I want to start writing again. I haven’t written anything–apart from a handful of blog posts–in six months. I want to. I’m just…scared. My world is not what it was six months ago. I’ve changed a lot. I almost died. Rediscovered my purpose. Decided to link my dreams with that purpose. I’m actively taking steps to make both dream and purpose a reality. I’m changing schools and majors (two of those steps). And my writing is another one of those steps.
But starting to write again is scary. Coming up with an idea worthy of all my changes is intimidating. And the thought of failing is terrifying. Which leaves me mentally–and creatively–paralyzed.
Any ideas to get back on the horse again, so to speak?
So, I meant to finish up my story a while back, but as it turns out, one of the side effects of a stroke is being tired—like really tired—all the time. When you add in work, school, and doctors’ appointments, that means I’m drained the majority of the time. If you missed the first part of my story, you can find it here. But here goes….
I woke up the next day, a little before noon. I was intubated and my hands were restrained (I had my appendix taken out when I was 11, and I might have pulled out the tube when I woke up. Having the tube put back in while awake = not fun.) Anyway. I knew right away I was in the hospital, but I had no idea why. My parents and Baby Brother were there. Obviously, I couldn’t talk, but I remember them talking to me, telling me they’d take the tube out soon. My mom also told me “Bubba is here. And he brought your nephew.” I was coherent enough to think: “Why is he here? He lives 600 miles away!”
The next thing I remember is my mom bringing in one of my friends from work, who was crying her eyes out. Then, later, some of my friends from my old job. I had my contacts out by this time, but I recognized their voices. Turns out, they’d been at the hospital with my family most of the time. The Saint was in NYC, but one of them called her so I could “talk” to her, reassure her. Then the Cynic and another close friend of ours visited. My family, of course. They were almost always by my side. And later that evening, the Diva and “our” husband, who were some of the first people my mom called, came in.
The next day, I was a little more with it. Some women from therapy came to get me up, and were shocked I could walk by myself. I got to meet my nephew—he was 4 months old then—and he is SO cute! Most of my hospital stay is a blur. I slept a lot. I couldn’t use my right hand much at all. I started learning how to eat left-handed. I had a lot of visitors and phone calls (many of my patients called to check on me). I got out of the hospital 5 days later and went home with my mom.
I cannot image how difficult the day of my stroke was for my friends and family. At the hospital, they gave me tPA (the stroke drug), but it didn’t seem to help. Actually, my symptoms worsened. Late that night, the doctor told the nurses that something else was going on, and he was going in. He told my parents there was a 98% fatality rate for my condition. If I lived, they didn’t know if I would wake up. If I somehow woke up, they didn’t know what condition I’d be in. I woke up about 12 hours later, able to see, talk, and move. I knew who I was and who everyone around me was.
As it turns out, I had two clots in my brain and a tear in my left vertebral artery. I now have four stents there, and I’ll be on aspirin the rest of my life. I have reduced sensation on the right side of my body, but it’s improving. I have tingling pretty much all the time on that side. 2 ½ weeks after my stroke, I was back in the E.R. (at the orders of my neurologist’s nurse) because the tingling had gotten worse and I’d had a mild headache for two days. They think the right artery had dissected as well, but it was so small they could only treat it with medications for a few days. I stayed in the hospital 4 days that time. Since then, I’ve had an angiogram to check on my stents (they looked great). I started working again (14 hour shifts are tough under the best circumstances. Now…I don’t even have the words.) The school semester started. (I did switch to online classes this semester—French, German, and Spanish 2.) I went back to the E.R. a week ago with some brief vision changes (doctor’s orders), but everything is fine. Stents are great, no signs of stroke. I’ve had blood work and other tests done, and none of the doctors know what caused my stroke. My neurologist calls me a miracle.
Let me say this: no matter what your personal beliefs are, I know that the only reason I survived is because of God. He was there with me–giving me that feeling of peace—through it all. There is a reason I had the stroke, despite being “too young” and there not being a cause. God has a plan for this, a plan to prosper. There is no doubt in my mind.
You never know how quickly your life can change. Good or bad, everything really can change in an instant. Sometimes it’s a big, dramatic moment, sometimes it passes you by without even a whisper of acknowledgement or a hint of warning. Like T.S. Eliot said, my old world ended with a whimper, not a bang.
