Saturday, 29 November 2014

Winning Nanowrimo!!

 So after my last post I went forward to write a total of 7338 for the day. I had not expected that. I honestly think that if I had not written consistently for that day it would have been much harder to stay motivated to finish.
  I had not intended to write quite that much. I thought that I would reach about four thousand and then given up. I think of anything this is proof that no matter how far behind you fall you should never lose heart because success is never out of reach.
  This is the earliest that I have ever finished Nanowrimo and the feeling of relief is immense.
  Now I am going to take a well earned break and... I don't know, eat or something.

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

The Writing Life

  I am determined that today I will officially catch up on Nanowrimo. Today I will do it. I am as close as I have ever been to catching up. I actually want to get ahead. After I post this I will.
  It is my goal to finish Nanowrimo at least a day early. It's one of my goals that is like using up an entire pen without losing it (which I do on a regular basis -thank you OCD for the value I get out of pens) Or like wearing away the keys on my keyboard (Which has never happened yet but it's still less than a year old so there is still time.) These are goals that don't make much sense. I want to achieve them so bad but what do they prove? That I'm a hard worker? That I am determined?
  This is not advice I follow but advice that I will give none the less. Don't judge yourself on the amount of pens you use up, or on how faded the 'a' 's' 'd' 'f' 'j' 'k' 'l' ';' keys are, value yourself because you have strived to achieve something and are continuously working on it.
 

Wednesday, 19 November 2014

Not even the Monsters

  I risk sounding a bit like a psychopath by writing this. But sure, why not.
  When I was younger I was scared of monsters. That is not unusual. A lot of kids are scared of monsters. The monsters I was scared of live up stairs. And on the stairs. Or in the stairs. They could come out of the wall, the head of a lion with the skull of a goat and rotting flesh. They would come through the walls and grab me.
  All this, does not sound too out of the ordinary.

 Next part of the story.

 So years pass, and occasionally when I am home alone it is as though I can hear the ghosts of these monsters laughing at me, because I never really got over them. They sit around in their hellish circles and stare at me through the walls, because I give them the power to do so.

  I remember one time coming home after the worst day. One of the many worst days. I can't even remember what had happened now.
  I came home to an empty house, and I remember feeling so fed up, so angry and so scared all at once. I was sick of their hellish laughter. I decided it was time that I face my demons. I was a grown-up for goodness sake. And so I made the adult decision. I stood at the end of the staircase and shouted:
  'Take me!' at the staircase.
  'Come on, I want out. Take me! I'll go.'

  Naturally nothing came.
  Not even the monsters came through for me in the end.

Rainy Days and Wednesdays

  Have you ever felt like a character in your own story? Today I had a rough day, some people taking advantage of my niceness.
  Essentially I had to stay where I was, and cancel some plans I had with a friend. I am standing in this fancy event, complete with guest list and celebrities, and I am the help (well, not really, but you know working, not partying hard). I found myself not caring that I was warm inside with a nice job and wishing I could be out in the pouring rain. It was one of those cases where you had sent a text, but couldn't tell if it had sent, but couldn't check because tension in the job was so high that if you took your phone out then someone's head might explode.
  Every few minutes I found myself going to the window of my job and looking out into the wet street counting down the minutes until I was finally free.
 
  I was walking through Dublin's fair city. In the pouring rain (classic). It was raining huge raindrops the kind you feel go splat and then continue to roll down your forehead. It was dark, and I had a to-go cup of Christmas Starbucks honey and almond hot chocolate, the only thing to keep my hands from shaking with cold.
  It doesn't sound that bad. It wasn't really. I usually love walking in the rain (so long as I don't have to be somewhere looking good).
  I realise that there is no real point to that story. But for some reason it felt very much like a story. Have you ever thought that we are all just stories being read out by ghosts?

 

Time Machine

  I have discovered the secret of Time Travel. So this is it. Can I trust you with this secret? This is what you do:








  1. Find someone you really like. Go on. There's someone.
  2. Sit beside them in class. You can do it. It's a free country.
  3. Say; Hey! you have awesome hair (or some equivalent).
  4. And when they look at you like ... eh... thanks I guess, now don't talk to me, then,


BOOM! You are thirteen. 

Feel free to test this theory. You are welcome.

We are all Selfish Artists

  I study English. I read a lot of literature. Recently, we did some classes on Romantic poets. How they were influenced by what was going on in France and America and all that.
  This got me thinking that what I write is purely entertainment. The things I write about are not political or about massive social events or cultural significance. How can I call myself a writer and write such fluff? Don't I see the important things that those who have written before me have written?
  But you know, that is complete and utter crap. We, all of us, are selfish artists. The things we do to write or draw or sing, they are done to express ourselves. They may have the benefits of uplifting others or influencing them, but to be honest, and lets be honest here, art is a selfish thing.
  For this part I am strictly talking about myself, I am very possessive of my art, writing, drawing (that's what I do). I am highly competitive in these areas. If I did it, it is mine, even if I give it to you. It's got that Emma stamp on it in indelible ink.
  No artist in the past painted purely for others, besides maybe those who did it as a trade and for no other reason. But artists, we are selfish. It's part of the game. If you're not. I envy you.
inspired by Coraline by Neil Gaiman

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

I Gotta Write Mo' in Wrimo

  So now I am at the point in my story where I am invested in the characters and want to know what happens next.
  But that seems to be the problem. What happens next? I want to turn the page and see what happens but the thing is, I decide what happens, and that is daunting.
  My characters are dealing with things that have never happened to me. They are in situations good and bad that I have no experience with and I want to give them a realistic solution. I am terrified that someone will read what I have written and declare it fake.
  Oh, innocent Emma! That isn't what happens when this happens! So naive, so clueless! Ha!
  And I suppose I wouldn't be so intimidated if it were unusual situations like discovering superpowers or if an alien came down. Because how many people are going to relate to that? But some of these situations that my characters are in are quite everyday.
  This is where I am a fraud. I need to convince not only those who read my story, but also myself a little bit. Let's pretend. And then let's write it down.

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Nanowrimo - The Writing Days.

I'll keep this short, I'll keep this sweet.
I didn't sleep and forgot to eat.
 
But I'll write and write forevermore
Then leave this page and write some more.