Tag: words

feelings

fountain of inspiration?

abby mumford

i’ve reached a point where i think it’s time to address a long running fear of mine. i think we’re ready for that, oh dear blog reader. so, this fear of mine? it’s a fear of no new inspiration on what to write next.

my current WIP has a character that deals with things i understand explicitly. those things might be irrational, but she feels them and i feel them and as a result, writing this was a bit like therapy. the thought of starting a new piece with new characters completely unrelated to me is startling and confusing. i feel like i’ve been plopped down in a foreign country and i’m the only one who speaks English.

it seems like people are always talking about this dream they had that triggered that massive selling book, or even a mildly selling book. i have a lot of dreams, but none of them are publishing worthy. i wonder if it’s because i dream in the first person. i dream about situations i am in. and yet, so far, everything i’ve written has been in the third person. perhaps. just perhaps, i’ve been looking at my dreams from the wrong angle.

all i know is that i had a dream, a horrifying dream, last night that involved lava and cages and me and children i was responsible for and no way out. is this the sign of the apocalypse? or that i’ve spent too much time following Eyjafjallajokul on Twitter? or could this be a scene from my next novel? or could this be, plain and simple, just a dream?

dream or not. first person or not. you see, i have a hard time getting to know my characters. it seems unfair to pluck one character trait out of my imagination and force it onto someone. yet, that’s kind of what (i feel like) i have to do because (so far) i’ve never been one who “has the characters speak to me”. it’s never like i’m “channeling the story that the character had to tell”. i have to think and process and plot every sentence that i write, whether it’s dialogue, narrative, or something in between.

maybe it’s a sign i need more work as a writer. maybe it’s a sign i’m a one and done-r. maybe it’s a sign my fountain of inspiration is drying up. or, it might be that my map leading me to the next well is outdated and the path has grown over with weeds. since i’m dehydrated and without a weed wacker, it makes sense i’d feel a bit timid.

(ok, terrified.)

how come words can flow out of one person, while numbers can inspire another? how come i seem to be nowhere on that bell curve, that graph, that chart? how can i claw my way there? better yet, how can i find a new muse?

feelings

read me

abby mumford

in a fit of procrastination, i turn to the interwebs. and boy, oh boy did it respond. i’ve had no less than 3 “holy cow you MUST read this NOW” moments. between me, myself, my blog, and twitter.

this post articulates a fear i refused to acknowledge because as soon as i would hear it whispering, i’d shhhh it right quick. because it was too soon. because it was too silly. a fear, any fear doesn’t have to be rational, but it should be acknowledged and discussed because otherwise how would you move past it? fear as motivation. that doesn’t sound scary, does it?

this post sounds familiar. except add 4 years. subtract one PhD program. minus the cooking abilities. and remove the scientific brain.

(michael buble’s “i just haven’t met you yet” came on pandora just now. yes, yes, i know. patience is a virtue. on many levels.)

this post hit me over the head, knocked me down, and then kicked me. in a good way. i am, by nature, a private person. it’s deceiving because i will truthfully and completely answer any question asked of me, but when answering, i’m in control of what i say. and usually what i leave out is what i’m writing about. i keep it close because i’m a perfectionist and i don’t want anyone reading it until it’s perfect. and added to that,  i am superstitious (ish) so i won’t talk it until it’s ready to be read. vicious cycle, no?

i have made a few concessions, but that’s only been to people within the industry because they “know”. they “understand”. hannah makes the point that it’s the people who aren’t in the know that are most valuable because they will champion YOU instead of each contract point or print run quantity or release date or how fast you signed with an agent or if your book went to auction. which is true. oh so true. thanks for walloping me with that truth.

general

excerpt mania

abby mumford

“Babel Fish is a free language translation software. It’s also the reason why REAL translators will never lose their jobs.” So says Stephanie Perkins as she ran her an excerpt of her manuscript through the translator before posting it on her site. Hilarity ensues.

I decided to do the same. No, there aren’t legions of fans clamoring for a copy of my book.  There aren’t even editors or agents who are doing that (yet, I hope). But I am finalizing and polishing and getting excited about where my WIP is, so I wanted to share it. Although, I rarely talk about my book in anything other than the most vague terms, so what’s a girl to do that wants to thank her readers and share a bit of her writing at the same time? Run it through Babel Fish.

Without further ado, here is a snippet as translated from English to Portuguese and back again.

The heart of Riley jumps a stroke or four. The eyes expand and its drops of the mouth. It has a girl that she seats two feet far from it approximately; more it is spread well of what sitting down. Its members are spread wide with each foot and hand indic, making its look as one starfish.

Riley swallows an shout and the blinks ràpida to certify itself of are waked up and that this is real.

Its heart is compensating now for the time where it lost a moment has – it is beating so fast, it knows certainly that it is waked up and this is real. Of “where you lode? Who you are”

The blond hair of the girl is torsional and tangling as its main turns, looking at ambo same it and its arredors. Its blue eyes are taking above by the half of its face, but of the Riley certain if that one it is not its normal appearance or if that one is what its face makes on behalf of shock and of the surprise. It has something strange on the way that the girl looks at, but Riley cannot completely appear it for is. It decides that it must be the shock of a so uncommon arrival that is making its doubt its eyesight of 20/20.

