10 minute Tuesday: Behavior Analysis

I spent most of my writing time today doing a behavior analysis on my main character, Libby.  In a former life (two years ago), I was a high school special education teacher and  it was a part of my  job to observe student behavior and nail down the Antecedent and the Consequences (whether good or bad) that either allowed the behavior to continue or caused it to stop.  While doing this I would complete an ABC (Antecedent, Behavior, Consequences) chart. Stop me if you’ve heard this all before.

I decided that I needed to do this for Libby in order to clearly see what she is doing and what she will be doing.  Believe me it took a while but it really helped me to organize my thoughts, my theme, and my visual goal.  Now I can keep the inner critic at bay just a little longer.  I really needed to see how the inciting incident (progressively going blind) impacts her decisions as well as how it impacts the people around her.  Her condition inspires change within her as much as it inspires fear within her father.    Being that they are interlocked characters (they only have each other) how she changes does impact him as much as how his protective nature and his unusual job affects her.   Also, it gives me something else to write besides scenes of her making out with whichever boy I think will be her love interest.

Also, I discovered Libby’s favorite band: Boyce Avenue.  If you haven’t checked out their acoustic sets yet then please be prepared to have your mind blown.  At least  I did because you know, I love joyful music.

There is no story excerpt today, just peace of mind and clarity.  Now go listen to Boyce Avenue!

Image: ‘end of the day‘

 

Random Saturday: The doubt phase

 

My husband says that I am going through the doubt phase.  Apparently this is a phase in business development when the entrepreneur starts to wonder what in the heck he or she is doing.  Maybe the numbers are quite as high as they’d like, maybe implementation is yielding the results they’d like to see. Whatever it is, they’re starting to doubt themselves.  That’s me right now.  Or it was me a few minutes ago.  I really like my character and I really like the conflicts I’ve plotted out, I just get stuck on what the hell I’m really writing. and you know, who knows.  I have a vague idea but you know, sometimes even when you outline everything out, you gotta just write by the seat of your pants. I took a fifteen minute break from my computer to vent to my husband then came back to look at what I’ve got.  Boy do I have a lot.  The following is just transition between scenes that I wrote a long time ago and decided would fit lovely in Act two part one.  I’ve realized that I’ve just gotta keep plugging at it and pulling together the pieces where I can.

________

The church is close enough to walk to, which Daddy prefers when he’s stressed.  I prefer it as well, especially when he’s been smoking marijuana.  I can’t stand the woodsy ripe smell of marijuana smoke and would rather deal with the smell of the city then being trapped in the car with it.  Don’t get me wrong,  I can’t stand the smell, not the drugs or the people.  I’m not a dope tea-totaler.  There is no way I could be in my family- the black sheep gets the shiv.  Not that daddy would kill me.  The loneliness and isolation would though.  He’s all I have, I remind myself as we we walk slowly.  We walk in silence, his eyes staring straight a head watching for danger, mine scanning the ground a few steps ahead of me watching for anything that might send me tumbling.  He reached over and put his arm around my shoulder, holding me as close as walking will allow. Even though my feet start to get in each other’s way, I don’t move away from him.   Daddy will catch you, he always does.

Image: ‘This Way to the Holy Ghost Revival‘

Random Thursday: at the Salon

I wrote 2058 words today while at Starbucks.  I am telling you, that Blonde Roast is killer!  I shouldn’t do anything before I have a cup of that stuff!  I also just realized that my picture for the Josh post is of a young woman smiling. That’s because Josh made Libby smiling- not because Josh is a young girl. Though, that would be very interesting as well.  I’m on my first draft so we’ll see how thigns turn out during the editing phase.

