3 Hours and Minutes

It's the eve of NANOWRIMO. Hours away actually. My nerves are getting anxious. I'm not sure if this is because it's my first time participating or if it's because I haven't written anything on this scale in over a year and a half.

I keep asking myself: Can I really do this again?

The answer of course is YES. But, you know how it is when your start to over-analyze and doubt your own goals. I wonder if I'm prepped enough. If my story can make to my goal of 50,000 words.

Am I doomed if I don't write something at exactly midnight, the start time?

The answer of course is NO.

I'm pumped, I'm ready and Lyrics of My Soul is ready to come out of head where it has been stored for the past 5 years.

Wish me luck! Ask me my word count, Everyday!

You know what they say, "It takes a villiage..."

Well it takes that and then it takes: Google, Music, Caffeine, Friends, Fellow Writers, Endless nights, and Post-It Notes. Lots and lots of Post-It Notes.

Yes, I'm a dork and I don't care.

Times ticking.

#AWritersLife

27 hours and counting

NANOWRIMO is almost here. In a little over 27 hours, we will be able to begin our month long journey. I have a few more preps I could do but, I think I'm going to turn my thoughts off and take in a book by one of my favorite authors Penelope Douglas. I downloaded a sample and after 5 minutes of reading I was hooked. LOL. That's how it works when I read her novels. She truly is an inspiration to me as a writer.

I've outlined Lyrics of My Soul using Scrivener. So far, I think the program is awesome. I'll let you know more about it as my month progresses.

So, here's to the journey ahead. I hope it's all I expect it to be and more.

Please stay tuned to my post for the next month.

#AWritersLife

NANOWRIMO Prep

4 Days and counting.

Whose ready for November?

Trying to think of everything I can do to prep for the month. I still have two songs to write. I want to have those done so I don't spend a lot of time thinking on them in November. I have outlines, character developments, pictures on pinterest, and one planned out tour schedule. LOL The things us writers do.

Let's get this ball rolling!

Taking it old school

Okay, so my blog post have been a little dark recently. I assure you that I have been writing from my character's perspectives and not necessarily my own. With that being said, I'm sharing with you a little piece of my past.

Take a look and have a good laugh.

When I was in the sixth grade, my friends and I thought we were the coolest people around. LOL, of course you all know that is not the truth. We were dorky, bookworms who loved music.

But, I've got news for you Millennials, we created text lingo before it was a thing. I have proof. A nicely, handwritten in pencil, sheet of paper from 1992 with Abbreviations that we used in our letters back and forth to each other.

While I will not share some of them, here's a few for your viewing pleasure. Have a good laugh.

W.W.B.  Warren G Wannabe (Google Warren G if you don't know who that is)
F.F.         Flicked Flicker
P.E.         Preppy People
D.I.         Dumb idiots
V.G.       Valley Girl
W.B.S.    Wanna be singer
B.L.         Brooke Lover ( you had to be there)
S.             Salsa  (Nickname for someone)
S.N.         Shwin
B.A.         But Anyways
B.C.         Big cow
2.C.4.U.   to cool for you
I.B.C.N.U I'll be seeing you
T.B.         Too bad
C.Y.         see you


That's a few. Some seemed inappropriate to share lol but anyways.

IBCNU

Lyrics

I'm working on my prep for #NaNoWriMO. I've completely put my first idea on the back burner. Originally, I was going to work on book 3 of my Blurred Lines series. But, I've decided to take a break from that and work on a solo project that I've had spinning in my head for the last few years. I've waited because it involved musicians and song lyrics. But, I've been pointed in this direction. So, my new outline and character developments are ready. And tonight, on a whim, I started on some lyrics. This is my first song. First draft, it may need work.

Here goes nothing...

Book: Lyrics of My Soul
Song Title: Post Traumatic

Grasping for breath
Falling to the ground
It's not the same since you're back around
I want you to hold me
But you're staring into the dark

Holding my chest
Crying from deep inside
It's as if you've turned off, gone blind
I want you to kiss me
But you're scratching at the walls

They say I've lost you
But I won't give up
My last breath threatens
But I'm hanging on
Until it all comes down

Facing my death
Turning blue at last
It's all around too fast
I want you to stay here
But you're heading to the light

They say I've lost you
But I won't give up
My last breath threatens
But I'm hanging on
Until it all comes down

Until it all comes down
It all came down

In Too Deep

In Too Deep

By Sherry Howard

            Three Days Grace pumps through the speakers, almost drowning out the familiar hum of the tattoo gun. Mindless, I flip the pages of a magazine as I watch the clock on the wall across from me tick, seeming to be stuck at 11:45. It’s nearly midnight on a Monday night. Buzz is finishing up his last job of the night and I’m waiting behind the register to cash the customer out.

