I'm reworking an old story... again. It's the first book I ever wrote, and it contains a type of raw magic that I think is captivating and worth a good face-lift. The trouble is that it sprawls. Four main characters, a wide roving fantasy world and 190,000 words... uh, think 600 pages or so.
Also, because it's the first book I ever wrote, I didn't know that I needed to lay down some foundational work. Ie: extensive world building, a timeline that makes sense and... a single sentence elevator pitch.
An elevator pitch reveals the strength and focus of your idea. If I can rope mine into one than it's worth the time it will take to untangle the rest of the mess.
Two of my other books have strong pitches:
How would you like to read a young adult western, in the tongue and cheek spirit of Huckleberry Finn?
Or maybe you want to read about killer mermaids attacking an isolated island community on the black rocky coast of BC, Canada.
So that's what I'm doing tonight. I'm hoping to weed out the kernel, the idea that lays at the heart of my first book that makes it an inspiring read.
190,000 words, one sentence...
...
Update:
Here it is so far. How would you like to read about:
A powerful spirit called the Dragon that endows those who allow
it to possess them with the magical strength to fulfill any desire. Those possessed
cannot be killed and will never die.
This is a post dedicated to my very first love. Because at fourteen, I truely loved you.
It didn't work out. :) But the moment, the spark, it still rings clear and true. It etched itself into my teenage brain in the sort of enduring way that i expect will survive through age and fading memory.
So wherever you are, I wish you joy and love and to say that
I remember fourteen-year-old you: beneath the apple tree, baggy cargo pants, loose white tee shirt, outback hat, strumming the guitar on your lap.
I think I might get a little drunk tonight, this wine is way too good. The kids are in bed and I've got space and the magic of a keyboard and a fantasy novel I'm writing. I'm going to drink and write about sex and magic and betrayal. And then... if I'm not too tired, I think I'll smoke. Nothing chases a really good bottle of wine like cherry tobacco.
Cabernet Sauvignon by Rustenberg, if you're wondering. :)
Like the rising of the sea, you are my love, my love to me
Like an isle bare of green, without my love to comfort me
Broken rock, burned and black, you soothe the rough, you
fill the lack
I shudder with the rising sea, covered by your love for me
Like the tether to a green broke mare, you are my love, my
love to me
Warily I test the lead, captivated by mystery
Soft spoke words, an agile touch,
you my love, have persuaded me
I bind myself to your need, I’ll have no other master me
Like a tree by the stream, you are my love, my love to me
Caught by drought I burrow deep, I ache to cool my burning seed
Swift you come, but to tease, you drain through rock and then
you leave
Me to wither and dream of spring,
with cracked bark
and
an aching heart
I plead
oh my love,
my love
return to me
How can you put a price on art? Well, I just did. I just sold the copyright and the credit for writing that poem for $1.01.
I sold it through a website that pays writers dirt cheap for articles and web content. Someone commissioned a particular sort of love poem. I'm looking to increase my status as a writer on the site so I can charge more for the articles I write, so I accepted what I thought was an easy commission.
Writing an article on interior design is one thing... when I give art away a tiny little bit of myself goes with it. I always think that I can handle it. Do something fun and turn a quick buck. I always forget how it stings when I fall in love with the work. This one smarts a bit. :S
I've been playing guitar again, praise God: a subtle combination of a bit more sleep at night and the girls learning to play on their own.
I wrote this song somewhere between my first and second cup of coffee and roughed it out on video before I forgot. Very rough. But there's beauty in imperfection so I'm sharing it here. Enjoy!
Seven years. This September it will be seven years of marriage. I've gone from dread-locked hippie living in a Volkswagen van to a white collar family in the suburbs. It's hard not to wonder about identity sometimes, about who I truly am.
My core has always been built on one thing- my love for Jesus and His love for me. I've always felt that every sinew, bone, every nerve ending and brain cell in my body was knit together with meaning, with purpose. Nothing can shake you when you have a core like that. Words don't cut. A sense of such great purpose banishes fear. After all, it's not about you at all. To live this life, serving and loving God first, with assurance of a perfect homecoming is a source of great peace.
