Keep Moving Forward

Well, NaNoWriMo2017 is over. One one hand I'm glad that it is done for this year, but on the other hand I'm sad. 

Trying to write a novel in 30 days that has any type of continuity or shape is hard. It's even harder when you don't go in with a specific plan on the novel. I typically don't spend time planning out my writing. This has been a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because I've been able to bang out 50k words in less than 30 days. However, it's a curse because my final product has tons of plot holes, inconsistencies, etc.

I'm sad for the end of NaNo for two reasons. First, is the fact that I will miss the write-ins. Even though no one came to any of the write-ins that I administered, I still got the chance to write. I am not sure if it's the people or me when it comes to the attendance issue. I heard that some of the other scheduled write-ins this year also had minimal to no attendees. This makes me very sad because I enjoy being around others that have the same goal as me - it makes me work harder and provide a good example. Second, is the fact that I may go back to my old ways. As mentioned in my previous Blog post, I get side-tracked on writing very easily. Television, social media, family, car audio, and other interests always seems to pull me away from writing. This is especially true after a long day at work. I work in front of a computer all day and sometimes it is hard for me to want to sit in front of the computer at home just to focus on writing. I often wish there was a magic prayer that would make writing easier for me. 

I joined PennWriters and I am extremely grateful that I did. I have been to two critique sessions so far and I love it. It is very cool to see and be with some amazing and talented writers. I am making new friends and that is another plus. I'm excited to see where this new journey takes me. I am also excited to see what the group thinks of the first chapter of the second book.

Again, I've fallen from my set plans in writing. I tried reading 5 books at the same time to help with my writing skills. I realized the other day that I started skimming the chapters rather than reading and learning the skills presented. I also stopped revising the second novel. I really need to get focused and I'm trying some new things this week. Rather than sitting down to do what needs done when I can, I am going to try a set schedule. I am hoping that this will get me back on track. For this to work, I also need to schedule what I need to do for each night. This will include time to read, write, reflect, etc. 

Well, that's all for now. I am hoping that the new direction will work. I have added time to reflect on my Blog so that current and future readers can get a sense of who I am as a writer - maybe that will help sell some books in the future ;)

Time to Start Over...

Wow is all I can say right now. I apologize for neglecting my Blog and posts for those that read them (I'm almost positive it's probably only one or two people anyways - lol).

So much has happened since I last made an attempt at my Blog and writing. I had subconsciously given up on writing. This was due to a couple of different things in my life. First, I received some more negative reviews of my first novel. I get it - it's not the greatest. I get that I should've spent more time revising the book. But, I really wanted to get it published so that I could say "I published a book." I think it's the same issue I had with teaching. I got teaching jobs just so that I could say "I'm a teacher." I never took the time to focus my passion. As a result, I left the teaching profession feeling that I was worthless and an incompetent teacher even though I had students, parents, and colleagues state otherwise. This is my Achilles heel so to speak. I've been such a perfectionist that when something doesn't go the way my mind planned it, I tend to give up or walk away.

I guess that's the issue I have faced these past few years. This could be the reason why I haven't been able to get back into teaching. Believe me, I love teaching. But maybe when I go on the interviews the interviewer sees my doubts about myself without me actually saying anything about it. This, again, holds true for writing. I have felt so overwhelmed with the negative comments about my first work that I have been reluctant to write something new or revise the current projects. I'm afraid of the rejection.

NaNoWriMo 2017 started off great like it always does. I've been writing each day and the stories are just flowing from my mind. I have some excitement again and it really makes it special when I sit down at my computer to write.

The other day I came to a realization. My favorite teacher from high school always said that "If you want to do something, you need to immerse yourself in it as well as surround yourself with people who have the same interests/goals." I realized that the only reason why I have done well with my other passion (competitive car audio) is because I surrounded myself with others that have more experience and knowledge. This got me thinking that I do have the skills for writing that God provided to me, but I need to plant those seeds in order to get better.

I have decided that I want to try becoming an author again. I have dedicated myself to get better. I already took some steps by getting involved with a local writers group as well as purchasing some books on writing that will help me. I am also going to continue to work on my writing in the hopes that the next novels will exceed the first.

So Little Time... And So Much Writing

Hi Everyone,

I thought that I would take a brief pause from #NaNoWriMo2015 to provide a quick update of the progress.

