Time to Own It!

       After years of writing and even after earning my Bachelor of Arts degree in English I am just now realizing I am a writer. What do I mean by that? Well, I have alway loved writing, but I am realizing now that I have treated my writing as a hobby, and not much more. 

       I currently work an office job.  It is not what I dreamt of doing growing up, but I have always had a hard time knowing what I really want to do.  I guess a part of that is that I never believed I could do what I love. I never had enough confidence in myself as a writer.  And I realize now, I have never really, truly thought of myself as a writer.  I was a girl who liked to write; there is a difference.

       Recently I have been reading writing blogs and I am currently reading, The Arist's Way by Julia Cameron and Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg.  I have discovered kindred spirits.  Their descriptions and expressions of the writing life and process so truly resonate with me, and suddenly, I realize who I am. It's time for me to own it; I am a writer.

        As part of this new discovery I have decided to stop viewing my writing as a hobby because it is more than that.  Every artist can understand the power in the call to your soul that creating has.  It is almost like the real you lives deep inside you where the world can not see and creating, for me writing, is a way for that inner soul to breathe.

       Since my writing is no longer a hobby it is time to get serious.  That is why I have started reading blogs and books on writing.  I believe real writers read.  Every writer must be in a constant state of learning.  Writers watch the entire world and then interpret their observations and their understanding in the form of stories, poems, prose, plays, etc. 

       I suppose another reason why I never wanted to completely label myself a writer is because I was afraid.  I was afraid that by admitting I was a writer and by taking my writing seriously, that I would find out I wasn't up to par.  I was afraid of failure, but you never know if you can fly if you don't jump.

Hot Topic: Plot Worksheets

        These things have really helped me.  You can find multiple templates for plot worksheets on the internet and it's really about finding one that works best for you.  Or, you can create your own.  They vary in format and in how much detail they allow. Some plot worksheet templates even have prompts to help glean as much detail as possible, but the general idea is the same.  They help a writer map out the key points and general outline for their story.  I didn't always use them but in the past couple years I have found them invaluable. 
       Now I believe that a plot worksheet is normally intended to be used as a preface to beginning the actual writing of the story; however, I have found that method inaffective.  I like to write my first chapter and get an idea about whether I am intrigued enough to create a plot worksheet.  Of course, once I have found an idea that excites me then I immediately begin filling in the spaces in the outline.  There have been times that I have continued writing chapters of my story and have been filling out the plot worksheet simultaneously.  I am still honing my method, and sincerely, there is no right method to how you write. Each writer has their own system and half the battle if finding out what system works for you.

Synopsis for Skin Deep

Synopsis of Skin Deep by Joy Creech

            At first Rowan thinks she is going crazy when she starts seeing odd and frightening creatures in the world around her.  People don’t always appear as, well, just people to her.  Sometimes Rowan glimpses the faces of otherworldly creatures and beasts behind human faces.  It all starts the night she meets Xander Alston.  He visits the pub where Rowan is a waitress in Danton, North Carolina and as she hands him his receipt his skin appears to change into reptilian scales.  There is another world, an old Scandinavian world, hidden within the modern world around them, Xander tells her. 

            Rowan is not sure if she believes the fantastic stories Xander tells her or if she believes that she is a part of that other world, but Xander is not the only one to try to convince her.  A strange wizard named Loke Hemming finds Rowan and tells her that she is one of these Scandinavian creatures, or Vatte as they call themselves.  He tells her that she is a Huldre and asks for her help in finding an old powerful artifact.  He is trying to find a special book called Cyprianus for his mysterious and nameless employer.  Loke doesn’t give Rowan much chance to decide for herself; he kidnaps her.  Rowan is barely able to escape and is found by Xander, but he has been poisoned by one of Loke’s minions.  Feeling responsible, she consents to take Xander to get help at his cousin, Gunnar Gustaf’s, house in the North Carolina Mountains.  Xander’s condition becomes increasingly hopeless and Winston Isac, the dwarf who is a Vatte doctor, can do nothing, and so Rowan decides to trade herself for the antidote.  As soon as Loke has Rowan back he whisks her off to Sweden and to a city on its coast known by locals as the City of Draugs.

