Every Little Ritual

Every writer has their own way to get in the zone. Some need to have their space set up just so. A certain order of events might have to happen for others. It’s a sacred ritual that many writers rely on, and I’m no exception.

I don’t have to have my writing space just so, I can write either at my desk or scattered across the kitchen table. I’ve also been known to nest into my easy chair with files and folders and papers spread all around me. I tote around my current WIP every where I go. Each space has to have a set order and its own unique ritual before I can pull the story from the Library.

My tools also have to be just right. I can’t use just any pencil, it must be mechanical with a rubber grip, size 5 lead, on the wide side with the clicker on the end and a good eraser. Not one of those rubber bits that just smug the lead, but a good one. I have to have wide ruled loose leaf paper. I also have to have a good red ink pen. Not one of those gel pens that smear if you don’t let it dry long enough. I like roller ball pens but they have to be reliable. I can’t sit there scratching waiting for it to warm up.

One thing that is universal in all my writing locations is the order in which I write. The first thing I write up is my goal list. What do I want to accomplish this time? Do I need to research anything? What other things do I need to write before I can start my WIP? Then I start on the smaller projects. A blog post, say, or a short story maybe. After that I dive into some research, but I only research the items I need to know for that writing session. Then, and only then, can I start the novel.

What if....

Today I didn’t get my magic in the morning, and it has really messed with me. I’m less able to cope with the demands of mother hood. It’s incredibly difficult to put words on paper. I’m one big ball of insaneness just ripe to burst at any given moment. Innocent bystanders beware.

It makes me wonder though, how other people react when something they’ve come to rely on doesn’t happen, either by choice or otherwise. How would Jamie react or Josh or Debbie and Iris? What do they rely on? What would happen if Penny couldn’t wear her ankle breakers? Would she lose her pep? Her bubbly personality? What would happen if Debbie didn’t have her Buba any more? Would she be unable to cope with the stress of a new life? What would happen to Jamie if she cut off all her hair? Would she lose her identity? What would happen to Amanda if no one catered to her anymore? Would she fall into a pit of self loathing or find another way to validate her worth? How would they then turn it around and grow to a better person? Would they grow to a better person or would they give up on that path and move to wickedness?

How far would they go to get it back? What would they gladly give up in exchange? Me, I’ll gladly give up sleep in order to get my sun rises. I’ll trudge through the week in a fog of sleep deprivation for those few hours in the morning when it’s just me and the click of the keys, the scratch of a pencil.

Today, I just want to hit the redo button and wake at my normal hour. Instead I’ll take deep breaths until my fingers tingle and work this nightmare of a morning into something I can use in my books. A way to make Jamie, Josh, Sarah, Penny, Rob, Debbie, Amanda, Renee, Iris, Shelia, Jake, Aleme, Matt, Hope, Faith, Lilly, Seth, and Star that much more of a person, that much more believable.

My Magic Morning

I’ve grown to really love my mornings and the silence in the house, the sleepy scene playing outside the window. I get to watch the sun set the mountain side of fire, see the flames lick down to the field below. Sometimes it kisses the dingy sides of cows, others the blaze highlights great birds in flight. Today, that field is empty, except a lone deer with her head bent to taste the dew.

Both girls are sleeping, little faces twitch with dreams and cheeks so rosy red. The cat is out, either hunting a rabbit or stuck in the tree. Mr. Fo, the forever fish, rests at the bottom of his tank. The only sounds inside this room: the click of keys, the sputter of coffee and the hum of the fridge.

I know this wonder will be short lived. I know soon enough the sun will finish her journey and her fire will leave the mountain a lush green. The babies will wake and fill the house with their unique music and the cat will beg for food as she hasn’t eaten all night, poor thing. Cartoons will drown out the crisp tap of words and the slosh of milk will over power the tinkle of coffee.

I find myself waking earlier each day, just for a few more moments of this magic morning. I gladly give up that little extra sleep for this time that is mine now. And as joyful as these few hours are to me, as priceless as they have become, I wouldn’t want it to last forever. That would ruin it, I believe. So, I’ll take this time and when the house awakes, I’ll bid it ado until tomorrow with a little grin and fully recharged to meet the crazy that is my life.

