Oooh! Oh! Oooh!

I'm nearing the end of my writing "break". Exciting. I feel refreshed. I really do. And a lot more relaxed.

Next week (like Monday) I'll be diving back into revising DRAGON QUEEN. I've already got some ideas simmering.

This weekend it's supposed to rain, so I will be compiling some more of my old drawings and paintings and also focusing on creating more work. I will also be going to Olive Garden (I hope) and splurging with the gift card my coworkers gave me for Professional Assistant's Day. I feel so loved.

My poor zombie cat is being taken to the vet today. He'll probably get his tail docked and need to be on meds. Oh, and did I mention he got bit by something? Yeah, so his leg is literally oozing. (Gross!) But at least he's been living up to his nickname. Hopefully after this enormous vet bill he'll take it easy for a while. He and Gypsy (the dog) are also getting their rabies shots. Don't need to have a rabid zombie cat running around.

And yesterday, my fiance and I traded in his motorcycle for a jet-ski. Awesomeness. Needless to say, I will be spending most of my weekends getting sunburned and windburned at the same time! :D

I'm a Deviant!

I have mentioned (briefly) that I enjoy drawing and painting, and I'm doing my best to get back into that. So, I've joined Deviant Art.You can find me under BrandiFey. So far, I've only got about four things posted, but I shall raid my art tonight and try to post more.

Deviant Art is actually an awesome website...and a great source of inspiration for a flagging imagination. Skill levels vary, but all the artwork has something to offer. It's amazing how many great artists are out there and the wide range of subjects. Though I favor fantasy, you can find photography, cityscapes, animals, landscapes, etc.

Check it out!

The Ugly Truth (no, not the movie)

So, last week was really bad. Really. Like I-think-I'm-going-to-smother-myself-with-my-own-manuscript kind of bad. So I ranted and pouted and was generally a pathetic human being. I struggled through a short story for a contest, edited it, submitted it and then threw up my hands and said "Enough!" I haven't written, critiqued or edited ANYTHING since then. And that was what I needed. A break. A break from everything writing. I stopped thinking about it, obsessing about it, wondering when-oh-when was I going to hear back from agent/editor and just relaxed.

What did I do instead? Read. And then read some more. Went out with friends Saturday and watched Clash of the Titans in 3D (I'd never seen a movie in 3D before. It was pretty cool.) We ate at Buffalo Wild Wings and laughed at the guys when they were eating the Blazin' wings. (I totally wasn't going there.) Then we went to the bar where I played pool with a girl who used to flirt outrageously with my then-boyfriend now-fiance when we first got together. She kicked my butt, but it was okay, because I didn't really care. And then me and my friends drank lots of beer (and one tequila shot, which my body was like "hell, no, we're not going THERE again") and got hit on by guys who were wearing matching t-shirts, to which my friend said, "See that huge guy over there? That's my husband and THAT is her fiance." They skedaddled pretty quickly. Then we went home. The guys were in the back howling at everyone. (I'm totally not joking.) And I couldn't escape without being mooned TWICE.

Sunday was another reading day. I bought some watercolors Friday and had every intention of playing with them, but all I wanted to do was read. Then my mom calls me and invites me to go with her and my four-year-old cousin to see How to Train Your Dragon. And I was like "Yes!!" And, being the dork that I am, I enjoyed How to Train Your Dragon a lot more than Clash of the Titans. But I'm a sucker for animation, so there. When I got back home, I ate cereal and read some more. Exercised and read. Took a bubble bath and read. Read. Read. I finished one and a half books this weekend. Fiance called me a bookworm and I told him to get over it.

And I didn't think about writing ONCE.

Until this morning. You see, I told myself I would give it a week. A whole week without writing or editing or anything. And then the itch returned this morning. On the drive to work I was thinking about DRAGON QUEEN and some of the plot and edits that still needed to be made and character development and description and all that jazz.

And then I just had to smile a self-deprecating smile because I realized that the ugly truth is that no matter how disgusted I become with my own work, it won't leave me alone. I could set aside a story for a year and it would still gnaw at the back of my brain "finish me, finish me". I guess that's when you know that you are a writer...that even when you think you've reached your breaking point, you find out that you're wrong.

I'm still trying (really hard) to leave my stories alone this week. Then, hopefully, by the time I return to them, that itch will have become a burning and the stories will once more be my friends rather than my tormenters.

OMG, I just died!!

I've never laughed so hard in my life. Illustrations + craziness = hilarity.

Check this out.

Another update

Yesterday I was being a baby and posted a pathetic post. It has now been deleted and I apologize to those of you who already read it. 


My mood is a lot more optimistic today. Yay for Friday.


I DO have a suggestion for my loyal readers... and that's to take a break this weekend. Just go out and enjoy the sunshine, avoid the computer, and spend time with friends doing silly things. That's what I'm planning on doing. 


Happy weekend!

The Twisty Path of Writerhood

So, I thought I had it all figured out what being a writer meant. Just write. Write some more. Write, write, write. That was when I was young(er) and naive(er). Then I realized that to be a writer, you also have to be an editor. So I edited and rewrote and edited and rewrote. Edited some more. Cried. Sobbed. Contemplated burning MS multiple times. And then, finally, I thought I was finished. Like a child showing a mess of a coloring page to her mommy, I glowed with pride and accomplishment. And then today I had another revelation. An almost Grinch-like moment and my heart shrank two sizes.

