Thursday 28 July 2016

Juggling life while trying to write

Word Count: 33,875
Day: Sunny and Freezing
Mood: Not too shabby

A problem that I seem to notice a lot of novice writers and big names seem to share is the ability, or the art, of being able to juggle normal civilian life and being a writer. We can't do it all. But I think it all boils down to a few points I'm going to skim over. 


  • Time management- Being a mother, I know something about time management. Something. Not a lot. This is a writing blog not a mummy blog. But all the same, we do have to learn how to manage our time. I have spoken before about setting aside time for our writing and sticking with it. This is so important. Think about the routine you already have in place. There is no need to try to shift things around if you already have a routine. And then think about where in that routine could you fit in your writing. It might be the hour when you put your child down for a nap or your lunch break at work or after you finish your homework or - in my case - I decided about 4 years ago that sleep was for the dead and started waking myself up 3 hours early than absolutely necessary. 
  • Priorities- This works in with time management. I prioritised writing over sleeping in till 8am. You might watch TV before bed or sit on social media while eating breakfast or something of the like. You have to think about the things you do and pick something that is less important than the nagging story in your head. When you find it, throw that thing away and insert writing time in its place. You'll never look back.
  • Habit- try to make it the same for every day. This way it will become a habit and soon you will feel weird or off if you missed out on your precious writing time.
This past week has been tricky. I have had builder appointments for our house (no, they haven't even started rebuilding the bloody thing yet #sigh It is still a burnt out little shell...) My son sliced his foot open, work was busy last week, I've had book covers to make... gaah. It's been busy. I missed a couple of days here and there and my weekly word count is not what I would like it to be, but I have still got something done. 

We, as a human race, tend to be way too hard on ourselves. We get down on ourselves if we don't live up to our own or (worse yet) someone else's expectations. 

Life happens sometimes and there is nothing we can do about it. The point is that we pick ourselves back up, we open that computer or notebook and keep on going. 

Sometimes we have excuses and sometimes we make them. Not having time is one of those made up excuses, I feel. I have missed out on my morning writing time before so I have made up for it by writing on my phone while on the loo. #truestory 

I have a friend with 3 children under 4 and a chronic illness, and even she finds time to write!

Juggle your life just make sure that one of those balls is for writing.

Hugs xxx


Thursday 14 July 2016

First Chapter - Dead Bunnies Make All Eight Of Me Cry

Chapter 1. All eight of me.