I color coded my index cards list night and realized that I’ve been having so much trouble with identifying the A plot line because I didn’t really have one.  Libby hasn’t been doing much so far except responding and reacting to the actions of others.  For the rest of this week and next my writing focus will be on Libby’s actions.

this excerpt is from a scene where Libby is at a salon with her grandmother.  Its at this salon where she will have the idea of finding different ways  to cure her blindness.  That is her A plot- hunting for a cure to her blindness that doesn’t involve science and allows her to have the life she’s always dreamed of.  That’s all she wants: the life she thinks she was promised because of her faithfulness and her dreams.  Oh, Libby, if life was only that simple.

_____

The wail of the blowdryer in my ear as she pulled the circular brush through my wet curls made eavesdropping nearly impossible.   While Adel worked on the right side of my head, out of my left ear I vaguely heard the words blind, six months.   My curiosity switched to from the women speaking foreign languages to Grandmother’s conversation with Adel.  My ears  were definitely burning and not from the heat of the blowdryer.

I strained to hear more of their conversation, clenching my teeth and offering Manuel a closed mouth smile as he ran the nail file along my nails.  His eyes moved hungrily from their conversation to me.   My frustration boiled over whenI heard the word “shame”.

“Gran!”  I turned in my seat to face her next to me.  Adel and the other stylist went still,  their hands stopped and holding their instruments in mid air.  “Why are  you telling everyone about me?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Sweetheart,” she said, and everyone seemed to relax.  “I’m not ‘telling everyone about you’.  I am simply sharing with close friends my concerns for you.”  Adel smiled and the other two did the same.

“You shouldn’t have to go through this alone,”  Adel cooed, placing her manicured hands on my shoulders. I caught her eyes in the mirror and the look on her face was one of genuine sincerity.  “A girl without a mother needs a community.”

I looked away from her quickly.   I held back my inclination to shout, “I don’t need a mother or a community” but then I remembered that I needed someone to pay for this hair treatment and my manicure, so I should keep my mouth shut and let Gran talk about whatever she wanted.

“Is there some sort of treatment for this,” Gran’s young stylist waved her hands around trying to conjur from  midair the word she forgot.

“Treatment?”  The girl nodded happily at the word. “Yes,” I said,

“So, what are you doing to do about it?  When do these treat start?”  She asked.   looking away from her and all of them.  Its hard to avoid people’s eyes when there are mirrors everywhere you look.  I stared a tile on the floor.

“Leisl!” Adel reached out and sharply flicked her on the shoulder with the brush. Liesl rubbed her arm where the brush made contact and went back to hot curling Gran’s hair.

“We’re hoping for a more spiritual approach to treatment,” Gran interjected.

A chorus of “Oh’s” came from the women, even the ones under the dyers who looked as if they weren’t paying attention to the conversation.  Adel snapped a look over her shoulder that sent the women back behind their magazines.

“That’s good,” she said, patting me on the shoulder.  I smiled up at her.  If I fake it, maybe one day I’ll believe it.   She spritzed my hair with liquid from spray bottle then rubbed a serum in my hair that gave it a shine and softness that I could never achieve on my own.

Just as she clicked on the blowdryer, I said, “I wish there was some sort of magic serum you could rub on my eyes to make them go right.”  I added a chuckle to my voice and a smile to face to show that their concern hadn’t gone unappreciated.

“No need for magic, dear.  The Lord’s got this one,” Gran said.  Just as she began to settle into reading her magazine, I looked in the mirror a mysterious glance between Adel and Leisl look.

10 Minute Tuesday: Josh

 

I had my first swimming lesson at the YMCA in my neighborhood and I swear to you- my swimming instructor is my new inspiration for Josh, the good guy in my work in progress.  He’s completely different from how I thought I’d play him.  I was going to go with a handsome mix of black and Korean, college student, son of her optometrist.  But, after meeting my swim instructor I was totally smitten by his attention and kindness for each of us.  The new Josh is a tall, skinny, normal good guy 18 year old- the total opposite of sexy green eyed Troy.  He’ll have graduated a year ahead of Libby.  I wish I had a picture to share.  Here’s a part of what I wrote today.

Again, the tense is all over the place because its the first draft.  I’m all over the place because its the first draft.