Oh My, What Have I Done

I woke in a panic this morning. It’s not hugely unheard of. Actually, I tend to wake in a panic more often then not. But that’s beside the point. This morning set me flying from bed before my eyes were open. Why? Tomorrow is the first meeting of my new writers group and I’m not as prepared as I would like.

Oh, I have a very good idea of how I want it to go. I’ve outlined and listed and contemplated it all. Or so I had thought…

The main topic is Motivation. It seems fitting enough as a good first topic. Finding the motivation to sit down and write. Without motivation, nothing would ever get down except dream a little about the idea of writing.

I figured I’d say a little bit on motivation, why it’s important, how to find your personal motivation, the keys to unlock the next door so to speak. Maybe do up a couple little things to help find, promote and grow motivation. Then turn the topic over to the group to discuss. That sounds pretty good. Yet, that’s all I have and I’m running out of time.

I have no idea what I’m going to say in regards to the topic, no little exercises in mind. Nothing but the idea of what I’d like to cover. Yeah, that’s not going to get my very far.

I’m also scared out of my left sock about the whole deal. What if I totally F it up? What if I come across as a know-it-all without a clue? What if no one shows up and I’m sitting there with a table of goodies; the fodder to small town gossip? What if everyone shows up and I’m standing there, being stared at and freeze up, turn blue even? Gah, this is messing with my head!

But despite all that, I’m really looking forward to it. And truth be told, I know, in some small little bit of my mind, that I’ll pull it all together in the nick of time, that people will show up, I won’t sound stupid and all I really need to do is have a few topic starters in mind and let the rest unfold. This is a group after all, not a lecture. This is where like minded people come together to share their knowledge and help each other grow as writers no matter what leg of the journey they happen to be on.

So, I’m going to sit back, have another cup of coffee and finish watching the sun rise. Tomorrow will be just fine. And if no one shows, well, I’ll have a nice long block of time to write, and a bunch of goodies to stuff my face with.

Somethings Gotta Give

The bright sun rises above the mountain’s breast while cheery birds dance in the still summer’s breeze and tall grasses purple the hill side. The crickets and cicadas have gone to rest leaving the morning still and quite.




Bright kaleidoscope eyes search the room from the haven mommy made. Tiny fingers, too small to hold all the muscle and bone wiggle up to greet the day. Little legs pump and a single squeal of delight punctures the silence, bringing the song of birds.

In the other room my blond hired devil angel whimpers at her dreams while long awkward limbs twitch. She’ll wake soon as well, this mommy knows, with a grin and request for milk, chocolate milk. Normally I’d say no, but this morning may be different.

The Puffet finds a bone, there among her toys, a gift from Grandma to sooth her teeth and gums. With the strut of a novice crawler and the grace bestowed on her by her name sake, Little Quillian heads off in search of a new adventure.

And thus is this morning, on the brink of a season change. The Hunt is nearing and this mommy feels the call. The darkened lullaby spurs my fingers across the keys, sends whispers into my ears. The voices grow, a jumble of words driving me to the brink, bringing with them the near frantic need to hide away and put their wonderful stories down for the world to see.

 

When the Lights Go Out

I don’t get spooked easily, but stick me in a darkened bookstore after hours and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

The way the shadows play across countless eyes and half-hidden smirks, is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Power down the sound system and it gets loud. I can hear the stories whispering to each other. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the character’s move within the cover art.

I can say this; you’re never truly alone in a bookstore. Each story comes alive at night; the characters leave the pages and seek adventure between their neighbor’s bindings. When the lights go out Vikings war with Space Cadets, Dragon’s fly through the London Blitz, the women of Romance gossip about their men with the ladies of magazines and zombies learn to cook.

Now that I work at a bookstore, (yes such a wonderful cliché) my muse has gone into overdrive. Last night as I closed up, new stories rushed to fill my mind, begging to be let lose. I see many new stories coming to life on the paper and I’m so looking forward to sitting down to really follow my dreams.