Skye Falling

Skye Falling

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Make 2015 your bitch; a pep talk

New Year’s Eve.

A brand new year, fresh from the package, smelling like a new car, is just around the corner. The possibilities are endless. Your future might be so bright you gotta wear shades, like the song goes, or might be so dim that the cheap flashlight you picked up in the clearance bin at the hardware store barely cuts through the murk. (Tip: buy a better flashlight)

So as we kick 2014 to the curb and ring in 2015 whether it be with champagne and streamers or a cup of tea and a good book, let's take a moment to remember the good stuff that happened and the good stuff that will happen.

New Year’s Eve isn’t about regrets and sadness. Hell no. Life is full of that, I know, but not on New Year's Eve. That's New Year's Day, hungover and vomiting, picking glitter from hair, moaning, then vomiting some more. 

No, The Eve is about the breathless promise of what COULD happen. 2015 could be the year that ____________ (fill in your own blank, I’m not a freaking mind reader here).

But. Of course there’s a but. But the secret is that it takes work. Yeah, I know, sucks right? Sitting back pressing the remote doesn’t get your manuscript edited, will not get books read or miles run or weight lost or a new car bought or whatever you put in that blank. You can't just sit back and let 2015 happen to you.

Instead, let’s grab it by the balls and shake it, rattle it, oh what the heck I’ll finish it, roll it, screaming THIS IS WHAT I WANT AND THIS IS HOW I PLAN TO GET IT.



Thank you. Now go out there and have a fantastic New Year's Eve and also begin scheming how to make 2015 your bitch.

Oh, I’ve got plans for you 2015. Watch out. *grabs at it and 2015 runs away shrieking*

Happy New Year's everyone. Stay safe.


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

But I don't wanna...

Ugh. Endless days of gray. Horrible shootings on television. Bad moods because everyone around you seems Christmas-happy, the worst kind of happy. 

All of it adding up to a giant, maybe even petulant, whine of I don’t wanna
Pay bills
Christmas shop
Go to parties


Writing is hard. The willpower is ours alone. The work is, too. No one else can make us sit down and bang out 1000 words of beautiful, or really crappy, prose.  The easier path would be to turn on the television and watch judge shows. Yes, I DVR Judge Judy, so sue me. Her meanness appeals to me.

So despite knowing if we hear just one more Christmas song we may or may not stab someone in the eye, despite the gloomy days and long, long nights, despite the horrible news on TV writers must write the funny/happy/sad/ thrilling/introspective/sexy scenes even if all we want to do is lie unshowered on the couch.

(Yeah, it’s gross but it happens. Get over it prissy baby).

We have to fake it 'til we make it. And it works. Not always but often enough to push through. When a bad mood makes coming up with witty banter impossible I like to alliterate swear words to use elsewhere (foamy five-fingered frog f*cker) but I'm a cusser.  Whatever you need to do get the brain lined up where you need it. You do you, writers.

What I DON’T do in the throes of I don’t wanna is permanently cut scenes. I’ll tuck them into a file I named brilliantly "cut scenes" so when my willpower comes back and creativity is sparking again I can read over those cut scenes, sometimes finding a tiny gem, even if it’s just a line or two. Now if I allowed my bad mood to send those passages into the digital dump I’d never feel that flash of “holy cow this is pretty good. I don’t totally suck at this!” Writers need these flashes. We're a needy bunch.

Writers are lucky. It’s the best and worst job in the world. We have absolute power in what happens in our stories. Hate your happy ending? Kill someone, make the reader sob. Hey, it works for John Green. Sick of editing your manuscript? *raises hand* Start something else, like, I don't know, a blog post.

Oh, you don"t wanna? TOO FREAKING BAD JUST DO IT.
Next time you find yourself lying on the couch in your own filth, covered in corn chips, whining I don’t wanna just poke me and I’ll send you my warm, inspiring message.

Whoops. Hold on, is it... yes "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" just came on. Excuse me. *grabs pen*