_____

“I haven’t been avoiding you.  I’ve just been really busy.”  Really busy, avoiding you.

“Yeah, doing what?”  He sat in the chair across from me, his back impossibly straight and arms folded in front of him. He looks genuinely interested in what I have actually been doing.  I probably shouldn’t mess this up by lying to him.

“Causing my world to fall apart.”  Before I could think better of it, I am spilling my guts to her about the events of the past months.  His face remains still except for his eyebrows which change with each degree of concern (when I tell him about the fight Michelle and I had) or shock (when I tell him about walking on Troy and Carmen). His only vocal contribution is the guffaw that escapes when I tell him about Troy’s grandmother’s attempt ot feed me and refusal to allow me to leave after walking in on Troy.  His laughter begins to melt my resolve to stay angry with myself for ruining my own life.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.”

Josh simply nodded his head and said, “That sounds really difficult for you.”  He didn’t even offer an “I’m sorry to hear that.”  Irritation tickled the back of my throat, but I wasn’t sure if I was irritated at him for his lack of concern or myself for sounding like a whiner.  “But I think I’ve found you at just the right time in your life.”

The irritation turned from a tickle to a scratch. Hadn’t he just heard my story?  How could this be the right time of anyone’s life?  I had no life.

“Hear me out,” he continued.  “I know your dad is against you receiving any kind of treatment or resources, but I was wondering if you’re interested anyway.”

The mention of my dad only worked to remind me of his Rapunzel stunt of keeping me from the dance which allowed Troy to cheat on me.    “Sure, yeah, I’m interested.”  I tried to smile at my form of defiance.

He looked at me skeptically.  “Don’t you want to know the details?”

Oh, yeah. “Okay, hit me.”

He tapped his fingers on my hand.  “Done.”

I couldn’t help but smile.  “I didn’t mean actually ‘hit me’ I just meant…”

“I know what you meant.  I just wanted to see you smile.”  I smiled again.

Image: Smile

Random Romance: Smoke

 

I took a one day romance writing course with Writing Pad on Sunday with Zoe Archer.  You know you’ve had a  lot of fun when you can’t stop thinking about all the fun you had.  I love that my life is filled with moments like that!   Also, I’ve started to line up my Kindle with Romance novels now.  Romance novels, so much more than what your mom used to read.

Here is an excerpt from my 10 minute write.  The prompt was to write about when your hero and heroine first meet.  What i love about writing pad is the way they do their prompts.  The page is always 3/4ths of the way full with ideas before I even start writing.

 

_______

Smoke poured from St. James Cathedral like a forest fire, much more smoke then an electrical fire could be accountable for.

“This must make your day,”  The overweight camera man said as he pulled out the camera from the back of the news truck.

“Don’t be a dick, James,”  she shouted, covering her hair with a folded newspaper to protect them from the light rain.  Pulled her trench coat tightly around her waist, the edges of her red dress peeking out from beneath the hem of the coat.  “I’m an atheist, not  an arsonist.  Just because I don’t believe in God or the church, doesn’t mean I want to see it destroyed.”

A loud crack and bang came from with in the smoldering church.  Orange flames flashed behind the soot covered windows.  As the flames ate the building from the inside out, Marissa took in the sight.  “Whoa.” she breathed.  She held her self back from crossing herself the way she had for years as a child.  The father, son, and holy spirit wouldn’t be able to help St. James now.

Image: ‘Match‘

Random Thursday: Pink

I have had a pretty good writing day.  I’ve written two scenes and I’ve stumbled upon a pretty rad contest at Grab a Pen.  Ms. Tareheh Mafi wrote Shatter Me, which looks to be a great book!  I hope I win.  My fingers are majorly crossed.  If you haven’t checked out her blog you should actually stop reading my blog and check her out right now.

