My Bleeding Heart

To say I’m a sensitive person is an understatement. My heart aches for those that go through challenging moments in their life. I dress myself in their clothes and walk along their journey. Last night tears ran away from me over a trailer of P.S. I Love You. I have a bleeding heart.

My favorite video on youtube is the romantic montage for “when you say nothing at all” by Allison Krauss. It’s our song, my bf and I, and the movies are put together in such beautiful unison that it never gets old. We decided to start watching some of the films in the video. After going through three different ones that blockbuster didn’t carry, we finally found that they had Becoming Jane on their shelves.

Becoming Jane is the true story of Jane Austen, author of Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and several others. I should have known better. I should have studied up on my literary history. I didn’t and because of that, my heart has been broken for the past three days. I’m slowly easing out of my dark hole, but I feel the stutters begin to rise in my chest when I think of Jane and Mr. Lefroy. How their love was severed by letters. How his daughter was named after her.

I detest endings that are not happy. I abhor endings that are sad.

I break apart when it’s based in reality.

From the time Jane runs away I was cradling myself and biting my knee, hoping that something tragic, like Thomas dying, wasn’t going to happen. And then to imagine if Jane’s admirer had never sent that letter, or if Jane hadn’t read the letter Mr. Lefroy received from his sibling, they would have been together and happy. They would have lived their life in love.

What happened breaks my heart. Yes I cried…hard. Like a little baby.I put myself in Jane’s shoes. I put on Mr. Lefroy’s hat. I was them and I felt their pain. Non-fictional tragedy that rang the chords of my heart with violence.

To say I’m a sensitive person is an understatement.

A Picture is worth 500 words

I gazed up at the brick building with the massive wooden door that loomed before me. An orange and black polka dotted butterfly danced around my ankles before disappearing into the sun kissed trees. I looked towards the campus and was thrilled for the new start, all the while a fish flopped in my heart. There was just one problem. It was 1957 and I was in my mother’s body.

 

 

Curious about what this is about? Find out here.

Stepping Away from My Pride

Love more. Hate less.

Why not? It should be so simple to act in kindness through love, rather than maliciously rant about those that annoy you. Loving is not so easy. Forgiving is even harder.

Love is the most important commandment in the Bible. Any thing we do, should be out of love. In the words of For King and Country (who my mom adores right now) -

“If I give to a needy soul
But don’t have love then who is poor
It seems all the poverty
Is found in me”

Sure I can hand you a 20 dollar bill, but what is my reason? Do I do it to win your heart? Do I do it to look good in the eyes of onlookers? If I give out of compassion, because I truly care what happens to you and I know that twenty will help, I am giving for the right reason…I am giving out of love.

I gain nothing if I do not love. I become an empty soul, lost in a world full of hate.

Love is not just a romantic relationship between two people, though the world considers it so. If love were as common among us as violence and sex, there would be fewer fights, fewer wraths of anger, and less heartache. Marriages would last. Friendships would test time. Family wouldn’t be some mythical fantasy.

I am called to a life filled with love. We all are.

The next time I feel my temperature rising, I need to stop and remember that because of love, everything wrong I ever did and ever will do is forgotten.

It’s time to L♥VE

Joplin Anniversary

May 22 marks the day Joplin, Missouri was hit by the EF-5 tornado. People lost their homes, their belongings, friends, family, and hope. Today that hope is being renewed as families are given new homes via the Samaritan Purse.  Read more about it here

 

Freaky Friday: Read an Excerpt

So I’m going to try something new. It scares me, but I feel like it might be a nice addition to the blog. Every now and again I will post a little excerpt from my work in progress. You guys can comment, criticize, love on me, whatever floats your boat. This way you can experience my writing and maybe I can suck you into my novel. Hehe.

Let me remind you, this is raw. I’ve run through it a few times and edited a little, but it’s still raw ( for your f.y.i.)

Without Further Ado

 “I don’t mean to be rude, but do I know you?” I felt a strange feeling creep up inside me. She cleared her throat and  with warm fingers, squeezed my hand. For years, it felt like I waited for the answer, but no amount of time could prepare me for what she would say.

     “I’m your mother.”

     The door to the room swung open with a clearly audible swoosh of air. As thick soles pressed towards me, I realized her hand was gone.

     “Eri,” it was the doctor again, “Is…everything alright?” I turned my head to the voice, but didn’t answer. I couldn’t speak. A small tear rolled down my cheek when I nodded my head, clearly contradicting myself.

     “Well, it looks like you’re free to go. I wish I had more answers, I’m sorry. I-”

     “Can I have a moment please,” I finally pushed the words out of my mouth, “So I can speak to my…mom” the word cracked in my throat like glass that’s been pressed to hard.

     “Your mom?” he asked with a hint of confusion in his voice, while papers fluttered beneath his fingers “Your records show she didn’t recover from breast cancer.” My heart pounded to heavy metal inside my chest. Tears built up and my breath evaporated.

     “But…the wom-an…she…” I didn’t know how to say it, surely she could speak up for herself.

