Category Archives: writing

Please Write Badly

by
Charlotte Firbank-King


When we start writing, almost all of us write badly. I have never seen a baby that looks now like it will fifteen or twenty years down the line—some beautiful babies turn into ugly adults and visa-versa. A baby gabbles nonsensically, and toddlers string garbled words together that often don’t make sense, but they’re learning. Regardless at how adept they are at using the language, kids are painfully honest. They express their emotional truth without apology.

More often than not, the first stories we write contains major flaws in the grammar or technique, yet they often have the same strange innocence and honesty expressed by children.

At around thirteen, girls learn how to put on makeup. Later, they may use plastic surgery and dress to hide impurities—and they learn how to deceive and hide personality defects.

Equate this to writing. As we grow, we add even more adjectives and adverbs, and we indulge in “clever” writing to fool the reader. Instead of striving for natural perfection, we embellish.

At adulthood, people who are willing to grow and become real learn how to accept their perceived physical flaws and concentrate instead on becoming better human beings. However, this metamorphosis into honest awareness of self may only happen years later—and sometimes it never happens, and those adults live under the illusion of being good and beautiful.

Writers are the same. Some grow and learn and become better. But others live under the illusion of being good writers despite repeated rejections from publishers and readers.

Hopefully, growth does happen, and that’s when we get real as writers. We strip off the makeup and get down to living—really living/writing. We learn to trust that our inner beauty is what counts—we learn to trust our writing. We also learn that readers aren’t stupid, that they get it without us explaining every last detail and describing every scene as though they lack imagination.

It’s okay to start out ugly. Write from the heart—just write like you used to—write badly. Forget about the silly concept of writer’s block—that’s a cop-out. Just write without embellishments/makeup.

Now, take that horrible writing and edit it, then repeat the process another hundred times or more. The only obligations we have as writers is to be honest with ourselves and grow so that we can entertain readers. This road to honesty and self-awareness is a lonely one and only we can travel it.

Love it or hate it, we know our own face, and we can only work with what we know. So it is with writing—work with what you know. If you know nothing about politics or forensics, then don’t go down that rabbit hole unless you’re prepared to do a mountain of research/plastic surgery—knowing that even with all the research, you still stand the danger of not ringing true, just as a face covered by plastic surgery is not the real you.

So write badly about what you know and be honest. Readers will love you more for being you and entertaining them with what feels real. Don’t get me wrong. Writing is all about smoke and mirrors, but it’s how you do it that counts. Just as charisma and personality can make a person with a plain face shine and force us to see beyond the physical.

Write badly, but then polish it until all we see is the charisma and personality.

“I’ll Throw It Out There and See What Happens”

by
Hope Clark


For the third time in as many weeks, an author has picked my brain about how I write (daily), how I edit (daily), and how often I market (daily), then said they prefer to be a hobbyist. They cannot afford to invest the time into a book like I do, don’t care to hire a graphic artist for the cover, prefer not to hire an editor, and don’t belong to a critique group . . . so they’ll write it the best they can and throw it up on Amazon “and see what happens.”

Those four words . . . like ten long nails scratching on a chalkboard.

I have no problem with people writing as a hobby. I encourage it, actually. I have no problem with people publishing as a hobby. I encourage that, too. But . . . when they hint that they do not have the time to do it right . . . when part-time is an excuse for not doing it thoroughly, I just want to get to a microphone and rant!

Of course, ranting to anyone is not the way to make them understand. I don’t want someone shaking their finger at me, either. So I try to educate.

I explain:

1) A book not prepared with a professional eye will not sell.
2) A book not edited hard by people other than the writer will not sell.
3) A book placed on Amazon with no steady promotion will not sell.
4) A book published without the author marketing herself will not sell.

One gentleman threw those words at me, “and see what happens,” and I simply replied, “It won’t sell.” He looked like I’d slapped him.

I smiled to ease the rift evident in his face. “Amazon, and the entire publishing world, is glutted with books. Thousands of authors are fighting to be heard, to promote, to sell, some with multiple books under their belt. Thousands of writers are fighting to make writing a career. With them clamoring every day to write and market, to blog, sign, social network, travel, how do you think a reader will find your book with you doing nothing to promote it? There are just too many books out there for that to be feasible.”

We parted friends. I hope he heard me. I really hope he didn’t spend all that time writing only to just throw it out there “and see what happens.” None of us need any more of that. As both readers and writers, we can all appreciate seeing more of the well-written, well-edited, well-marketed books.

