I write, just not here

SO I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON... and not just because I'm inherently sinful (though I'm sure that has something to do with all this madness).

I can't seem to keep myself accountable with much of anything. I don't write regularly, I don't exercise regularly, I don't eat regularly, I don't blog regularly, I don't even do my homework regularly (I tend to put it off to the last minute and then beat myself up for not doing it sooner)!

So. Hello again. It's been too long. (No seriously though, the last time I blogged was before Christmas, right? So it's been more than two months.)

Why am I writing today, then? Because I'm on caffiene and can't bring myself to write fiction so I thought I'd post here.

To be more accurate, I've been looking at my stories and having fun picking them apart and realizing how terrible I am and crying with happiness at the tiny pieces of gold I sopmehow managed to eke out of my writing. I live for the day I actually manage to write something valuable, as currently I'm pretty much just writing stuff that barfs out of my brain and onto a page. Yes. Basically my stories begin with a "stream-of-consciousness-oh-hey-lets-just-vomit-on-a-page-until-something-makes-sense" sort of aesthetic. they then graduate to "this is total crap" and eventually reach the pinnacle of "I just need to re-write this whole thing and start over". That's pretty much where I've been for years now.

Someday I hope to write something that reaches out and grabs the reader and wrenches hearts and makes a difference. In the meantime I find the little chunks of my work that keep me going amidst the "GAH THAT IS SO CLICHE WHY" and the "WHY DIDN'T I THINK THIS THROUGH" or the ever-famous "Wait, why are you doing that, character? I thought you were doing this...?"

Novel writing is murder. So are short stories, mostly because it's hard for me to develop a concept that can be effectively portrayed in 5,000 or so words. 50,000 words or more tends to come easier (if longer), though I'm beginning to suspect that part of that is my inability to utilize an economy of words. But yeah, an abundance of plot and too many characters probably help that along.

But today, instead of talking about my life and everything that has been happening (or not happening, or trying to happen), I'm going to talk about my stories. Because despite the endless hours of pain and frustration they cause, I actually love them all dearly. Specifically, there are parts of each story I've written that just make me happy to be a writer: when I feel I've captured the emotion, when I write a fantastic fight scene, when characters interact in a realistic way... there are so many moments I adore.

So I'll share a few of my favorite with you. Let's start with some of my older stuff, and work my way up:

 1. from the story tentatively titled Rise of Invectus (I rarely 100% decide on a title).

“Yeah! What he said!” I cried, whirling on baldy. Why was he yelling at me anyway? I was hungry, tired, sore, and extremely confused. Honestly, I wanted my mother, and I wasn’t ashamed to say so.  “Get my mom in here and leave me alone!” I screamed, sitting straight up. The restraining straps around my chest and stomach snapped. I glanced down, staring at the bands in shock. A moment later, I felt the burning sensation on my skin where I’d shoved against them, and my muscles twinged painfully. So that’s why I hurt, I thought to myself. Then I frowned. How did I do that?

 So basically we've got a kid who was infected with a virus that gives him super-strength, but it's involuntary. It only flares up when he's angry. But unlike the Hulk, he doesn't turn into a big green rage monster. So at least we've got a little bit of originality. This bit was written about two to three years ago (hard to pinpoint exactly as the document was viewed and edited for typos recently)

2. Another excerpt, from Cyborg Wars - Book 1: Soldier (again, tentative title for both series and book)

For nearly six hundred years, the bold and proud Laham’rhi family had ruled the planet Gaal’ver’diitron from the great imperial city of Gaal’lyn. Wars, famine, constant flooding and poor soil had done little to shake the foundations of these proud rulers, and nothing could take the people of Gaal’ver’diitron from their home among the stars.

I like this excerpt because you kind of get the sense that this family whose name people can't pronounce (I can, but I'm the author, so that makes me exempt from this) rule a planet with a name that you also can't pronounce. Yet despite these unfamiliar words, the concepts of "pride" "strength" and "determination" are universal concepts that ring true with me (and hopefully others), creating a sense of familiarity despite the strange names. You can feel the struggle of these people and you're already rooting for them, even if you can't pronounce their names. This was probably written about a year ago.

3. This bit comes from The Academy Chronicles - Book 1: LX-2, one of my most recent stories. It's a bit long, but I really love it.

Squirt and Jayden exchanged glances again before deciding to make their escape. “Well, I think I’m going to go play some more video games,” Jayden said, gathering up his food tray.
“I’m going to go… not be here,” Squirt said. “You two look like you have a lot to talk about.” He too left with his tray, leaving Matt and I sitting and staring at each other.
“So, when I said bruise collection, I didn’t mean it in a life-threatening way. More like a ‘clumsy so I fall down a lot’ way,” I said softly.
“No, Alex.” Matt looked me in the eye. “You meant it in a ‘Scott freaking beats the crap out of me on a regular basis and you can’t do anything to fix it’ way.”
I looked away. “I’m not blaming you.”
“I don’t care,” Matt said. “I’m blaming me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say. Staring down at my food, I pushed it around my plate a few times before taking a bite to avoid answering him.
Sighing, Matt grabbed his tray and stood. “I’m going to work out,” he said, leaving abruptly.
I pushed my food around my plate a little more, knowing that he’d be late to bed because one of the supes would find him in the gym with a punching bag and bleeding knuckles, and send him to the med center. I hated knowing that he was so angry because of me. I hated that these self-destructive acts were my fault. And some days, when I had the energy, I would contemplate the irony of Matt blaming himself for my injuries even as I blamed myself for his.

In this excerpt, we've got two friends and two brothers. The younger brother is being bullied, and the older brother feels responsible for it, even though he can't really do anything about it. The awkwardness of the two friends trying to give the brothers a chance to discuss, the tension in how the two brothers relate to each other and how they talk about the bullying, and the internal turmoil the main character feels, the guilt that his brother hurts himself because he can't help... I just really like the tension and awkwardness and unspoken pain that builds this scene and it's probably one of my favorite scenes. I'd say it's the best I've ever written, but I don't know that. Other people might hate it. I personally just love this scene and everything that goes unsaid along with what is said.

So yeah.

I've been having fun with my stories lately. And writing makes me happy. When it doesn't eat me alive and demand answers for why I haven't been doing it more frequently.

Anywho. Here's my lovely update, that technically hasn't told you anything at all about what's going on with me or where I'm going. More babbling to follow, I hope. Because otherwise my next blog post will also open with "I AM SUCH A TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING," or something to that effect.

In the meantime, enjoy my post and don't be too quick to judge my writing inabilities. I'm still learning. and growing. (I hope).