Libby, my protagonist is having a world view shaken up a bit.  I just realized that I sent her and her best friend, Michelle, into a scene where Michelle didn’t really finish what she came to the club for.  She gets thrown off track by the arrival of a girl who is only known as “the girl with Pink Hair.”   She gets thrown off by some compliments and decides that maybe she isn’t ready yet.   I’ll go back to it later tonight and add some more.  Here it is, first draft, typos and all.

—-

When did everyone start dressing like they were in a music video?  I adjusted my glasses and straightened my back.  Good posture makes everyone sexier.  Michelle walked towards the bar.

“Michelle,” a slim girl with pink hair and a t-shirt that showed off her flat stomach and had “I’m a vampire” written across the front appeared as we approached the bar. “how’s it going?” she said opened her arms for a hug, turning her back to me.  I read the back of her shirt- which said “for your love”- while waiting to see if Michelle would give this vampire a hug.  She looked from the girl to me causing me to look away like I was intruding on a private moment.  The room was filled with groups, mostly of girls, standing around and talking.  Every other girl had her eye lids covered in thick black eyeliner.  If it weren’t for the graphic t-shirts, and you know the fact that they were humans, it would have looked like a raccoon convention.

I turned back to listen in on Michelle’s conversation with the Pink haired girl. From the sound of it, Michelle hadn’t been around for a while and much like when I don’t see her, her presence had been missed.

“Write anythign for us tonight?”  she asked.  At that I looked at Michelle questionallby.  Michelle sharing her writing was like me getting into Yale: it was never gonna happen.  I smiled to myself for knowing my best friend so well.

 image: Squidoo

10 Minute Tuesday: Michelle

Michelle is Libby’s best friend.  In some pieces she’s Libby’s cousin, in this most recent carnation she is Libby’s best friend.  They go to the same church.  She’s Libby’s confidante, but they are as different as can be.  Or at least that’s what I think so far.  Maybe they’re more alike then I think. Don’t you hate having to get all subtextual and analytical on your first draft?  It means that I still have questions to ask and answer.  Note to self:  Start interviewing Michelle.  Also, I don’t have a picture of Michelle yet because I haven’t gotten a feel for how I want her to look. Once I nail that down, I’ll let you know.

This was inspired by a homework assignment I was given for my YA class this week.  I am to write a scene that shows the characteristics that will undergo change by the end of the story.  In trying to show Libby’s characteristics that I know will change I also managed to show how Michelle must change as well.   Here’s a piece.

 

———————-

“When you do that,”  I mimicked her actions, puffing my cheeks with air each time I opened and closed my lips. “You look like a fish.”

She picked up a few papers and smacked me across the arm.  “Thanks, genius cakes.  I’m glad you know what a fish looks like.”  The laughter was sucked from me.  I tried to smile but looked down at my hands.   “I was trying to say, nicely, that maybe this isn’t a bad thing.”

Looking up, I could see that she was settling in for a lesson by the way she sat up straight and waited until I gave her eye contact.  My eyes wandered onto the news clippings under her knees, resulting in a strong throat clearing.

Get it over with.  I looked up at her.  “How is this not a bad thing?  Did you hear the part where Daddy basically said that this is my fault because I don’t have enough faith?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Don’t tell me you agree with him?” I glared at her. The sounds of singing turned into muffled voices that grew loud and quiet like an argument though they were really  just passionate prayers.

She broke eye contact first.  “It doesn’t matter if I did or not.  It doesn’t matter if its true or not.  What matters is that this is your senior year of high school.  This is our last time to do and be whomever we want without major consequences.”

“Um, going blind is a pretty major consequence.”

“Exactly.  So, you’re already being punished, why not go all the way with it? Live a little for the rest of us.  Take down your hair and let it blow in the wind.”  She reached over and snatched from my hair the chopsticks that held my  bun firmly into place from. The thinning black hair fell down to my shoulders.    “God knows you have enough of it.”

“Michelle!”  My eyes went from her to the picture of Jesus, brown skinned with dark hair and eyes, staring down on us from where the picture was framed on the desk.

