Inspired

            I just watched the movie The Help. I realize I’m a bit late to the party, but now that I’ve finally seen the movie so many have ranted and raved about, I can’t help but to do the same myself. The film was fantastic. It was emotional, inspiring, tear-jerking, and just wonderfully put together. Obviously, it portrayed a magnificent message, and was a must see for many, but I feel as though I took a slightly different turn toward the end of the film than most.

            Considering the character Eugenia (Skeeter) was a writer, I bonded with her from the start. When I saw that she was against the racism that was all around her, I bonded even closer to her. Falling for cinema’s sympathy trap, I fell more and more into the part of the audience this movie was intended for when she said she didn’t get many dates. But, while The Help spoke to me greatly about racism (and I would like to go shout on the streets about equality), I also felt a more personal message from this film.

            With how closely I bonded with the character of Skeeter, I did put myself in her place (proof of fantastic writing for the movie). Because of this bond, when Skeeter’s mother sat her down to tell her that she couldn’t be more proud of her daughter than when she got her (controversial) book published, I felt tears in my eyes. At that moment, I began to realize how badly we as humans want others to be proud of us. We have this unbelievable desire to have our actions justified by somebody, and that feeling of accomplishment is twice as good when the justice comes from someone we care about.

            That is why I will reach my goal of getting published. I will write and write until the day I die, because I will become a legend through text. I will, one way or another, make somebody, somewhere, proud. I will inspire that person to do great things, so that they can make someone in their life proud, and the cycle will continue, beginning with a dream to become a legend.

            (Yes, yes, I realize this comes off rather narcissistic, but if I don’t keep telling myself this sort of thing it will never happen! Wish me luck, everyone!) 

Determination

Obvious by the time stamp delay between this update and the last, I haven't been terribly true to my passion. Since winter break began, I've been relishing in the relaxation (which I do not regret) and have begun to feel guilty about neglecting my stories. I've dabbled here and there with thoughts of what political issues caused the war in my story, Elite, but I haven't done any actual formal writing.

Meanwhile, I watched the movie 500 Days of Summer for the first time today. Toward the end, once Tom regains control of his life, he writes a list of architecture companies he wants to work for on a blackboard in his home. As he applies to each company, he crosses them off of the list. That scene inspired me.

I plan to find ten publishers that I would like to send my story to, polish up a sample for them, and send it. If nothing comes of it, fine, but I'm sick of saying "I want to be an author". It's about time I grow a set and become an author.

Wish me luck.

A trip down memory lane...

The other day, I bumped into an old professor of mine in the college cafeteria. Back in the spring of 2010 I took a creative writing class at the local community college. It was a ten week term, so long stories were out of the question. Using this to his advantage, my professor had us attempt to master the craft of the microfiction. Microfiction is a sub-category of flash fiction which is even shorter. How short? Generally around 750 words. But for our class it was 350. 

350 words. Less than half a page on a Microsoft Word document. A full story: beginning, middle, and end. I think I've made it rather obvious that I was not happy about that 350 word cap. I thought it was absolutely ludicrous. 

But, I'd been dying for a creative writing class, and I couldn't let my GPA suffer, so I tried. I agonized for weeks to come up with a plot. But the word cap kept me beating my head against a wall of writer's block. So, not quite willing to admit defeat, I decided to take a break and do some reading. I hoped that following the words of a favorite author might inspire something. Thankfully, my ploy worked. As I was in the midst of Orson Scott Card's Shadow of the Hegemon, an idea hit me. I immediately saved my page and darted to my computer before the story left my head. Within a few short minutes, the full story, under 350 words, was written. I rejoiced in my triumph, sent the story off to a friend for a quick proofread, and printed it out. The next week I turned the story in on Monday, and was very surprised to hear it was one of five pieces to be read aloud to the class for critiques the following Wednesday. 

My professor made sure that all of the stories read were anonymous so that critiques could be more honest. So I got to hear the class discuss my story. I got to hear advice from my peers, things they liked, things they disliked. I heard different opinions and perspectives. It was the most inspirational thing I've ever heard as a writer. 

That class not only taught me to make sure every word in a story counts, but it also gave me some of the best feedback on my writing I've ever gotten. So, even though the conversation was short, I was happy to bump into my professor.

And, because I was talking about it, here's the first micro-fiction I ever wrote: 

His Gift to Her

            After work, Susie dropped by the department store to pick up a few gifts for her husband. This was not common for the middle aged woman, but the two had had quite an argument the night before, and only one of them seemed interested in putting in the effort to keep the relationship strong. Taking in a deep breath, she browsed through the store until she found just the right gift for her man, something that would leave him shocked; something he would just die for.

            Smiling at her success, she kept her lover’s gift at her side and continued to browse through the store, only stopping once to stock up on some household cleaners that she knew she would need.

Walking out to her car with only two shopping bags in hand, Susie opened the driver’s door of her beat up sedan, tossed the bags onto the passenger seat, revved the engine, and headed home in a hurry.

            Once she arrived at her house, a cute little suburban home, she grabbed the bags from her passenger seat and briskly headed for the front door.

            Inside, she dropped the bag of cleaners on the table and carefully carried her husband’s gift into the guest room where she opened all of the packaging and prepared the gift for her beloved.

            When the gift was finally ready, Susie walked out of the guest room, crossed the hall, and quietly made her way into their bedroom. There, she saw her husband hanging by a noose, a fallen chair beneath his toes.

            For a moment, she stared at him, unable to believe that her husband had hanged himself. Then, when she came to terms with what had happened, she gave a hearty laugh, straightened up the chair, and stood on top of it. Smiling seductively, she gave her husband one last kiss on the lips as she carefully pressed the gift against his temple. Then, she whispered in a voice almost too soft to be heard, “Thanks for saving me the bullet.”

It Begins

 

August 22, 1987, The Legend of Zelda was released in the states. It was the dawn of console video games, and my mother fell in love with a Hylian boy on a quest to save the princess. Four years later, she bore a baby girl. She often pulled all-nighters with the baby, playing Zelda to pass the time. When the new consoles and the new games were released, she bought them. As her daughter grew, she began to play them too.

Since before I could talk, I've been pressing buttons on controllers, guiding Link to his death, and sometimes helping him to save princess Zelda. All my life, I've known the story of the Seven Wise Men, the Seven Maidens, the Seven Sages, the three Goddesses, and the Triforce. All of my life, I've been immersed with stories spinning around in my brain of a hero struggling (play the original games, you'll understand) to save a princess. I've fantasized of being the princess, I've spun the games in different directions, and I never felt limited by the confines of reality.

Growing in such an environment has made me who I am today: a writer. 

I have been crafting stories as far back as I can remember. I was always going on 'adventures' in the back yard as a child, placing myself in the fantasy worlds of my favorite cartoons and movies, and telling myself stories to ease my mind into the dream state at night. Those habits have followed me to this day. Always with my head in the clouds, I take the stereotype of Pisces to a new level. But, interestingly enough, I've never actually done anything with the stories swimming through my imagination.

That ends today. 

This blog will showcase my journey from a hobbyist to a professional.