June 1st was a normal Saturday. I went for a walk, cleaned my apartment, did laundry. I was tired from working 14 hours the day before, so I took a nap. When I woke up an hour later, I was having a seizure. I’d never had a seizure before, but I had seen people have them, so I knew what it was. But the sensation of being unable to control my own body was something I’ll never forget. Even worse was the fact that my eyes would not work together.
I remember thinking to myself “What am I going to do if they can’t fix my eyes? I won’t be able to work or go to school or anything?” I was still having a seizure, but I was having a rational conversation with myself. And I knew—because of my eyes—that I’d had a stroke. I was convinced that I was going to die. But I wasn’t afraid. I was filled with peace.
At the end of the seizure, I fell out of bed, somehow missing the sharp corner of my nightstand. I ended up in the corner, between that table and the closet, and I was throwing up. When I finally managed to stop throwing up long enough, I managed to yell for my friend who was crashed on my couch. When she came into the room, I remember telling her, very calmly, “Don’t panic, but I think I’ve had a stroke. I need you to call an ambulance.” I was so relieved that I’d managed to get her attention, and that she’d called 911, that I just lay there, still throwing up, as she called my family.
When the paramedics got there, they tried to set me up on the edge of my bed, but I couldn’t sit up, and just fell over backwards. They kept asking me what I’d taken, and I remember being really frustrated, because they thought I’d taken drugs, and I knew I’d had a stroke.
I remember the paramedic putting an arterial line in before we left the apartment complex. It seemed to take a long time to get to the hospital, even though it was only about five miles away. I was barely unloaded and in the E.R. before my dad was there, at my side (Baby Brother can really drive when he needs to!). I just looked at him and said “Pray!” He grabbed my foot, as the nurses were still hooking me up, and prayed. Then I was wheeled away for tests, still throwing up frequently.
My mom and Baby Brother were also there, and my mom says I kept getting irritated at the doctors trying to ask me questions, and kept saying “I’m just tired!” I remember lots of people working on me, lots of tests, but only faintly. I remember my Other Brother being there—one of Baby Brother’s closest friends—and Mama Bear—a friend from work, but then everything faded to black.
So, in case you are wondering where I’ve been, let me tell you, I’ve kind of been wondering the same thing. Here’s the short version: last Saturday, June 1st, I had a stroke. I barely survived. I’ll try to tell you in the details—what I remember—later. For now, I’m alive, my left side is fine. My right side, on the other hand, has limited mobility currently. Of course, I’m right-handed. But my woes are a story for another day.
Right now, I’m grateful to be alive and (mostly) intact. Thank You, God.
So, after the chaos that has been my life for the past….9 or 10 months or so–work, school, break-up, depression, recovery–I finally, finally got serious about my writing again today. I’ve been doing pretty good about blogging lately, both here, on my environmental blog, and on Writing in a Dead World (if you haven’t checked that out yet, you SHOULD), but apart from writing a few pages in The Fall a few months ago, I haven’t really written consistently in…a long, long time. That sucks. And I’m tired of it. So I started doing the HTTS Ultra lessons again today. It’s been on the to-do list for a week or two now, but the procrastination monster sort of ate that list…
I had forgotten how detailed and helpful Holly’s lessons are. The results I got for the Shadow Room technique surprised me and might have generated another story idea (assuming I ever get this one written…and some others revised…and the other partially-finished MS written…). So, yeah. I’m dedicating this summer to getting my life to where I want it to be. A big part of that is writing. Game on.
(Okay, so “piss off” is probably not a politically correct term. But it’s so much more…appropriate than “anger”. I mean, really, anger sounds so civilized. And that’s not what I’m feeling right now. Warning: if you’ve done me wrong recently, I’m talking to you. <insert evil grin>)
Everyone knows it’s not a good a idea to cross Taylor Swift. That’s a good way to end up in a hit song, and even her veiled references to events don’t always protect the guilty. But have you ever thought about the people who cross, say, Stephen King?
Most writers take inspiration from people they know. It may be a single character trait. It may be an odd quirk they notice in a stranger. It may be the way someone walks. But all those little things combine together and end up in a single, life-like character that jumps off the page. Now, if you’re on the writer’s good side, you can find yourself in the pages of their newest novel, and take pride in the compliment.
But if, on the other hand, you and the writer have a bit more…hostile relationship, you might also find yourself on the pages of a story, albeit in a much less complimentary fashion. Think about it: all those horrible villains are based on someone. And villains have to die somehow (and usually, the more painful and gruesome, the better). I’m just saying, maybe all those Stephen King characters wouldn’t have died so violently if the people he was thinking of when he wrote them had not made him angry.