It was Uncle David who first decided to take me to therapy.
I’ve been to heaps of shrinks, tried so many different treatments and medications in my thirty-six years. Some work for a while, pushing the shadows aside for a time. But they always come back.
The drugs are just like sticking a band aid over the wound of a severed limb. The ones that do ‘work,’ leave me numb. I can’t function. I can’t hold a conversation or a job or a memory. I’m a tree without leaves in the autumn – I’m alive, but not.
‘I’m taking you to see a really nice lady, okay Suzie Q?’ Uncle David said to me as he took me by the hand.
I was seven.
By that time, I had been caught sleepwalking or been brought home by Jason (the young fella whose yard Violet seemed to prefer) so many times. It affected my aunt and uncle so badly that sometimes no one in the house slept but me.
He kept smiling at me the entire drive to the kiddie shrink. But his eyes weren’t smiling. Even as a small child I could see his worry. I took out my little black feather and stroked it against my face.
The doctor’s office was fake cheerful. It had partitions of kid’s paintings and cute little murals on the walls, a corner with used toys for us to play with and bright yellow curtains with happy little clowns performing all over them. But I could see through it. Under all the bright colours, it was just like the foster home. Sterile and shadowy.
Uncle David walked in to the office with me. I held onto his hand. I didn’t want him to go, but something in me just knew that the doctor was going to say that he had to.
The doctor stood at the door, holding it open for us as we passed through. She was very tall for a woman, taller than my uncle and wiry. Her office smelled like cleaning products and stale jellybeans. She had several bean bags in a corner and a bookshelf full of colourful figurines. They were all different shapes and sizes. There was music playing in the background, I recognised the nursery rhyme Baa Baa Black Sheep.
‘Hello, Mr O’Brien, my name is Dr Kerry Sonson.’ The doctor held out her hand to shake my uncle’s. He took it and she shook his hand with vigour, placing her other hand over the top of his. ‘And this must be little Suzie,’ she said, knelling down to me. ‘You can call me Kerry, okay?’
She stood back up and said quietly to my uncle, ‘It’s … necessary for the guardian to leave the room in my treatments. I apologise if this is not suitable for you, but … it’s the way I work.’
Uncle David nodded and smiled weakly. He bent down to me. He looked into my eyes, like he was searching for something. ‘I’ll just be out here, okay Suzie Q?’ He held my hand tightly.
Dr Kerry bent down too. ‘I have some toys over here that I want to show you. Would you like to come have a look?’ She held out her hand to me.
I turned away from her and flung myself into my uncle’s arms. He laughed nervously.
‘It’s okay, Suzie Q. I’ll just be on the other side of that door. I promise I’m not leaving you. Okay?’ He started to pry me off his body. Pushing me away from him hesitantly. The doctor took me gently by the hand and began to lead me towards the big bookshelf full of toys and I watched as my uncle stood up and exited the room, never taking his eyes off me.
I looked up at the seemingly giant bookcase. Figurines filling every shelf, all set out and evenly spaced. ‘Suzie, I would like you to pick out some toys to play with? Pick as many as you want. If you can’t reach one that you want, just tell me and I will get it down for you,’ said the doctor.
I picked out several toys, mostly from the top three shelves that I couldn’t reach. Dr Kerry showed me over to a sandbox that was on the opposite side of her room. She climbed into the sand, first flicking off her modest heels and placing her stockinged toes in the white sand.
‘Take off your shoes and come in, Suzie,’ she said holding a hand out to me. I looked at the sandpit. My mum had never let me go in them. She had always told me they were dirty.
I slipped off my shoes. I looked at the doctor’s outstretched hand and took it, stepping into the sand with the caution of someone stepping into a pit of fire.
‘Do you not like the sand, Suzie?’ the doctor asked.
‘Mum always told me that sandpits are dirty. She said cats … poop in them,’ I said, whispering the last bit.
The doctor laughed a kind, light-hearted chuckle. ‘I can promise you that no cats have pooped in this sandpit,’ she said.
I sat down in the sand and dumped all my toys onto its surface. ‘What do you want to play?’ I asked.
‘I want you to play whatever you want to play,’ she said.
I looked down at my choices and started to play. Making the toys interact with one another.
After a while, the doctor spoke. ‘Who’s this, under here?’ she said, pointing to a toy buried under the sand.
‘My mum,’ I said and continued to play.
‘And who are these three?’ she asked, pointing to some toys that sat atop a castle I had made.
‘Em and Aunt Miriam and Uncle David,’ I said, not straying from my play.
‘And these guys over here?’ she asked, pointing to a circle of toys.
‘That’s me,’ I said.
‘Okay, and this one?’ she singled out one of the toys in the circle.
‘That one’s me too,’ I said.
‘I thought you said that this one was you?’ she asked, pointing to the first.
‘They’re all me,’ I said.
I had begun sleep walking when I was six years old.
I still remember the first time they found me. I sat in a chair in the Police station, with no memory of what had happened previously, swinging my legs above the ground and clutching my pillow. There was a young man standing in front of me talking to an officer. The officer nodded seriously and wrote everything down. The young man had found me and brought me there.
I heard the slip slap of thongs on running feet. ‘Suzie!’ Uncle David had yelled.
I looked up to see him running towards me, dodging the rows of seats in the police waiting room. ‘Uncle David!’ I had never been so happy to see him in my entire life. I jumped off the chair and ran to him, hugging his legs.
The young man and the police officer looked at Uncle David with surprise and both walked over to him. The policeman was the first to talk. ‘Is this your niece?’
‘Yes, we woke up this morning and she was just gone.’ He bent down to me and looked me over. At this point I got scared. What if he was angry with me? ‘Are you okay? Where did you go?’
I started to cry and just hugged him again. I didn’t want him to be mad with me. And I honestly didn’t know where I had gone.
The young man stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘She was asleep in my front yard this morning. My name’s Jason, by the way,’ he said, holding out his hand for Uncle David to shake. Uncle David looked at him suspiciously, but said nothing, shaking his hand anyway. ‘I woke her up to see where she had come from and at first she seemed fine. She told me her name was Violet and she had stopped to sleep under my tree, told me that she liked the funny mushrooms that were growing under it.’
Uncle David looked at me, waiting for an explanation.
‘I asked her if she had touched or eaten the mushrooms,’ Jason said, turning to the policeman. ‘Because they’re those poisonous red ones with the white spots, and she went strange, kinda off in her own world. Then she started freaking out, not knowing where she was or how she got there. Told me her name was Suzie Hugo. So I brought her here, I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Where are the girl’s parents, Mr..?’ asked the policeman.
‘David O’Brien,’ he said as he picked me up. He turned me away from the officer and whispered. ‘I’m her guardian. Her mother’s dead. Come on, Suzie, let’s get you home.’
Uncle David walked out of the station and put me in the car. He watched me in the rear-view mirror as we drove around looking for Aunt Miriam and Emily. I stared out the window and said nothing. Later that day he bought a chain to fit to the front door.

