Imagination + Writing = Writer

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Writing process

Written for the prompt imagine at Writer’s Island

“First comes thought; then organization of that thought, into ideas and plans; then transformation of those plans into reality. The beginning, as you will observe, is in your imagination.” ~ Napoleon Hill

One of the questions I often hear writers ask each other is, “So when did you know you wanted to be a writer?” If you think about that question, there’s a deeper one. “So when did you imagine you had what it took to be a writer?”

I have always wanted to be a famous writer.  Not just famous, but a writer that made a difference, and people didn’t rip apart my work (lol – I’m imagining – work with me).  I remember summer days where I would lay on the grass and look up through the trees into a perfect sky, and imagine I was in Chicago being interviewed on Oprah for my f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s book. She would ask me, “What hardships did it take to become the star you are today?” and I’d tell her all sorts of made up things.

It never occurred to me at 13 that I might tell her I quit writing for 18 yrs. Or that it would take depression, hypothyroidism, homemaking articles, poetry, and online blogging to pull me out of that pit. Or that my husband would lose his job, and my mom would call me up after my dad died and say, “You and I both know Dad would want you to go to this writing conference, so you’re going.” What that meant was Mom paid my way with some of Dad’s life insurance money, and hell or high water, I’m going to be published, because you just don’t let your Mom do that and then fail. You’re supposed to help your widowed mother, not borrow her money.

I can’t believe I typed that out loud.  But it’s true.

I’m beginning to understand the process of becoming a writer as Napoleon Hill saw it. Until I physically said to a group of friends, “I’m a writer,” I wasn’t. I was just a mom that wrote. When I sat down at a restaurant and was typing away on my manuscript, a friend stopped by my table and said, “Aine, I didn’t know you were an author.” Up to that point, I hadn’t thought of it that way.  There was something about the imagined flash across the movie screen that says, “Based on the book by Aine” or the announcement on the radio, “Book signing at Barnes and Noble with author Aine Schulmire,” that made it real.

Haha – I know… I’ve heard all the horror stories about no one showing up and all that – but just the thought of someone saying my name on the radio, and some person I’ve never met thinking, “Oh – I know who that is.  I liked her book.”  I think that’s cool.  And that’s when I got serious and started looking up conferences, blogs, and other venues to learn HOW to be an author. Yes, at first I was one of those naive people who thought you just sat down and wrote a book.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

But I’ve learned a lot in the past 3 years, and keep moving forward.  I write.  I make sacrifices. Sometimes I sacrifice going out kite flying with the kids so I can have a peaceful two hours to write. Very hard for me to do that. I’ve left friends behind who poke fun at the kind of writing I do.  (Not my stuff – the genre.) Death by association – no thank you.  I spend money and leave my family for a week at a time to attend conferences so I can learn and be critiqued by authors who are already accomplished the way I want to be accomplished. I hang out online with folks that are like-minded – I’m still searching for like-minded “writer” friends in the flesh. But I’ll find them. 😉

I write what I imagine, and I  imagine what I write. Write, write, write. I can’t say it’s hard work, because I love it too much to be hard. But then again, it isn’t easy to being told to scrap nine chapters and start over because you should write the whole thing in third person either.

I’ll do it though – I’ve already started.

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Dude…. That’s Not My Toothbrush

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Prompts

Written for the meme Magpie Tales,

although it’s past 8AM EST on Tues., so I can’t share it there.

But it was fun playing around with some favorite characters of mine.  😀

(And yes – my daughter says this sounds very much like some male friends she has)

Y/A

Magpie Tales Prompt

Lazy summer days weren’t cliché in Rexburg, Idaho.  They were more like a staple.  In the month of August, temperatures finally climbed past ninety degrees Fahrenheit, sending most folks that could retreating to their basements or swimming in the canals.  Teens spent more time on video games or movies than outside hiding from the adults in their lives.  Dates were arranged via cell phone as opposed to face to face, preferably by text.

In Joey’s case, most of his friends ended up at his house.  How his room became the designated summer spot, his mother couldn’t understand.  Yet, there Mitchell Black lay on his bed, and she had let Paul Brannigan in the through the front door moments ago.  She shook her head as she passed by the room, signaling for Paul to go on in.