Thanks

– Hope

Be sure to visit Hope at FUNDSFORWRITERS.COM

TWITTER – http://twitter.com/hopeclark
FACEBOOK – http://www.facebook.com/chopeclark
GOODREADS – http://www.goodreads.com/hopeclark 
BOOKBUB – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/c-hope-clark

Writing, Not Writing

by
Jessica Nelson


It’s that time of the year when everything gets hectic beyond belief. There’s barely a moment to catch your breath, let alone sit down and get some good writing done. It gets harder and harder to follow that timeless advice that all writers get:

Write every day.

Every time I hear that, I feel guilty, because I don’t write every day. The guilt gets even worse during November when other people are kicking out entire novels for NaNoWriMo.

So today I’m pulling a page out of Rhonda Browning White’s book. Last week she wrote a blog entitled “The Hiatus: Taking a Break from Writing” on her personal blog. That post inspired this one, because she made an excellent point: writers are always writing.

This idea that a writer is always writing in their heads is what I have deemed “writing, not writing.” It’s a little like “sorry, not sorry” which is what you say/feel when you should be sorry for something but you really aren’t.

“Writing, not writing” is two-fold. On the one hand, it describes when we should be writing, but we aren’t. On the other, it describes when a writer is writing, though they may not be physically typing on a computer or putting pen to paper.

I am notorious for “writing, not writing.” It feels like I rarely get anything written down. But I find there’s a certain freedom in “writing, not writing.” I’m the kind of writer who likes to get it right the first time I put it on paper. I get attached to my words, and it pains me to do deletions and rewrites. So when I write something that I don’t really like, I feel as if I’ve wasted valuable writing time, which isn’t something I get very often.

But when I’m “writing, not writing” in my head, I can redo the scene a hundred times over, trying every permutation of action and dialogue, perfecting every little detail—and I’m not wasting time. Well, okay, so maybe I waste a little time. But it is totally worth it.

I’d like to say something really important—especially to all the writers who get crazy busy: it’s okay if you don’t write every day.

Let me say that again.

It’s okay if you don’t write every day.

Do a little “writing, not writing” instead. It’s still productive, and it still exercises those creative muscles. You can do it anytime, anywhere. Even while you’re fixing a holiday meal. (Just be careful not to burn anything.)

Tell us your favorite way/place to do “writing, not writing” in the comments!

Writer Cocktail

by
Charlotte Firbank-King

Writers are a cocktail of madness. We’re psychotic, bent on killing those we love with as much impunity as those we hate. We wallow in death, misery, and general mayhem. Couple that with being pathological liars and master manipulators, then top it off with a dash of perpetual fried-brain and, oh, did I mention that we also have scant regard for laws and rules—of the English language or of social etiquette, that is. We fabricate words and foist them on unsuspecting readers who can’t even refer to a dictionary or Google to find out what the words mean. So that also makes us narcissistic deceivers. But we really don’t care as long as what we write is believable—and even that isn’t a given—we don’t care if it isn’t believable, because we will turn the reader into a believer.

Writers are a lone species of Homo sapiens. Okay, maybe we aren’t actually human.

Alice was an amateur when it comes to disappearing down rabbit holes. We probably shouldn’t marry and should definitely be neutered. The truth is, there’s no room in a writer’s life for anything except the characters we live through vicariously. But we gird our loins and periodically return to real-life like a meteorite hitting Earth. Our family will re-introduce themselves as we try not to call them by our characters’ names or warn them of some impending disaster that’s about to ruin their lives—note to self—that’s your daughter, idiot, not the character.

When we’re on a roll, we writers have this odd habit of ignoring dress code. We leap out of bed with ideas fermenting in our deranged, but very fertile brains, and head for the laptop or pen and paper. The only thing we may do en route is switch on the coffee machine. Five hours later, we’re surrounded by books, along with empty and full coffee cups ranging from cold to hot, and we’re still in our pajamas. We happily beat away on the PC, birthing new characters or killing off others in the most inventive ways. We transport ourselves to a thousand years back or a thousand years ahead. We go to countries and planets never heard of—we live in the realm of the impossible made possible through words. Sigh. What a divine place we live in.

Writers will discuss their characters as if they are real, and to us, they very much are. A conversation between writers could go like this:

Writer 1: “I don’t know what to do about Joe. He wants to head the narc operation, but he’s not ready and he’s too weak.”

Writer 2 understands completely and gives a sage nod: “I agree, he’s spineless. Kill him off.”