Read the rest of Dead Bunnies. Also available for free on Wattpad
Please remember to feed an author, give a review!

Sorry for the lazy blog,
Hugs 
AMC xxx

Wednesday 6 July 2016

Writer's Block

Hello void that is the internet!

Today I would like to discuss writer's block. I have been suffering from this a lot lately which sucks because I used to be able to conquer this dreaded beast so easily. I am not just writing this post for you guys out there in the void, but also for me, to remind me of the things I used to do to help me get over it and move on!

Tips for making writer's block your bitch.


  1. Keep writing. I know. I'm a dick saying this one. But this
    seems to be the best way to kick writer's block in the nuts. So the gist of this is to just write anyway. Forget about what is worrying you (thoughts of not being good enough, the fight you just had with your significant other, not knowing exactly where your story is going, etc) and just write. Write anything. Because you know what? Your computer has a delete key and a backspace key. And you can use them. This is the thing that mostly gets me going. Because no one has to see what you have written if you don't like it the next day. 
  2. Read a book. Or even listen to a book. Zoning out into another person's world can often just help you to relax enough to stop worrying and keep that writing train chugging. Also it can spark ideas, keep you motivated (I want to be the next Stephen King! you say to yourself as you read his words.) and, let's face it, most of us write because we love books. We don't want reality. Reality is for shmucks. Get out of your head for a while and go relax.
  3. Plot. I hate fucking plotting. But it has really helped me when I get stuck so I make myself do it. It is harder to get stuck in a hole if you can see the entire road stretched out before you.
  4. Have a shower. Not because you stink (well maybe you do, depends how long your writing slump has been going for) but because "shower thinking" is a real thing. Research shows that when doing any monotonous task your prefrontal cortex relaxes and puts your brain into autopilot. This clears the pathways for new, creative ideas. This is the same for exercising.
  5. Exercise. Now I don't mean that you should go join a gym (you can if you want but don't say I told you to) but if you can go
    for a walk or do some yoga, something to get the blood moving, those endorphins going then that can be really beneficially to your writing. In the warmer months I would work out right before or right after writing time. Also, it is a good way to justify snacking while typing!
  6. Have a coffee. because reasons.
  7. Take a nap. see above.
  8. Google images. This is a weird one, but hear me out. Sometimes I like to see what I am writing, which can be difficult to find. But I go on Google images and I find pics that represent
    something in my story. I also set these pics as my wallpapers so I can sit and stare at them and get ideas.
  9. Use online plot generators. These can be helpful if you have zero ideas. but try to use them wisely. Remember that other people have also used the same things, so try to twist them a little. You can also do Brainstorming which I might discuss again in another blog.
  10. Change stories. Sometimes a story hasn't fully revealed itself to you. Sometimes if you go away from it for a while and come back to it later you can see it with fresh eyes. Go write a short story or some poetry or start a new novel. The work isn't going anywhere. So take a break.


Treat yourselves kindly. Writer's block can suck hairy donkey balls, but just remember that it is only temporary. It will come back to you. The more you stress about it the worse it will get. 

hugs 
AMC xxx