The first part of this year's writing extravaganza was hard. I had an idea of what I wanted to do with the third book in the St. Aelred High series, but I really didn't have the motivation to work on the writing. I guess that is one of my downfalls in life is that I tend to shy away from things that take work. Granted, I do work hard for the things that I want, but sometimes my inner negative Neil comes out and says, "Why do that? It's not like you've made it big time as an author." It's that part of me that I need to quell quickly. I need to remain positive that many authors got their start just like me. They started with an idea. They put in the work. They took the rejection and moved forward. Everything will happen when God says that it will happen. So my first book hasn't come close to being a best seller. So what? I do know that some people liked it. It helped some others. Whether my ideas and platform help one or thousands, the whole purpose is to help someone. So that is my hope and goal.

As for my platform, I'm officially working toward a YA Christian platform. I want my books to dive into YA themes with characters that struggle and utilize their Christian faith to overcome obstacles. The first book in the St. Aelred High Series explored this aspect. It took the love of a character loss in order to change the perceptions of the main characters Alicia and Nia.

The second book is coming - I PROMISE! I am still working on it right now along with writing the third book. The second book deals with organ donation and transplant awareness. There are some other aspects in with the main theme. Right now, I'm at a point where I'm not sure how to make the bridge. It's like staring at the edge of the Grand Canyon and wondering, "How am I going to get to the other side?" I do believe that the answer will come to me soon.

So for the third book, we are going back to Alicia's story. Alicia has always had a ton of external pressures. This book will look at how she handles the thoughts and pressures of taking that next step - deciding post-high school education. In just three days of writing, I went through four alternate beginnings. I now have a clear beginning and direction. The novel is taking a life of its own and I'm having a difficult time breaking away from the keyboard to eat, sleep, and go to work. In three days since I finally nailed down the beginning, I went from zero to over 10k words. 

It's really amazing how God helps me through the writing process. Just when I think nothing will ever happen, He opens up the faucet and the words just flow out of my mind to the typed document on my computer. Even now, with taking a break, I have the next few scenes flooding into my mind in vivid detail.

Things take time and I am ready for it to happen. 

Have a great weekend - I know I'll be writing at some point.
#amwriting

Peace 

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Prepping for NaNoWriMo2015

It's hard to believe, but in just 12 days from today NaNoWriMo 2015 begins. I've already got my notes written for this year's experience. I will be working on the third installment of the St. Aelred High series. Now, I know someone is going to say, "How can you work on the third book of the series when we haven't seen the second book yet?" The answer to this is simple and complex at the same time. 

I've been lazy. I get spells of days where I do not want to write at all. I guess some of it comes from not seeing a return on the vast investment I made with the first book. I've sold copies, but it's not flying off the shelves. I still haven't even come close to the amount of money I spent to get the book published (editing, cover design, website, etc). And, since I'm not a marketing person, I have no clue in marketing my book. I just thought that it might do well with a word-of-mouth structure. Guess I got it wrong there.

Anyways, the second book is progressing. I will be working on it at the same time as working on the third book in the series. 

Things are looking good, and I promise that I will get the book done soon. 

Peace 
 

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Thoughts...

Today was a good day. Instead of going into work at the tool shop to do engineering, I had my weekly tutor day. On these days, I get the opportunity to work with two really amazing students. The first student is in middle school and has Autism. The second student is a junior in high school and has specific learning disabilities in reading and math. Both students are different, but they both amaze me each time I get to work with them. 

On the way home from tutoring, I was emotional again. I miss being in a classroom working with students. Each day now for the past three years, I feel as though my opportunity to be back in education is slipping away from me. The number of interviews I got this year was significantly less than previous years. I'm afraid that this trend will only get worse.

My wife and I talked about moving again. We have this conversation every year, and every year I come up with an excuse not to apply for teaching or principal positions outside of our area. For me, it all comes down to fear. I have a fear that if we move I might not make it in the classroom as a teacher. I've struggled in past positions. In addition, I also have a hair trigger when it comes to things going right or wrong. What will happen if I get into a position and then hate it because of the school or administration? Will I have to put my family through another move? What if I do not do well? Will I have a job at the end of the year?

I just wish that I had a clear answer on what to do. I love working with students and the daily absence of this makes me sad. Sure, I have tutoring and my writing, but it doesn't feel like it's enough. It doesn't feel like I'm making that much of a difference - which is why I got into education in the first place.

Anyways, I hope you had an amazing day!

Peace

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Chapter Reveal - Hope of St. Aelred High

Good Morning Everyone!

Wow, after last night and the change in my attitude, I have a new determination and view of life. I feel more peace. I know that something great is coming and I'm excited to see what each day will bring toward that greatness!

