Tag: writing

Keeping Up With It All

On By dotluvs2writeIn blogging, Fiction Writing, Illness and Medical Treatments, Musings10 Comments

silhouette of woman facing sunset

Sometimes there are days when I feel overwhelmed and just want to burrow away in a cave or crawl under the covers and lay there until all the things in my mind and in the world stop spinning so I can catch up and gain some semblance of peace.  Truly, the last couple of months have been the busiest in my life since the baby and toddler years of my youngest son, Christopher’s brain surgeries and many medical treatments and therapies.

Obviously, this is a different kind of busy.  And really, during Great Lent, I should have a lighter load of earthly cares and an expanded and deeper spiritual regimen/practice.  I’m not doing too well there.  Lord, but I keep trying.  I am enduring.  I’ve got to.

These years of my life are a struggle as I have my usual medical issues since my early twenties of low blood sugar and general anxiety coupled with cantankerous peri-menopausal symptoms, like hot flashes and the dreaded night sweats that deprive me of decent hours of sleep and suck the nutrients and liquid out of my body making me borderline dehydrated.  So then I have to have a bottle of water on my nightstand to take a few sips every two hours I wake from burning up and being drenched in perspiration. Of course, while this is going on, my hormones are a mess, which triggers my anxiety and low blood sugar.  It’s a real balancing act.  But I am enduring.  I’ve got to.

menopause fan and water pic

My novel is in its last edits with my editor, and I’ve been working feverishly on the synopsis of my novel.  It’s written, but it needs to be culled of wordiness for which I’m so guilty. I also have other pieces I’m writing, but they have been put aside while I focus on my novel.

To add to this, I started British Literature class this past Monday, to which there are many things to read and write–journals and essays.  It’s one of four classes I’ve got left until I graduate, and truly, I’m running out of steam for courses with heavy analyzing and five to ten-page papers to write.  But I am enduring.  I’ve got to.

And, of course, my weekly blog posts.  I almost didn’t have anything to write about for Monday, until I thought about all I’ve got going on and figured, hey, why not write about that?  People can relate.  And with that…a Shout Out to all my anxiety-ridden and menopausal pals out there.  We endure.  We’ve got to.

Then there are the regular wife and mother hats that I wear happily and proudly.  My sons are getting through the school year well.  My husband is working so hard.  I love them all…words can’t really express how much.  They, along with God, are my support and life.

So to help ease my stress, I’m going to try to return to walking at least four times a week, do yoga stretches, and read more spiritual books.  Wish me luck.  But you know, I’ve got to do it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Reading Your Manuscript Out Loud

On By dotluvs2writeIn blogging, Fiction Writing, Writing Techniques8 Comments

sparkly book

Eureka!  What a difference reading your manuscript out loud is compared to reading it to yourself!  I bet you already do this, but for me, I’d read a few paragraphs here and there, but never the whole novel.  Well, that’s what I’m doing as of yesterday and today and tomorrow, and it is amazing!

Reading my sentences and dialogue aloud has helped me to hear how natural the dialogue is and how the words flow in my text.  I was pleasantly surprised how 98% of it already sounded great before I inserted my final revisions.  After I’m done, I’ll be sending it back to my editor for a final scan.  Then, it’ll be all polished up and set for submission, and if it’s not accepted, it will be self-published.

Share with me if you practice reading your stories out loud.  If this is a regular practice, what have you learned from it?

 

A Flash of Fiction

On By dotluvs2writeIn blogging, Fiction Writing2 Comments

woman running on street

I wrote this little piece a month or so ago.  It was written from stream of consciousness and just for a practice writing activity.  Hope you enjoy the short read.

 

Running Out of Time

 

Her chest ached, and her throat was dry as dust. She’d run two and a half miles and kept sprinting down the sidewalk parallel to the city’s park, as the sun hovered over the horizon. Its pink and orange rays fell softly on the street. The road and town were deserted.

The pounding of shoes on the pavement behind her made her quicken her pace, as her calves bunched in protest. Her breaths came out uneven and ragged. The running footsteps at her rear grew louder, and she willed her body to move faster, even as she heard his grunting and heavy breathing creeping over her shoulder.

“Oh, God,” she said through a bedraggled exhale.

Seeing the sidewalk’s end and an intersection, she turned the corner sharply to her left, rapidly moving her sneakers and extending her legs, cutting the distance ahead of her. A shop’s neon green sign blinked at her from further down the street. She kept her eyes focused on the store’s window just as a hand gripped her bouncing shoulder. She screamed, tearing away from him and continuing to run. The light breeze in the air carried the scent of garbage from a set of dumpsters as she flew by them, grimacing.

The silence of the empty town was shattered by the man’s gravelly voice. “You can’t run forever.”

She didn’t waste her breath answering, but tilt her head down, stared at the cement before her, and pushed herself as much as her body could bear, her legs burning in response.

Just fifty more feet, she told herself, as she closed in on the shop’s window displaying various antique clocks. Slowing long enough to grapple the door’s handle, she sucked in her breath as the man’s callused hand landed atop hers, his body slamming against hers.

He wrapped his bulky arm around her chest and held her so tight that she thought her ribs would crack.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Not a chance,” the man said, putting the hand he’d had over hers against the door to prevent her from opening it.

She struggled, her eyes wide with fear.

“Time’s up,” another voice announced.

“Ah,” was all she could say.

She slowed her pace on the gym’s treadmill and stepped off, as her personal trainer jotted down on his clipboard the recorded mileage.

“You’ve improved, Gena, by two minutes. Wow! You were really going for it the last thirty seconds.” He smiled in appreciation.

Gena wiped her glistening neck with a towel. “I had motivation.”

 

~*~*~*~