Faery - Wood Nymph

Etchings on The Cave Walls

Analize Carefully

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Noodles
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Noodles

I had no idea how badly I wanted noodles until I got back to the office with my dinner tonight. I haven’t been obeying my diet lately because if I lose any weight, I lose milk supply as well. I would rather be fat than starve my baby, so bring on the cookies!

I’m making a point to eat some oats every day because that is supposed to be the best galactagogue, and I’m still taking the fenugreek as well. Off my diet, my milk supply has almost doubled, and Ivy has gained more than half a pound. Granted I’m adding some cereal to her bottles and some purees between feedings, but extra milk in the boob helps, too. She doesn’t fuss as much or cry as often now. I wonder if she was ever getting enough to drink? The WIC nutritionist was horrified that the doctor told me to put formula powder in Ivy’s bottles. At least someone has some sense.

That’s the extent of which I’m willing to talk about that. I don’t mean to be a bitch, I just know that when I posted about Ivy’s weight in her picture group, people lost their minds, and I’m not interested in seeing that again.

I used to have a friend who asked my advice over and over about the same exact thing and never listened to me, and it drove me crazy. It was almost always “should I dump my boyfriend?” and then she’d go on for hours about his shortcomings, so of course I’d tell her to walk away. Then she’d go back and tell him that I hated him, and I had never even met the guy. They got married… Then they got divorced about a year later.

I’m not really sure where I was going with that. Just telling a story. I guess that’s what I do.

I’m getting a lot of cheering on from a particular friend about my writing ability, and it’s really nice to know that someone would read my novel if I wrote one. A big part of my issue is that I know that my mind is pretty bent, and I always assume that no one reading me will really get what I’m trying to convey. So many people say that I have a “gift” with the written word, but here and there I get a critic who thinks I’m too wacked. Maybe it’s their minds that are bent. Who knows? All I can do is put pen to paper and see how it goes.

I rarely ever actually write with a pen and paper these days. Typing is so much easier, and for anything that will eventually be a finished product, you end up having to type it up anyway.

Some nights, the words just flow and the pages seem to scroll and scroll. This entry is only almost a page long, but it feels like it only took me a breath to put down. Other nights, I battle with the blank page like a goblin against a dragon. If covering the page with words meant slaying the white beast, I would instead fall on my own sword. It stares me down and mocks me, and then shakes my words off like a dog after a bath.

But still, I write. It is in my nature. I can’t help it. I’m actually finding it really helpful to write about my fears and shortcomings as a writer. There’s stuff in my brain that needed to get out before I could actually work on something again. 28 hours until I can start focusing on my novel. I just looked up the time change that happens that night, but since the clocks technically go back at 2am, that doesn’t affect my start time. I already told Jared that I have plans to start writing at the stroke of midnight that night, and I’m hoping that he will at least stay up with me a little. There’s something about even just being in the same room as him that brings me peace. He doesn’t even have to be paying attention to me. If he plays video games while I type, I’m perfectly content.

My biggest distraction is Facebook. It has been less so since my therapist told me that I needed to cut back because it was becoming an addiction. Okay, so I’m defying her concerning writing erotica, but I stay much more mentally stable when I keep my FB usage to a minimum and just put my thoughts down in Word, whether I post them or not.

Three times now I’ve thought I might not want to post this entry, but I have to get used to being in the public eye again. I have to grow a thicker skin to criticism.

I have to write my novel and flip the critics the bird.


-WyrdAngelique

A Rambling From The Office
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Now that I’ve gotten a lot of my woes out, I’m mostly just splattering a stream of consciousness out onto the page every day. I’m content with that. This is getting posted to my LiveJournal, so I hope my readers are okay with that too, but if they’re not, I guess they can just skip it. I do have a Twitter feed if you only like to know about 120 characters worth of what’s going on in my life.

I’m daydreaming about my future NaNoWriMo attempt, and I’m wondering if there’s a convenient way for me to dictate my story when I can’t type. I’m not sure what kind of hard/software my laptop has for that, but I’m sure I can talk to my iPhone and it will type what I say. There must be an app for that.

My head feels funny and my throat feels raw. It gets worse the more I think about it. Also, I’m trying to type quietly, since the guy next to me noticed that I was typing Monday night. My boss has gotten on me about writing during my down time even though it’s technically not against policy.

And work is picking up, so I should probably stop anyway. I’ll do better tomorrow. At least I wrote something.


-WyrdAngelique

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Gearing Up for NaNoWriMo
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I didn’t even try to write last year because I thought I had too much on my plate, and this year I have WAY more on my plate, but I want to write anyway. I realize that I only have so many hours in the day, and only so many hours to sleep as well, but staying up and getting stuff done is what a Mama does! So even with the baby, the step kids, the job, and the bullshit, I’m going to attempt to write a novel.