Personally, I’ve been known to base characters, events, clothing, lots of things on people I know. And the way I’m feeling right now…well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be too surprised if a character in my newest novel happens to be heavily tattooed, short, selfish, and full of lies….and dies tragically when run over by the karma bus. Repeatedly. I’m just saying….revenge is sweet. Even if it’s only in my own mind.
Okay, I admit it. I love to read fiction. Especially fantasy. Bonus enjoyability points if it’s YA fantasy. I’ve read predominantly fantasy for years now, with a few forays out into mysteries, forensic thrillers, and humor (Stephanie Plum, anyone?). I normally read several books at a time, with one “main” book that I pick up whenever I have a spare moment. Normally, these are all fiction.
But lately, my TBR pile has moved into uncharted territory for me: non-fiction. Exclusively non-fiction. What? That’s what I thought, too. Now, instead of the latest fantasy gem to catch my eye, I’m reading–and eagerly awaiting reading–books like The Omnivore’s Dilemma, In Defense of Food, Pandora’s Seed, and The First Human. Granted, The First Human is reading for my anthropology class, but I’m really enjoying it and am finding it quite interesting. Pandora’s Seed also started off as reading for my evolution and ecology class–last semester–but it’s pretty interesting as well, and ties into my latest personal research into environmental issues. The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food are both about topics that I find very relevant of late, as I focus more on my health and eating healthier in general. Both gave me a lot of–excuse the pun–food for thought, and gave me more focus on how I spend my food dollars, and the statement I want to make with them.
I’ve also been doing more spirit-based reading, including The Blessed Life, by Pastor Robert Morris (pastor at my church, Gateway Church, and a phenomenally gifted speaker). Up next are the Divine Revelation books, and some more spirit-based reading.
Basically, I’ve found that my reading habits have changed lately, more closely tying in to the personal growth areas I’m working on. Instead of reading for sheer entertainment, now I seem to be drawn to books that will help me grow.
Does anyone else find that their reading habits change over time, or in certain situations?
What makes you want to read a book? For me, there’s one sure way to guarantee I’ll read a book: if it’s by an author I’ve read and enjoyed before. That’s a safe bet. But for a new (or new-to-me) author, what’s a good way to get me to pick up the book–and then make an even bigger investment of time and money–and buy it?
The cover of the book is one way. It’s hard to place too much importance on the book cover. Honestly, I can’t even tell you the number of book covers that have intrigued me enough to actually buy the book. Here are three book covers that intrigued me enough to buy the book:
Before I Wake, by Rachel VincentFlirting with Forty, by Jane PorterAlice in Zombieland, by Gena Showalter
There aren’t really any common elements between. They are all just really well-done covers. If it catches my eye on a bookshelf, at the very least I’ll pick it up, flip it over, and read the back cover copy.
Cover copy is another way to attract readers. Last week, I saw the blurb for Coleen Patrick’s new book Come Back to Me:
Whitney Denison can’t wait to start over.
She thought she had everything under control, that her future would always include her best friend Katie… Until everything changed.
Now her life in Bloom is one big morning-after hangover, filled with regret, grief, and tiny pinpricks of reminders that she was once happy. A happy she ruined. A happy she can’t fix.
So, she is counting down the days until she leaves home for Colson University, cramming her summer with busywork she didn’t finish her senior year, and taking on new hobbies that involve glue and glitter, and dodging anyone who reminds her of her old life.
When she runs into the stranger who drove her home on graduation night, after she’d passed out next to a ditch, she feels herself sinking again. The key to surviving the summer in Bloom is unraveling whatever good memories she can from that night.
But in searching for answers, she’ll have to ask for help and that means turning to Evan, the stranger, and Kyle, Katie’s ex-boyfriend. Suddenly, life flips again, and Whitney finds herself on not only the precipice of happy but love, too, causing her to question whether she can trust her feelings, or if she is falling into her old patterns of extremes.
As she uncovers the truth about her memories, Whitney sees that life isn’t all or nothing, and that happy isn’t something to wait for, that instead, happy might just be a choice.
I was so intrigued by the description of the book, I clicked on the link and bought it immediately (Great read, btw!) Again, there’s no list of ingredients for how to write great cover copy, but using active descriptions instead of boring passive-voice is a must, as is giving the reader just enough details to whet their appetite (and have them chasing the carrot).