“Hey, Joe,” said Paul, entering the bedroom.

Joey looked up from the glow of the computer screen.  He jerked his thumb towards Mitch asleep on the bed.

“Are you serious?” Paul asked, sitting next to him on a vacant stool.  “What knocked him out?”

Joey’s fingers continued to fly across the keyboard while he shrugged.

“Nothing.  He’s bored.”

Paul’s rare devilish grin appeared, kicking the bed frame with his boot.  A snort escaped out Mitch’s nose when he turned on his side.  Both teens snickered.

“Mitch, dude, wake up,” Paul said, kicking the bed harder.

Mitch sat up, running long fingers through his ruffled ruddy hair.  His eyes blinked, focusing on his two friends.

“What?”

“You look like crap,” Paul said, working hard to keep a straight face.  “And the girls are meeting us in ten minutes.”

Mitch stared.

“Ten minutes?” he asked.

“Yeah.  At the movie theater.  Remember?”

Paul swung his body around to face Joey so Mitch wouldn’t see the grin breaking out across his face.  Joey glanced at his mischievous friend when Mitch swore, refusing to get involved.  He watched the groggy teen throw himself off the bed, making a streak for the bathroom.  A few seconds later they heard the water running in the sink.

“What’re you doin’ when he figures out there is no date?” Joey murmured, going back to focus on the email he had been working on.

“Laughing my butt off,” Paul snickered.

They heard the water in the bathroom come to a stop, followed by a soft rap on the sink.  Joey’s fingers paused, his head snapping up.

“What’s he doing?” Joey asked.

“Sounds like he’s brushing his teeth.  Ga!  With your toothbrush!”

“Freaking–,” Joey paused, remembering the lecture he’d gotten that morning about swearing loud enough for his mom to hear.  He launched himself toward the bathroom.  “That’s just wrong.”

Paul didn’t try to stifle the laughter.  In Joey’s mind, there wasn’t anything funny about the issue.  A little on the OCD side himself, he was of the opinion that some things you just didn’t share with your buds, and those included his damn toothbrush.  He banged on the door, hollering.  Mitch opened it, foam dripping from his teeth.

“What are you… doing?” Joey asked, his voice lowering mid sentence as it fell flat.  Paul sat up, intrigued.

Mitch spat.

“What does it look like?  Brushing my teeth.”

Joey stared at the toothbrush in his friend’s hand.

“With my mom’s cleaning brush?”

“What?  It’s a toothbrush.  Your toothbrush, right?”

“Dude… that’s not my toothbrush,” Joey told him, the amusement beginning to show on his face.  “It’s the toothbrush my mom uses to scrub the tile.”

Mitch exploded a verbal entourage of expletives before plunging his face under the faucet, rinsing over and over.  Both his friends doubled over in painful glee.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Mitch yelled in between spits.  “You can die from that stuff!”

“Give me a break,” Paul declared.

“Yeah,” Joey gasped.  “We just got a whole year of blackmail in one afternoon!

Today’s Yesterday

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Fantasy

I changed the colors because my daughter said the lime green background hurt her eyes.   Please let me know if this is better.

Disclaimer:   Based on the Disney/Buena Vista cartoon, Gargoyles, that my boys still enjoy from time to time – not that you’d know it from this scene.  Written for practice and fun.  (What – you don’t watch cartoons with your kids and have spun off stories pop into your head?!) PS Don’t be weirded out by the use of my name – it has to do with Celtic folklore, not me putting myself in the story…

Screen Cap from "Temptation" ~ Brooklyn

1958

Paris Ice Caves, Idaho

Cavern walls  stood strong and silent, offering sanctuary for the makeshift rookery.   Overgrown stalagmites littered the ground making maneuvering by foot somewhat treacherous.  Above, faithful stalactites dripped moisture into the smooth lake below keeping a rhythmic chime echoing into the paths that led away from the area.  Maia’s heavy footsteps made her presence known before she entered the hidden room, her keen nocturnal eyes requiring no light as she moved with smooth deftness in the dark.

“Maia.  You’re just in time,” a familiar baritone voice greeted her before the shape of an older gargoyle stepped into view.  “The hatchling  broke free only an hour ago.”