Writer 1 runs fingers distractedly through tousled hair and bites lip: “He wasn’t supposed to be a wimp—he’s the damn hero.”

Writer 2 sighs: “I know. It’s a pain in the arse when they won’t behave. My Mary was supposed to be the wilting damsel in distress, and now the slag is taking control. I might have to shoot her. I tried to get Mark to do it, but he’s not cooperating because the stupid sod thinks he’s in love with her.”

If non-writers happen to overhear this rather bizarre conversation, they may think they’ve landed in some sort of twilight zone. And they have—that’s where writers live.

Writers have long since learned to ignore certain responses to questions people ask. Usually starting with, “What do you do?”

“I write.”

“Wow, I’ve never met a writer.” Their brow furrows as they process the information. “Is that a real job?”

“Eh? It isn’t a job!”

“Oh.” Eyebrows rise. “Then how do you make a living?”

“What? Damn, dude, that question is so not relevant.”

Confusion reigns. “Not relevant?”

The person will get a long, direct look as we size them up—how will they fit into the next novel? That one predatory look usually has them backing off nervously, especially when you mutter that they would be a good fit for the villain you need to kill off in the next book. Some people don’t back down, but rush in and tell us about their lives or a friend’s life. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

People need to understand that writers don’t operate in the same realm as say, a stockbroker, but we sure can write about one.

If one unobtrusively observes a writer, one may see them making faces or speaking to themselves in odd voices. Even getting themselves into weird physical positions. Writers are known for doing crazy things like crawling into a snake pit just to see how it feels—maybe that’s a little extreme, but they may sit at the bottom of a pool to see what it’s like to drown. Writers will certainly cut themselves to see what blood tastes or smells like. All experiments are toward one end—instilling realism into a story.

If you find a person watching you intently at an airport, shopping mall, or any public place, it may not be a psychotic stalker—not that there’s much difference—but it’s probably a writer, especially if he is making notes on any available scrap of paper. Cause a scene and make his day.

Writers will buy books worth hundreds of dollars for one paragraph of information. The books will probably sit on a shelf for the rest of the writer’s life. We don’t part with books—ever, especially reference books. You’d have to kill us first.

The moral of this convoluted discourse is: don’t become a writer if you value your sanity.

Sharing Homemade Bread

by Rhonda white  











Reprinted with permission from:
SHARING HOMEMADE BREAD

Today is bread day.
A few weeks ago, I succumbed to an urge that had been rising within me for a few months, and that was to make bread. Not just any bread, not bread from a boxed mix, and nothing that could be whipped up in a few minutes’ time, dumped into a bread machine, and popped out in a squarish loaf resembling an Amazon.com cardboard package. I wanted to make homemade sourdough bread; the kind that takes at least a week to prepare, the kind that must be fed and nurtured and allowed to rest, the kind created from—and by—living, breathing beings.

I should tell you that I killed my first starter.
There are certain, unbreakable, scientific laws that come with making homemade sourdough bread, and as ominous as that sounds, they’re actually quite simple to follow. That is, as long as you remember one of the most important rules, that being that you must stir your starter with a wooden spoon. Any contact with metal spoons (nickel, silver, aluminum, etc.) can introduce molecules that will kill the living microorganisms of yeasty sourdough starter. When feeding my sourdough starter the first time, you guessed it; I grabbed a metal spoon. Two days later, instead of the sweetly sour fragrance given off by healthy sourdough starter, mine reeked of rotting garbage, and the bubbles that occasionally rose to the surface had ceased. My starter had stopped breathing and died.
I’ve taken more care since then, and today as I stirred sugar, salt, oil, and flour into my starter and began kneading the dough, I thought of stories and of writing. Why is it that one creative act feeds another? I may never know the answer, but I’m always grateful for the inspirational nourishment. As I worked the dough, I recalled scripture from the King James Version of the Holy Bible: “And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst” (John 6:35). 

I then thought of even older writings, one from the ancient Anglo-Saxon story of Beowulf, in which the bakers charge a share of grain to make and bake bread in communal ovens for the entire community. I was further inspired to look up a couple of quotes that I remembered from other poems and stories, wondering why these snippets have stuck with me for so long, choosing today to bubble to the surface:
“A Book of Verses underneath the Bough
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread–and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!” –The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, 5th Ed.