Heh. And then I fell in love with a human man. Truly madly deeply. And I still am. I'm knit to him heart and soul. As a new bride I whispered my secret to Jesus in the dark: that while I still loved Jesus the same... I mean tried to love him... and if push really came to shove I was sure I'd choose Jesus in the end. I could no longer truthfully say that he was first in my heart.
By word, deed and action, I loved Jason more.
I wasn't too hard on myself. I knew that God would give me grace for this time. I also knew that God made marriage and love, and I hoped that in time I could find a little balance.
But there is a problem when your center shifts like that. The things Jason said and did started to matter too much. A careless word could cut me all too easily. I felt desperate for his approval. I tried to dress and talk to please him and I was never sure it was enough. I wanted to be the perfect wife in every way. For the first time in my life I started to worry over parts of my body I'd loved before. I was always trying to do it better, to be better. I even started to feel responsible for Jason's mood. If he was grumpy or short tempered, it was my responsibility to fix it.
Jason is a loving and kind husband, who adores me and serves me with everything he has. It really wasn't his fault. I'm sure he felt just as confused by the whole thing as I did. What's more, the harder I tried, the further I walked away from the person he first fell in love with.
Transformation started when Jason had to leave me and the two girls alone for six months to do some career retraining. I had to be the strong, capable and opinionated woman I know I am. I had to survive, and Jason depended on me to keep our family together and our life running, and to do it well.
With some help, from God, friends and family, I did.
I also started some counseling when Jason came back. It wasn't specifically for this issue but everything in our lives really is a big messy knot isn't it? It's all connected. Besides, I'm pretty sure any parent on this world who lives off of 4ish hours of sleep a night with two kids under three probably is close to some sort of psychosis. Get help. I mean it. :P
Anyways... the real turning point came about a month ago. I was going through a box of keepsakes and I found a letter Jason had written to me while we were engaged. He wrote how he wanted to encourage me because he knew how unsure of things I could be. He also wrote about how he loved the way I listened to God's voice. He loved me for the passion I had and the love I had for God.
You know the difference between understanding something with your head and with your heart? I knew that me being madly in love with Jesus would only deepen the love in a marriage built upon that cornerstone. But reading that note, the knowledge sunk into my heart.
Seven years of marriage and yes, life is different now. We drive a SUV and have traded long boarding on summer nights for a bag of wine gums and a few episodes of BBC's 'Merlin' before we tuck in. Our love has changed from the brightness of popping sparks to the warm glow of an established coal bed. We are deep and steady.
And something else has changed.
My center, my core has shifted once again. I'm coming home to a place where God is my first love. I rise in the morning and seek time with Him. My feet are coming to rest on true solid ground again. His word is the only one that has the last say and He says He loves me. He says that I am crafted from head to toe, from heart to mind with exacting intention, purpose and destiny.
If I was a superhero, I'd be the hulk. Even with these boney arms and knobby knees. I just feel as if there's so much inside of me bursting to get out. I'm being pulled in too many directions at once.
Take right now for instance. I hope to take my 1 year old and 3 year old to the water park in an hour or so. I really need to clean the kitchen, prep dinner and gather all the 'out in the hot sun bric-a-brac' that goes with it. But instead I'm writing. Because I love to write.
But I'm also itching to go downstairs and write out the chords to the new song I'm learning on my guitar.
Don't even get me started with the artwork I'd like to do.
I'm a stay at home mom. And like most single income families, my husband and I feel squeezed to make ends almost not meet. He's putting in a ton of overtime (leaving me to go crazy in toddler world) but it never seems to be enough.
The cool thing is, my many interests can actually generate income. So maybe I could help out on the money side of things... if only... I had a few more precious moments. A few more sweet hours everyday to create. To get truly lost in the ideas and worlds that spin around in my head all day.
But I must be mom first.
That means chopping carrot sticks and filling the crock-pot. Wiping noses and helping my 3 year-old find her princess tiara.
If only, If only... I had a few more hours. If only my creativity didn't tug me away from my kids. I need balance. I need to make this work. And somehow... I still need to sleep. Because nobody wants a cranky mommy.
Maybe I'll find the way. Maybe this blog will help... maybe...