“Sorry, Black Jesus,” she said and bowed her head.

Image: Black Jesus

Random Saturday: Introducing Troy Cummings

Troy Cummings is the boyfriend of Libby Taylor, my main character.  Boy, have Troy and I come a long way.   He started out as Libby’s best friend whom she wanted to date. Recently, he transformed into being Libby’s boyfriend just so that I could be a little more sadistic to Libby.  Sorry, Libby, that’s just how us writers roll:  we must torture our main characters to get them to transform adequately by the end.  Making him her boyfriend and first love makes the conflict that much better!

Today’s prompt was inspired by Marilyn at the WellFed Muse.  Marilyn runs Writing Pad, the group from which I take all my writing classes.  For the next few Sundays I will be occupying her living room taking classes on how to write the third act of my YA project.  I love Writing Pad.   I would not be here without them.

*Funny story about this image.  I was at Starbucks (as per usual) but in a completely different part of town.  There was this very good looking and charming barista who had just the right look for Troy.   He humored me and allowed me to take a picture of him.  He even asked what my book was about.  It was the very first day that I was able to articulate exactly what my project is about.  Yeah for Starbucks and for inspiration.

————

“You worry too much.   We’re not doing anything bad.”  His arms around my waist, I follow his steps as he walks backwards towards his bed.  He doesn’t let go as he falls backwards.  Trying to hold myself upright as he drags me forward, I only end up bent over his body as he lays out on the bed.  I hold myself with my arms while I look down at him. “Yet,” he added and smiled up at me.

I shook my head and straightened myself up.  He moved over and patted the sliver of space next to him on his bed.  I looke back at the door, closed tightly, the sounds of the local news still managing to come through.  An explosion could go off in the back of the house and Mrs. Cummings wouldn’t notice unless it messed up her cable connection.  Troy gave me a curious look that asked what I  was thinking about.  That or what what taking so long.

What would Amber do? I asked myself.  Jesus would not be caught in this situation, alone in a girl’s room.  Alone with a girl that everyone expected you to marry or at least be having everything-but-sex with.  Amber, she’d make a decision worthy of my father and the church.

I sat next to Troy instead of laying down. I pressed my back straight against the cool wall causing the hem of my skirt to move up my thigh.  I didn’t bother to pull it down or brush away Troy’s hand when he turned over on his side and placed it there.  I eased under the heat of his hand.  He massaged the soft skin of his hand against my leg causing my breath to catch in my chest.  A tingle of energy moved through my abdomen.  The smell of christmas was stronger as he sat up on his elbow and leaned up to kiss the underside of my chin.  I smiled and leaned in to meet him halfway.  I’m conservative.  Not dead.

Speed writing: 321 Green Street

I’m pretty sure I’m the slowest speed writer ever. I get so easily distracted.  I’m siting in the Santa Monica Public Library outdoor space and its absolutely beautiful.  There is this little mote that separates the eating area from the succulents and the short palm trees that decorate the garden.  Also, I have my iTunes going and I had some pumpkin bread and there are pigeons.  I’m practically a pigeon.  Whatever.

Speed writing is just writing as fast as you can.  I’ve been here about an hour  and I’ve written 794.  For hour two I will step up my game and try for more.  Damn it. This is quite an accomplishment for me actually, because when I got to the end of one scene I didn’t just stop writing.  I kept going.  Here’s what I got.

————–

A gnome in a painted red hat and blue overalls smiled up at me from his perch at the edge of a driveway.  HIs shiny eyes seemed to wink at me when I stopped. 321 Green, his sign said.  “So, you going in or what?”  he asked.  Or maybe it was me that asked the question.

Great, now I”m being taunted by lawn furniture.

The driveway led to a stone gate that I could see surrounded the entire property.   An intercom was next to the rail gates.  The sign across the gates said Center For the Advancement of the Junior Blind.  321 Green was a house large enough to be confused with a hotel.