Aldo was the picture of a gargoyle beginning the end of his prime.  Tall, tan, with golden eyes that gleamed in the dark, his black beard waved when he spoke.  His chocolate-brown wings bore the marks of battle scars with quiet dignity, a stark contrast from Maia’s creamy grey skin tone.

“Hatched?  I thought it was another few months before the eggs were ready,” Maia murmured, her usual forthright tone trembling slightly.

“Yes.  The other eggs show no sign of hatching.  The little one is early.”

Aldo opened his arms to reveal a white hatchling resting within his talons.  Maia reached over to stroke silken hair, noting the dusky brown  marks on an otherwise flawless face.

“That’s odd.  I’ve never seen anything like that before,” she said, pointing to the markings.

“Could be a reminder of origin.  We don’t know what spells the goddess used to create life,” he reminded her.

Maia’s gaze moved over his shoulder, searching for the presence of any other members of the clan.  Nothing.

“Remember, Aldo, that information is privileged.   I won’t have my offspring exiled because I ensured a chance for life.”

Aldo held the tiny gargoyle out for Maia to accept.  She didn’t hesitate.

“I have always been loyal, Maia.  How you came manifest the egg is no concern of mine.  Nor do I feel it matters to anyone else.  If the goddess felt her life was important to preserve, then preserved it shall be.”

Maia felt a pang of guilt.  Gargoyles were not in the habit of suspecting one another, yet she couldn’t help but suspect everyone and everything.  The goddess had warned her that raising the hatchling would be difficult.  There would be many who opposed her efforts.  But the end justified the means.

“My apologies,” she said.  “I have odd feelings towards this one.”

“The enchantments,” Aldo nodded.  “Things are never what we expect when magic is involved.”

The hatchling blinked with eyes that were too big for its face.  Sitting up, it shifted positions to a more comfortable position.

“She said the hatchling would be female,” she murmured, allowing a tiny white tail to curl around a talon.  A yawn followed a nestling into the Maia’s grey skin.

“She was correct,” Aldo affirmed.

“Then her name will be Aine.”

“How touching,” a voice doused with venom spoke from behind.  “If its existence wasn’t so revolting, I might cry.”

Maia spun, Aine now pressed tightly against her chest, hidden by Maia’s wings that folded protectively over her.  Aldo and she both crouched in a defensive stance, low growls forming in their throats.

“Now, now, there’s no use for that,” the human laughed walking closer towards his prey.  Maia’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Nicholas,” she croaked, taking in the stocky figure dressed in a black suit.

“None other,” he laughed, holding his hands out to give her a better look.

“But you were dying… you should be dead.  How?”

“You aren’t the only one who found a devil to deal with, Maia,” he snorted.

Behind him seven more men appeared with sneers with expectancy.  Each one had clothing in rags.  No light, no sound had been made of their approach, but what bothered Maia the most were their eyes – beads of glowing red.

“Lycanthrope,” she hissed, taking a step backward.  Her heart sunk when her foot brushed against a hard shell.  There would be no escape for the eggs.  It was impossible.

“Yes,” Nicholas taunted her.  “You remember them, don’t you?  The Clan Allta?  The clan your ancestor doomed to an eternity of being hunted?  Only now with a few enchantments, they’re the ones doing the hunting.  Unlucky for you, of course. ”

“Allta?” Maia asked, her mind racing.  “The curse was only to lose two at a time every seven years.  And if they survived..”

“They could return to their clan?  Forever changed?  Haunted by memories of being a beast?”

“They aren’t beasts now,” Aldo observed, taking a protective step in front of Maia.

Nicholas threw back his head into a howl, the beginning of the shape-shift taking place.  His companions followed suit, each one bursting with tufts of hair on their faces, veins streaking down their necks,and noses elongated into muzzles while their hands grew freakishly long claws.  Clothing shredded and shoes exploded into tatters.  Growls mixed with snarls as the enemies reacted to one another.

“Not a single egg survives,” Nicholas barked.  “But leave Maia and the one she carries to me!”