     “What woman?” he questioned, stepping closer, closing me in. I couldn’t breathe. There was no oxygen in the room. I tried to grasp control, but I couldn’t. My world was turning upside down. And it was happening faster than cells could split.

Organizing Your Manuscript

I was writing today and I came upon a point in my MS where my protagonist refers to an earlier point in the plot. So to double check what happened, I scrolled up through the chapters and came to a stuttering halt when I found myself looking at two blank pages. The whole end of one of my chapters was gone. vanished. poof. Just like that.

I was sure I hadn’t saved it anywhere else. This was my only copy. It was at that point that I realized how fatal of an error I made. For a reason only God knows, I hadn’t backed up my files or properly organized my manuscript. while I’m aggravated to have to rewrite the end of that chapter again, I’m also glad it happened. It was only one little end. It wasn’t a whole chapter or the whole MS. And because that happened, I can prepare myself for any disaster that may strike itself again.

As my dad constantly tells me Expect the Unexpected. or as Burt Gummer (from Tremors) says “When you need it, and don’t have it…you sing a different tune.”

 I’m going to give you some tips on organizing your manuscript. Something I should have done a lot sooner.

1. set up a folder that is dedicated to everything involving your manuscripts/writing. Then set up a folder inside that folder with the name of your manuscript on it.create any folders you think you might need in regards to that manuscript such as one for ideas that randomly pop into your head, but you don’t want to work them into your MS until later.

2. When you start your story, every time you end a chapter, you end a document. save that document as the chapter number and save it inside your MS folder. Open up a new document for the next chapter. If you have already started your MS as a whole document and are onto the 11th chapter or so, take the time to separate each chapter into their own documents.

this makes it easier for editing, finding various things, and splicing and mixing anything later on.

3. don’t put all your eggs in one basket. It’s a cliche’ for a reason. save it on your hard-drive, your flash-drive/CD, and a source you can reach from online. Hotmail has a set up for you to save files under your account. This way you can still work on your MS from Bangladesh given internet and the fact that you don’t have your laptop or flash-drive on you.

These are a few tips I’ve learned through trial and error. What are somethings you learned that helped you organize your manuscript? Did any of my tips help you? let me know in the comments.

Why I Write

I know that some writers have been writing their whole lives. Some writers have always known that they wanted to be a writer. I’m going to tell you straight up that I am not one of those writers.

Agreed, I always had a knack for writing. Language Arts was always my subject. Yet, I wanted to be a dancer, an actress, a hair dresser, an optometrist, a golfer, and others. Writing was a career that was right in front of me, yet I, for the longest time, didn’t realize it.

I remember reading about a girl who owned a typewriter. I secretly wanted one of my own….at the time I didn’t really know what exactly I would type with it – I just really wanted one.

As a hobby I began writing books. Problem was, I couldn’t finish them…no, I couldn’t get through the first chapter! It grew on me. I don’t remember exactly what it was that really pushed me to make writing a career, but somewhere in between freshman and sophomore year, something clicked and I haven’t stopped writing since.

I write not for the fame…definitely not for the fame. It would be nice to make a really good amount of money, but in all, that is not why I write. I write because it’s a passion, because I have a story to tell, and because my stories are for those like me, those who need an escape from this chaotic world we live in. A helping hand; a loving one. I write for my readers. Because a story can inspire, because one story can change a thousand lives. That is why I write.

A simple poem

 

I’m not 100% sure if this qualifies as a poem or rather a collection of thoughts, but nevertheless here’s the post I’ve been meaning to put up for over a week.

 

Deep inside me, something burns.

Of what it is I can not recognize

Days of joy and days of painful misery

mesh together

creating

a chaotic frenzy

confusing me

 

 

It won’t let me breathe but a sharp intake

the bones it breaks

crush my heart

Of what I want to be

And of who I really am

They are not the same.

When I find myself despising my very being

despising my own birth

I am reminded once again

of all my blessings

Of love and laughter

of joy.

 

 

It is an endless cycle I cannot escape

I’m not sure I want to

 

 

Forever I will long,

  desperately long

for HOME

Tips for Writer Wannabes

My first book was a dud. I had done zilch in the terms of research by any means. I simply sat down at my computer, opened up words and let my fingers do the walkin’.

It was through my next story that I immersed myself in numerous publishing books, writing articles, and youtube how to’s.

What I know now, I wish I was aware of three years ago. Oh the time I would have saved. I have decided to let you glimpse into the very beginning of my journey.

 

I have been a big fan of youtube for a while now. If my internet is running smooth, this video site is my basic go to. Once I had my second book completed -or partially completed- I started searching for other young success in the hopes that it was possible for someone still in their teens to get published.

my search was “teen author”. The first video was an interview for Erin Litke and her book “Crystal Shards”. It proved interesting, but did nothing more than give me a little twig of hope. The next video was “Grace Hatton-teen author-guide to publishing” It was a series of videos. My idea of getting published changed dramatically. I learned about cover letters, query letters, proposals,literary agents, and more of which refuses to come to my mind at this current time of day.

