Writing As Therapy?

How many of you have used writing as a form of therapy?

My guess is 99% of you raised a hand and said "I". The use of writing as a means of channeling grief, depression, or other emotions is amazingly widespread. Most contemporary authors admit freely to using writing as therapy. A few bold ones manage to turn therapy into glossy-covered bestsellers, but for the most part, those scribbles stay buried in some obscure drawer or cached in a remote corner of cyberspace.

Authors are not the only ones who use writing for therapy. Ever since the ability to write became common, people who experience traumatic events often find solace by writing. Whether it be a war, natural disaster, or simply the death of a loved one, the result is the same. Ordinary people who have never written before pick up a pencil and begin.

The poems of the first and second World Wars have been a fascination of mine for years. Our written record of these wars is vast - some of the greatest writers of the century detailed every event as it happened. More intriguing to me, though, are the thousands of poems and short stories written by soldiers and their loved ones. Many are anonymous. Most were never intended for public view. Few are written according to good writing standards. Yet they're filled with humor, pathos, resignation, bravery...

All the histories written about the wars record what happened to people. The poems and stories record who those people were.

What is it about writing that helps people deal with grief, anger, and frustration? For myself, it allows me to see things clearly. When I'm upset my emotions tangle into a knotted mess that would traumatize a psychoanalyst. I can't understand myself! Always I end up with a chewed-off pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling down verse, scraps of ideas, fragments of sentences. I allow myself to spill over onto the paper, not holding anything back.

Hours later, relieved somewhat by the "public privacy" of expression on paper, I read through the jottings. And an odd thing happens. What made no sense in my mind gradually takes form before me. I can isolate the problem, figure out the cause, approximate a solution. Perhaps most valuable, I can perceive the melodrama. Being able to laugh at yourself does wonders for your sanity.

I'm sure not everyone feels this way about writing. The best part about it is that words, like people, can become anything. All I know is that if I ever get shipwrecked alone on a desert island, forget the coconut trees. I'll be hunting papyrus and a cuttlefish. :)

Best Novels Of 2010

A recent perusal over my fiction shelves reminded me that I had not yet completed a "Best Novels Of The Year" list (a necessary deed once a year)! There's no time like the present. Unfortunately, I had shockingly little time to read this year, but in the time that I did have, I found some jewels. In no particular order...

Enemy Brothers by Constance Savery. Possibly the best book of the year. A beautiful YA story of a young Nazi taken in by an English country family during WWII, the novel filled my heart. The writing is marvelous, brief prose that evokes an amazing range of emotions, and the characters are fantastic. This will become a regular read.

The Empty Crown by Rosemary Edgehill. Actually three novels in one, The Empty Crown combines a snarky (and secretly lonely) New York librarian with an elf king on a mission who becomes stranded in New York. High fantasy with an active sense of humor. Anyone who loves books, history, or random facts will love this.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. This is technically a re-read, but I got so much out of it on the second go that it deserves to be listed. For anyone who (gasp) hasn't read it, it's... impossible to describe. Read it. Card's ability to tell stories of chilling despair, soaring hope, and unflinching truth through the eyes of children boggles my mind.

The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper. I enjoyed all the books in this series, but this one stands alone. It takes the basic premise of any fantasy (an unwilling young hero on a quest) and turns in into a modern, dark, frightening story of good and evil, written by a master wordsmith. This is one of those YA novels that defies age limits.

Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers. Another re-read, by my reaction to reading this was so dramatically different the second time that it needs to be listed. Sayers is a literary genius, and I believe this is one of her best. Here plot and character entwine perfectly. Although the mystery is central, the heart of the novel is the relationship between Harriet Vane and Lord Peter, and the surprises they discover inside themselves as they challenge evil. I discovered a few surprises inside myself while reading this one.

.....

I also discovered Agatha Christie and her brilliant, timeless studies of human character, all wrapped up in witty entertainment, and as usual, read Chesterton, both fiction and nonfiction. Reading Chesterton, I know, will be a part of every literary year for me. :)

Another novel I loved this year was Day Of Ashes by Kelsey Kline. It didn't make the list simply because it's author stubbornly refuses to complete and share it. She should be warned... dreadful things happen to such persons.

What are the best novels you read this year?

In Search of a Dream

Is the presence of longing inside a writer’s heart essential to writing fiction? Is the faint melancholia created by things we wish for, dream of, what puts the magic into make-believe?