It's not enough to write a good story. Heck, it's not even enough to revise it until it's a great story. And, by all that is freaking holy, it is STILL not enough to revise it into the most fantastic story of all time... if it's not marketable. You could have written the next Twilight (God forbid) and if an agent doesn't think that people will line up to buy it, they will pass.

And this has made the writer side of me, that sensitive, glimmering side still oozing innocence and imagination, curl up and die. Because sometimes a writer has to face the facts: you've written an awesome story that no one wants to read (well, besides your mom). And then all sorts of nasty thoughts enter your head. Let's change that ending, let's alter that query. We'll snag them yet, preciousss. Oh, yesss, we knowss what it likes. We knowsss. (Sorry, still have a bit of The Hobbit hangover.)

So what do we do to our literary masterpiece that is so deliciously dark with themes and struggles? We rip it apart. We make it light and sparkly and ensnaring. We contemplate changing the beginning, luring agents (and readers) in with false promises of happy endings and a predictable story arc (a gentle read) and then, when it's too late WE CLOSE THEM IN OUR TRAP! Muahahahaha! The sparkle will fade to a depressing gloom. But they won't be able to stop reading, not when that glitter of a happy ending is still dancing at the end. By then, it will be too late. There will be no escape. ::cue evil laughter::

(Wow, I should really lay off the Smarties before posting.)

Some revelations and a little bit of heart-bruising

I didn't have a great weekend. Instead, like the pendulum of a clock, it kept swinging back and forth between good and bad. So, in the end, I guess it evened out.

I can't really remember Friday. I think it consisted of me reading a book when I got home (Once An Angel by Teresa Medeiros).

Saturday morning I went with my mom and my four-year-old cousin to Afton, Okla., to a swap meet. For those of you city-folks that don't know what a swap meet is, it's where lots of farmers and country-folk get together with their products (be that animals, plants, or crafts or just junk they found in their backyard) and try to sell it or, in some instances, "swap" for it. Hence, the name: swap meet (meet to swap). (And I just totally made that up, but it makes sense, doesn't it?) Apparently, I am a dork and an "old maid" because I enjoy spending a day looking at chickens and cats and dogs and goats and just looking at stuff. But I mainly enjoy petting the animals. And then there is this AWESOME Mexican restaurant down the road that is TO DIE FOR. So, yeah, I also go for that.

Fiance is off with his friends down at the creek when I get home (about 4 p.m.). I shampoo the carpets, read some more, and then decide to my mom's and watch Chipmunks: The Squeakquel and eat pizza. When I get home, Fiance gives me a hard time because I'd rather spend a Saturday with my mom than hang out with people my own age. To which I start crying because this is a really sensitive subject with me. The truth: I don't really have friends my own age to hang out with because they fall into one of two categories. One: They are party animals and all they do is drink and party and drink and party. It only took me a month to grow out of that phase, so I have a tendency to be bored with it. (Plus, my body doesn't like copious amounts of alcohol and it's irritating AND boring to watch other people get drunk.) Two: They are mommies. And all they want to talk about is their sweet (ugly) baby and what their doo-doo looks like. And LOOK they spit up everywhere and OMG isn't that so cute??? (I shall go somewhere and barf now.) And if I can somehow manage to get mommy away from her sticky-handed children, they're STILL all she wants to talk about. AND I DON'T CARE. REALLY! I DON'T!!! I have no children. None. And so I have no interest in talking about yours. I want to talk about OTHER things. Things that are fun and interesting. Not your child's bowel movements. I want to talk about books or movies or politics. I want to have adult conversation and do adult things that don't necessarily involve drinking until your eyeballs float. Mmkay?

And since I can't find that in someone my age, I hang out with my mom. To which Fiance tells me: make new friends. Like it's easy. Like I can just go snag somebody on the street and say, "Be my friend!" and they'll be deliriously happy to do so. I can't. I just can't. I'm shy. People have hurt me. Hurt me badly. I don't trust easily and I have a super-low self-esteem (which, for some reason, comes off as me being "stuck up") so I don't think people will like me. And when you don't think people will like you then it's really hard to put yourself out there to try to get them to like you. Thus, my dilemma.

So, I cried. And I still feel like crying, but I promised I would call a friend to see if she wanted to go to the farmer's market with me this Saturday. If she can get her husband to watch the kiddos. If she's even interested in stuff like that.

For Easter, we went to Jake's family's house. Where I hung out with the guys and played horseshoes and watched all the kids drag my poor dog around. But, I had fun. It wasn't that bad, really. But you will also notice that I hung out with the GUYS, because all the girls wanted to talk about was their kids. And, like I mentioned above, I don't care. I spent the rest of the day digging a strawberry patch. Which involved moving cinder blocks and burying them to a certain level. Gratifying work and it made me peaceful and happy.

Then, my brother calls this morning. "Guess what? I'm putting the house your living in up for sale."

Another deflation. It was just starting to feel like home. But, it's okay. I'm not mad at him or anything, because I knew it was going to happen eventually. But I really don't like the idea of people coming into the house and looking at my things and bothering my animals. ::frowny face::

We'll be moving soon, I believe.

(Oh, and still haven't heard back from other agents. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.)