I thought that today I would share a glimpse of the new novel. Here is a sample chapter and I hope that you enjoy it.

Broken

     Another school year begins today. Everyone, including my own family, tells me that time heals all wounds. Yet, each day I feel more broken. Just one day is all I want. I want one day to wake up from this nightmare. I want one day to see her smile. I want one day to hear her soft, calming voice.

     Looking at her picture perched on the old milk crate I use as a nightstand brings a flood of emotions. Her hazel eyes mimic the bright blue sweater she’s wearing in the picture. I remember that day fondly. Elliot, Dad, and I did everything we could think of in order to convince Mom to get her self-portrait taken. She hated cameras. Mom always did whatever she could to get away from a camera. That’s why we had so few photos of her to use at her funeral last year. Anyways, Elliot tried to persuade Mom by promising to win the Diocesan football championship. Dad’s version of persuasion was a new Mercedes. Both of their attempts failed. It was my promise that got her to get the portrait taken. Now that she’s gone, I’ll never get to fulfill that promise.

     I look at the alarm clock next to Mom’s picture. The bus will be here soon. I dry my cheeks with the underside of my t-shirt and rush over to my dresser made from the cardboard moving boxes we used to move into our little hellhole on the third floor—apartment 3B. Luckily, my grey uniform skirt and white polo didn’t wrinkle too much in the makeshift dresser. I really miss having a real dresser and closets. I just hope that my uniform fits because, unlike other years, we couldn’t afford to buy a new one this year. With my uniform in hand, I sift through my shoe pile on the south wall.

     I gingerly walk down the hall toward the bathroom so that I don’t wake Dad sleeping in the living room. Looking into the small space, I see him still asleep on the couch. He looks like some kind of contortionist. Half of his body is on the seat of the couch. His left arm and head rest on the arm of the couch. His right arm and leg gently brush the floor. I wish he wasn’t so stubborn. With his condition, he really needs a room with a bed. Sleeping on the couch can’t help him get better. I’ve offered him my room multiple times, but he refuses by saying that, “Kids come first.” If his condition gets worse, or the unthinkable, how would that help us?  

     The old, wooden floor of the dump we call home creaks with every step toward the bathroom. Son of a…, I screech to myself when something jabs into my heel. Keeping my left foot in the air, I hobble the last three steps to the bathroom door. I have to use my butt to push open the door wide enough to squeeze through because, like everything else in this crappy apartment, nothing works right. The only window in my bedroom doesn’t open. Last week the faucet in the kitchen started flowing brownish water instead of clear. Half of the lights in the apartment don’t work, so we use candles at night to see. Dad keeps telling me that he’ll get things fixed, but nothing ever does. It’s not his fault. He’s too weak to do the repairs on his own. Elliot is always out with his friends or at practice, so he can’t help Dad. I’m busy with work. And Uncle Gary, who owns the building, is the laziest man on this planet. It took him three days to get the faucet in the kitchen fixed. According to what I read on the internet at the library, all he had to do was change one pipe in the back of the sink. Uncle Gary calls our apartment building the never-ending money pit with character. Where he actually puts money into the building, I’ll never know. Nevertheless, he is right about the character. This building is the very definition of a horror villain. It’s cold, calculating, and leaves you screaming for mercy.

     A foul stench invades my nostrils the moment I press through the small opening into the room. The smell is so bad that I dry heave right in the middle of the tiny space. Looking to my right, I spot the culprit creating the disgusting smell. I try to flush the toilet, but nothing happens. This is what we absolutely don’t need right now—another broken piece to our broken apartment that affects our broken lives. With frantic speed, I jam pieces of toilet paper in my nostrils attempting to block out the vileness. It’s a good thing that I took my shower last night before the toilet broke because I wouldn’t be able to make it through with the stench in this room. I close the lid to the toilet bowl and rush through my morning routing.

     After escaping from the bathroom, I go to check on my little brother. Well, maybe not so little now that he’s a big eighth grader. I reach his room and watch as he tries to tie his tie in the broken mirror. “Need help?” I ask.

     “Go away,” he says while fidgeting with the black, satin tie.

     Our rooms are almost identical. The only difference is that he has a working window and the fact that he refuses to pick up anything. None of his clothes occupies the cardboard boxes stacked along the north wall of the room. I carefully enter. It’s interesting how hooded sweatshirts, jeans, and socks can mask the sound of an old, wooden floor. I get next to him,   “Here Shellie Eli, let me help.”