            I’d been working at In Too Deep since I was eighteen and ran away from home. Buzz had found me wandering the streets and trying to find a place in the world. I refused to return to mom’s because I wouldn’t let my step dad beat me anymore or watch him bruise up my mom. I’d tried to make her leave, to show her that there was more to life, but she refused. I had pulled her toward our front door, begging her to walk away. Hank barreled through the living room and smacked me clean across the face. He ripped mom from my arms and flung her to the ground. I stood in the door mere seconds and hollered for her to come with me. She shook her head no, so I had hurried out without looking back.

            All I’d had in my possession was a change of clothes, a book, a bottle of Jack, and fifteen dollars and forty-three cents shoved into my over-sized purse. I lived on the streets two whole weeks, stretching my money for bare necessities, planning to land a job right away. It didn’t take long for me to realize that finding a job in a dwindling economy wasn’t easy. Four days. That’s how long I went without eating before I became desperate.

            One night, I was meandering along a dark street, looking for a place to rest, when a car stopped in the alleyway. The driver jumped out and rushed into the back door of a business. He was in a hurry and left his car door wide opened. I crept along and was careful when I peeked into the car. My stomach rumbled at the sight of a half-eaten sandwich. I threw caution to the wind and grabbed it before thinking, gobbling bite after bite. I’d almost polished it off when the driver came back. My eyes were a deer caught in headlights, but I didn’t stop.

            The driver ran his hand through his thick hair. “You don’t belong out here. It’s not safe.”

            I talked, food falling from my mouth. “Maybe it feels much safer than where I came from.”

            “How old are you?” He asked as he took a step in my direction.

            I backed up. “Why?”

            “Pretty young girl like you. Someone’s bound to be looking for you.” He stopped his approach and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and blew smoke into the humid night air. “Bet there’s a missing poster with your name on it.”

            I’d finished the sandwich and stood with my arms crossed over my chest. “I guarantee there’s not.”

            “Look,” he said. “I’ve got a bed upstairs…”

            “I’m not a prostitute.” I turned on my heel and quickened my pace as I took off down the alley.

            He caught up to me with ease, grabbed my shoulder, and spun me around. “And I’m not a rapist. If you’d let me finish.”

            “Please, you have murder written all over you with your tattooed arms and cigarettes and…”

            “Honey, if I wanted to kill you, I had my chance while you were busy eating my sandwich.” He flicked his cigarette away.

            I huffed. “Fine. Speak. I’m listening.”

            He matched my abrasiveness. “I was saying, I have a bed upstairs in my office. I’m working on a client all night if you need a place to crash.”

            I studied him in the soft glow of someone’s back door light, noticing the triangle shaped scar under his right eye. Some may have found him intimidating, but one glance in his warm eyes showed me his humanity.

            “You’re not going to do anything to me?”

            “No,” he nodded his head to the door. “You coming?”

            I only hesitated a second before walking beside him to the back entrance.

            “Besides,” He said. “You remind me of my little sister.”

            “That’s just great,” I said as I waited for him to lock up his car. “I’m eighteen, I’m not a child.”

            He came up to hold the door open for me. “She would be too.”

            “Would be?” I asked as we entered a storage room and he turned to lock us in.

            He jingled his keys in his hands as he inspected me. “She’s dead.”

            “Oh,” I whispered.

            We stood in the nearly dark room for a long while before he cleared his throat. “Name’s Buzz.”

            “Lexie.”

            Buzz led me out to the main room and flicked a switch to bring the lights to life. “Well Lexie, this is In Too Deep.”

            It had been three years since I walked into the parlor and never left. Buzz gave me a job working the counter and, eventually, let me convert the office upstairs into an apartment. I found a place here with him taking on the role as my big brother. Of course, I wasn’t the same little girl. I’d cut all my hair off in a pixie style that I wore spiked up. I’d made Buzz give me a few tat’s and a tongue piercing that he insisted I didn’t need but caved in and did anyway.

            A hand slapped down on the counter and brought me back to the present. “Buzz said to pay $45,” said a frat guy with his newly tatted bicep on display in front of me.

            I cashed him out and looked up to see the clock was indeed working as it now displayed 11:59.

