Finding The Inspiration To Write

On By dotluvs2writeIn Fiction Writing, Inspirational10 Comments

finding peace

After a hiatus of nearly eighteen years (marriage and children—life), I began writing stories again in the fall of 2014 just before I started my first class at Southern New Hampshire University online. After reading the book, Of Human Bondage, by Somerset Maugham, the ideas of a story filled my mind, and this time, these ideas made it into words written in longhand on paper in a spiral notebook. And I succeeded in finishing this piece in a month or two. The story is in the genre of Young Adult/Children’s, and is about bullying and reconciliation. I then went on to write my first novel, followed by a few more short stories.

In 2015, I had another year of sporadic writing blocks via an online critique site I became part of while working on my novel. By the first couple of months of 2016, I wasn’t able to write as I had been. This happened because I had lost my voice, style of writing, and became overly concerned with the rules of writing and taking every feedback to heart. My writing had become flat, mechanical, and lifeless. It took me nearly another year to come back from that and discern the difference between a critique that pertained to what I needed to improve my story and one that was not relevant or useful to the storyline and my style of writing.

Since then, I’ve been continuing to edit my novel and short stories, but have picked up reading more fiction. This has helped me tremendously. Last week, I finished reading a Jodi Picoult novel that was superbly written with a profound and complex storyline. The ending didn’t tie up neatly in a pretty pink bow, but rather had me thinking about the decision the main character had made and left me wondering how that was going to work out for said character. Intriguing to say the least.

jodi picoult novel the storyteller

It was through reading this 400+-page novel in four days that spurred me to writing a new story, though lacking a clear plot or known ending (which was how I usually started writing–stream of consciousness). But in the past couple of days, the plot and direction of this new story has become clearer, and the writing I did on it last night and this morning gave me such joy and satisfaction. It was the kind of writing I’ve wanted to write but haven’t been able to since I wrote my novel in 2015, but this current story’s writing is superior to it, which makes sense if you are growing in your writing. And how exciting is that to know you can continue to hone your writing skills and become better and better the more you read and write?

I was created to create

I had heard from other writers more than once, the importance of reading a lot… “Read, read, and then read some more,” was basically the advice thrown out there in a Facebook writers’ group in which I’m a member, in the answer to questions on prompting yourself to write. Now that I have done this and seen the effects of this experience, I know the key to burgeoning ideas and perpetual writing of stories. Thank God! And believe me, I haven’t forgotten His loving guidance throughout this process.

As I plow through submitting the last twenty or so chapters of my first novel through my online critique group and prepare it for publishing this coming spring, I am feeling very good about my fate as a blossoming writer and soon-to-be official author. Life is good, and writing about it makes it even better.

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The Written Word Comes to Life

On By dotluvs2writeIn blogging, Fiction Writing2 Comments

stardust blue

There are times in your life where something beautiful and unexpected happens, and you’re left in awe as your heart swells with joy and pride for this blessed experience.

When I started back to school in 2014, I’d found the major of my dreams from my childhood that I did not know existed. It presented me with the real possibility of becoming a professional writer. While taking so many fascinating courses thus far online through Southern New Hampshire University, there were three core courses for my major in English Creative Writing from which to choose:

  • Fiction writing workshop
  • Nonfiction writing workshop
  • Poetry workshop
  • Playwriting workshop

Considering I had been writing fiction and had felt most comfortable in that realm, it was the easiest choice for me. Nonfiction was more difficult, but I learned more in that class than I did in my Introduction to Creative Writing course the year before. But I will be taking the fiction writing workshop next term that starts in early January, and will see how it compares to the others. Knowing poetry wasn’t a talent I possessed, nor did I completely comprehend all poems, I chose the playwriting workshop. I had no knowledge or experience in playwriting, but I figured it would be easier to compose than poetry.

I completed the playwriting workshop last term (each term is eight weeks long), and it surprised me and intrigued me very much. I’d learned so much about this art. I found writing plays that depended primarily on dialogue at its core came easier and more natural to me than writing a setting in a novel. Many of the very short plays I wrote for this class were born out of my stream of consciousness.

