The Awkward Shift

My head is really in a fog today. I got to bed around 3am, and was back up at about 9:30. I've done some writing in fits and starts. It's not as much as I'd have liked, but it's still some progress. Since it's my first daylight attempt, I think I'll just accept it as-is, and hope to do better tomorrow.

Today's Word Count: 504

Total Word Count: 29,341

Writing Exercise - Falling Snow

Okay, so maybe I should change the title to the Diurnal Writing Journal? We'll see how long this sticks.

I woke up a couple hours ago, and I'm trying to warm up to get some writing done today. So I'll start off with another one of C.M. Mayo's Writing Exercises. Here's the one she has for today:

February 16 "Falling Snow"
With specific detail that appeals to all the senses--- sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell--- describe falling snow.

Interesting. Living in South Carolina now, I rarely see snow anymore. I suppose as a former New Englander, I've got an advantage over the natives though. While I can count the snowfalls I've seen in the past decade on one hand, I've seen a lot more than that in my lifetime. But we did just have the great 'Blizzard of 2010' so at least the memory of snow is fresh.

Here we go:

The cold air penetrates my nose, almost burning it. The scent is unlike anything else - it's impossible to place, but it smells clean as the world is slowly buried under a pure, white blanket. It covers the grass and the leaves, making it impossible to see where the lawn ends and the street begins.

The moonlight glimmers off the ivory blanket covering the world, creating an eerie luminescence that gives the night an otherworldly feeling. This is a night that one might find elves, or changelings. The White Queen of C.S. Lewis would be more likely found on the street tonight than a car or an SUV. I make a note to beware of Turkish Delight.

The wind whispers to me, as it makes the falling flakes dance one way, and then another. Opening my mouth, I catch one on my tongue, feeling first the sharper coldness, then fading into a warm wetness. The only taste I can use to describe it, is that of winter. And it's a taste I haven't known for a long time.

Stepping out into the snow, I feel the satisfying crunch it makes underfoot, and my lips rise in a grin.

And... time.

I miss the winter. What we typically get down here in South Carolina passes for late fall by my standards, and moves almost straight into early spring. But the snowfall we got last week served as both a gift and a gentle reminder that real winter is a lot of work. It's shoveling snow out of the driveway, scraping it off the car, and stockpiling food in the event that the roads aren't drivable for a few days. I had to clear the new-to-me car of snow before I could leave the house, and I realized that I don't even own an ice scraper anymore.

Now, off to real writings.

Changes

Well, since my work situation is still up in the air, I'm going to try to shift back onto a daytime schedule. As such, I won't be writing tonight before I go to bed - but I'll try to make sure I do so after I wake up, and before midnight. (So it'll at least be on the same day.)

And after I wake up, it's job-hunting time.

Dialects and Accents

It's probably a huge mistake on my part, but tonight I started playing around with an accent. Floyd, patron of the diner frequented by much of the superhero community in my story, has his first lines, and he's got a pretty distinct way of speaking.

The way I picture Floyd, he's a part of the city (whichever one I eventually decide this is). He's lived her all his life. His parents were poor, but honest and hardworking. His diner is his pride and his dream. So the way I hear him sounds like he's from the city. Here's an excerpt:

She caught Floyd’s attention, and waved him over to the counter. “What’s going on, Floyd?” The folks around her shot Erin a few sharp glares as they strained to listen to the television.

“You been under a rock, or somethin’?” Floyd pointed to the sinks behind the counter, and quietly continued, “ain’t no water in the city, accordin’ to the news. Every tap’s gone dry. City officials are sayin’ that the water’s just gone.” He shook his head. “Only water to be found is in bottles. Some mooks are already chargin’ outrageous prices fer ‘em. I’m tryin’ to hold the line tonight, but I’ll probably be out by mornin’.”

This is what Alec’s busy with. “I’m going to guess that the Brigadiers are already on it,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Floyd answered with a nod. “They been’ checkin’ the sewers and pipes fer signs of tamperin’ but there ain’t been none. They said it was like the water all just left on it’s own, or somethin’.”

Please tell me if I'm laying it on too thick, or god forbid if I'm doing it to an offensive level.

Tonight's Word Count: 833

Total Word Count: 28,837

Writing Exercise - Shelly's Scene Objective

Once again, housework kept me away longer than I initially planned. I was hoping to have nestled myself in bed by now, but I'm just warming up for some writing. So I turn, once again, to C.M. Mayo's website for a writing exercise to start myself out. Here's today's:

February 15 "Shelly's Scene Objective"
In The Power of the Actor, Ivana Chubbuck shows actors how to use their emotions to empower a goal. Actors identify their characters' overall objective, as well as their scene objective. Applying this to writing, assume your character is "Shelly"; her overall objective is to get married; her scene objective is to get "Kyle" whom she has just met, say, in a coffee shop, to ask her on a date. Write the scene from Shelly's point of view.

Sounds a little more doable than yesterday's, but then again I did manage to get that one too. Here we go:

Damn, Shelly thought to herself as she stepped forward, I really like this blouse.

She walked straight into the path of a man who was staring rather intently at his phone. As soon as she felt contact, she whipped her coffee cup back at herself, drenching her violet blouse. At least it wasn't fresh, she thought as the liquid began to seep through.