     He pushes my arm away. “Dang it, Midget, I hate it when you call me that. And, I already said I can do this myself. I don’t need my older sister to dress me,” he snaps.

     Elliot definitely got his height from Dad’s side of the family. He’s three years younger than I am and he’s already two feet taller. Some days I wish I could’ve inherited my height from Dad’s side of the family. But I’m glad that I got my height from Mom’s side of the family. Even though Elliot always teases by calling me vertically challenged, I definitely can hold my own. I’ve taken down both guys and girls that were much taller than I was all of my life. “You know I can help you, right? Don’t you want to look your best for your last year at St. James?”

     In one quick motion, he strips the tie from his neck and flings it at my head. “Fine. Whatever. I wish we didn’t have to bother with this crap. I hate St. James. Life would be so much better if I could just skip this year and start high school at St. Josephs,” he says.

     “And give up your last year of middle school?” I ask as my hands go to work on his tie. “You’d miss the best year of grade school. Eighth grade was awesome. You get to run the school. Not to mention, eighth graders get extra field trips and fun events. I can’t believe that you’d give that up,” I say, finishing the perfect Half-Windsor knot and cinching it around his neck. “Trust me, Beaner, high school isn’t as great as you think,” I say, admiring my handiwork and taking a seat on his mattress lying on the floor.

     “You don’t understand, Brandy,” he says.

     “Don’t understand what?”

     “We both know that Dad is getting worse. He sleeps all of the time,” he says.

     “So what does that have to do with you skipping eighth grade to go directly into high school?”

     “Because the sooner I get into high school to play ball, the sooner I get into college and then drafted by the Raiders or some other NFL team. I’m the only one who has a shot at saving our family from this mess,” he says.

     “Thanks a lot, Jerk,” I say, tossing the pillow at his head. His comment hurts. He’s right, but it still hurts. Even if I would’ve continued playing softball, it’s not like I can make a living being a professional softball player. Elliot’s face whitens as his eyes bulge. I turn to my right and see why Elliot looks scared.

     “Seriously?” I ask, picking up the bottle that was hiding under the pillow I threw.

     “Come off it Sis. It’s not like you don’t do it,” he says.

     “But—”

     “But nothing, Midget. You started in eighth grade too. I remember the night you came home drunk and climbed through my window so that you could avoid Mom and Dad. I lied to them when you crashed into the chair in my room. On top of all that, I spent the next day scrubbing my bathroom because you puked over everything,” he says, snatching the bottle out of my hand.

     He’s right again. I want to yell at him for drinking, but how can I? After Scarlett left St. James because of the bullying we received, I spent the remaining months of my eighth grade year finding ways to get drunk. If I didn’t go to a party with Steph, I made excuses to hang out at my cousin Nia’s house. Uncle Skip was always out of town, so Nia and I would slam through a bottle or two. Nia often went over to her neighbor Daniel’s house to get us beer.  After Mom died last year, I can barely remember the whole month of December. Steph made sure that I had every opportunity to escape from the pain with an abundance of parties and alcohol. My grades slipped, but I didn’t care. Dad constantly lectured me about school. I don’t think he knew about the drinking because he never mentioned it. It hurt disappointing him. Yet, the pain was too much to handle. Dad’s diagnosis last March sort of curbed my drinking, but there are still times where getting wasted helps me escape. 

     The thoughts about why I started drinking makes my eyes burn. I rush out of Elliot’s room right before the tears cascade down my warm cheeks. Our old house had a million places for me to hide. In this dump, I have nowhere. My chest caves. I can’t breathe.

     “Brandy, wait. Where are you going?” Dad’s voice echoes from the living room. I look over. His bones crack as he sits up on the couch. “Please come here,” he says.

     I move closer to him. The tears soak my face. I get closer and he reaches out to dry my tears with the sleeve of his St. Aelred High sweatshirt. “You were thinking about her again,” he says.

     I nod right before I bury my head into his chest.

     “It’ll be okay. Just relax. I miss her too,” he says.

     Stepping off the number two city bus, a warm breeze brushes my hair against my neck. Hopefully the rest of today will be better than this morning. I spot Steph over by the oak tree near the peace garden. She’s standing with a couple of other girls getting their last nicotine fix in before going into the school. She holds out her cigarette right when I make it over from across the street. “Thanks,” I say, taking the cigarette from her. I take a few quick hits before handing it back. Gabby, Lindsay, and Kara, the other members of our little smoking group from last year, don’t even turn to say hi to me. They continue talking as if I didn’t exist. I guess that’s what happens when you go from social elite to poverty-stricken outcast. “So did you get it?” I ask.