The problem? I’m not inspired. I haven’t felt the inspiration bug bite me in over a year, and no matter what I wave in his direction for bait, he’s still not biting. I don’t even have a character yet. I almost always start with a character and go from there, telling her story as she lives it. There’s something about that too, and that is, I almost always get stuck somewhere and give up. I have already gone onto the NaNoWriMo site and given my novel a title and a small synopsis, but honestly, I have no idea if I’ll use them or not. I looked back at my novel attempts from years past, and they all kinda sound the same. I feel like I’m trying to write the same character over and over, but I keep failing her.

I like the concept that NaNoWriMo is a month of “literary abandon” (I think it says that on the website), so I want to sit down at the stroke of midnight on the 1st and take off writing as if someone just fired the starting pistol and shouted “GO!” I like to put down the first chapter or two that night before closing my eyes as the sun comes over the horizon. The problem there, is that I probably run out of steam I’m an Aries. I like to start projects and never finish them. I have to remind myself that I’m more than just my sun sign. I should be able to finish things. I’ve written a ton of magazine articles, poems, and short stories, and I was able to finish all of those without a struggle. Why should it be any different with a more lengthy piece of fiction?

On a FB post where we’re joking about a nineteen year-old-girl’s views on teen pregnancy, I replied, “a little BDSM never hurt anyone.” Hmmm. That gets me to thinking: maybe I should go ahead and write an erotic novel. My therapist told me a couple months back that I should stop writing things of a “scategorical nature” and focus on something real. That didn’t really help me feel any better about being a smut author, and really just reinforced the part of my brain that says “you should stop writing this, it’s dirty.” I’m not really sure where that part of my brain lives, but I’d kind of like to stab it with a paring knife. It feels like that part of my brain that used to tell me that I wanted to be a Pagan, but Jesus would not be happy with me if I turned away from him. Well, I got over that, and I think I can get over this too.

So do I want to write a dirty novel, or do I want to just stitch in a couple of sex scenes between plot, plot, and more plot? Do I want sec to be integral to the plot, or just an occasional feature that makes the book a little steamy here and there? I’ve never been the kind of person who left sex out of the story, but do I want it to be the main focus? And how? Do I want the main character to get pregnant? Is she a hooker? Tantrist? Run-of-the-mill slut? I need to remember in this case, my approach to using sex in my RP games as well: it’s part of life and nature, it should not be ignored. Do I want to be scorned as some kind of knock-off author rumored to be inspired by the popularity of Fifty Shades of Gray? I’ve never even read it. You’d think it would be right up my alley, but really, I’m very picky about my fiction. I’m a really picky reader in general, honestly. My ego always looks to see if I could have written it better, and if I do, it goes in the pile.

I know I’m an egotistical nut-job. Somehow I manage to both own it, and hide it well.

So it looks like the average word count goal per day is about three pages. I realize that it can vary depending on how many ten-cent words your use versus how many dollar-and-change words that you use, but giving me something more tangible for an estimate really helps. I was thinking I might be able to make this post 1,667+ words to give myself an idea of how long it would really take if I could just take off and write constantly during the time needed to put that much stuff down.

So I think now that I’ve gotten my feelings about it out onto a page, I think I’m going to write a sexy novel. It won’t be dirty, and it won’t have sex as a main plot point, but I will not ignore that sex is there. Sex is part of life, and it creates dynamics amongst characters that I’m not afraid to write about. Tension, jealousy, passion, regret… I think my novel needs those things. I think a lot of my work these past few years has really lacked emotion and passion because a lot of my relationships did, or because I didn’t want someone reading me to figure out that I was writing them into the story. My characters are often based on real people, but they fall flat when I start feeling like I’m betraying someone or telling their secrets in the form of a character.

I have a sweatshirt somewhere that says “be careful or you’ll end up in my novel.” It’s so true. If you’ve ever been in my life, even for five minutes, you’ll probably at least end up being an extra somewhere. That was more true when I was writing more, but it’s still kind of true now. I’m going to need a lot of characters for this book I’m working on, and I’ve met a lot of people in my lifetime, so I should be okay. I think maybe one strategy I’d like to use is making one character out of multiple, similar people that I’ve met. That way I can use memories or quotes from more than one person to build a more three-dimensional creature that will be less easily identifiable.

Another strategy I like to use, and I plan to use again, is the tarot card strategy. Every time I get stuck beyond repair, I shuffle the deck and pick a card. Whatever the card represents happens to the character. I used this strategy the first year that I attempted NaNoWriMo, and that was the longest portion I wrote before I gave up.

