I am struggling with the name of one of the main characters/love interest in my story Chasing Katharine. His name is currently Andrew, and it feels hollow, like it somehow doesn't fit him anymore. I envision him differently now compared to when I first came up with the name years ago. He is kind, smart, and honorable, as any good knight should be.
Names I am considering (note the n-endings):
Ian
Ethan
Loren
Owen
I'm not sold on the names; I just know it can't stay Andrew...
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Chapter of Hope
Just for you Kirsten, a teaser of what is to come... If I don't edit it out.
***
There is someone there. Someone at the door. Someone who will kill her to get what he wants.
She won't let him. She can't let him. The fate of her whole world rests in her arms.
"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! Why are you hiding?" He taunts from behind the door. "Time to come out and play."
Her eyes dart from the fireplace to the door. How much time do they need?
"Kitty, I know you are in there. I can feel you in my head."
She sees it in his head, how she can get them out. She runs to the fireplace clutching onto hope that she can free them. It's all she can do before it ends. The wall at the back of the fireplace should move. It should give way to a staircase. She pushes it; it doesn't move. Two pairs of little hands join hers, pushing until it budges an inch. Then two. Three inches.
The pounding on the door halts and they stop pushing to silence the scrape of rock on rock.
"What are you doing, Kitty Cat? You are taking too long to come to your senses."
The pounding begins again. This time it's louder; he is using something to bust through. The splintering of wood tells her it's an axe. There is a foot of space now in front of her.
"Go! Just keep running," she tells them. Their scared faces are covered in soot. Maybe they won't be recognized. Their small frames disappear through the opening just as the center of the door gives way. His head pops through with a suspicious stare. He realizes he showed her exactly how to get out.
"Guards, to the east wall!" he yells.
He'll deal with her later.
Monday, February 25, 2013
92 Days of Madness: The Life of a Non-Writing Writer
92 Days: how long it takes to settle into life. Three months of moving, unpacking, and reinstating normalcy. My curtains are (mostly) hung and my clothes finally have a place to stay (that is not the floor in heaps). Our dog loves our (rented) backyard, and Boyfriend passed his boards. This year has started out in a whirlwind, a crazy tornado of consumed time.
So much has happened, I hesitate to try to cover it all in one post, which is why I am not.
In the past 92 days, I have worked, visited family and friends, read a bit and ignored my writing. The ways we spend our time reflect what is important to us at any given time, and my writing became the lowest rung on my ladder. This is what I do every year, particularly around the holidays. Good intentions fall away to bad habits.
In the spirit of the New Year (albeit a little late), I am aiming to reclaim my time and write more, to become less of an enthusiast and more of a writer while still managing to make time for everything else.
Cheers to the New Year!
So much has happened, I hesitate to try to cover it all in one post, which is why I am not.
In the past 92 days, I have worked, visited family and friends, read a bit and ignored my writing. The ways we spend our time reflect what is important to us at any given time, and my writing became the lowest rung on my ladder. This is what I do every year, particularly around the holidays. Good intentions fall away to bad habits.
In the spirit of the New Year (albeit a little late), I am aiming to reclaim my time and write more, to become less of an enthusiast and more of a writer while still managing to make time for everything else.
Cheers to the New Year!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
A Case of Stopped-Up-Writing-Brain
I haven't been doing a lot of writing lately, and I have plenty of excuses for not doing so: working late, needing to exercise/cook/clean/sleep, hanging out with family or having a stomach ache/tired eyes/migraine (which are totally valid, but I'm making a point here). What it all boils down to is my utter lack of focus on the story. I would like to say that I eat, sleep and breathe writing it, but that is just not the case. Real life happens, bills need to get paid, and the pup does need a walk. And I have come to terms with that being okay.
On the other hand, when I do have time (usually on the weekends), I have a complete lack of focus. I think to myself, "Hey, now would be a good time to get a couple pages written, or maybe edit that last terrible bit I wrote." Eight times out of ten, I find something else to do. I mean, who can say no to this face ------------->
Lately, when I do sit down to write, I get "writer's block," which is a phrase I dislike. It sounds like a simple child's wooden toy that can be built with, creating imaginary places easily. Only it's not so simple to move past my block, but I have compiled a list of items that work for me.
On the other hand, when I do have time (usually on the weekends), I have a complete lack of focus. I think to myself, "Hey, now would be a good time to get a couple pages written, or maybe edit that last terrible bit I wrote." Eight times out of ten, I find something else to do. I mean, who can say no to this face ------------->Lately, when I do sit down to write, I get "writer's block," which is a phrase I dislike. It sounds like a simple child's wooden toy that can be built with, creating imaginary places easily. Only it's not so simple to move past my block, but I have compiled a list of items that work for me.
- Reading anything - books, magazines, blogs, etc.