"Wha..?" The man stumbled backwards, and looked up, finally noticing Shelly. "I'm sorry, Miss," he stammered. "I didn't realize, um, I guess I should keep my eyes in front of me when I'm walking."

Shelly looked down at her blouse, and sighed loudly. "This was my favorite top, too. Can today get any worse?"

"Is there any way I can make it up to you?" he asked sheepishly.

Shelly grinned inwardly. "Well, you could pay for the dry cleaning I guess..."

Okay, I didn't get as far into the scene as I wanted. My notion was that Shelly had seen Kyle walking through the lobby of this building for weeks when she stopped in to get coffee with her friends, who have teased her relentlessly about him. Today, she went in early, and set an ambush to get his attention.

Now that I've got the wheels turning, let's see about my own work.

Forward Progress

Well, I may not have made up for last night's lack of anything, but I've done enough for tonight. (Though peeking out the window behind me reveals that the sun is up, maybe I should say 'today' instead.) I'm tired, and I really need to get to sleep soon.

I hate alarm clocks. Despite is actually a closer word for the intense feeling I hold for them. One of the few advantages of the posting I worked for the past 18 months or so, was that I didn't need one. I went to sleep as soon as I got home, and woke up when I woke up. The way these clocks jar you out of your sleep and back into the waking world sets a horrible start to your day. Whatever I wind up doing, I hope I can avoid an alarm clock.

A sharp, piercing cry penetrated her sleep. She rolled first one way, and then another, trying to escape it but it pursued her no matter how she lay. Finally, she cracked one eye to see that six hours had passed, and her clock was trying to wake her up for work. Please, just let me sleep.

The clock was unmoved by her pleas, and instead redoubled it’s beeping. “I’ll put the clock across the room. That way, in order to turn it off, I’ll have to get out of bed and wake up.” That was a brilliant idea. Struggling free of the blankets, she sat up before pushing herself onto her feet. Her lithe, nimble feet thudded numbly across the floor as she groped for the clock and switched off the alarm. God, I want to get back in bed. Let me just get a drink, first, and then I’ll decide. She moved to the kitchen, and pulled a clean cup out of the cabinet. But when she opened the tap, nothing happened.

That’s odd. She tried the cold-water tap again, but nothing came out. Snarling slightly, she tried the warm water, also to no result. Did I forget to pay the water bill, or something? Shrugging, she opened the fridge and winced at the brightness of the light. “And it’s all caffeinated. Okay, clock, you won.” Pulling out a diet coke, she twisted off the top and took a deep sip as she walked over to the light switch.

Tonight's Word Count: 569

Total Word Count: 28,004

Writing Exercise - St. Valentines Day Massacre

This past week has thrown a lot at me, and I'll certainly confess - I'm rattled. But I'm going to get some writing done tonight. And to warm up, I'm going to return to writing exercises from C.M. Mayo's website.

Here's the exercise for today:

February 14 "St Valentine's Day Massacre"
This is a plot-generating exercise.
(1) List 5 small gestures Bob makes that show he loves his wife, Betty. (For example, he might do the dishes; he might buy her jewley, etc.)
(2) List 5 actions by which Betty reveals that she no longer loves Bob (For example, she might not pick up the phone when she's sees the caller ID that shows it's him; she might travel on business when she doesn't need to, etc.)
(3) List 3 ways Betty could kill Bob.
(4) In three words -- no more--- describe Betty's secret boyfriend, Jeb.
(5) Where did Betty meet Jeb?
(6) Finally, in what way is Jeb a suprising character? Answer in only 2 adjectives.

All that in five minutes? I'll see what I can do.

1) To show that he loves his wife on Valentine's Day, Bob prepares her breakfast, and delivers it to her in bed. He then tells her to go back to sleep, because he's going to clean the kitchen and entertain their son. That night, he plans to take her to the restaurant they went to on their first date, before taking her to an expensive hotel for the night.

2) To show that she doesn't love Bob, Betty doesn't eat breakfast (she tells him that she's not hungry.) When she does get out of bed, she makes starts working on something from work that could wait until Monday. She criticizes the way that he's cleaned the kitchen. She refuses to talk about anything intimate at dinner. Back at the hotel, she gets drunk on the wine he's romantically provided, and passes out before things can get amorous.

3) Betty could easily poison Bob - the ingrate lets her do almost all of the cooking. She could also sabotage his car - he's always underestimated her knowledge of cars. She could also have her lover fake a break-in, in which Bob might be shot.

4) Betty's lover is Dave, a guy she's been working with at the office for the past several years.

5) Dave's secret is that he's in witness protection. His last girlfriend was the wife of a powerful mobster.

And... done.

Okay, I may have fudged that by a few seconds, but I got almost all of it in the allotted time. Plotting isn't typically one of my problems, but I can see the value in doing something like this. Next time I find myself in a position where I'm not sure how to get from Point A to Point B, I'll try to brainstorm alternatives. It can't hurt.

I'm feeling better about things. I found out yesterday that my employment is in question. In the course of a week, my car has died and now my job may be next on the block. I'll go see what they have to say, but if they fire me it won't be the worst that could happen. Even if they don't, I'm going to start looking. But I'm going to also try to keep the writing going - starting now.