            I was counting down the drawer when the bell over the front door chimed.

            “Sorry no more tonight,” I said as I continued without looking up.

            A shadow fell over me as I glanced up at Jace. “Buzz in?”

            He scared the crap out of me. I only nodded.

            He stared at me. “Lock the door and pay better attention.”

            He proceded to the back as I made my way around the counter to close up. It wasn’t long before I heard the tat gun and I knew why he was here. He was adding yet another tally mark to his massive beast of a neck. That would make 15 marks crossed off in fives. Buzz never made him pay. They barely spoke, seeming to have some unspoken agreement about the situation. When I first got here, Jace only had three marks.

            I could only guess to their meaning. He was a monster. Massive in frame. Arms that could pick you up and throw you with ease. Dark. Mysterious. Murderer Maybe? Young, possibly a few years older than me.

            I put the money in a bank bag and made my way to the parlor area to lock it away in the safe. I peeked from the corner of my eye as Buzz held his gloved hand to the side of Jace’s neck and added another mark. Two in one day. My God, this guy was a killing machine.

            “Your girl there’s a liability,” Jace said once Buzz stopped the gun. “She doesn’t pay attention. Anyone could take her.”

            Buzz took off his gloves and deposited them in the trash. “I’ll talk to her.”

            I kicked the door shut on the safe. “I’m standing right here,” I said placing my hands on my hips. “If you got something to say-”

            Jace stood and hustled my way. “Girls pretty as you get taken from this neighborhood every day. I’d be on the lookout for prowlers if I were you.”

            “You mean murderers?” I pointed to his neck. “Is that how many girls you’ve killed?” Buzz and Jace shared a look but neither replied. “Looking for another victim? Serial Killer.”

            He laughed. “Can you believe this chick? Better watch your mouth, Darlin.”

            “She’s a spitfire,” Buzz interjected.

            “Whatcha going to do about it?”

            Jace held his Marine stance. “You’re trouble. Naive. Gonna get yourself snatched.”

            “I can handle my own,” I said. I tried to go around his side and make my way up the staircase to my apartment, but he shifted in front of me.

            “You need some street smarts. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

            “Obviously, a killer,” I spat.

            He moved in on me and I found myself backing up until I was flush with the wall. My breath caught as I shut my eyes tight and braced myself for what was to come.

            It never came. My heart pounded, blood rushing to my ears. Slowly, I let the scrunch of my eyes release and open. Jace studied me.

            “You’ve been hit,” he withdrew. “I wouldn’t do that.”

            “You sure about that?” I asked, letting the tension release from my shoulders.

            “You’re quick to judge, sweetheart.” He rubbed his hand down his tired face. “You don’t know me or what I do.”

Mystery night #2

                Q. Kiefer watched as a pin light sized hole appeared in the ceiling a mile above the cave floor. They must be bringing another one in he thought to himself.

                He had been down here 500,000 earth years. That means he had spent half of his life on this God forsaken planet, forced down in this damp, warm cave to live amongst the other non-humans. They had a never-ending supply of silver glitter and green slime running down the walls. The non-humans very own kryptonite to discourage any attempts at escaping.

                He thought about it once after he had studied the vibrating of the walls and the shifting of the floors for ½ a million years. He had made it two floor over when he found a secret door. But, that time, when he went to grasp the door knob it was covered in bloody fingerprints. He rushed through the door anyway. He made it into a room of mirrors. Floor to ceiling. All he could see was his own reflection. The doorway disappeared and all he could do was stare at himself. That’s when he felt the ground quaking and a shimmering came over the mirrors as the glass broke and seemed to dissipate. Once the mirror fragments were all gone, he found himself standing on the cave floor, staring up at the pin hole of light.

                He was never the same. He couldn’t explain it, but he was shaken.

                Now, when he stared up at the ceiling, he could only imagine what happened when he found the mirror room.

                “What’s your problem, whisker biscuit?” Said Frederick Lawson.

                Frederick was a new human patrolee with a profound love of fruitcake. Kiefer hated him. If it wasn’t for the kryptonite he would show him a thing or two.”

                “They burnt another one at the stake for trying to escape,” said Frederick. “You wouldn’t do that would you Q?” He asked with unspoken knowledge of the one time he did try to escape.

                Kiefer could her the other patrolee’s chanting. “Tis a witch, Burn the witch.”

                Kiefer turned to Frederick. “You know we’re not witches, Right?”

October Mystery Writing 1

For October, our library is hosting mystery events. For the writers’ circle, we had a night of creative writing mystery workshop. This is exercise #1 that we did.