            One of Rowan’s gifts as a Huldre is being able to communicate with all Vatte creatures, and that is why Loke needs her.  Rowan soon finds out that Draugs are actually Vatte ghosts and that the run down old town on the Swedish coast is full of them.  Loke wants to use her to get information about the location of Cyprianus from the Draugs.  When Rowan realizes Cyprianus is a source of great evil she refuses to be a part of Loke’s plans and eventually escapes to the Swedish mountains where she finds a handsome and magical violin player named Klos who decides to help her find Cyprianus before Loke does.  Although they are unsure what Loke’s plans are, they both agree that letting such an evil, powerful artifact fall into the hands of the crazed wizard is extremely dangerous. 

Xander finally finds Rowan in Sweden and together with Winston and Klos they decide to make a trip to visit Rowan’s adopted parents in her hometown of Holland, Michigan where they have reason to suspect they will find some answers as to the whereabouts of Cyprianus.  They also hope to piece together the reason behind why Loke wants the artifact.  Back in her hometown Rowan finds the answers she is looking for, but they are not answers she is happy with.  The whereabouts of Cyprianus is a lot closer to home than Rowan would have guessed or wanted and the truth is horrifying. 

Cyprianus is the key to her past and her very existence, and as Rowan struggles to come to terms with her new reality she must fight Cyprianus and the man that murdered her birth mother.  She must stop them both from creating a frenzied panic by revealing the existence of Vatte to the rest of civilization.  She must force herself to look beyond her own dark demons and her growing love for the two men who have chosen to stand beside her, Xander and Klos.  And ultimately, she must save not just one but two worlds.           

Update/Thoughts On A Cloudy Day

       I admit, this is my first blog. And suddenly, when staring at this blank page I am nervous and unsure of what to write.  In creative writing classes my professors would tell me that the best thing to do if unsure of what to write, is just to start writing, and so here I am. My entire reason for creating this blog is to record my efforts, my journey to getting my books published.  The process is a bit more intimidating than I originally anticipated.

       Every publisher wants something different when it comes to submissions. Some want the entire manuscript, others want only the first couple chapters accompanied by a query letter, synopsis, cover letter, autobiography, and/or marketing plan.  Right now I am working on compiling all potentially required documents to accompany my submissions.  Honestly, it is almost more difficult and decidedly less fun than actually writing the book. However, it is necessary.

       My first novel, Skin Deep, I completed early last year.  However, the word length makes it uneligable for submission to most sci-fi/fantasy publishers.  Most sci-fi/fantasy publishers require a longer length: at least 80,000 words.  Skin Deep is currently around 60,000 words. I have considered adding to the story to make it long enough, or I could submit it to another genre.  If I did submit to another genre it would probably be young adult fiction.

       My second novel, Just Ravishing, I am still working on.  I am currently almost half way through writing it and I am thinking that even though it has elements of sci-fi/fantasy, I will probably submit it to young adult fiction publishers.  The voice is very youthful and the setting is a college campus in a small college town.  I will probably be posting excerpts from this novel as I write it.

       So that is it for now, I will probably follow up with posting a synopsis I have completed for Skin Deep.  I definitely have a lot of work a head of me.  Keep you posted.  

Excerpts from my novel, Skin Deep

            Four and a half hours later they turned onto a gravel road that wound up a hill.  Rowan peered skeptically at the large dark house they were approaching.  The house was really more like a castle, a large castle covered in so much ivy and moss that it looked almost black from a distance.  There was something hauntingly beautiful about the place.  Pools of mist spotted the grounds that must have once been well groomed but years of neglect had made everything whimsically overgrown.  Rowan felt like she was in a scene of a horror flick.  With one hand on the steering wheel she rubbed the goose bumps on her other arm.

