Have you written your synopsis yet?


writers trash can

I think that when I finished my book I knew that I just had the bare bones. A writer friend of mine edited a few of my pages and then another writer friend did the same, but I didn’t want to waste their time, and I knew that I’d be changing things, several times before I’d consider it worthy to be read as “finished.” Or at least that is what I told myself as I only gave them a few pages at a time. I think that it is scary for most writers… because when you finally offer it up as a completed, you are putting yourself out there for the real critiques. You are now saying… I think it is good enough, not… this is still a work in progress. You imagine that raised eye brow reader thinking…”REALLY??? She seriously is done?”

And right now, I know I’m not. I am not even hiding behind the pretense of really thinking that I have told the whole story and now am just editing the grammar. I know that the whole story is not really there yet. It’s getting there but it still is not there.

reading on the floor

Someone recently asked me if I’d written a synopsis of my story. An outline so to speak of my intentions. What I’m trying to convey. Why I even felt the need to tell my story. I think that when I penned the first word several years ago and now, sit here today, a lot has changed in the way of technology and social media, in just the last decade. And so my story continues to evolve, even sitting on the metaphoric back shelf.

However, I do believe that if I am ever going to seriously put this one to bed I need to sit here and write this.

Though this book is presented as fiction, 90% of it really happened. The other 10% was just necessary fluffing and primping. But as I introduce the main character… Keri, she is my vessel that carries me through this project.

woman typing on bes

My goal from the start has been to make others aware of abusive relationships and the blur that keeps us asking… Why did she stay so long? Why doesn’t she just leave? In my story it is important to understand the chronological emotional pull that draws each of us in. All in very different scenarios. And yet to hopefully have even if just one person see themselves in the pages I have written. To maybe have an AHA moment and save themselves.

For anyone interested… I will continue my journey through these pages. “My little work in progress” so to speak. But I have learned that in the world of blogs… if you write 800+ words, you begin to lose your audience… and I do want feedback along the way. So for now I will  just say… To be continued. But I will come back and finish this. I promise.you-are-a-writer

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“The Writing Room”


It was quiet. The morning’s summer sun flooded the staircase as the woman slowly walked up the steps leading to the attic. Imagining the room before she opened the door, she felt happy. She was finally going to start this project that she thought was only in her dreams. She finally set aside time and was determined to begin to make her dream of having a serious place to write come true. In her dreams she saw it all so clearly… The heavy old well oiled desk filled with lots of drawers and dents and hidden compartments that sat in front of the beautiful bay window overlooking the tree tops, as the little brook below sparkled as it jumped over the stones in the creek-bed below. The birds chirped and flew among the branches, dipping down from time to time to splash in the little brook to get a drink.

The floor was refinished with rustic old barn wood and the wall to wall shelves were filled with books. Of all genres, classics, and every other book about writing that you might imagine. The comfy over stuffed leather swivel chair sat in front of the desk. Her laptop, sat open and waiting for her as a fireplace consumed the other side of the room with an overstuffed window seat and throw placed just so.

Her imagination danced as she opened the door. She immediately was met with the musty scent of memories. It wasn’t a bad smell, kind of like when you take a whiff of a very old book, it is hard to explain just how great of a smell that truly is. Eyes still sparkling, she left the door ajar and surveyed her task at hand, only to be met with the reality of what really was behind the door… She did not see her beautiful writing room waiting for her to pen her first novel, instead she was met with boxes and boxes and more boxes, and stacks and stacks of books and old trunks all filled with things her family had accumulated throughout the years. Some marked with  names of her children, others of her and her husband. Some had names written across the tops or sides of them, of what was supposedly inside.

She looked at the place where her daughter had started helping her several years ago when she first shared her idea of making the attic a study to use for writing. Everyone was extremely helpful at first, promising to help clear out their own boxes. But now, several years later, nothing had been cleared out. It did look as if her daughter might have made an attempt at one time, and now it looked like a story standing still, as if her young daughter had been abruptly called away to go live her life. She smiled as she looked at a place where she once started to organize things. One pile might have been a “keep” pile and another, a “throw away” or” give away” pile, she was not sure.