3d rendering of human brain on technology background

Rewinding in time to two years ago, in my Introduction to Creative Writing course, I produced a screenplay (the first I’d ever done) for the week’s assignment. It was a play about…well…nothing. And it grew out of a stream of consciousness.   Nevertheless, my fellow classmates and professor loved it and laughed while reading it. This play is called “Falling Up Stairs.”

Fast forward to last term (September-October), when I wrote, again, from a stream of consciousness, my play, “The Tricker’s Treat.”

In mid to late October, I corresponded with a local theater director via my mother-in-law, who acted there on average, two times a year. Through my husband’s and mother-in-law’s help—husband told his mom about my plays, and she passed this on to the director—the director had told me she would be happy to read over my plays. I was nervous at first…the thought of anyone at that level reading my silly plays…but I managed to get past my fears and sent them to her.

With only a few minor changes (one being changing my screenplay, “Falling Up Stairs,” into a play for live theater), she offered her small theater venue and actors to informally read my plays so I could hear how the words I’d written would be animated with tone and expression and flow.

I couldn’t believe it.

This path of writing began to bloom before my eyes, like a new colorful world opening up to me.

Last night, this came to fruition. Hearing the written words of the dialogue between my created characters in my plays come to life was something nearly inexplicable. It was a euphoric moment that lifted my soul and kindled joy in my heart.

I’m still writing fiction stories and enjoy the cozy feeling of being immersed in my created characters’ worlds, but after last night, the longing to see my plays actually acted on the stage with props and costumes–the whole kit and caboodle–grew exponentially. I don’t know what will happen now, but I’m eternally grateful to Laurie, the director, and her actors for the opportunity they gave me to see my play come to life.

The actors and me from the play reading!

(The actors and me (in the center))

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Two And A Half Years Of Foosball Mania

On By dotluvs2writeIn Fun, Sports2 Comments

foosball table

 

Between the ages of 18 and 21, I spent my evenings and weekends hanging out at a groovy place called Funtronics, where delightful arcade games, like pinball machines and foosball tables littered the linoleum floor, and the jukebox blared the latest pop rock of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Attached to the arcade was a record store that sold vinyl records and cassette tapes. Compact discs were making their way into the stores at the time, but the tape cassettes were still dominant, at least in Budget Tapes and Records, which was the name of the store. The man who owned both the arcade and record store later became my boss. I ended up working at his Budget Tapes and Records in the Parker, Colorado location. That position was simply the most laid back and fun job I’d ever done in my life, but sadly, reality hit a year and a half later that told me I couldn’t support myself working part time at that place.

Funtronics was a flashing light, noise-filled, stimulating wonderland. The foosball tables interested me immediately when I first visited the building and watched a couple of guys in faded jeans, t-shirts, and ball caps chewing on tobacco standing over the table, holding the bars of black and yellow men, snapping their wrists, sending the waxy, orange, little ball across the soccer field, ricocheting off the sides of the hard boards with clunks and hollow taps. These guys were austere in their engagement with the foosball. Their eyes never left the soccer table, and the lamps that dangled above them shed harsh yellow light that etched shadowed lines into the natural creases of their sober faces.

I decided I’d like to try it out. By the third game, I’d gotten a complete handle on how the game was played and how to shoot, block, and score. Having grown up a tomboy, I never feared playing against boys in sports. As a child, I was very competitive and loved to play soccer and arm wrestle with the boys. They accepted me when they saw I was able to play the games well, and that I could hold my own. My competitive nature did not diminish through adolescence and adulthood. At eighteen, nearly nineteen years old, having gone through puberty a few years back and feminized in the process, I still loved to play certain sports, and this foosball was quickly becoming a favorite pastime of mine.

