Encore

For those new to my blog, I’m reposting a video from a blog post from 2018. It is a very short play (no more than 5-7 minutes) I wrote back in 2015 for my Introduction to Creative Writing class when I was still in college.

I was lucky enough to have a local theater’s actors perform my fun play on January 20, 2018. I’m a bit shy, so my husband introduced my play. Hope you enjoy and laugh just a little. 🙂

Changing Your Writing Routine

women's fingers on keyboard

Two years ago, I wrote a post about writing your story down on paper or via keyboard and Word document.

When I started writing again in 2014, pencil and paper were my number one tools in writing my stories, and all would start from a stream of consciousness.

Truly, that method was used to write my published short story, Summer Memories, my play, Falling Up Stairs, that was performed on a small stage in January 2018, and the starting chapters of my debut novel, Passage of Promise, released May 1 for print copy and May 4 for ebook. Although with the latter, I took extensive notes midway and throughout during many rewrites, revisions, added and deleted chapters.

Since 2018, I don’t know why, but my method of writing changed.

In creating my novella, Mourning Dove, and my novel, What She Didn’t Know, I took notes on both, most extensively on What She Didn’t Know.

Before each chapter, I’d write down my ideas about what the scenes would be, which, in turn, helped encourage me to get the words typed on the computer screen.

A few days ago, I listened to an excellent video lesson from fellow blogger and writing coach, Kate Johnston. She actually talked about the importance of at least having some notes on your plot, characters, and having a good idea of how your novel would end.

Having evolved and grown as a writer (as we do every day) since picking up this true passion of mine from my pre-teen years, I’d done exactly that without realizing it was the better approach for me!

I found this method of jotting down my main character(s) and plot made it more structured and cleared my mind of jumbled thoughts, as well as stream-of-conscious ideas that wouldn’t always get me through the entirety of my book.

The exception was the couple I mentioned earlier in this post.

So, I’ve transferred from stream-of-consciousness, pen and paper story writing to pen and paper for notes to prepare my next story and directly typing on my computer’s Word document.  Whatever would come into my head, the ideas would be centered around the guidelines regarding the character(s) and plot that I’d scribbled in my notebook.

Therefore, I’ve discovered you can change how you prepare and create your writing routine, and in my case, it was for the best.

What is your preferred way of writing? Stream-of-conscious/whatever comes to mind, write it down and go from there, or making an outline or notes on your characters and plot before starting to write your story? Have you tried to do the opposite? Did it work for you?

Happy writing!

 

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Pick up your copy of Passage of Promise  via Amazon or Barnes & Noble!

Me with PofP final print copy April 27 2020

From a Shrew’s Point of View

shrew photo

 

Below is a creative writing exercise I wrote in my university’s Shakespeare class a few years ago.

Journal piece on Taming of the Shrew from Katharina’s perspective in first person. Hope you enjoy.

[Baptista’s house and street]

            As I gaze out of the window onto the cobblestone streets below, there are a gaggle of knaves and gentlemen, all of whom are weak in heart and body.  They fear me, which I take pleasure in because I do not wish to marry if all men in Padua are in this state or manner, nor do I enjoy being forced into marriage.  I will not obey my father in marrying whomever he wishes to join with me into foolish matrimony.   Besides, he favors my delicate sister, Bianca, who has no backbone, who bends her will to nearly every man, believing her obedience is proper and in good female fashion.  Ay, but how does this act serve her in the end?  Will she marry one of the weak fools stumbling eagerly about before our father’s house?  For she bears her tender heart to those knaves, who will lord over her, I suspect.

No man is able to trick me with their trembling knees and wan faces into having me believe they are stronger than I and love me more than a hundred crowns.

Hark, who goes there?  Father is conversing with a rogue who calls himself Petruchio, who is crooning flowery proses and elaborate orations about me.  Oh, but he is relentless, keeping to me like a persistent hunting dog.  How clever he thinks he is!  And grossly tactless in his threatening to strike me if I were to slap him again!  Alas, he says he will marry me next Sunday, and he leaves my presence and my father’s house, giving me reprieve for a time.

I sit in wonder.  He hath the strength of an ox and the cunningness of a fox, flattering, lovely words that elevate my person, whilst at the same moment, spurts forth violent words with his acidic tongue.  He must be mad!  Yet, he is dedicated and determined with the deliverance and appearance of a rogue lord.  I am overcome with confusion and a swelling heart.  Father gives his blessing for us to be married.

The following Sunday, I’m robed in a beautiful wedding gown, but Petruchio not is he here.  Hath he made a fool of me?  After the efforts I’ve produced to be present for this farcical marriage, the brute has no tact, no feelings.

[Enter Petruchio in gaudy garments on a tattered horse]

            He hath arrived in garments meant for a jester, but he is present.  He and I marry before the priest, God, and the townspeople, and my new roguish husband wishes to leave our wedding banquet because of business.  Pray, what business?  He says not what business.  My heart beats obstinately, and I will please myself and stay with family and friends to feast and dance.  But he forbids my staying and carries me out, sets me on a donkey, and we travel to the long trek to his home in the cold, wet day and evening.

When we arrive, exhausted and famished, he gives me no meat, no food, no rest.  My strength has abated, and I am desperate for sustenance, but none is given to me for a day and more.  What knavery, what heartlessness!  Why hath my husband done such horror?  He does not love me as he incessantly declares.

He tears up my dress for my sister’s wedding before we are to leave to go to town.  I am more sorrowful, hopeless than bitter.  But a dress I do at last have.  I realize I cannot get what I want without obeying him.  I must agree with all he says for he, his servant, and I to go to the wedding.  In doing so, he softens a bit, and I, too, have softened my heart…although my heart did become tender toward him in that first encounter in which he visited my father’s house and wooed me in strange, unique ways and declared he was going to marry me.  I am pleased that my obedience has brought about gentleness from Petruchio.

It was fate that brought Petruchio and I together, inasmuch as he’s tamed my stubbornness and pride, I, too, have tamed his.

 

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