I strongly recommend browsing around her youtube channel. In her three video series she recommends a few books. I checked them out at my local library and started reading. I was soon interested in agents and looked up some more videos on the topic. I can’t remember the vlogger who spoke about this, but it was through her that I found agentquery.com which is a site full of tons of different literary agencies.

I soon discovered agentqueryconnect.com. This is a source for other writers to band together and help each other out…or just hang out and better their writing skills.

 

My best advice I can give is find a critique buddy. You may think your writing is superb, but having another writer (whom you don’t know personally) to take their time and find your typos, weak sentence structure, character underdevelopment, plot holes and more will seriously save you a ton of heart ache. Remember, you should be willing to go halfway and do the same for the other person…if they want it.

My first critique partner was Juls Duncan. She opened my eyes and helped me become the writer I couldn’t have achieved on my own. She was already with an agent at the time, but needed some fresh eyes on her project. I didn’t know as much as her, but I did what I could to help. What amazed me was her gracious concern in aiding me step by step.

When you find someone to partner up with, make sure you two connect. You will be spending a lot of time discussing each others manuscript (a.k.a. your baby).

Another tip – learn the lingo. take the time or you will be lost. Worse even, you might accidentally make yourself sound ridiculous to a potential agent. Unlikely, but it’s safer to be on the same level. Besides, it’s pretty cool to talk like you know what you’re saying (ehem, like you’re intellectual) amongst unknowing family and friends.

read. read books, read blogs, watch videos. though there are more helpful things that lay in the context of writing. Writers write…so there is more helpful info in their natural language.

Try not to stress yourself out, and please be susceptible to others criticism. 99.8% of the time they are really just trying to help you out.

Good Luck Wannabes

 

 

 

Beauty in Your Weakness

“Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.” 2 Corinthians 12: 9 NLT

 

I know that I can stand in front of my elongated mirror and find numerous things that I don’t like.  Dry hair, short legs, cellulite, one calf is twice as big as the other. Does Pizza face say enough? Yet as I continued looking at myself I began to notice something peculiar. If you stand in a particular position in front of the mirror at just the right height, it will make the difference between looking like an odd anime character or like the evil antagonist on the PBS show “Cyber Chase”. I figured out that my mirror was warped, and that it wasn’t made right. Or that time had brought about the distortions. I had been looking at myself under false notions.

I had been seeing myself in a morphed and molded way that was not true. I couldn’t see the beauty because I was blinded by the lies. Media is our mirror; it does that exact same thing. We see things that will never be enough, but Jesus sees the truth, and he works through those things, through the pain, and through the bad to highlight His goodness.

Let me give you another example.

 

There was a young lady whose name was Sophia. She had one dream and one passion – to dance. With every song she imagined twirling, leaping, and moving in such a way she could only ever wish to succeed in accomplishing. She was enrolled in dance class at five years old after being mesmerized by the Ballet. Throughout her years she tried every form of dance she could grasp onto. For her, dance was more than some movement across the floor, it thrived in her soul and the music bounded up her every cell until she could no longer contain her body.

     It was a normal spring day when Sophia and her dad were driving back home from her Jazz and Tap lesson. No rain, no fog, nothing but beautiful sun in the country side. Beside from being frustrated over the height of her barrel turns, Sophia was pretty happy. Until the car was flipping over into the cornfield; gratitude of whoever it was that didn’t stop at that stop sign back there.

     Sophia and her dad miraculously survived the crash, but Sophia, whose side was hit, lost both her memory and all her motor skills, along with her ability to walk or even dance again. Her right leg was broken in three different places and she had a very low possibility of coming out of the coma. Her whole church and family prayed, but each day became more hopeless than the last. It seemed like at the last minute, somehow, her progress turned around and Sophia woke up. But she had to learn everything all over again as if she had just been born. The chance of her gaining her full or even partial memory back was fewer than if she tried to win the lotto. Yet, each day she did a little better, accomplished a little more. A little over a year and she was able to return home with crutches.

     Still her memory would not come and she had to put faith in the fact that these people were who they said they were. A month at home and Sophia decided to try walking without the aid of her crutches. The attempt was short won and she fell after three shuffles. Grasping onto the nearest thing, Sophia managed not to hit the floor or hurt herself any worse than she already was. But the sound that came after she hit the stereo nearly scared her right onto the floor.

     Sophia couldn’t explain the feeling that crept inside of her. She couldn’t tell anyone what made her do what she did. She couldn’t form the names of what each move was. She couldn’t even describe what song was playing or what form of dance she was accomplishing. When asked how she was dancing by her wide, teary-eyed mother, Sophia simply said “I wasn’t, a man named Jesus was” I can only wonder what the mother did after that.

Jesus became Sophia’s crutches. He held her and moved her, and she had faith that he wouldn’t drop her. Because of Jesus, Sophia was able to dance like she used to, and through her weakness, God’s greatness was magnified.