Everyone was happily living their lives, consumed by their own busy schedules which truly made her happy. She side stepped the piles of teddy bears and books and kneeled down to unlatch a trunk among all the others. Not sure what she would find. The woman lifted the lid that she’d written her name on a lifetime ago. She dusted her palm across her name, as she read “Keri” in curvy round cursive that she almost remembered writing all those years ago. All at once, she was transported back into another time as if finding a time capsule. She lifted old loose photographs, and shifted a stack of yearbooks from every year on the floor beside her. She was just ready to thumb through the first one when something caught her eye. It was a box inside the trunk with packing tape securing each end. In big black marker letters it read PRIVATE with warnings of not to open, scrawled in her own youthful handwriting.

She sat with the box in her hands. So unlike the girl, who had packed that box away decades ago. She thoughtfully frowned and then slowly reached for some scissors and snipped through the aged tape easily. Inside, she discovered what she might describe simply as history. On top of everything she found her diary, still locked shut, but how silly, a key hung from the lock. She laughed quietly as she remembered always faithfully locking it and then hiding it with the key still attached.

She took the key and unlatched the little lock. As soon as she saw the familiar handwriting she felt a sadness as she remembered writing and the feelings of love and heartbreak and confusion that consumed her during that time of her life. The time when writing helped her survive, and it inspired her to go through the boxes and finally give herself that place to write, a place to tell her story.

Like A BAD Haircut


blog make over
I thought my blog needed a little makeover. So I wandered on over to the Admin side of things and giving myself much more technical credit than I  actually deserved, I proceeded to click on “theme” and color swatches. And when I clicked on  “View” it was like looking in a mirror after a bad hair cut. Reality check. “Hey girl, you DON’T know what you are doing!” And I had to go to work reeeally early yesterday! (WHY do I always do things when I don’t have time to do them?)  So I sucked it up and closed my page and jumped into the shower hoping for the first time since I’ve had my blog, that I’d have no visitors. 

gate

A special friend is someone who looks past your broken down gate and                                                   still admires your garden!

But I really do love my readers because even though it looked like a big fat mess, (you know the kind when you are moving around your room  and you are stuck in the middle of a bunch of furniture kind of mess?) A few still managed to muddle through, leaving sweet comments without ever mentioning the state of my blog which looked like a very BAD make-over by someone who had no idea what she was doing!

salon cartoon

So back to the proverbial Salon I went to try to fix things. And still not sure I like it. But I think it is a little easier to read than my last look. Sometimes you just need a change. I’ve always admired the techie people. I find it kind of hot when someone remotely hops on your screen from somewhere completely different and works on the likes of the little mess I’ve gotten myself into. Showing up on my computer screen and wahlah! It is fixed. (So amazing!) But we all have our limitations and I know mine. So weird that my dad was one of the first computer dudes out there and I am his off-spring. But oh well. We all have our talents.

Whatever my limitations, I needed a change!!! Like when you want a new look so you get a hair cut, or change a room around kind of thing. My blog needed a little dusting off. So I took the scissors and gave it a haircut and moved some things around.

hair cut

Just wanted to warn you guys if you came looking for me and it looked as if I moved. Still here, just with a new look.  What do you think? I am still trying to get used to it. But like hair that always will grow back, WordPress has the option to return to the old look if you guys liked that one better. Also beware, I may keep trying new looks.  Poor Linda! (my hair stylist) Knows that about me after over a decade of working on me and sweetly following my lead and going along with stuff I ask her to do even when she knows that eventually I will want to return back! After all these years you’d think that  I’d learned my lesson by now. (At least with my hair!)

make over cartoon

Why do we write?


I just watched a video of a Chiropractor healing a young man who was bent over for a very long time. In less than a month of treatments, he stood tall as he walked out the door with plans of becoming a Chiropractor, himself. It was so inspirational, it almost made me want to become one!

http://www.newslinq.com/back-pain-kyphosis/

In a way, I think that we write to heal.

Most of us who are writers, remember when we knew we “had to” write. Like those who sing or dance, paint or act. It is so hard to explain. Right? Even when we don’t do what we are supposed to do, we still really are who we are. Does that make any sense at all?!  If a dancer stops dancing, she is still a dancer. I know that as an artist, I am still an artist. I could still draw a new illustration for one of my greeting cards or make a doll and at times I miss the art shows and the long nights getting ready for the next one, or packing up my car to head for a holiday show, But from the begining, I really feel that if I had to choose, I was always meant to be a writer.