            “We are here.” She finally whispered to Xander’s sleeping form in the passenger’s seat. He didn’t move. Rowan turned off the GPS and then reached over and gently shook his shoulder.  With a start his eyes sprang open.  He turned and pinned Rowan with a reptilian stare.  She shrank back against the door as she finally came to a stop in front of two yellowed lamp posts.  They framed an old brick walkway that led to two large oak doors with large brass door knobs.  Rowan didn’t notice a middle-aged man in a long burgundy robe open the door and head down the walkway towards the car. Her attention was on Xander’s face. Her heart pounded in her ears as his lips curled back in a predatory snarl.  Suddenly the passenger door was flung open and the man in the burgundy robe grabbed Xander by the shoulders.

            “Get out!”  He didn’t yell but his voice was loud and firm.  Rowan didn’t have to be told twice.  After fumbling with the door for a couple seconds it opened and she nearly fell out of the car.  When she got to her feet she stumbled back until her back hit a lamp post.  She slumped to the ground, shaking uncontrollably.  After a few minutes the man in the burgundy robe came around the side of the car and knelt before her.  “You okay?”  The man was probably in his mid fifties with hair that was blonder than Rowan’s and eyes a crazy shade of turquoise blue.  He smiled encouragingly as he snapped a cap back on a syringe.  “Don’t worry. He’s sedated now.  Let me help you inside and get you some tea.”  Rowan nodded without a word and let the man help her to her feet and lead her inside.

     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gunnar walked back down the hall.  He shoved his hands into his pockets as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.  He should have known who she was.  She looked so much like her mother.  This was perfect.  It was fate.   

- By Joy Creech

Excerpt from my novel, Just Ravishing

          Two days later and I have not heard from Agnes.  She missed Professor Vulture’s class this morning.  I texted her and asked if everything was ok.  I haven’t heard back.  I stare at my computer screen and then down at the paperback copy of Jane Eyre I am half way through for my literature class with Professor Vulture.  I am only a few days into the semester and can tell the class is going to kick my butt.  I read the assignment description on the paper by my computer keyboard.

Assignment: Compose a 3 page paper on one of the following topics:

1) How does Charlotte Bronte incorproate elements of Gothic tradition into the novel?

2) Is Jane Eyre a likable protangonist? Why or why not? 

 

I look back at my computer screen.  Starting a paper is always the hardest part.  I sigh and lean back in my chair.  Just then my phone beeps.  A text pops up on the screen.  It’s from Agnes.

            “Come meet at the pit.” I am glad for an excuse to procrastinate.   I grab my purse off my bed and then my gray North Silver Birch college sweatshirt off the back of my desk chair and head out the door with one arm already in one arm of the sweatshirt.  I finish pulling on the sweatshirt as I continue walking.  Never the most coordinated, I drop my purse twice and almost fall down the stairs before I am done pulling on the sweatshirt.  The night is a bit cool. It is pretty much fact that the mid-west does not have a fall.  There is summer and then there is winter.

            As I turn the corner of one of the dorm buildings I see flashing blue lights reflecting off the side of the building before I see the cop cars, and ambulance, and yellow tape.  My eyes race over the chilling black word that appears repeatedly on the yellow tape, “caution, caution, caution, caution.” An EMT pushes a stretcher down a ramp out of the dorm building.  There is no one on the stretcher just a black bag.  I can’t pull my eyes away from the it. Someone is in there.  Someone is dead.  Questions race through my mind.  Who? How? Why? A realization suddenly strikes me.  This dorm building is where Agnes and Emma live.  I start to feel nauseous and start walking again.  I pick up my pace and soon I am jogging.  The tall chimney and old red brick of The Pit soon comes into view.  Bells chime as I swing the door open.  As soon as I step inside I am enveloped by warmth and the sweet and spicy smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and espresso.  I tug off my sweatshirt. 

            “Asa,” Someone calls my name.  I look around the room.  It is busy tonight.  All the tables are full and I barely hear my name over the commotion but I spot Agnes sitting at a small round table in a corner against the wall.  She is waving at me, motioning me over.  I wave back and head towards her.  “Did you see it?”  She asks before I have even taken a seat.  She is leaning on the table in my direction.  Her voice is an urgent whisper and her eyes are wide and lined in dark circles. 

            “I saw a few police cars by one of the dorms if that is what you mean.  There is an ambulance and a stretcher with . . .gosh, Agnes, you look awful.”