So, I began playing the two guys, and one other guy was my team member. We ended up beating our opponents.  Immediately the jokes started with my team member making fun of the two other men, while all three of them were admittedly both embarrassed and pleasantly surprised by my ability to play the game. They were surprised because I had tricked them (which I admit I’d gotten too much pleasure out of it) into thinking I had no idea what I was doing, and I would tell them I wasn’t that good, so it wouldn’t take too long. This got me into the game, and well, after that, I became a regular with the guys at the foosball tables. There were two other girls that would play once and a while in a few tournaments with their boyfriends or husband, but in most cases, it was usually just me, and I had no problem with that!

gripping the foosball rods

Foosball was a serious business at this arcade. The owner had tournaments usually Friday or Saturday nights. Dedicated foosball players from around Castle Rock, the Springs, and even Denver, would gather at Funtronics and pay their entrance fee. You’d get matched up with a partner through the picking of names folded up on pieces of paper in a box. There were prizes for first, second, and third place. There were actually really nice trophies for first and second place (when the owner had them available), and ribbons for third. First place also received cash.

In the evenings in the summer especially, a gaggle of foosball addicts, including me, would be crammed inside the arcade with its nonstop thumping music, blinking lights, and buzzing machines. Hunched over the soccer tables in the harsh yellow lamplights, sweating, tensing, and gritting our teeth, we’d compete against our opponents with the aspirations of a shiny, gold and marble trophy and several bucks at the end. This money came in handy in feeding it to the quarters machine to play more foosball tournaments and practice in the subsequent days.

Everything revolved around the game. The scrappy, sticky, orange ball became our North Star, and we followed it when we watched our fellow players spank it with their black and yellow figures with their smooth helmet heads and chunky, pointed spade feet.

foosball men close up

One dry, warm night, I got paired up with one of the best players—one that traveled down from Denver with his wife. A laid back man, Dave had shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders and an epic beard. He looked like a cross between Santa Claus and Grizzly Adams. A really nice dude, and so was his wife. She was a small, thin woman with long, straight dark blonde hair who always dressed in jeans and t-shirts, as did Dave, and both resembled the flower children of the 1960s.

peace sign with flowers

There were usually about seven teams that would play, and through the process of elimination, you’d get down to the last two who’d persevered. Dave and I faced the Anderson brothers who were fast with their shots and superb in their passing to their rod of men to set up the chance to score.

Being the front man, Dave held the five-man bar in the middle of the table and the two-man rod (or 2-bar) that is both for defense and for lining up, shooting, and scoring. I, as in every tournament, was delegated to the goalie position, but I didn’t mind because it made sense. I had neither the lightening fast speed, nor scoring moves that matched Dave’s or the Anderson brothers’. When they scored, you never saw the ball go into the goal. Their speed was phenomenal. So, playing defense, although nerve wracking, worked for me. Thankfully, I was young then and had no problems with carpal tunnel syndrome, and could grip those rubberized handles and twist and snap my wrists effortlessly and endlessly!

I remember how my whole body would tense up, as I slid my 3-bar-goalie rod slowly back and forth, a few inches to the right and a few inches to the left, attempting to anticipate where Chris was going to aim and slam the ball towards my goal. I did have an advantage of having seen on many occasions his two set up strategies for scoring. So, I knew he would either push the ball to the left or pull it to the right. Most of the time, Chris pulled the ball from the left to the right and slapped the ball somewhere in the middle of the goal space, or to the right of my goalie.

foosball toes holding ball

But that night, when he pounded the ball toward my goal, I moved my goalie with a smart skip to the right and felt the thwack of the orange ball against my goalie that sent a vibration through the bar. I quickly punched the ball up the left side of the field toward Dave’s 5-men-bar, in which one of the men’s spade toes caught it and passed it to his 2-men-bar, ready to set up a winning shot.

After the ball had left my area, I’d relaxed my grasp on the rod and let out the breath I’d unintentionally been holding.

Dave lit into the orange ball.  It slipped passed Randy’s goalie and into the goal with a modest CLUNK!

We won that night. We each received $10 and a first place ribbon because the owner didn’t have any trophies that night, but in other tournaments, I did win a few trophies—three all together.

The days of foosball and its exciting, climatic tournaments were fabulous, and I hope to never forget them!

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