During my art show years, I wrote poems for my cards, I could probably publish a few volumes of what I’ve written. I’m talking hundreds. Some not great, some not so bad. But writing here at WordPress, the last few years has really made me want to write more. Though I go through spells. Really dry spells. Recently writing my story, really did me in. Going back in time, affected me more than I knew. Literally, mood changing, and it was hard for me to snap out of it. But it was also very healing. I know I have a message for women. If just one sees herself in my story and takes back her power, it will be worth it.

writer frustrated

I have realized that I need to go back and adjust parts, tear out others and be more brutally honest. I am glad that somewhere inside myself, I knew that it wasn’t good enough. Fictionally introduced to spare those that might not want “their” story told, I intend to pull out some of those muscles that have become mushy and push on, like an old dancer, who knows that they have not danced their last dance, and still have a few more great performances left.

ballerina sitting on floor

The age old question.  Does everyone have something? Why do some live their whole lives without ever sharing it or letting us know their gift? Why do those of us “have to” do what we do? And why do we sometimes stop? I think it is exhausting at times. To share daily, is like going to the gym, you have to be dedicated.

It is more about exercising our words. It heals us as we write. More often, I have been going back into my archives and having my own AHA moment when I need it the most. Pricking my own soul with a message I wrote years ago. And realize that I really am writing for myself. Trying to reach my center, not really being the expert for anyone else but me.

library shelves

Blogging is a funny thing.  There will be the handful that LIKE this before I can even re-read it myself. The ones who support you just to be nice… And then I have my two or three dozen very loyal readers, who really read because that is what they do. (I love you guys!) And then there are the writers who I have bonded with who read pretty regularly, even if I have been missing for a while, every so often, if I don’t write, I get comments from people reading random old posts of mine, which is amazingly inspiring. And then there are the writers, that support you as you support them. If you don’t work it, you lose them. Like anything, ya gotta work it to stay in shape! Lets just say, like my wedding diet (mother of the bride in June) I am back! Well, I am trying!

ballet

 

This New Version Of Me


rainey window and butterfly

I think that as we grow, no matter what our age, we learn to embrace who we are in a less selfish way. For several decades of my life, I needed everyone else’s approval. And as I look out the window today, I kind of feel like the seasons. A couple of weeks into the “time change” it seems as if the weather has taken a kind of dramatic turn. From sweltering hot to now, checking whether to bring an umbrella or not and layering clothes.

As I sit here before jumping in the shower I look out my window, as fog greets me. Funny how a certain time of day, and type of weather can just snap you back to times of long ago. And so I sit here, enjoying the view, feeling warm and safe and embracing the moment. Such is life. We struggle all of our lives to be our authentic selves and sometimes things change inside of us as quickly as the seasons. While some epiphanies take a little longer, it is life changing when it happens. How I wish it wouldn’t have taken so long. To feel comfortable in my own skin.

I am beginning to like who I am becoming, to see that there is no need to constantly seek out other’s opinions for my life, nor to judge others so much. To talk to a friend or coworker rather than about them, if need be. For after all, we tend to gossip to make ourselves feel better about ourselves. You know? Slowly, I’ve made a committment to stop the negativity. It’s been a long time coming and yet, I’ve grown to realize that the person constantly puffing themselves up in regard to their own accomplishments, transparently feels inadequate in some way, the coworker that is short with you one day, may feel under the weather or have had bad news but still had to come to work to pay the bills. The one gossiping about someone, has the need to bring information to you because they feel they have nothing else to offer. And I’ve realized that I’ve been a version of each of those people throughout my life. While really trying to get to know where someone else has come from. What they have endured in their lives, what might be going on now and to stop judging so much! It really feels great to finally feel as if I am beginning to understand me and who I want to be. I kind of feel like Dorothy when Glinda told her: “You’ve always had the power my dear you just had to learn it for yourself.”

red slippers

Below is a post* that I wrote a few years ago. It was the beginning of my AHA moment and this new version of me. Someone recently LIKED it and it made me go back and reread it and realize how life changing things happening in our lives, may seem like a valley but how eventually God takes us up to the mountain top again. Just you wait and see!

*>>>    https://dianereedwiter.wordpress.com/2013/03/18/getting-over-it/