writer

Long Gone Are the Days

/ inkspeare
Photo by MAD

The other day, I was minding my daily grind and an idea for a new novel came to mind, a good one, I thought. The idea presented itself as the beginning and ending of the story, nothing in between. I was busy, so I decided to write it down later on. Later on never came, and the whole idea went out of my mind; I simply cannot remember it. When it is gone, it is gone for good. This is something that I find happens more often as I age. Before, in my younger years, I would put the thought or idea on pause, and come back to it later. Not so anymore. That is why now it has to be written when it presents itself, otherwise it is lost forever, and forever is a long time.

As we age, our memory is a bit less reliable than it was in our younger years. We are not as quick and sharp as we used to be, and that happens to every person, to some more than others. After researching this topic for my own benefit, I decided to write this post. No matter how old we are, it is good to exercise the mind just as we exercise the body. It is common knowledge that exercising the body improves the mind function, and so does eating a healthy diet; so is leaving habits like smoking, alcohol, drugs, sugar …. Beyond that, what can a person do to improve brain function? Getting enough sleep and rest is another item in the commonsense bucket. Aside from those mentioned above, experts recommend social contact, mental activities that exercise the brain such as word puzzles, painting, drawing, manual dexterity activities, reading, jigsaw puzzles, learning something new … Eating nuts and seeds seems to be beneficial, and so is my favorite treat, dark chocolate. There are other foods that appear to boost your brain, and vitamins such as B6, B9, B12, are also beneficial. Some supplements are specific to brain health, and there is difference of opinion about that. Meditation and keeping a diary seem to help as well. All of the above things I do already, although I have to work on the “sweet tooth” a bit more.

All this information most of us know it by heart; it has been repeated over and over. I find that most times, I forget things when I am on automatic pilot and not being mindful of what I am doing. When I pay attention and focus on what is at hand, I feel more alert and conscious, even organized and with less brain fog. I guess use it or lose it is appropriate in this case. Long gone are the days.

The Question You Never Asked

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As writers developing a story, we have questions in the back of our mind. Questions about our characters, situations, details in the story… and much more. Many times, these questions define a character, personality, and its story within the main story. As writers we are not afraid to ask or answer those questions. As people, many times we avoid the questions and answers in our own story. Ever wanted to know the answer to a question you did not want to ask? Sometimes, the truth might hurt more than the question. Sometimes, the question you never asked is the answer you don’t want to know. Life is full of questions and answers; some questions are better left unanswered.

A Writer Evolves with the Characters

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I am writing this blogpost from the point of view of the evolution of the writer as opposed to how a character evolves in the story. Throughout the story all characters evolve, change, as experiences and challenges are introduced by the writer. The interaction of the characters and the different situations the god-pen writes for them makes this evolution possible. Where there is no change there is no story, it comes naturally. In a series, this process is more evident and so much more engrained in a character, not only because of the many situations a character goes throughout a series, but also because there is the fictional pass of time. Most likely, the character is very different from the first book until the end of the series. This is also where the writer’s evolution takes place.

From that first concept of a character until the end of a story or series, the writer has been learning, feeling, and even listening to the needs of the characters. Sometimes, a character will fight a writer’s pen, and the writer’s best decision for this character will entail listening to it, and analyzing the particular issues that are present. At that moment, not only the writer has changed, but the original intention as well. As characters mature and go along in the story, so does the view and “feeling” the writer has of them and for them. A writer that doesn’t “feel” a character has not listened to it. A stubborn pen is worse than a stubborn character.

At the end of a story/series, a relationship, a connection has been attained but also, there has been a mutual understanding, a symbiotic evolution.

The End of the Road is Just a Bend in the Journey

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Thirteen years or so ago I decided to follow a long-lost dream, publishing my first book. Around the same time, I started blogging about my journey as an independent writer, as well as capturing and renewing the dilapidated soul of an old farmhouse while moving to another state. While the transition took some time, my intention remained the same. My intention was at that time, to not only share the journey but to inspire other fellow writers and readers, and to share what I had learn over the years.