            “Yeah, haven’t slept much. And the black bag. I know. She’s dead.”  Agnes looks around the room cautiously.  “She was murdered, Asa.”

            “Who?” I am feeling nauseous again.  A waiter comes to our table and Agnes doesn’t answer my question right away.   I order a medium vanilla macchiato.  The waiter disappears and I turn expectantly to Agnes.  She watches until the waiter is at the counter before she turns back to me.

            “Emma.”

“What?”  I can’t believe what I am hearing.

“You know how she went out Tuesday night and didn’t meet us for dinner?  Well, she never came home but I got a text apologizing and saying meet me for breakfast.  We were supposed to meet here and she never showed up. And then tonight I came back to our dorm and I found her . . . dead.”   Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.  “She was lying on her bed.  I thought she was just resting at first.  Her hands were crossed over her chest which was weird, but Emma was kind of odd anyway so . . .” She sniffs and looks down at her hands.  I follow her gaze.  She is holding something.  It is a black feather.  “I found this on her body.”  She hands it to me. I hold it by the quick and spin it between my thumb and fingers.  It shimmers emerald and sapphire in the light.

            “Strange,” I am suddenly thinking about my encounters with the raven in the admission’s building parking lot and then in front of my dorm. Maybe it’s the murderer’s calling card of sorts.

            “It’s shit is what it is.  Bull shit.”  Agnes pulls the sleeves of her long sleeved shirt into her hands and wipes her eyes.  “It’s happened again.”  She points to the feather still in my hands.  I hand it back and immediately feel that I should wash my hands.  I wipe them on my jeans instead.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Emma is not the first.”  Agnes says solemnly.

            “What?”

            “Yeah,” Agnes takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair.  She looks cautiously about the room before leaning in again.  “First it was Trixie Rushwell last fall.  She just disappeared.  No one found her.  The week before Christmas break Nancy Morgan went missing as well and this spring Victoria White disappeared.”

            “So Emma is the first body that’s been found?”

            “That I know of at least. Thing is, I am not sure they think it’s a murder.”

            “What do you mean?”           

            “There was a suicide note . . . but it was not her handwriting.  I know her handwriting.”

            “And she didn’t seem suicidal.”

            “Exactly,”

            “The police will figure that out, don’t you think?”

            “I hope so, but I don’t know.  Whether they do or not I doubt President Eldr is going to want the school to know there could be a murderer on the loose. He’s kind of a creep anyway.”  I hadn’t thought about that.  But yes, there could be a murderer on the loose.  The waiter comes back at that moment and sets down my coffee.  My stomach is churning but I hate to waste a perfectly good coffee so I pick up the mug and bring it to my lips.  The barista has made a design in the cream on the top of the coffee.  Maybe it is supposed to be a leaf, but all I see is a feather.  I wince and choke down a sip.

- By Joy Creech excerpt from Just Ravishing

Once upon a time...

This story starts with my love of stories. Maybe it was my Scandinavian grandfather, Morfar, who would tell me stories as a little girl who lit that fire. Or maybe it was the very little time I was allowed to watch television or be on the computer that encouraged me to pick up book after book and devour it. Whatever it was, my love of literature started when I was very young. My family moved alot: over a dozen times before I was eighteen and I had very few friends. But, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, and Charles Dickens were my truest friends; Florence Nightingale, Thomas Edison, Clara Barton, and so many others were inspiring companions. I was spell bound by the classics and by biographies. My mother told me she had to ground me from reading so I would do something, anything else. Reading was/is so much more than comprehending words on a page; it was/is stepping into other worlds. Reading was one thing, but then when I was eight I started writing; I fell in love. I was a creator, a puppet master and the feeling was euphoric. I believe it is something only writers can truly understand, but in writing I found a sense of incredible peace and deep purpose. I felt fulfilled. Now, a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and many years later I have decided to do one of the scariest things I have ever done: try to become a published author. I am currently working on two books that are loosely based on Scandinavian and Norse mythology. I know it may be a long journey, but you never know if you can fly unless you jump.