A great title is also a way to get me to commit to a book. Gena Showalter’s Alice in Zombieland is a fantastic example of this. I would have bought this for the title alone (even without the great cover and fantastic cover copy). As a writer, coming up with the perfect title is something I tend to obsess about, so I love to check out other authors’ titles, hoping to find something that will give my own Muse a nudge in the right direction.
…okay, not really re-thinking. Let’s just say I’m going to try something new (or, actually, old). Confused yet? Let me explain. Have you heard of Holly Lisle? If you haven’t, well, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Holly is a rarity: a mid-list author who actually makes a living with her writing. She’s smart, she’s a great writer, she knows what she’s doing, and, more importantly, she’s really big on paying it forward (she did start Forward Motion, after all). She spends a lot of her time helping her fellow writers out. To that end, she has created lots of helpful things, from the smaller workshops like How to Create a Language, How to Create a Character, How to Write Page-Turning Scenes…and she has also created huge, incredibly detailed classes Like How To Revise Your Novel and How To Think Sideways.
I was in the original HTTS class, as well as the original HTRYN class, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much difference these two classes made in my writing. The way Holly thinks, the way she breaks things down using plain language, worksheets, examples…well, it got me thinking in ways I’d never thought before (which was the point, right?). Since I don’t have much done on The Fall–in reality, I have only a handful of pages written, basically no pre-work, and haven’t touched it in weeks–I’ve decided that I’m going to take it through HTTS. I know the end result will be much closer to the story I have in my head, much more true to the vision I can see for the story. It will just be better. Yeah, it’ll be a lot of work and it will take me a while, but in the end, it’ll be worth it.
I’m a huge fan of Holly’s writing in general, and I know her courses can really get results–if you’re willing to do the work. I am. I haven’t been published, but I’ve gotten some partial manuscript requests because of her courses, and I want to give everything I can to The Fall. I’ve also decided to become one of Holly’s affiliates. I do believe whole-heartedly in her methods, her teaching, and her results, and if you have any interest in checking it out for yourself, go here. If you aren’t a writer, but you’d like to read a great book, you can check those out as well.
In case you’re wondering where I’ve been (you know, all three of you that are reading this), I need to make a confession: I tend to over-commit myself. Basically, I need about 5 extra hours in every day to get everything done I need and/or want to do. Here’s a list of things I need to be doing on a weekly basis (some of which I’m failing miserably at):
1) Work (2 15-hour days, 1 13-hour day). On my feet….
2) School: 17 hours this semester (5 class, one lab, WTF was I thinking?)
3) 3 blogs (my writing blog, my personal blog, my environmental blog)
4) Write the first draft of The Fall (My Muse thinks I’ve gone on strike.)
5) Revise the zombie story
6) Revise the werewolf story
7) Write book reviews for Examiner.com (assuming I have actual time to read)
8) Keep up with my writing crit circle (I’m trying.)
9) Church (This has become a necessity in my life. Period.)
10) Keep up with all my home projects (the green-friendly ones that are now my priority)
11) Hang out with family and The Diva (so she doesn’t have a complete breakdown. I love you, sister-wife!).
12) Work out. (Ha. Hahahaha. Yeah. With what free time? I’m pretty sure the 5-7 miles I walk at work 3 times a week count for something.)
13) I’m taking a 6-week Nutrition class on Coursera (halfway through), with a Philosophy class starting in 2 weeks…
14) I’m pretty sure I’m missing something, but I can’t remember what just now…
You’ll notice this list does not include things like, oh, sleep, relax, hang out with friends. All of which are things I do try to do, too. I’ve had some stuff going on with the Sierra Club and Environment Texas. This past weekend, I had a membership class at church. I have another one next weekend.
Watching TV…sigh. It’s a good thing I have a DVR. That’s all I’m saying. Actually, I did watch two shows I had recorded on Sunday, while I was doing other things. A friend of mine called while I was watching. He asked what I was doing. When I said “Watching TV,” there was dead silence on the line for a good ten seconds, then “REALLY?!” Yeah. Before that, it had been…oh, probably a month, since I had my TV on. Money well spent on the cable bill, huh?
In short, I’d show you my daily planner, but I’m too embarrassed. It’s probably confusing to everyone but me. Plus, I’m severely OCD when it comes to my planner and it might be color coded…
Tomorrow Is Another Day 