And from more recent works:
“They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.” –Raymond Carver, from “A Small, Good Thing”
“The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life.” –Suzanne Collins, from The Hunger Games

You probably recall many other examples of bread used symbolically in literature. Why is it that writers often mention bread in their stories—aside from the obvious, that their characters must eat? Bread does more than simply feed the hungry protagonist; it serves as metaphor for deeper issues and hidden secrets in a story. Bread is sometimes used to represent life and health, or the lack thereof (as in stale bread, or moldy bread); it is used to represent plenty, as in the Biblical story of the loaves and fishes; it’s sometimes symbolic of comfort, family, and unity, as in To Kill a Mockingbird; and, in Hansel and Gretel, breadcrumbs are used to mark the way back home. It’s this last metaphor that I chose to use in my current work in progress, tentatively titled Romie & Jasper’s Big Empty:

“I stand on the back deck of the house, overlooking the acres and acres of grapevines, and I feel small, as if I’ve shrunk. I wonder if it’s true, if I have become smaller each time I’ve moved, if I left behind a broken-off piece of myself, like a trail of breadcrumbs, so I can someday find my way back to whatever place might be home.”
As I kneaded my bread this morning, it occurred to me how much making homemade sourdough bread is akin to writing. We put in the basic ingredients—our nouns and verbs and punctuation—and we let them rest. Days later, we return to the mixture, feed it with fresh words, stir them around, and let them breathe. After more respite, we keep a carefully measured portion, toss out what isn’t needed, and we add something sweet, something salty, and we work out the lumps and bubbles, ensuring that when we are done, it will rise and nourish all who taste it.
My sourdough recipe makes three loaves: one for today, one for later in the week, and one to share with friends. Sharing homemade bread—and memories and stories—with friends is my favorite part of the artistic process: it is the giving of one’s creativity, of one’s effort, of oneself, however noble or humble that gift may be.

“And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.” Luke 22:19 (KJV)
© 2015. Rhonda Browning White. All Rights Reserved.
This has been reposted with permission from Rhonda’s blog, http://rhondabrowningwhite.com/2015/07/29/sharing-homemade-bread/

Write Every Day–Are You Kidding Me?

by
Rhonda Browning White

We’re now fully immersed in the hectic, er, joyous and peaceful, holiday season: Hanukkah, Winter Solstice, Yule, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Kwanzaa, Watch Night, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day . . . and the list goes on. We have shopping to complete, presents to wrap, trees to decorate, cookies to bake, parties to attend, dinners to host, football games to watch, and stories to write. What! Do you mean we’re supposed to find time to write over the holidays? Have you lost your mind?

That’s what I think each time I see a Facebook post, a blog entry, or a web article admonishing me to “Write Every Day!” Perhaps these reminders are popping up with increasing frequency in advance of the New Year’s Resolution craze. Or perhaps they’re showing up more often to drive me insane. Either way, I’m not falling for it. 

You see, over my twelve-year career as a ghostwriter, professional editor, and author, I’ve kept a giant secret, but I’m now going to share it with you: I don’t write every day. Sometimes I go two or three days without writing. Sometimes I go a full week without penning more than a simple grocery list (which I usually leave at home, only to discover it’s missing when I reach the dairy aisle—is it heavy cream or half-and-half I need for that recipe?), and, believe it or not, my writing never suffers from the break.

In fact, it often improves. 

How is this possible? For starters, you should know that I don’t believe in writer’s block. (I call it “writer’s laziness.”) Writing is a form of mental exercise, and, just like physical exercise, overdoing it can cause problems. The mind, like the body, needs time to rest and recharge. The best ways to recharge the writer’s brain are to read or to do something creative other than writing. Reading a great story—you can squeeze in a short story before bedtime, while sitting in the doc’s office, or waiting at the airport even on the most hectic days—or a writing craft book never fails to refill my writer’s well of ideas. Another prolific author shared with me that baking helps her put together scenes or chapters she’s struggling to work out in her mind. A poet friend paints gorgeous artwork between writing poems. Yet another author—a bestselling, award-winning author—told me he does some of his best writing while staring out the window or sitting on his porch for hours at a time, without touching a writing implement for days. 

Downtime is necessary for some writers to regenerate the creative part of the mind, and never is downtime more necessary for me than during the holidays. I’ll admit to you, though, that when I’m not in front of my keyboard or notepad, I’m often still writing. The idea for this blog entry came to me today when rushing through the grocery store. And while watching a little girl in red tights, a green sweatshirt and a motorcycle helmet stand with her hands on her hips while her father pushed a stalled Harley through a store parking lot, I came up with a great idea for a story scene. Were my hands on the keyboard? Nope. Did I have a pen in hand? Nada. Was I writing? Yes, I was. 