- Unplugging - Get away from the screens (television, computer, phone...). They are mind-numbing. Hours pass that could have been productive but fail to be because you are Pinterest-ing too long.
- Spending time with someone who can take your mind off of your story.
- Crafting helps me to use the creative side of my brain and usually reignites the flame of a story that petered out.
- Cooking, similar to crafting, takes me to my creative place. Usually after doing these, however, I tend to be too tired to write, but I get back to it soon after.
- Changing venues - coffee shops with big squishy chairs are my favorite haunts, as well as libraries, parks, and anywhere outside of my living room.
Please send any other ideas my way. I've got a bad case of "stopped-up-writing-brain."
Sunday, November 11, 2012
The Keys to Katharine
After knowing Katharine for years in my head, today I share a bit of who she is.
Katharine is a teenager living in a fictitious feudal city (yet to be named; please send suggestions), vaguely based on medieval England, which has been relatively peaceful of late. I have debated many times whether this should be set in a made up world. My reason for choosing an imaginary one is purely selfish in that I get to make up how people acted instead of following historic trends, actions, gender roles and actual events.
To picture Katharine is more than just a few physical traits on a page. She has long red hair and witchy grey eyes, wrapped in a fiery, intelligent and kind spirit. Freckles dust her cheeks and her skin is golden-tinged because she spends more time outside than in being the daughter of the stable master.
She helps her father with the horses and rides better than most men. Her way with horses is well-known throughout the country. When she was eight-years-old, she calmed a prized "untamable" horse that even her father failed to control. Crawling cautiously under the paddock fence, she held out a filled honey comb to the horse and whispered sweet words to him. After a tense moment, the horse lay next to her in the grass as if he were a foal. The king, witnessing this, gave her the steed. He said to her, "One remarkable creature deserves another."
Her father, while good at raising horses, was not quite sure what to do with his 9-year-old daughter after his wife, Pru (short for Prudence), was murdered. Pru was a healer, often called upon to heal illnesses in the castle. Katharine learned about healing from her and took over her mother's role for the townspeople at a young age, as well as helping in the stables.
Katharine's life holds many secrets, but I don't want to reveal too much as they are tied into the story itself. Time to focus on writing the story instead of my blog... Wish me luck.
Katharine is a teenager living in a fictitious feudal city (yet to be named; please send suggestions), vaguely based on medieval England, which has been relatively peaceful of late. I have debated many times whether this should be set in a made up world. My reason for choosing an imaginary one is purely selfish in that I get to make up how people acted instead of following historic trends, actions, gender roles and actual events.
To picture Katharine is more than just a few physical traits on a page. She has long red hair and witchy grey eyes, wrapped in a fiery, intelligent and kind spirit. Freckles dust her cheeks and her skin is golden-tinged because she spends more time outside than in being the daughter of the stable master.
She helps her father with the horses and rides better than most men. Her way with horses is well-known throughout the country. When she was eight-years-old, she calmed a prized "untamable" horse that even her father failed to control. Crawling cautiously under the paddock fence, she held out a filled honey comb to the horse and whispered sweet words to him. After a tense moment, the horse lay next to her in the grass as if he were a foal. The king, witnessing this, gave her the steed. He said to her, "One remarkable creature deserves another."
Her father, while good at raising horses, was not quite sure what to do with his 9-year-old daughter after his wife, Pru (short for Prudence), was murdered. Pru was a healer, often called upon to heal illnesses in the castle. Katharine learned about healing from her and took over her mother's role for the townspeople at a young age, as well as helping in the stables.
Katharine's life holds many secrets, but I don't want to reveal too much as they are tied into the story itself. Time to focus on writing the story instead of my blog... Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Halloween, Harry Potter and Hating NaNoWriMo
Halloween
I would post the slightly embarrassing "mugshots" that the Russian Gymnasts left on my computer after making London 2012 name badges... But I think they may kill me. Just know, ladies, I have them. ;) Also, I am still cleaning up glitter from your hair.
Harry Potter
I am now nearing the end of the fourth Harry Potter book, for the umpteenth time. Admittedly, I am a nerd, but embracing is much more appealing than fighting it. The funny thing is, even after all this time and knowing what happens, I still get nervous for the characters.
My goal: to be a writer that gets re-read. But my first, I need to make it to the "must-read" shelf (or any book shelf at all), which I will not be doing during NaNoWriMo.
Hating NaNoWriMo
While I think the idea behind NaNoWriMo (or National Novel Writing Month, where a writer creates an entire novel in the month of November) is great, I abhor the actual task. Every year I start with good intentions, and every year I stop. This year holds no plans for participating; however, in the spirit of holding true to the festivities, I am making an effort to write more throughout the coming weeks. Maybe I will get lucky and finish something without meaning to.