The intercome came to life when I hit the talk button.  “Hello,” a more then bored woman said.

My voice caught in my throat.

“Hello?”

Speak. This isn’t Oz.  She’s not the grand Wizard.  SPEAK.

“I can see you.  We’re not taking solicitations.  Good bye.”

“Wait, no.  Um, my name is Libby Taylor”  I didn’t get to finish speaking before the voice from the intercom spoke again.

“Oh!  Great.  We’ve been waiting for you.”  The voice became cheerful and light.  A loud buzz went off and the gates began to open away from me.   “Go through the gates and up the driveway to the front.  Josh will meet  you at the door.”

Josh.  I practically ran through the gates and up the driveway.   Josh would know just what to do.

He stood at the door in a maroon sweater that gave his golden skin a reddish glow.  His eyes examined the ground like he was looking for something he lossed.  “Josh” I waved excitedly.  He ran his hands through his black curls.  His brown eyes that turned gold in the sun.  I waited for  smile to pays his lips and reach is eyes.  It would be my sign that everything was alright.  I sped up towards him, almost running, my eyes fixed on his face, waiting.

His lips began to fold upwards, his cheeks rose, but the smile stopped there.  I caught myself before slamming into him for a hug.  “Hey, Libby.” he tucked one hand into his pocket and held out one arm for a hug.

I leaned in and pressed myself lightly into the open space between his chest and his arm.  He rested his hand on my back and held it there, holding me and half letting me go.  “Hi, Josh.”  I said, my voice coming out like a whimper.  I forced myself to hold my arms down, and waited for the fall.

 

Image: ‘Indiana Jones and the Disturbing Garden Gnome‘

10 minute Tuesday: Confrontation

 

I can’t believe I didn’t post anything last Thursday or on Saturday.  I’ve been writing, really I have.  I have also been doing a good deal of reading.  Mostly, though, I’ve been trying to solidify my plot so that I know my protagonist’s motivation.  This is super important to have nailed down so that I can continue to make sure she’s making the right choices. Right now I’ve written a lot scenes where things are happening to her.  I haven’t written the accompanying scenes where she responds.

This is s scene where I am attempting to put in to play the ways in which she’s transformed as the story as been told.  Its funny because I know how she’s transformed, I just haven’t written the process of her transformation.  As usual, this was inspired by a class at Writing Pad.

 

_____

 

Daddy looked at me, and I tried not to flinch under his gaze, though it felt like a strong hand on my shoulders trying to make me submit.

 

Don’t look away.   I didn’t.   I peered into his eyes and could see the shape of my balding head and curvy figure in the reflection of his pupils.   I could see the confidence radiating from my skin while standing my ground.  His eyes shifted from anger to confusion.  He looked away first.

 

“Who are you?”  He asked.  “Where did my little girl go?”

 

The question kicked me in the heart.  I steadied my knees to not fall over.  “Daddy, I’m right here.  But I’m not a little girl, anymore.”

 

He shook his head, a grimace replacing the look of confusion.  “I don’t want to hear anymore about how much you’re not a ‘little girl’ any more.  First, that boyfriend, then you’re friend Michelle disgraces the Reverend and her whole family.  This place is no good for you, LIbby.”

 

“Daddy, Michelle  is not a disgrace to her family.  She’s just gay.   And Troy has nothing to do with me standing here, right now.” The words were out of my  mouth without a thought.  “I don’t know what you think I’ve been doing….”

 

“I know what you’ve been doing.  Sneaking out, staying out late, driving to Barstow.  You’re dead mother isn’t going to make you see.”  He looked hurt as he said this but didn’t stop. “ I was the blind one.  I called your grandmother.  You’re going to stay with her for the rest of the year.”

 

The second the words came out of his mouth I was racing out of the front door.  The gold and pinks of the setting sun hit my as I moved on to the street.  Behind me I could hear him yell,   “I should have done this the second Dr. Oh told us about your condition.”

 

Image: ‘disagreement‘