Tonight, when the house is quiet and the Christmas tree’s winking lights are reflecting on the wall outside my bedroom door, I’ll pick up the fabulous book of short stories I’m reading this week, and I’ll refill the writer’s well within my mind with strings of words that sparkle brighter than any light on my tree. And when the holidays are over, and my world has reached some measure of calm, I’ll again sit at my desk, and I’ll write.

NaNoWriMo

by
Stacy Tritt

It’s that time of year again. The scent of pumpkin spice and cinnamon apples permeate the air, the first frost of the season killed my chrysanthemums for good last night, daylight savings time changing gave me one more precious hour of sleep, and, most importantly, it’s noshavenovember National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)! So grab your keyboards, it’s time to hunch over our laptops with some hot apple cider and quit finding excuses to not write!

Okay, so maybe you aren’t so gung-ho about dedicating yourself to writing 50,000 words before the end of the month. Well, that doesn’t mean you’re a complete party pooper. There are still ways to get inspired, get motivated, and get encouragement from fellow writers without having to participate in NaNoWriMo, at least on the surface. Because this blog is all about using the resources from NaNoWriMo to your advantage, whether you are actively trying to write a new 50,000 word novel in one month, or not.

There are so many wonderful resources the NaNoWriMo organization offers to the writing community. Here’s my take on the best they have to offer:

When you sign up for NaNoWriMo, you select which region you’re from, so no matter if you are in Paw Paw, West Virginia or in New York, New York, you can find some writers nearby with whom you can network, and with whom you can exchange encouragement. The best part about these local groups? Write-ins! I can’t explain how wonderful it is to sit around a table at the local library or coffee shop with a bunch of strangers while you all type away—different worlds being created behind each screen. The creative energy that flows forth at such a gathering is something I have never experienced in any other setting. Write-ins can have many different nuances depending on who plans it, and who attends. Fun caveats are often added, like everyone puts a dollar on the table, and the first person to write 500 words gets the money, or everyone is banned from getting up from the table until everyone has written 300 words. These types of activities not only encourage you to get more words on paper, but they encourage you to utilize the writers around you, and allow them to utilize you. By encouraging and supporting each other, we all become better, more effective, and efficient writers.

NaNoWriMo offers various other inspirational resources. The NaNoWriMo organization gets professional writers from all over the country to send out encouraging messages to the participants of NaNoWriMo each week, as well as sending out new ideas on how to refresh your drive to write. If that isn’t enough, there are virtual write-ins for those in areas where there are fewer writers, or for those who are afraid of meeting strangers in coffee shops to participate in write-ins.

Word sprints are also great tools NaNoWriMo participants use to get words on paper, because, let’s face it, without getting the words out on paper, it is impossible to ever edit it up to be a best-seller. Word sprints can be done individually, or in groups in person or online. The idea of a word sprint is to write a set number of words in a designated period of time. Only have a half hour to write today? Make that half hour count by challenging yourself to write 500 words in that time. Seem crazy, impossible maybe? Try it. You’ll be surprised at how quickly you can prove yourself wrong.

Some of you are probably wondering why these resources can’t be used by writers who don’t write long prose, or during months when everyone isn’t jumping on a writing marathon bandwagon. Here’s the best part: they can be! These resources can be personalized to any writer. If you’re a songwriter, great! Go sit around a table at a coffee shop with a bunch of other writers, and get the words to a new song down on paper before you leave. When January rolls around and you get snowed in, utilize writing sprints to get entire scenes written between hot cocoa breaks. The important thing is to forge friendships with fellow local writers now so that you can plan write-ins throughout the year. It is important to learn new techniques, to take advantage of new (and free!) writing opportunities, and, most importantly, to get yourself started on a regimen where you make time to write. NaNoWriMo isn’t just a trend, it is a resource for all writers, one which you should take advantage of while it’s available.

So, once you’re done reading this blog, head on over to NaNoWriMo.org, start meeting new writers, start learning new techniques, open up that fresh, new word document, and start writing! Your novel is waiting.

Constructing a Story Part 1: Frankenstein

by
Charlotte Firbank-King

Like any journey one undertakes, planning is needed. Writing a book is no different. It’s a journey, a long one that will have you excited, frustrated and, at times, exhausted. Most writers have a story budding in their heads. If you’re like me, the stories rattling around in your brain can drive you nuts. I often just write these ideas and relegate them to a file where they may never see the light of day. Others won’t go away and I’m compelled to start. 

