There is a reason. . .

Okay, last couple of entries I talked about blogging more as a way to make myself write, but Aaron suggested that I start journaling as I did in high school and it's true, I kept a pretty updated journal from junior high until the start of college and it really helped me keep my thoughts organized enough to write, so i've picked up a notebook and started a new journal. I don't know if I will keep it in the notebook, since I can use all kinds of paper and clippings in a binder and I have an empty binder at mom's that I can put everything in. It will also help me to keep track of some of my pictures and ticket stubs and what not so keep it updated. I can't wait to go home for Easter and get it now. I've even started writing on one of my other stories recently to take a break from Mission so that I don't get overwhelmed with it and put it aside for as long a time this time. I think I'll update that on the Writing blog, so check it out, it's called Senator and I think it will make a great novel, or maybe even novella. I think there is a bit much there for a short story, but sometimes all of the background just makes the characters that much more mysterious. I don't want them to be boring.

Still Working. . .

Okay, I know I said I would try to write at least 15 minutes a day to get back into the swing of it, and I've been slacking big time. I have been writing. A letter here, a note there, just nothing major. I did work on my story today and added in about a page inside my already fleshed chapters. I need to move forward with it, but it's hard because I know what I want to eventually happen, it's just getting to those points without coming off really cheesy. Anyway, I have 10 minutes left to work and my writing time, so I'm going to work on biographical sketches. Maybe I'll post them here after so you can help me as I work through my characters.

Ja ne!

>*.*< Kat

Day 2 and 3

So yesterday instead of blogging I wrote a letter to my Japanese penpal. It was a pretty long letter. Longer than my last fiction post, but that's not going to cut it for today. I need to start writing something creative and something with a bit more substance because if I don't start writing again, it might go away. Some days I'm scared that I've lost it. . .that maybe the words won't ever come again like they used to. When I started getting sick, I was tired all the time and I didn't want to do anything. I just laid on the sofa and moped about. And now that I'm getting better, I am starting to want to do things again, like read and work with my knitting, but the words just trickle. They used to pour so fast into my brain that I could hardly keep up with the information before the next idea was crowding in. I used to have the voices of my characters in my head keeping me up at night and now I pass out so fast that the voices don't come. I try not to get depressed since, getting depressed won't fix it and it just upsets Aaron. I think I'll have to find a writing exercise page again and do one every day just to see if I can force myself into a habit since i know the talent and creativity is there. It just seems to be dormant. I tried my hand at writing fibonacci poems a while back to try to get creative. Here's a few that I came up with:

I
Fold
Paper
Cranes because
Maybe after a
Thousand my wish might be granted.

Wow.
Space
Can be
Really high
Maintenance when everyone
Takes a holiday from reality.

She
Is
Heather:
Lieutenant,
But do we really
Even know anything about her at all?

I've also had a song by Wynonna Judd stuck in my thoughts for a few days. I guess I'm feeling kinda nostalgic. I've been singing "Come Some Rainy Day," after all. Maybe I'll start a new story with that.

When I first saw you,
I knew I would love you
Halfway through sophomore year
I finally asked your name.
When I kissed you,
I lost my heart completely
And all we wanted
Was just to stay that way.

We move on,
Put those dreams away
Hoping that we'll find them
Come some rainy day.
How could I know
That everything would change
Except the way I miss you,
Come some rainy day.

New Beginnings

Since this is the month for NanoEdmo, and I didn't write a lick during November. . .to be fair, I was in the hospital with an IV in my right arm for a good portion of it. But instead, I'm going to use this month to start writing again. Since I already edit all the time, and it keeps me from writing a lot of the time, since I edit the same thing over and over instead of adding more, I'm going to start doing writing exercises again like I did to keep the creativity going back in college. The rules are simple. You must write at least 15 minutes every day. More if you wish, but at least that. And you can write about anything. . . your shopping goals, a new story piece, why you are too busy to write for today. . . anything. You can even expand on a piece you started on another day. So. Here is the piece for Monday, March 9, 2009. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think.

I watched her as she sat there for a while, pen in hand poised above the blank sheet of paper. her face was lax, her mind far away from the blank stare and the empty lines. I wonder what has triggered such a journey, as her eyes gaze in the general direction of the pen, unseeing and unmoving as her fingertips. She blinks and partial thought returns as she pushes the pen to dance along the page in loops and lines forming words and thoughts, even though I can tell by her absent minded smile that portions of her mind are still far away.

"Did you need something, Commander?" The flourish of scribbles halts as she turns her face to look up at me. She's taken to speaking only in Japanese to me, my native language rolling off her tongue with an ease I can't fathom after years of English.

"No." I respond simply -- harshly, even when I know it's a lie. I need more than she can give . . . more than she knows.

"Oh, okay." She returns to her scribbles, looking over the patterns of words as if they will impart the truth, but even they seem to be lying to her today. She bites her thumb as she contemplates adding more words to the rows of letters and after a brief smile, she puts the pen back to the paper and begins to write again, my presence mostly forgotten in the flurry of ideas and explanation. I want to ask her what she's writing that's so interesting and is growing so rapidly down the page, but I don't and instead watch her for a moment more before kicking myself and retreating back to the relative safety of my office across the hall.