                My muscles ache as I pull myself up from the cool concrete floor of the slightly darkened room I find myself in. A quick scan and I find that there are no windows or doors. A rush of claustrophobia sets in as I circle the room. My breathing comes in raspy gasps I fall to the ground, hoisted up on all fours, close my eyes as I will myself to take in one long breath, then another, and slower, another.

                I open my eyes. The haze clears and with another scan of the room I notice it.  A small, ring-sized, black box sits in the corner. Grudge like, I crawl to the box, hold it in my beaten hands, and give it a little shake. This causes no sound and I wonder if there’s even anything inside. With my eyes alert, I inch the box open and find a note inside, a fortune cookie paper that says, “Outlook for today not so good.”

Personality workshop

 

Writing Personality workshop

Expressive

                Amy was quick to jump when she stuffed everything into her suitcase, threw it into the backseat of her car, and left her childhood home behind. She took one last glance in the rear-view as dust flew up behind her mustang and clouded the last vision of home she would ever have. Turning 18 brought freedom and the opportunity to follow her own desires and get out of this po-dunk town. She wanted to live in the city of flashing lights and neon signs. Two-million people jam-packed like sardines.

                She turned up the sound of the radio and belted out every song. She was ecstatic. Ready to find a job in a restaurant, an art gallery, whatever. Maybe find a loft to rent with a couple of flat mates. Anything as long as it was her making the decision.

Analytic

                Miranda was carful in packing all of her books, paying extra attention not to bend the pages. She couldn’t believe that the university had called her off the wait list. Her heart beat faster as she thought about leaving the safety of her quaint apartment. She played the move over and over in her mind. Should I stay? Do I really need to go to college?

                She internally checked the pro’s off. Need college for future. Yes. Want to provide for my family someday. Yes. There really was no backing out. This was the move she had planned, down to the T.

Likely conversation between the 2

                “You are so messy,” Miranda said. “I swear it’s like you come home every night and throw things down as you make your way through the apartment.”

                Amy stood with her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry if I have places to be. Not everyone in the world is a bookworm.”

                Miranda held up a plate that she grabbed from the counter. “Look at this. I think this burrito is glued on. Everything has a place. Dishes have a place. We have a dishwasher.”

                “Here. You want me to deal with that burrito? I’ll deal with the burrito.” Amy snatched the plate and threw it in the trash.

Writing

It's been awhile since I've been on. Again, life gets in the way. But, I'm trying to jump back in the saddle and write something everyday. This week is going pretty good. Don't ask me about next week. LOL All of the stories on my blog are original works by me. They are as is, likely unedited. The works I share on here are not things I plan to publish. They are just short writings that I do with my writer's group or on my own to get away from working on my novels. Right now, I am doing a complete revision on my first book. It is taking me longer than actually writing the first draft did. I do have a book two first draft complete. Again, it needs revised. I have been studying writing samples and books. Plus, taking in all the excellent advice from fellow member's of the Parkland Writers' Circle.

I am preparing for my first ever NANOWRIMO. Several of the other members have done this before. I have not. I have a tentative outline for book number 3 though. I plan on working on that for NANOWRIMO. 50,000 words in one month. Sounds like a lot. But, I wrote my first two books from July 2015 to august-early September 2015. That's 163,000 words between the two books. Hence the need for revision and polishing and cutting.

Honestly, I don't know if I can do it again. Last time I had my best friend waiting everyday for the next pages of my book. She told me she had to read what happens next and that kept me going. Plus, caffeine, the adventure of something new, as this great need to get the story out. I'm not sure I have that drive in me this time. But, I guess we will find out.

My books are intended for a series of 8 books. Who knows how far I will actually get with all that? But, it's something. I started writing stories when I was in middle school. I never finished them, but it's always been in me. I remember taking a handwritten 43 page story to my teacher in the 7th grade and asking her, "What do you think?" She told me it was a start and not to quit. Also, yes you do have to use quotation marks around everything you speak. LOL. The things you remember.

Wow, how we have evolved since then. Now I can type as quick as I can think. No excuses for not writing. Though, me and my bestie had a word processor and typed our own news stories when we were 14. That was something.

The series I'm working on is planned for 8 books. And I don't know where that will lead or if it will lead anywhere at all. I have several other projects that have taken a back burner. Including, another series which I have planned out as 4 books. But, for me, planning and procrastinating go hand in hand.

We will see where it goes. Thanks for reading