Spring, she is here.

Goodness, it has been a long time. I apologize for not posting. I have no excuse.*

Something horrible has happened. I went to Target (as I am a Girl of Little Cash) and bought a relatively beautiful binder (in comparison to my old purple one). The binder had rainbow dots on the front and rainbow stripes on the inside. I loved it, and gave it three beautiful new gel pens. They were red, blue, and purple. I wrote a glorious eleven pages in that binder, as well as housing the many detailed notes I took on my story – how it was to go, who killed who (just kidding… maybe), who falls in love (or not). And then, one fateful day, I went… to…

the Library.

The Library may not seem like a likely place for a writer’s disaster, but our school library is. I brought my writing binder, as I always do, and somehow left it behind. Of course, I realized this immediately and went to the library to retrieve my binder. It was closed, so I came the next day. Here is what happened:

Me: I think I left a binder here. Have you seen it?
Librarian: (shrugs) I told the janitor to throw it away. You shouldn’t leave stuff here.
Me: (my world shatters)

And that was how my story was forced to rise from the metaphorical ashes. One new binder, six packs of Tic-Tacs, and twelve new gel pens later, I have to say, it’s better than before now (the two pages I have written, at least). But… The Librarian threw it away!

Mon Dieu.

On the other hand, it’s Spring now. Joy!

I still can’t
*Actually, I do. My Firefox was down and I hate blogging with IE (Fie on it and it’s slowness). I just didn’t think you wanted to hear it.

Goodness! (part 2)

Anyway, as I was saying: The horrors of trying to write around adolescent boys.
Here is one such horrible incident:
(A cafeteria, filled with light bantering and joy)
Moi: (writes feverishly about the irish Sidhe [pronounced 'shee'])
Adolescent boy: (reads over my shoulder)
Moi: (does not notice adolescent boy)
Adolescent boy: (laughs) What does sid-hee mean?
Moi: (whirls around in a rage) Don’t read my story!
Adolescent boy: I’m a blue-tongued skink.
Moi: (does not understand how blue-tounged skinks pertain)

I have taken to telling people who read my stuff that “I hope twa corbies pike out your een.” That usually confuses them mightely.
Anyway, if you are one of those people, adolescent boy or not, who ever feels like reading an author’s stuff over their shoulder and taunting them about it… Don’t. They may have to kill you.

Goodness

I love being a writer. When the world is too confusing, boring, or otherwise unsavory, one can just escape into one’s imagination… or something like that. But there are other facets of writing life (as all writer know) that are less glorious. I shall ignore the writer’s block, deadlines, plot issues, and all the other “normal” problems with writing, that everyone has. Let me, instead, focus on a problem that is unique to myself and a few other people I know:
Trying to outline one’s plot whilst surrounded by adolescent boys. Now, I don’t really care if someone peeks over my shoulder and reads a few sentences of my story. It won’t usually give anything major away. But when people read over my shoulder (while I, of course, am concentrate) when I am pouring the very essence of my story out onto the paper… well. That I cannot stand!

This rant will be continued later. Thank you!

A Decision is Made

For weeks, I have been painstakingly planning out the plot of my story (8689). Every day, I made changes, and now the whole thing is nothing like where I started. I have a few scattered pages of the actual thing written, but they hardly pertain now. This must stop. So now, I do decree the following:

I, Inky, shall stop enlessly outlining and changing everything, and just decide on one plot. I understand that I will never make a perfect story, and I don’t need to send this one out for publishing. I will just let it be. I will write one definate, short plot outline down and expand on it as I write. No one has to see this story.
-Inky

So it begins.

A Poem about Eva Peron

I composed this poem for an assignment in school. I’m not terribly happy about it. The meter is sort of off, and it’s not really very moving or anything. My favorite couplet is the last one, because it sounds like something that Che (from ALW’s musical about Eva Peron) might say.

Eva was born with a dream and ambition
She would not be squashed down into submission

Slowly she rose, and she got even greater
When one day in October, she wed a dictator

Miss Eva had glamour, Miss Eva had fame
She was a key asset in Peron’s campaign

But that Eva Peron, she was terribly frail
She tried to be strong, but ‘twas to no avail

Once she was famous, now she is gone
And that is the story of Eva Peron

Mon Dieu!

I am sorry. I have not been taking very good care of my blog. I shall now try to write something relevent.

Here is a brief list of things that help me write:
Food

Tic-Tacs – Only the white minty ones, mind you. I can go through a whole pack in a bout five minutes. I am much enamored of their sweet, vanilla-y coating.

Gummy Peach Rings – (link provided because many people don’t know what they are) Peach Rings… They are always a little stale, and often taste very little like the peaches of the mortal world. I think maybe they were stolen from the Goblin Market.

Blue M&Ms – Inexplicably, they make me want to write. Has anyone else experienced this?

Atmosphere

Light – I. Need. Natural. Light.

Music – Well, of course. I doubt I need to elaborate on this one.

The Actual Writing Tools

Gel Pens – I’ve already gone over this, but it’s worth saying again. They rock.

A Writer’s Playlist: Tragedy, Broken Hearts, and General Gloom

I’m generally sort of morbid, but am yet to have my heart broken. Tragic music helps.
1. The Foggy Dew by Sinead O’Conner
2. She’s Like the Swallow by Cara Dillon
3. Standing Stones by Loreena McKennitt

A Writer’s Playlist: Casual / Slightly Romantic Scenes

(Such as those that may take place in a cafe)
1. Ooh La La by the Ditty Bops
2. My Dear Country by Norah Jones
3. Hijo de la Luna, the Sarah Brightman version

More later. Adeiu!

A Writer’s Playlist

For me, there are two keys to writing successfully: Tic-Tacs (only the white minty ones, mind you) and background music. I will probably compose an ode to the noble Tic-Tac later, but for now I will post a series of entries on what sort of music I listen to to get me in the mood to write a kind of scene. I generally like celtic music quite a bit, as it can be sad, fast, beautiful, frantic, or any other mood you could possibly want (or not want) to convey in your writing, as well as often having no words to distract you (I can’t possibly be the only one who accidently writes down whatever she’s listening to). I will start tommorrow, as now I must sign off. Farewell!

I am so sorry

I feel very ill this weekend, and have so much to do. On Tuesday, normal posts will resume.