Summer Challenge for You

You have heard a lot about my challenges. Now, I have one for you! I'll even join you.

Let's do some Spring Cleaning this summer...okay,yeah--technically, not spring. But I want to inspire you to go to those files on your computer and take a look at them. Are you a writer too? If so, there are probably at least a few WIPs somewhere on your hard drive.

Let's revisit them. Are they something that you can finish? If not, are they something you can re-purpose? If not, are they something that you really need? If not--use that little key up in the corner, and delete them. (I know...that's very hard to do--if you can't quite bring yourself to delete, move them off the computer onto a flash drive. If you still haven't looked at them in six months...revisit deleting them.)

Next, does your office look like this? (This is one of the reasons I do my work on a table in front of the bigscreen instead of in my office. Another reason is...bigscreen.)

I am going to be working on cleaning this too this summer. Let's get our offices in shape for NaNoWriMo in November. That gives us a goal, and a deadline. I'll tell you how far I get, you tell me your progress. :)

Do we have a deal? 

And all that jazz...

Music is a huge inspiration for me when it comes to coaxing my muse to come out to play. To say I have eclectic taste in music would be an understatement.  Lately, I've been immersed in all things musical theatre. It may be tied to my having dragged myself back to ballet class or it could be my need for the dramatic, but I'm all about shouting at the top of my longs while flashing my jazz hands. Strangely it's helped. I've got a tight window to get out new stuff before the day jobs (yes plural) absorb all of my attention and every word and sentence I'm able to eke out is a small victory.

I think my penchant for musical theatre as an inspirational source is also tied to the fact that I plan to BIG and BOLD when it comes to my writing in the next year. I want to create stories that carry people through the spectrum of human emotions. I want to have depth and breath to the tales I craft. I WANT TO BE THE ONE! Okay, maybe not that egomaniac, but I want to be greater than I am today.

Possibly with top hats and gold lame.

Janet

Gotta get a move on it.

The Mocha Memoirs Press sale is going to start winding down pretty quickly and as I've done my due diligence to promo I realized I really need to get a move on starting my second collection of horror shorts. Second you say! Why yes, the first collection of 31 Horror short stories called Into the Realm of Mystery and Night is currently on sale. I loved writing this collection because if you haven't noticed, I'm pretty eclectic as a writer and even when I have the best of intentions I can be a bit macabre. I can't help it, I have quite the dark sense of humor. I also love all things that go bump in the night.

So revisiting my collection to promo it made me realize just how behind I am. Yes it's barely August but it takes quite a bit of brain power to dredge out all the things I find unsettling, creepy, and just plain weird and craft them into coherent stories. I like to make sure I have some that are deliciously wicked and some that are darkly sad. 31 days worth because at the end of the day, this is my homage to the highest of high holy days, Halloween.

The good news is, I have about three stories outlined. Only 29 more to go...sigh.

Here's an excerpt from the book (Day 21 to be precise) to give you an idea of just what I'm talking about and what you should be anticipating.

Enjoy!

Janet

Into the Realm of Mystery and Night

Day 21

It’s just a dream.

Lark sat up suddenly in her bed, heart racing and breathing heavily. She could feel sweat cooling and becoming sticky on her skin. She’d had that dream again, and it left her feeling empty and frightened. Her eyes were still clasped tightly, for fear that the residual effects of the dream would cause her to see things that didn’t exist in the shadows of her darkened room. If she didn’t find a way to get a handle on what her brain projected while she was asleep, she was going to go insane. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she knew she was going to lose it if she didn’t get up and out of her bed.

Flinging her damp covers off, she reached blindly in the dark for the lamp by her bed. Lark thought she’d left the blinds open when she went to sleep, but they were closed and the room was pitch black. The cool ceramic of her lamp under her fingers eased some of her anxiety, and she turned the switch, hoping to flood the room with blessed light. The soft click of the knob echoed through the room, but there was no light to answer its call. Frowning, she figured that the bulb would go out just when she needed it most.

She knew that sitting in the dark room wasn’t going to make anything better and stumbled through her bedroom to the door. Fear hadn’t quite abandoned her as she’d woken from the dream, and she could feel it lurking just at her shoulder as she navigated her dark hallway. Her fingers found the switch for the hall light, and she sobbed with frustration when the room stayed cloaked in darkness as she flipped it frantically. Why would the power have to be out now? she thought as she headed toward her bathroom. Unfortunately, that room didn’t provide her with a reprieve, and she fumbled toward the sink.

The cool feel of water being splashed on her face eased some of her worry, but now that panic had nestled back inside of her, making itself cozy and comfy, she couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she tried to center herself and will away the gloom of worry that was hanging over her head. Splashing more cold water on her face, she looked into the mirror and let out a little shriek when the lights suddenly came on. Her reflection was worn and tired, and she could see the toll her nightmares were starting to take on her. She tried to force a wobbly smile to her face, but her reflection wasn’t cooperating and instead stared back at her with a grimace of worry and concern.

Lark didn’t know how long she stared at herself, but that feeling, the one that haunted her when she needed blessed sleep, rose up and sunk its teeth into every nerve in her body. It, that thing that stalked her, was in her house, and she knew if she turned from looking in her mirror it would be there waiting for her. She watched as tears rolled down her face that was a mask of fear, and just when she was ready to turn away, accept defeat, her reflection said, “You’re still dreaming.”

Lark lay in her bed, hearing the sounds of night and the low moan of her house trying to settle itself, and tried to scream but nothing came out. Her body was frozen but her mind was yelling that she needed to get up, she needed to protect herself because whatever was stalking her was there, just outside her room, and if she wasn’t ready it would get her. She could feel her heart beating rapidly and tears rolled down her face, and as she listened to “it” get closer, she prayed that she was still dreaming.

The Devil is in the details.

I recently had a space age, sci-fi, hybrid dystopian story pop in my head. I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to all things sci-fi and was particularly excited that the plot was mulling away in my brain. I've been on a writing hiatus of sorts recently because life has been too damn busy. Not necessarily in a bad way but it has definitely put a cramp in my writing schedule. Therefore, the opportunity to do something new and creative had me jotting down notes excitedly.

Now here's a not so secret about me, I'm quite obsessive when it comes to story details. I think that's probably one of the leading factors in why I write such short stories. World building on a large scale has me obsessing in such minute details that it almost becomes a compulsion, more than an extension of my creation. It's all ridiculous of course because I'm building the world and thus it's just a figment of my imagination. Who cares if the effects of the second sun of the planet influences the crop formation of a desperately needed grain of the indigenous sentient beings of the planet that have been displaced by the new humanoid race? No one really.  Except me of course, and my methodical sociological prospective of things not important. What is particularly interesting is all of these facts never actually get included in the story. Their sole purpose is to make me and my obsessive nature happy. 

Yes, I know, totally cray cray. I just can't help myself, but this idea is SO good and I'm SO excited to get it written that I'm going to have to perform an exorcism and get that devil of details behind me....fingers crossed.