“Who you are” Riley opens and closes its mouth to certify itself that it is working. “Where fêz you come of” It tries to say and high each word clearly, but its fear is not accurately conducive to the appropriate exposition.

The girl ignores Riley and continues to study itself.

The adrenalin of Riley delays a bit. It controls a deep breath. Another time makes same the two questions. E another time. Riley is starting to suspect that hallucinating, but on the other hand the girl slowly murmurs some words on clouds, cars, would mercearia and it. Crab walked some stages stops backwards, it carries through that começ cannot dsi far same and as soon as stop to turn yield, and twists its arm to look at its shoulder. It pricks its foot, it raises its knee, and wiggles its foot. That começ breathes more noisily and more quickly as alcanga until the sensation its hair, touches in its face, and pulls it in its ear. To look at perplexed more than and what a bit rightened, it turns for Riley. “I am I glue of Angela. I think that I am inoperative.”

Side falls on the o.

feelings

pressure points

abby mumford

i arrived early at my destination, my friend A’s poetry reading. there was a creative vibe mixed in with a certain nervousness as the readers prepared to share their words, thoughts, feelings, souls with the audience. i was the only one in rows of chairs. yes, i was that early.

i knew i’d have to wait. it was either that or try and find this classroom by myself. i’d rather wait, thank you. i knew i wouldn’t have much time, but i knew i would be alone and would have to occupy myself until the others arrived. and so with this iota of time, i pulled out my WIP and sipped from the creative juices swirling in the room.

for those 25 minutes, i said hello to my main character. i unpacked her emotions. i peeked into her motivations. i listened to her speak. i elaborated upon a scene that has the potential to be huge, but is currently only a page long. in short, i was productive.

why was it that me, who doesn’t work well under pressure, was able to come to a boil (creatively speaking) in 60 seconds flat? and continue at a roiling boil for 25 straight minutes? how do i do that day in and day out? how do YOU do that day in and day out?

i suppose it’s like this girl said (i apologize for the no linkage. i can’t remember where i came across the author interview and so what i’m about to write is not verbatim), “it’s not that i had to find free time to write, i just had to RESOLVE myself to write when i was free.”

noted.

p.s. to the poet whose words i listened to last night, you were stunning. as usual. congrats!

feelings

vantage point

abby mumford

i am a dandelion amongst sunflowers. read: i’m short. my family is tall.

i am a word amongst numbers. read: i’m english minded. my family is scientifically and mathematically oriented.

what is the point of these opposites? no, it’s not opposites day. no, it’s not a writing exercise. my point is that i’m used to having a different take on things than those that surround me. but what i didn’t expect is that i could have an opposite viewpoint as from myself. how’s that, you ask? well, you see, i used to be a glass half-empty kind of gal, but now i’m a full-fledged glass half-full woman.

oh yeah, hear me roar.

it’s been a work in progress for sure. it began with a podcast, an article, a conversation, a book, a realization, a DECISION. slowly, i began to notice the sunshine filtering through the trees rather than the shadows it left behind. it has taken a lot of time and required daily effort. i’ve suffered delays and setbacks, but now? it’s true, i’ve changed. (don’t fret, friends. i still laugh at the word balls. and poop. and i’ll beat you to the “that’s what she said” punch any day.)

the act of switching how you think is a gradual process and one that still ebbs and flows to this day, so as it was, i didn’t notice how complete the change was until i came across this post. granted, i came across it because i was stalking myself and my blog stats and i clicked on the post to re-read it because i couldn’t recall off the top of my head what it was about. i read the words, but all i could hear was WHINE WHINE WHINE COMPLAIN WHINE.

when i sat down to write that post, it was to comment on the loneliness and frustration of loving someone in a different time zone. sure my intentions were borne of love, but the tone? oh GAH, the tone was the opposite of warm and fuzzy. in fact, it wasn’t any better than a hypothetical 2 year old in the middle of a meltdown. and no one wants to talk to or reason with a said 2 year old.

the point of that post (and i still feel this way today) was to explain that it’s tough to cultivate long distance relationships (friendships, lovers, family) and that i was homesick for certain west coast friends. BUT if i was to write that post today, i’d focus on how lucky i am to have friends who are brave enough to move across the country. i can learn from their bravery. i’m fortunate to have friends who live in different and amazing cities because it gives me a reason to travel. i’m delighted to have a friendship that means enough to me to miss it when it’s not around. i’m blessed to have friends on the west coast because i can call them at midnight on friday and they won’t be too tired to talk. i’m grateful that cell phones and voice mail have evolved because it means i can leave a silly message for my friend and not have to worry about it being overheard. i’m happy to have friends that listen to my messages and call me back and call again if our schedules don’t overlap.

because the truth is, i love receiving updates whether they’re over voicemail, on email, over bottles of wine, via text message, in person, over coffee, on the phone, through hallmark cards, or over beers. it doesn’t matter if the update is 2 hours or 15 paragraphs or 5 minutes or 140 characters. it’s all about the connection. i choose to connect with you. and your life. and i choose to do so wearing a smile.

reading that random blip of a post from 2006 reminds me that while my beliefs and interests haven’t changed, my take on life has and you know what? i like it here. i think i’ll stay. i’ve got a glass that’s half full, won’t you join me while i swirl it around in my glass and enjoy it?