     “Yep. I still don’t understand why you just didn’t ask your dad to get you one,” she says, rifling through her backpack. She pulls out the blue sweater and hands it to me.

     “Thanks.” I take off the old uniform sweater and put on the new one Steph handed to me. “I promise to get you the money next week.”

     “Don’t worry about it,” she says, handing me the cigarette.

     I finish off the cigarette and toss it to the curb. “Hi Gabby, Lindsay, and Kara,” I say. No one responds. They don’t even turn. Lindsay begins to laugh. “Figures.”

     “Don’t pay any attention to them, they obviously haven’t learned any manners yet,” Steph loudly says. The three girls laugh and start walking toward the school’s entrance. “I know why you asked me to get the new uniform sweater for you, but how did your dad come up with the funds to get you to come back this year?” she asks.

     “He told me this morning that Mrs. Hagerty found a donor to pay.”

     “That’s awesome, but why do you look like it’s the worst news in the world?” she asks.

     “Because I wanted to go to the public school. Now that I’m no longer in the popular crowd, my whole year will be just like how Gabby, Lindsay, and Kara acted.”

Steph grasps my arm and stops me in the middle of the sidewalk. “Seriously, Brandy, just because your family is going through problems doesn’t change who you are. You’re still the same fun, cool chick I’ve known my entire life. If other people want to act like twerps because you don’t have a ton of money anymore, it’s their loss,” she says.

     “I guess.”

     She stops. “You should be happy. I know that if I were you, I’d be on cloud nine knowing someone came forward to pay for my tuition,” she says.

     She’s right. I should be happy. I’m grateful, but for some reason I’m not happy. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to be happy. Between Mom’s death and Dad’s illness, I don’t feel happiness anymore. I don’t even see any hope. Everything is broken, and there’s no way to fix it. Besides, what’s there to be happy about? Life truly sucks. If Mom was alive and Dad was healthy, then maybe I’d be happy.

I hope you enjoyed this brief chapter from the new novel. It's still rough, but I know that it will be spectacular when it is finished and ready for publication. 

Count your blessings, give thanks, pray often, and enjoy each moment of life.

Peace

 

 

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Time for a change...

Looking at my Blog, I apologize to all of my readers for not posting in such a long time.

One of my quirks is that I am a perfectionist. I've tried over the years to shed this, but no matter what I do it never works. I think that is one of the reasons why I've struggled professionally and personally over the past few years. Granted, the personal losses these past two years have also placed a strain on me.

Anyways, I've continued to work toward getting back into teaching. I've interviewed a number of times and each time I walked away feeling confident that I did my best in the process. To date, no one has offered me a position in education. My current status in engineering is good. I'm respected. I've been told that I'm valuable. I even got a raise a few weeks ago. Yet, I don't feel as though I'm making a contribution in this life. I think most of it comes from the idea in my heart that I am destined to help change the world for the better. Education provided that vehicle as well as writing my novel. But my education career has not been jump-started by a new position. And my novel isn't selling very much. So the question is - "What is going on and how do I fix it?"

I recently watched a video from Joel Osteen. One of the things that really struck me was the idea that you need to be thankful for the little things before the big things become evident in your life. I think that's where my life has been as of late. Even though I do not have my dream job or a best-selling novel, I never really thanked God for what he has done in my life. Because of this, I think that's why I've struggled so much. The Bible teaches us that God loves us unconditionally. He is waiting for us to need him so that he can give so many blessings that it would make our heads spin. The trick, however, is just like Joel said - "that we need to thank him for the little things in order to receive the bigger things."

I believe that it's time for me to change my life and attitude. I need to remain thankful for the things God has blessed me with in my life. I need to stop complaining about my situation and look for the good things each day.

That is what today's Blog is about - Time for a change.

So, I am thankful that I have a house, a vehicle that gets us places, my amazing wife, my awesome daughter, a decent job that pays the bills, great family, good friends, good health, and my talents. I pray that I continue to develop my talents to honor what God has given me. I pray that my situation changes to whatever God wants me to do in this life. And, I pray that those who follow my Blog or writing see the goodness in their lives as well.

As of today, I'm tossing out the negative and self-defeating thoughts in my life. I am unique. I am a work in progress.

The new novel is progressing. I am about 3/4 of the way finished with the new re-write of the book. Hopefully, I can get it done within the next few weeks so that it can go out to my first-round Beta readers. After that, it goes to a second-round of Beta readers before heading to my editor.

I hope you have a great night!

Peace

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