Time does go by quickly, and in retrospect, I think that I accomplished what I set out to do and more; however, the journey continues, and with it the desire to inspire others through a few written lines on this blog, and my novels. This journey brought into perspective sweet challenges, tons of education and effort, as well as understanding myself as a writer, and on that last one, I am still doing so. On the home front, the soul of an old farmhouse has been restored, and now it must be refined. The writer feels the same way. For the DIY lover, this blog is a friendly place as well. I have made my best effort to maintain it simple and honest, not fussy or too “crafted.”

During this journey, I published five novels, and I am currently writing the 6th. The pace has been dictated by the story, and I have tried to be the best steward of words I could be. It hasn’t been easy, but I hope that throughout the years, if you have visited this blog, that you have found at least a bit of what you were hoping to find in it. Many of you have been around for as long or longer than I have, and it has truly been a pleasure to not only share this tiny dot of cyberspace but to read many of your blogs and comments as well. It has been my delight, and I hope that I have reciprocated in some way.

So now what? I am at peace with the pen, my pen that is. I don’t know what the future might hold, but I hope that I can continue to share this journey, and if along the way I am able to inspire a soul, then, I have been of service. For now, part of my work is done, but it is not the end of the road.

Home Sweet Home?

/ inkspeare

When we started to fix this old farmhouse, we decided to frame part of an original wall as a picture, a reminder of where we had been. I placed a flower box under it, and I was very happy with it until a few weeks ago. Every time I passed by it, I felt a bit annoyed and definitely not at ease but had no idea why. Suddenly, I disliked the flower box. It puzzled me. It wasn’t until I looked at it and asked myself what about it bothered me that I made the connection. The flowers that I added to the box reminded me of an image I had seen over and over everywhere I looked during the past two years – the coronavirus spiked ball shape. I knew I had to replace them right away, so I discarded the ill-looking flowers and placed a different greenery with a happier vibe.

Before
Now.

This was a good example of how media can influence one’s perception and emotional response to people, concepts, things; even the same things one liked before. As writers, we are in the quest of using words and imagery to create a story that translate into emotions and perception for the reader. The words we select, not only tell the story, but live beyond it.

The Day I Almost Died

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This is a short story that came to me this morning, and I decided to include it as today’s blog post. It is a bit grim but not so grim. Eventually, I would like to publish a few of my short stories in an anthology. I hope you enjoy this one.

It was a sunny day; I saw it cloudy. The silence was too loud inside my head. The stillness, a cloak for the raging waters of my soul. I glanced outside my window. The trees moved to the gentle breeze as a dance of death began inside my head. I could hear the deaf sound of loneliness; it had become my lullaby. Isolation became the clothes I wore daily. I searched the empty corridors of my heart over and over; I found nothing. It had morphed into an empty shell of despair, a chamber of hollow beats. There, I found nothing that would justify the next heartbeat.

A chilling breeze danced nearby; Death awaited. I could feel her mutable presence begging me to speed up the process. I was ready. How did it get to this moment? Did it matter? I didn’t require an answer. An answer made things complex. I heard the doorbell. I ignored it. It rang a second time, and a third, until it became noise. I placed the gun next to an empty picture frame. Somehow, I never got to place a picture in it. I counted twelve steps to the door. I opened it. I didn’t bother to bolt it anymore. I had no cares. I forced a smile. It almost hurt at the corners of my mouth. No one was at the other side to return my crooked smile. I looked around; no one was there. I stepped out on the front porch. No one was there.

I saw a splash of red fluttering to my left. A cardinal perched on the Forsythia bush surely made a nice contrast to the bright yellow buds. How did I never noticed that before? Something scurried up the old cedar tree. It was a squirrel, then came another, and they chased each other up and down the old cedar.

“That old cedar must have seen so much,” I mumbled.

I sat on the front steps. A crow marched unpretentiously on the horizon. It almost shimmered as the sun hit its feathers. I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. How long had it been? A busy party of little brown birds scattered throughout the ground looking for food. A reddish wasp rested atop a chair, as if thawing from a frost or waking from a dream, its wings resting downward. The sun’s warmth felt good on my skin. Everywhere I looked I saw signs of life. Life was everywhere; I could see it if I cared to see it. I felt something fuzzy rubbing my leg in a rhythm.