See your story as a body.

You are God in the story. You say which characters do what, how they look, how they act, what they love or hate, you control them all—not. Believe me, characters love to take control.

Back to the story. 

First you have a skeleton or even just a partial skeleton. Once you start writing, other ideas grow, then we add some of the organs, veins and arteries. At last we create a heart and brain, then cover it in skin. Well pleased with our efforts, we step back and decide it’s time for the first edit. However, some writers are so confident they decide it’s great as it is—well, maybe one quick edit—and then rush it off to a publisher they just know awaits their brilliant novel. 

You’re confident this is a bestseller. You pop the champagne and relax while you wait for the letter telling you that you are the world’s next great author. You’ve even spent the millions that will roll in. And what about the movie rights? Have to pick a suitable big star for the leading roll. Actually, throw in a few big names. Life is good while you think of a sequel.

Shock and horror, a rejection letter. 

Now you’re in denial. They’re nuts! Right? No problem, another publisher will recognize your brilliance. A hundred rejections later you realize they can’t all be wrong. Maybe an editor will tell you what the answer is—the publishers all tell you to get an editor. 

Not entirely flattened, you send it to some editors. They each send a quote and blow your socks off—what? The editors tell you there are plot flaws—actually the plot is horrific, non-existent—the story doesn’t flow—then you’re telling instead of showing—your characters lack soul—your story has no heart and there are too many back flashes—there’s not enough atmosphere or you aren’t grounding the reader—the grammar sucks—too many adjectives and adverbs—the list is endless. Now you definitely feel demoralized and demolished—brutalized, actually.

Read the story through the eyes of the publisher and editor—read it aloud.

Oh, my God, you have a Frankenstein! The brain is where the bowels should be, the heart is lurking in the anus—the eyes are misplaced and the mouth dominates the face. The nose is in the back of the head, and the feet are where the hands should be, in fact, a hand is missing. The bladder is gone, along with the stomach. Even you can see this thing is a horror story.

What went wrong?

You didn’t plan your body before you started creating it! Then you didn’t edit, edit, edit and edit more. The less you edit the higher the editor’s quote.

I don’t say you mustn’t just jump in and write like demon, but at least be aware that there will be problems, and your first body (draft) will need a major operation.

The first draft always sucks. Give yourself a break, a couple of weeks to lick your wounds, then dust yourself off and jump in.

Take on board every criticism you get—don’t listen too closely to family and friends unless they’re hard-core editors that love you enough to be honest. 

Next week’s blog will be on how to construct the “body.”

Tying Up Loose Ends

by Jessica Nelson
I woke up the other morning with an irresistible urge to watch Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. So I did.
 

I’m sitting there on the couch, singing along blissfully to one of my favorite animated movies, when I reach this scene. If you are a marketer then you can also read about 3d animation as it is a cost effective method.Well, do you need 3d rendering for your next project? hop over here.

Look familiar? If you can’t place it, it’s from the beginning of the song “Great Wide Somewhere,” right after Gaston proposes marriage to Belle.
I get to this scene, and the most seemingly random thought strikes me that I haven’t been able to shake ever since.
What ever happened to those farm animals?
Who took care of them while Belle was with the Beast, and Maurice was lost in the woods? When Belle and her father moved into the castle, did they sell the farm or bring their goats and chickens with them?
Like I said, seemingly random and probably unimportant—unless you’re a writer. Those animals are a loose end, an unresolved conflict. An astute reader—or in this case, viewer—will get to the end of the book and wonder about all those loose ends.
In writing, every word, every event, every character—even nameless farm animals—must somehow move the story forward. In this scene, are the animals necessary? They give Belle an audience for her lyrical ranting, but other than that, they serve no purpose—and they create a loose end.
We tend to add things to scenes to dress them up. Things that, at the time, make sense. However, we need to be careful we’re not accidentally adding a subplot that we have no intention of coming back to. When everything is said and done, and our precious paper-baby is all ready to go out into the world, we need to re-read every scene and make sure that everything in it serves a purpose and every conflict introduced is resolved.
Did you write a spy novel in which your character had to steal top-secret files for the CIA, then was chased all over the world before he finally realized he wanted nothing more than a quiet family life with the Arabian beauty who helped him allude the Russians out to kill him? Great! I’d love to read it. But one question: what happened to the files? Did he ever turn them in to his supervisor?
Did you open your paranormal romance with a girl walking home from a birthday celebration at a nightclub with her best friends before she was attacked by vampires? Again, I’d love to read it. But what about the best friends? Do they ever call her? Stop by her place to make sure she’s okay? Call the police when a week passes and no one has seen hide nor hair of her? If they don’t do any of those things, 1.) they are poor excuses for best friends, and 2.) they are a loose end.
If you’re feeling tangled up in loose ends, an editor is a wonderful ally to help you get untangled and tie your loose ends in perfect little bows.
 