I hate that phrase. “Gave up.” It doesn’t feel like it should be an option. I went through a lot of stuff in my life that I tried really hard to endure even though I didn’t want to, and my father always gave me the option to give up on whatever it was if it didn’t make me happy. I can both thank and scold him for that. I think he’s right in that life shouldn’t be torture and we should strive to do things that will make us happy, but at the same time, some things should really be endured for the greater reward at the end. Sometimes it’s just hard to know at the time if the reward is going to be worth all the hard work, or if it’s just going to be another useless piece of paper in a frame on my wall like my BFA in writing, my Master/Teacher certification in Reiki, my Herbalism certification, and my ministry credentials. My grandmother used to tell me that if you had knowledge, no one can take it away from you. If you have a certification or a degree, nobody can take it away from you. But no one has to pay you for your time and financial investment in that knowledge, either.

It’s tough to live in this world the way it is being the kind of creature that I am. There are all of these great, enlightened theories that I believe in, and yet none of them work in this society. It’s like how people say that you never wish you had worked more when you’re on your death beat reminiscing about your life. I already know that I’m going lay dying wishing that I had spent more time writing and raising my daughter instead of working a day job for a below-livable wage. I feel like I’ll never regret having the knowledge that I’ve acquired in this lifetime, but at the same time, what good did/will it do me? It’s such a tussle of emotions. Can you imagine living in my head?

I handed a friend of ours a stack of pages the other night with my writing on them. I shudder to think about what he will glean from those pages. One pack included an essay entitled “Why I Chose to be Fat,” which I wrote for a women’s magazine a few years ago. I guess I shouldn’t be afraid if I want to write for the world. I wonder what someone with more than a passing interest in psychology thinks of Stephen King’s novels? If you want to live in the spotlight, you can’t be afraid of people throwing rotten tomatoes. Inevitably someone’s going to pick up your book and put it back down for one reason or another. Maybe they don’t like the cover. Maybe they won’t read a book with a female protagonist. Maybe it’s just because they think they can write it better.


-WyrdAngelique

***Note: this entry did exceed the daily recommended minimum number of words for NaNoWriMo. Win. :)

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Gypsy Casualties
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Two days after the smoke had cleared, Karu and Gwinwydd went out into the common area that all the gypsies shared. She found that many of the older gypsy women had been abducted the morning that the caravans had been set on fire. As it turned out, they had been accused of stealing children from another tribe and sacrificing them in rituals in the forest. Upon hearing this news, Karu gasped, and a sharp pain entered her chest. She remembered the defeated look on the one matron that she saw being dragged off, and she wondered if she would ever see her, or any of the other matrons again. She wondered if they had really been retaliated against, or if this were a terrible lie. She couldn’t imagine this to be true, but she was new here and knew little about the tribe that she had entered. Maybe this was why she had always stayed in The Temple with her sisters. She could feel the cold, sterile walls of the altar room calling to her now. Even though The Temple had been destroyed, she could feel herself between its walls, shaking, but safe.

Gwinwydd would be safer there, she thought. I could run. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she thought of Thad, her glorious mate whom she chased after for something like a lifetime. She thought of his hair in her face, his eyes meeting hers. She thought of his skin under her finger tips, his gasp, his laugh. She thought of his smile, and how he could bring her back from the edge of insanity with a pat on the head. No. I will stay. He is my soulmate.

She held Gwinwydd tightly to her chest and felt the tiny hands of her only daughter flailing around, occasionally brushing against her chin or grabbing for her hair. She would fuss a little, and then smile and laugh. Gas. Karu sat at the edge of the fire pit and stared into the smoldering embers of the fire they had cooked their dinner on the night before. The camp was a lonely place, and she hadn’t realized until that moment just how much she had depended on the others for help with Gwinwydd. She knew so little about having a baby, and the older women who had already had their babies and watched them grow and have more babies had been all too eager to help bring up Thad’s baby girl. She realized that her friends were almost all gone, and that the one who rocked Gwinwydd to sleep the best was missing. The one who fed Gwinwydd while Karu was napping was missing.

But did these women really sacrifice children? Karu felt a little sick to her stomach.

Moments later, Kary felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see a little blonde boy standing behind her. His eyes were Thad’s.

“Are you my mommy?”



-WyrdAngelique

Writing To Cope… Again
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I don’t know how much more of this raging stupid I can put up with. I’m not even sure hot to articulate what just happened because I’m so angry and confused. Maybe I should wait to write about it until I get my thoughts collected. I just didn’t want to wait this time because I know that I have a habit of not writing things out and then never getting back to them. I mean, last night’s entry was probably the first I made in six months or something like that, right? And I don’t know if anybody cares, or if anybody even reads me anymore (other than the couple people who made comments on the link from FB), but I am having serious trust issues right now, and I don’t even know what I can say and what I can’t.

I just lost two really close friends because of someone’s massive amount of stupid. These people I’ve known for years. I performed their handfasting and went to the hospital to bless their baby boy. We used to RP together all the time. They helped me leave my ex-husband, and gave me shelter when I had no place safe to hide. They have been watching Ivy for me in the afternoons. We all really loved each other. At least I thought we did. My heart is broken.

I can’t even do this right now. Nope.


-WyrdAngelique

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