Maia watched them advance on her and Aldo, her wings flexing.  She felt Aine squirm against her grip, tempering her instinct to protect the eggs.  She watched two of the creatures leap at Aldo.  As soon as he was engaged in battle, she flung herself high in the air, arching her wings to glide into a crevice for refuge.  Her eyes changed to glowing red as she watched the carnage below – eggs were crushed, the nearly hatched gargoyles within ripped apart.  Blood flowed with saliva.  The crunching of wings were more than she could bear.  She screamed her remorse; her frustration.

Aldo’s tail swung in a perfect arch, catching one of his opponents off guard.  The other sank its teeth into his arm.  Aldo bellowed, throwing the great beast through the air.  He began barreling through the crushed eggs when Nicholas caught his attention.  The half-man/half-wolf dug his claws into the hard rock just as a gargoyle would, climbing his way to where Maia crouched.  Aldo could see his intended path would take him just under the lip of the crevice.  Once there, Maia and Aine would be blocked.  Maia could fight her way out, but the danger to the hatchling was eminent.

“Maia!” he roared, running straight for the wall.  She peered over the lip of rock.  It took her an instant to access Nicolas scaling the wall, grab Aine, and shove off towards the furthest path away from Nicholas’s clan.  Slamming bodies and more sounds of battle followed her up the path, but she ignored them all.  Up the path Maia glided for as long as the stone walls would allow.  Finally, the space became too confined, forcing her to her give up the air and use her feet.

Sounds of scuffling and growls haunted the pair from behind.  Maia’s instincts demanded that she turn and fight, but something more compelling forced her to run.  Twice she took a stalagmite to the knee when the sounds of howls sounded near, the second time sending her and Aine sprawling onto the underground lake covered with a thick layer of ice.  Maia grabbed Aine and used adrenaline induced strength to puncture the thick covering before diving into frigid water, hoping the hatchling would survive the plunge.

After several minutes underwater, Maia discovered the opening she had been looking for.  Squeezing them both out of a lava tube, she swam hard, surfacing back into another cavern.  Quickly Maia looked Aine over.  Seeing that she was still breathing, Maia once again lurched them into the caves, this time the path a discernible ascent.  Within another half-hour, they surfaced into the fading moonlight.  Two steps away from the edge of a cliff, Maia contemplated the best place for a stone sleep.

“Ah, you are the resourceful one, aren’t you, Maia?”

Maia and Aine both lifted their eyes in time to see Nicholas’s saliva drip onto the stones in front of them.

“I try,” she answered.

“Don’t bother calling for the others,” the lycanthrope chuckled.  “They’re all gone.  Every last one of them.”

“The eggs?” she asked, momentarily confused.

“And your clan.”

Nicholas jumped, his claws slashing at her tail.

Maia sucked in her breath at the sting of contact.  She shoved off the cliff, taking Aine with her.  The stark blue in her wings shimmered in the moonlight.

“It doesn’t matter where you go,” he called out, his throaty voice tinged with amusement.  “It’s almost morning.  I’ll find you both!  Your betrayal, Maia, is at an end!”

Maia ignored his calls from the cliff, continuing to glide towards the area the clan had thought a safe haven.  Sure enough, rubble was all that remained of her former family, proving their deaths had happened while they slept.  If she had not spent the day in solitude inside the cave, she, too, would have met a similar fate.  She moaned, too tired to screech her mourning.  Her choice may have saved her life, but the lack of sunlight soaked into her stone skin during daytime hours left her weak.

South of the cliffs came a familiar cry – Aldo’s call.   Maia shifted her wings to circle around and follow his beacon.  The clan was more than just Aine and she after all.  Perhaps more lived with him.  Perhaps some had not sought the illusion of safety in numbers.  She could hope.

Nicholas watched her disappear over the horizon before disappearing back inside the cave.

Daytime approached. The hunt would continue over time.  South.

If you have time, I’m needing critiques.  I’m told I have a weakness for too many noun modifiers, or being too descriptive.  I know I am obsessed with movement…  and I would like some opinions.   Some people at WIFYR (the conference I went to) didn’t like the way I use short sentences and then longer ones.  However the year before I was told that was good so that the writing didn’t get monotonous.  Dave didn’t say either way – I think he prefers not to comment on a writer’s style.  SO.  What do you think – was it distracting, did it add to the piece, etc?  I appreciate your feedback – even just reading this far!