Here is a clip of last year's (which will probably never get finished because I have entirely forgotten where the storyline was heading):
NaNoWriMo 2011 - Untitled
Scottish music danced in the night air. Fiona dance alongs with the other seventeen-year-old chorus girls.
“Fi, you must keep your knees bent. Rehearsal must be as good as you plan on performing,” claims the instructor, who happens to be their local bald priest.
Fi nods, but her focus is elsewhere. Ashley giggles at Fi’s ineptitude while keeping in perfect step with the music. Several other girls send mean looks toward Fi, but she does not take notice.
“All right ladies and gents, I think that’s enough for today. Candlemas is in two days, so we must be prepared to show off our skills. No new shoes for Candlemas. They will only serve to rip up your feet. God bless.” the priest announced to the room. His eyes scanned the crowd until he found Fiona. She ducked her eyes and began shoving her dance shoes into her bag. Parents started arriving for the young ones and the other teenager girls walked out gabbing about hair and getting burgers.
“Fi, my dear, what’s wrong?” the priest startled her.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing, Father.”
“‘Tis a sin to lie, Fi.”
“Then I’ll repent later. How many Hail Mary’s for lying?”
Good luck to all my writer friends who are making the great attempt! May your novel take many unexpected, exciting turns.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Progress: Editing and Purple-Lining Katharine
As I sit here drinking (and thoroughly enjoying) my annoyingly expensive designer grande half-caf pumpkin latte with a splash of chocolate, I have come to the realization that it's time. I have fought the inevitability that Katharine needs to be edited. When I began writing it at 13, I failed to understand that not every nuance has to be told flat out on the first page; characters need time to develop; and, while descriptions are great, using a thesaurus for every other word probably is not going to make the story sound more polished.
I laughed a little when I opened the file again; I have grown in my writing, and while I may not be professional-grade, I am a heck of a lot better than I use to be. Published writers have better editors anyway.
Today, I started editing... again. This time though I was not afraid to toss it all.
I hate editing in red. It's hateful, almost vindictive. I myself like using a nice purple. Purple says, "Hey, it's fine, I get it. This isn't your best work, but maybe we can make it okay."
After nearly two hours, I have only made it through two pages, was originally three. I rewrote large chucks, finally being able to convey what my eight-grade self saw as the opening scene in her head, adding a little more mystery. I have got to say: purple-lining feels good.
I laughed a little when I opened the file again; I have grown in my writing, and while I may not be professional-grade, I am a heck of a lot better than I use to be. Published writers have better editors anyway.
Today, I started editing... again. This time though I was not afraid to toss it all.
I hate editing in red. It's hateful, almost vindictive. I myself like using a nice purple. Purple says, "Hey, it's fine, I get it. This isn't your best work, but maybe we can make it okay."
After nearly two hours, I have only made it through two pages, was originally three. I rewrote large chucks, finally being able to convey what my eight-grade self saw as the opening scene in her head, adding a little more mystery. I have got to say: purple-lining feels good.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Why I am Chasing Katharine
Eighth grade: the blip of embarrassment of any grown adult. And I was stuck there with my triangle hair, sparkly retainer, and nerdy full-blown obsession with young adult fiction that stemmed from my early childhood. Books were my outlet, helping me jump into adventures I imagined I was too young to have. I devoured them one by one, often one in a day. J.K. Rowling, Meg Cabot, and so many others (probably with the help of a little too much sugar before bed) painted my dreams, which is where I met Katharine.
Katharine (yes, it's spelled correctly) is where my writing finally began to take shape. She lives in my head even now, and is why I thought for some insane reason that I (at the mature age of 13) could be a famous writer like my teen-life icons. Katharine haunted my nights, with her auburn hair and fiery spirit. I would be her in the battle of a mythical land, racing across fields to face my enemies with swords and magic. Her story would break into my dreams occasionally, and I would feel reenergized, ready to write again.
I've written and rewritten, stopped writing and stopped believing I would ever finish it. Every year or so, I pull it back out, look at the editing marks, praying for inspiration and better skill. And every year, I put it away, because there is not enough time to focus or a bad case of bad writer's block or 100 other excuses I have made since I began writing it. Over the years, I have started seven (yes, seven) stories and danced around countless ideas I intended on finishing, for which I made the same excuses.
What it really comes down to is fear. I've never been keen to let people read my stories, opening myself to public criticisms on thoughts that for so long have been my private musings. Even in my teens, only a few people were allowed, which included my best friend who lovingly told me that Katharine's Story (a working title that was never changed) was amazing and has been asking for the next chapter for nearly a decade.
I've been waiting for the story to come to me, which wasn't working; I think it's time I start chasing Katharine. This blog is the first step in my effort to opening my stories up for viewing. So here it goes...
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