 
Beauty and the Beast is an original Disney film. All characters from the movie belong to Disney. The image used was taken from Google Images.

Journaling to Promote Healing (Part 1)

by Jessica Murphy
“An untold story is an unexamined experience;
without the telling, its significance is diminished or lost” (Downs 303)
          It sounds contradictory, but it’s true: Writing about disturbing experiences can promote well-being by helping us do the following:
  • develop the ability to identify, understand, and express our emotions and those of others
  • strengthen our critical thinking, self-assessment, and writing skills
  • cultivate a sense of control over and find meaning in our lives
  • reduce stress, negative emotions, and illness.Beverly Hills rehab center can also help you out to get rid off anxiety, depression and  to maintain mental health.
  • boost confidence and encourage empathy in other
          Guy Allen calls this “the healing power of writing,” the way it allows writers to confront, understand, and overcome unresolved psychological and emotional damage (84). Not everyone agrees; Andrew Holleran criticizes the practice as only forcing writers “to relive [their] anxiety and depression” (qtd. in Nye 387). Some research does suggest that writing about emotional experiences may not benefit some individuals; one study conducted in Israel among PTSD patients found that participants who wrote about their experiences worsened compared to the control participants, an effect attributed to the “absence of cognitive and/or coping skills training” (Pennebaker 16).
          But the benefits seem to far outweigh the risks. This practice helps us develop “emotional intelligence,” the ability to identify, understand, and express emotions in ourselves and others. We become more capable of overcoming emotional inhibition, the inability or unwillingness to acknowledge our emotions. Not only does emotional inhibition cause stress and increase the probability of illness (Nye 395), but it also isolates us by creating a disconnect in communication and understanding (Pennebaker 14-5). But by writing about these experiences, we can process them, freeing up our attention to focus on more important aspects of our lives.
          Addressing these disturbing experiences is important because they affect not only our emotional health but our mental and physical health as well. A study published in the journal Nature shows that when we undergo intense emotional experiences, we release stress hormones that enhance our memory of the experience for “survival value” in case the same experience reoccurs (qtd. in MacCurdy 164). This explains why emotional events can haunt us for years. Grief, for example, can cause guilt, anger, loneliness, feelings of abandonment, and vulnerability, all of which can disrupt the stability of our daily life, including our sleeping and eating patterns. As a result, we invest energy into maintaining a sense of control, which causes fatigue when combined with disrupted sleep patterns (Bosticco and Thompson 256).
          If unresolved, negative emotions can damage our long-term health; individuals who do not resolve feelings of helplessness can develop “learned helplessness” in which they assume they cannot change situations. In these cases, unresolved trauma can lead to anxiety and depression (Bosticco and Thompson 268).You can also try out 30 day rehab to get rid off anxiety and depression.
          Writing about an unresolved emotional experience serves two purposes:
  1.  It encourages us to analyze our experiences and choose how we react to them.
  2. It improves both our writing and critical thinking skills by requiring us to remember, analyze, and synthesize information into a clear, coherent narrative.
           Organizing an experience into a simplified narrative allows us to recognize patterns in our thought processes, behaviors, and overall identity. In his essay “Writing about Suicide,” Jeffrey Berman describes a course in which he asked students to write anonymous diary entries so the students could express themselves in a safe environment. One student found that his entries gave him “a basic awareness of how [his] mind operates” (qtd. in Berman 302). Complex events require more effort to examine and organize because they affect multiple aspects of our life; being left by a lover can affect our relationships, finances, self-perceived identity, and daily routines (Pennebaker 11).
          The writing process can also help us recover or strengthen our sense of identity. In her essay “‘The More I Tell My Story’: Writing as Healing in an HIV/AIDS Community,” Emily Nye describes working with members of a writing group at an AIDS center to analyze how writing about their disease affected them (386). Most stories included a “turning point” in which writers identified or created meanings in their lives. One member found that fulfilling his lifelong wish to become a DJ made him realize he still had the opportunity to achieve long-term goals, which boosted his self-esteem. Another member met a woman who stayed with him despite his diagnosis, which showed him that society still valued and supported him (Nye 403). By describing and analyzing their experiences with AIDS, the group members identified new meanings that gave their lives a sense of purpose.
