit, in my opinion, is the relationship between Joe and Pip, the silent camaraderie of two men who both suffer under the iron rule of Mrs. Joe. It's just priceless and an honest picture of human interaction.

And I think that it's time for me to end this very long blog post. Honestly, I applaud anyone who actually read it all the way to this point...

Here I had nothing to write and now I've got a post a million pages long! Oh, the irony...

In Which Soaring Soprano Plans...

... to overcome her propensity for procrastination.

Yes, I know. To anyone who actually knows me, that statement will sound more like a joke. I can almost hear the barely restrained snorts of laughter now...

But, I'm serious. I need to whip myself into shape and try to beat my lazy streak. Albeit, I'm going to try in little bits at a time, establish little habits that will lead up to establishing a greater habit of industry and basically dying to myself. Honestly, that's what beating procrastination is all about-- Making yourself do something that you don't really feel like doing right at that moment.

However, let me divulge my plan before I wax philosophical on my poor audience.

So, the first step in my plan to overcome laziness is to do what I'm calling "AugBlogMo," which stands for August Blogging Month. It's my own invention, and basically I'm borrowing the basic concept from the good people over at http://www.nanowrimo.org, except that I'm not novelling in a month. My goal, which may be pretty obvious by now, is to blog everyday during the month of August.

I'm not going to have topics planned out, so it'll be pretty random I'm sure, and it may possibly even get boring in places, but this will help me on multiple levels. It'll (hopefully) get me into a steady routine of writing everyday, clearing my head of a bunch of thoughts, and get the ball rolling on stopping my tendencies towards procrastination.

I know it's a very small start, and Husband even rolled his eyes a bit when I told him about it, but I'm also supplementing by doing other, small, personal things on a daily basis as well. And if I'm open to grace and am willing to work with it, I have no doubts that the results will be good ones.

So, stay tuned! I have a feeling August may be a very interesting month!

In Which Soaring Soprano Was Bitten...

... by a plot bunny.

Okay, maybe not so much a plot bunny as it is one of those emoting things again. Technically speaking, a plot bunny is when you actually have an idea for a plot... and I most definitely do not have a plot.

But I don't really have an emotion either. It's more of a visual and about a paragraph's worth of text.

I was sitting in traffic when the image hit me. It was of a starry sky, but it was moving, like I was rapidly pulling away from the image. The stars grew smaller as I fell back, and wispy clouds passed by me at lightning speed, then darkened tree tops, and then my mind-camera stopped zooming out and I was looking at the most beautiful pair of brown eyes I'd ever seen. I could swear that the light of the stars was shining in the depths of those eyes. It was like all the light in the galaxy had coalesced there and it was so breathtakingly beautiful. And then I knew that I loved the owner of these eyes, and that she was the most perfect woman in the galaxy...

Bingo! Right off the bat I know that my character is male (*sigh* again). The strange thing is that his POV is in the second person. Initially, it really threw me for a loop because I couldn't figure out who I was exactly. And I had that scene in my head, and I just knew that it wasn't the beginning or the end of the vignette that would surely grow from it. That bit belonged somewhere in the middle. But I also knew that I couldn't write what I was seeing until I had written what led up to it.

And so, today that is my project. I have a feeling that it's going to take me awhile to get this one finished, but I don't think it'll be a problem this time around. The image is very vivid, but my character isn't as persistent about getting out of my head. He's a bit more restrained, and wants his reflections to be expressed perfectly and can appreciate that it may take some time for me to channel him properly.

Ah ha! A clue!

And whoever said blogging isn't helpful?!  

*goes off to write*

PS- Any tips about writing in second person would be greatly appreciated... I've never done this before, and it's quite tricky...

In Which Soaring Soprano Has Been...

... moody.

I can't really explain why I've been moody... or rather, I can't fully explain why, partially because I don't think it's something that can be articulated... or at least, not by me. But, I suppose that since this is a blog, and therefore a space in which to write random thoughts and try to hash out how my psyche works, I should probably make an attempt.

Honestly, it all has to do with writing... or at least, the way I write.

I'm an... emotional writer. This may sound crazy, but when I'm writing a character, I almost become the character. I see what they see, think what they think, feel what they feel. It's to the point that my poor Husband never knows what to find when he walks into our study. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks I've lost my mind, what with all the times he's found me weeping over the keyboard, or shouting unintelligible things at no one in particular, or bursting out laughing at a conversation taking place in my head. Really, I'm surprised he hasn't committed me yet...

But anyway, to get back on track...

I hardly ever think of my stories in terms of 'scenes.' Rather, a certain character will get me emoting, and the emotions simmer and build up pressure until I sit down to write. During the simmering process I may try to sound the depths of the emotion, seek out an image or a line of dialogue that seems to fit in with what I'm feeling. Sometimes I uncover a lot of information, sometimes I get almost nothing at all.

For instance, I just wrote a short vignette about Han Solo dying. I didn't intend on it being a piece about Han dying. To start out I only had a feeling- melancholy, in this instance- and the image of Jaina Solo standing out on a porch watching the sunset, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. In my mind's eye, her posture is upright but there's a slope to her shoulders that suggests sorrow. And her hands are gripping the steaming mug like it's her only lifeline. "Ah," I say. "Something huge is troubling her, but it's not her emotion I'm feeling. It's not quite that poignant. And I can see her as if I'm watching her."

At that point, I put my fingers to the keyboard and took a deep breath. I didn't know what was going to happen or  even who I was, but I knew I was going to find out. And so, I began to write.

He found her out on the balcony, away from the bustle inside, a cup of caf cradled in her hands as she stared out at the sunset. He didn't say anything as he approached, knowing that she wouldn't want him to.

Okay, so I realised I'm a guy, and there's a crowd of people around that she's trying to get away from... why?  A few lines later I find out the people are there to offer condolences on Han's death, which is why my character is there. But he's also a good friend of the family, which is why he's taking the trouble to see if Jaina's okay, which she's not:

"Sometimes I still expect him to be there... bickering with Mom in the kitchen, playing with Amelia, sitting in the cockpit of the Falcon... Sometimes I think that if I just listen heard enough, I'll still be able to hear his voice." She shivered, and more tears slipped from beneath her eyelids.

"He wasn't supposed to die. The famous Solo luck was supposed to make him invincible," she rambled, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Kriff those blasted Imperials!" she sobbed, her knuckles white as she gripped the mug tightly.

And it's not until a few lines later that I find out who I even am.

"Shh," he said, pulling the mug from her grasp and setting it down. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face in his robes, crying quietly. He rubbed her back gently and she sighed.

"I'm going to miss him, Kyp," she whispered.

Yay! Score! I have a name! And then I write a few more paragraphs and the piece is complete!

Easy, right?

Nope. Not when the images don't come, and all you've got is this very displaced, very strong emotion, and you know who it belongs to, and you don't know why it belongs to them. Then the words and images finally start coming, but they come in drips and drabs and things don't line up just so, so it gets annoying and frustrating on top of the emotional storm you're already feeling.

And that's what has been making me moody... my inability to get these feelings out of my head properly. The story is nearly finished, but the ending is just evading me. Ugh. But it'll come, and I've got to try to keep working on other things... it's too tempting to just focus on one piece when stuff like this happens, which is just bad because then I get so fed up and grouchy.

Yeah, not good.

But I'm working on it. The fact that I'm blogging instead of banging my head against a wall is proof of my efforts. ;)

And that's all for today!

---
For those who are interested, the full version of the Han Solo piece can be found here: Random Drabbles. It's on the second page, about half way down. It's marked 'Week Seven.'