“Where did you come from, lil’ fellow?”

The disheveled black kitten was skin and bones; I could count its ribs. It kept rubbing against my leg, and I could hear a faint purr becoming louder. It was so tiny. I picked it up and it nuzzled against my arm, then it nestled. I sat out there for a while. The kitten fell asleep in my arms, and I observed the rhythm of life around me.

“What am I going to do with you lil’ fellow? It looks like you will be needing me for a while, at least until you fatten and grow up a bit more.”

The crow restled with a worm until it came out of the ground. The squirrels moved on to another tree.

“What should I name you? Hum, let me think. Aha, you shall be called Rigor, but we’ll leave the mortis out; how is that?”

Rigor became my inseparable friend for the next 15 years. To all, he was a black cat; to me, he was life, and a constant reminder. During that time, I never found out who rang the doorbell.

The Story of Your Life

/ inkspeare
Photo by Maria Diaz

I believe we are open books, living stories. I believe that there is a book (the book of life) with our story and name in it, and we are free to fulfill that story or not (free will). Sometimes, it feels as if we are on track, everything goes so well and things flow accordingly. At other times, it feels as if every step we take is met by a struggle, a stumble, or a road block. Sometimes, it may feel as if one cannot move at all. Life block, I call it, similar to writer’s block.

The flow of life may not be smooth at times, but it is always constant. From the minute we open our eyes in the morning (or at night) we are making choices/decisions. From what to wear, eat for breakfast, or even if we will get up at all, get to work … to more complicated choices such as career, marriage, and many other issues. Every time we take a step forward (or backward) by deciding, whichever that might be, we are writing the story of our lives. However, it is not only about “me” because those choices/decisions cross over to other people’s lives. I may think that I am living “my life” but my story is intertwined with the story of others. It is happening right now, as I write this post. Someone out there will read it eventually, and will think about these words – our stories have crossed. “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” – Luke 6:31 Could not have said it better.

As writers, we love to make up stories; its is the air we breathe. However, the most important story we’ll ever write is our own.

In Retrospect

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I have done a bit of soul searching. In retrospect, a lot has happened in the past 7 years, including my decision to publish independently. Time goes by quickly. There are so many things I’ve learned that to sum it all in one post is not easy, but what I can do is write about a few things I learned in the process, and how important these became in my decision to continue on this path.

I have narrowed it to four points that represent the most challenging elements during that time.

Timing – I had to learn to recognize my own timing and honor it. This was not easy for me. As a person who likes clarity, does not tolerate drama too well, and likes things straight and to the point, I have to say that timing translated into being patient with myself, allowing the time I needed to learn much of the craft and some of the technology attached to it, as well as weed out information while learning to recognize the pertinent information and disregard the rest. Impatience and rush/speed did not have a place in this process, as it was one of discovery and education. The bulk of it happened in the first two years, and it was frustrating at times. I needed to know many things about the writing process but also discover what was right for me, my working style, my pace, my ethics, and what I wanted from it all. And as we all know, the learning process never ends, but I could figure out where I was headed as far as publishing venues and method. Independent publishing was the right venue for me, as far as fitting my personality, work ethic, and writing goals. For me, timing was one of the most important elements during this process.

Commitment – Once I had an idea of the process, had gone through much of the raw learning steps, and mentally dealt with the immensity of the amoutnt of information that was being put out there by other indie writers (which was all over the place and in a broad spectrum), I was able to make a commitment to myself with some clarity as far as what I wanted. During this time I found it very challenging to not fall prey of the publishing frenzy that everyone seemed to have at one point – to publish volume at a fast pace, inundating Amazon and other venues with electronic books. I had to shake off the feelings of “being behind” and replace them with my own sense of what felt right for me, and at what pace. Once I understood what I wanted out of it, and made a long term commitment that had no monetary value attached to it, it became easier to deal with those feelings of “being behind.” The commitment did not come right away but as a result of going through the timing and education process.