          Once we examine an experience’s effects on us, we can gain control over our thoughts and behavior by choosing how to react to the experience. Part of the distress caused by unresolved emotional experiences comes not only from the events themselves but also from the individual’s emotional reactions to them (Pennebaker 8). In the previous example, writing about their disease gave the patients a sense of control over “the drastic interruption of a life of meaning and purpose by an illness that often seems arbitrary, cruel, and senseless” (Hawkins 224).
           In another experiment, participants were randomly assigned to either an experimental group or a control group and told to write for fifteen minutes a day for four days. Members of the experimental group were told to write their “deepest thoughts and feelings” about the most traumatic experience of their lives and encouraged to connect their topics to their relationships with family members, lovers, and friends; to their past, present, or future; or to who they were, who they wanted to be, or who they were at the time (qtd. in Pennebaker 4). This encouraged the participants to reflect upon how those experiences influenced their thoughts and behavior.
         Most participants considered the experience “extremely valuable and meaningful,” and 98 percent of the experimental participants said that “if given the choice, they would participate in the study again” (Pennebaker 4). In addition, students who often submitted weak academic essays wrote coherent, grammatically correct essays about their personal experiences, which may suggest that writing about personal topics provides an additional incentive to engage ourselves in our writing and improve our skills. Further, the experimental group’s participants’ visits to the university health center fell “drastically” compared to the control participants (Pennebaker 5).
           Other studies from around the world link this writing practice to improved overall health, including improved immune function, reduced pain and medication use among arthritis sufferers, improvements in asthmatics’ lung function, and lower levels of depression in students taking exams. These benefits span across a variety of professions, classes, and racial/ethnic groups (Pennebaker 5, 16). Writing about disturbing experiences did upset participants for several hours after writing, but they reported feeling “as happy as or happier than” control participants two weeks after the study (Pennebaker 6). In another study, hostile and suspicious individuals benefited more than individuals who lacked these traits (Pennebaker 6).
          Writing benefits us specifically because it requires cognitive processing. If the benefit stemmed from self-expression, then other forms of self-expression should produce the same benefits. Yet research suggests that only forms of self-expression that require cognitive processing produce benefits; neither using expressive movement nor exercising showed the “significant improvements in physical health and grade point average” as did the same activity combined with writing (Pennebaker 8).
          The cognitive processing that writing requires also produces literary benefits, such as strengthening our creative and reflective writing skills. Descriptive language, for example, overlaps with therapy: using specific sensory images requires the writer to remember details from their experience and thus bring the experience more fully into their consciousness (MacCurdy 167). The students who wrote diary entries wrote more than they expected, and their writing tended to be “insightful and eloquent” (Berman 310).
          Writing also enhances our ability to connect to literature and real-life contexts. Analyzing and discussing their experiences with suicide made Berman’s students less likely to romanticize suicide in literature than students in other classes, and one student wrote that the context of the diary entries and class discussions made his reading assignments seem “so much more real” and that he felt closer to Virginia Woolf than he had felt before taking the course ((Berman 300, 309).
          Writing about emotional experiences helps us understand and resolve disturbing experiences, but sharing our work with others benefits us, too, by boosting confidence and encouraging empathy in both ourselves and our audience. Hearing how other people react to emotional experiences gives the audience the confidence to risk writing about more personal experiences. For instance, when Berman read the anonymous diary entries aloud, the students showed an interest in and identified with the entries, developing collaborative trust or “distanced intimacy” (Berman 294). One student wrote that hearing his classmates’ stories makes him feel as though he were vicariously experiencing the events. As a result, whenever he sees his classmates, he feels concern for them even though he does not know which entry was theirs (Berman 303). Also, seeing his classmates’ interest in his entry made him feel much less ambivalent about attending class; the same connection might be said about the connection between depression, isolation, and suicide (Berman 302).
Writing about disturbing experiences can give us a greater sense of control and help us move from passive suffering to active healing (qtd. in Nye 411). By reflecting upon our thoughts, emotions, and behavior, we can change how we react to events and gain a better sense of control over our lives. As D.H. Lawrence said, “one sheds one[’s] sicknesses in books—repeats and presents again one[’s] emotions to be master of them” (qtd. in Berman 291).
For the Works Cited information, please refer to the comments.