The Others – Not minding the Others. The Others refers to what other people thought about my decision to write and publish independently. From views that were as narrow as the eye of a needle to more aceptable views and opinions, many times not solicited, I had to learn that all of it was inconsequential for me. Questionable motives, hurtful comments, and very ortodox views about the craft, had to mean absolutely nothing to me as far as entertaining them in my mind. The Others had no say as far as I was concerned. Learning to deal with the negative during this process determined the next element – Trust.

Trust – Trust is an ongoing issue when it comes to my writing. Not only do I have to trust my internal process and the pen, but also, the inner me has to let the writer out. If you tend to be demanding of yourself, and a bit hard on yourself as well, like I am many times, then trust doesn’t come easy. If by nature you are a trusting person, I think it will flow a bit easier, but if you are not, trusting may present a challenge when it comes to writing, as well as any other endeavor. Trusting the process, trusting yourself, and trusting God, comes all wrapped in a package that you unwrap many times, over and over. I view trust as the most challenging element on this journey, mostly because it determined if I was to take the plunge or not. Trust also refers to keep the commitment when results do not match expectation, and goes hand in hand with faith. Faith is defined as confident belief, trust, conviction, loyalty, allegiance, and also, as the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).

Trust is an ongoing element. In retrospect, in the past years these elements have been present in my life and most influential as far as my writing journey. As far as summing it all up to this point, I identify those elements as the most important ones in my experience so far. I hope that if you are starting on your journey as a writer, this post offers a bit of help or at least some clarity. Of course, each journey is unique.

The Power of Words

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Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.

Many of us have heard this old adage, most likely during childhood, and meaning mostly that words cannot cause physical pain. When I was a kid, it seemed true enough. As I grew older and matured, I disagreed.

Words are powerful; powerful enough to unleash a river of emotions. The right words at the right time may elevate one’s spirit. The same goes for the wrong word at the worst possible time; it can drown your soul. Repeat unkind words to a child and his/her personality will be affected in a negative way.

Words can bring joy, comfort, hope, and even peace. Negative words can hurt, destroy, and even drive a person to take their life (as in bullying). Words can kill. Words remain in memory and travel to someone’s heart and soul. Words are driven by intention, the intention of the speaker or the writer. The writer utilizes words to craft a story that paints a picture in the mind of the reader. The writer creates worlds/universes, and evokes emotions/feelings.

The power of words transcends time. The words of great writers remain, whether written or in the mind of the people. We quote the great writers and speakers of centuries ago. Words become alive the moment they are heard or read. Words are full of intention but their power is unleashed by the mind of the recipient.

More Than One Hat

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Fiction writers wear many hats. We wear a costume everyday. When we create a story, we create worlds, and people in those worlds, characters to whom we give life through challenges and the emotions we try to convey through them. Sometimes, readers might mistake a character for its writer or believe that the writer shares its attributes. Although I believe that there is a bit of the writer in between the lines, fictional characters are fiction. We rely on our mind, imagination, observation, and life experience to give life to our characters, but many times, we rely on research, on learning a particular subject to present a character and a story in a better light. Depending on our writing style, we might become poets, song writers, prophets, and even preachers. I have done a little bit of those jobs when writing my books. I’ve written a poem, a prophecy, and pages of an imaginary book, as I did in The Book of Sharon and in Sunrise Souls, books two and three of The Dinorah Chronicles trilogy. I’ve written riddles on Moonlit Valley, and a song in Sunrise Souls. On my work in progress – The Five-dollar Miracle, I had to write an entire sermon.

My point is, we sometimes have to become our characters and see the world through their eyes for a little while, to be able to write the story. Sometimes, the writing feels effortless, and at other times, it is more challenging, but always with levels of engagement. We are separate from our characters but we step inside their world, their minds, and their feelings/emotions to be able to convey a story to the readers as best as we can. In that regard, we wear many hats. We become the heroine, the villain, the priest, the prophet, and even an inanimate object, such as a book of prophecies and teachings.

I write stories, I create worlds, I give life to characters and become one with them, and then, disengage. I put on a costume everyday. I write fiction and love it.