Those questions have been prodding at my subconscious for some time now. The prod turned into a painful jolt when, after a summer of not writing fiction, I attempted my third NaNo in a row – and did not complete the required 50,000 words.

To tell the truth, I completed barely 5,000 words. I still don’t know quite what was wrong. I sat at the keyboard for hours. I allowed myself to leap between plots. I allowed myself to write endings before I wrote beginnings! But nothing worked. Words appeared on the screen, crafted strings of emotionless sentences, crisp-edged two-dimensional characters without character.

The spark wasn’t there.

At the time I attributed it to lack of time, to the stress of everyday life, to pregnancy hormones. Yet none of that ever affected my writing before… (okay, I haven’t been PREGNANT before, but you know)

Now I’m wondering if my life has become a little too full. Instead of a rather uneventful life that I spiced up by constantly spinning tales of adventure and romance, I started to live all those things I dreamed about. Now, I have a husband (who I’m very much in love with), a baby on the way (who is wanted very very much), multiple jobs, college, travel… I don’t have time to dream!

And is that the problem?

I pose the question to you all reading this. Has this happened to you? Do you think writers’ best work is influenced by what’s happening (or what’s not happening) in their lives? Or (as many great writers believe) should good fiction be utterly unconnected to circumstances in writers’ lives?

Share your thoughts, please! I’m eager to read them!

(oh yes, and if anyone has suggestions for how to overcome a fiction dry spell…please do not refrain from suggesting!)

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

Sorry this is a bit late, but no at-home internet access does tend to prohibit one from posting on days when all libraries are closed! ;) And blah to Blackberry service which does not allow one to do anything IMPORTANT online, such as check school email, post on Blogger, or access useful weird trivia pages.

That aside... did everyone have a good day? I hope so! I did. It was funny... I wasn't sure if it would be, coming up to it. Job stress, finances, and the constant ups and downs of pregnancy had been turning Tanner and I into two cranky Scrooges. However, the wonder of Christmas prevailed. Two good friends came over Christmas Eve and we had a marvelous time doing proper Christmas-y things like decorating, making Christmas cookies (and then running around the neighborhood dropping them off) and trying to wrap last-minute gifts without the recipent peeking! All in all, it was one of the best Christmases I can remember.

Every Christmas I remember why I love this holiday so much. Despite the commercialism, despite the canned carols played in department stores and the focus on materialism, the spirit of Christ's birth is still alive and well. Kindness and joy do truly fill people's lives. It gives the world hope, does it not?

Anyway. Here's hoping everyone had a merry and blessed Christmas!

Thoughts On Being Two People At Once

WARNING: This is a ramble. A senseless, hormone-ridden, spacy, unconnected ramble which most probably will not make sense to anyone besides myself (and probably not even myself after a few days). If that disturbs you, close the window now.

For all brave (aka crazy) people who kept reading...

I suppose I should start at the beginning (the last natural place) and announce my news.

I'm pregnant.

Yes, I know this is a fairly obvious result of getting married, and yes this is exactly what we hoped for, but shock and surprise still course through my body on a regular basis. I AM PREGNANT. In other words, there is another human being inside me. Two of us. I'm no longer one person, I'm two.

Confusing. Amazing. Bewildering.

I discovered I was pregnant a week and a half ago. The baby is due on the 25 of July (I think). I'd been feeling sick for a week, but simply assumed it was my period coming on - till I realized my period was almost two weeks late. I realized THAT fact at work, and ended up getting so excited I drove into town at 10 PM to get the test. After two positive results, I drove home to tell Daddy the news. Talk about special. Those first three days of wild, bubbly, insane excitement and happiness are going to be memories I can't wait to share with our baby.

Now, two weeks later, reality has kicked in. This is going to be a BIG JOB. Actually, it's just the start of a Big Job. Are we ready? Is any parent-to-be ever ready? Questions swirl through my head day and night: am I going to be a good mom? Is the baby going to be all right? Will I be able to be the loving mother I so desperately want to be?

Needless to say, we spend a lot of time praying.

I also spend time praying to survive two things. Morning sickness (which should be renamed All-Day-And-All-Night Sickness) and mood swings. Hormones have been driving me crazy. One minute, I'm calm and euphorically happy, the next I'm ready to kill someone. Unfortunately, that someone is usually Tanner, simply because he's the only person around. I alternate between feeling guilty and sorry for him, and plotting revenge when he gives me the Look. You know, the one that guys give women that says "Honey, I love you but please stay at least twenty feet away until you regain your sanity."

I would love, just love, to afflict him with female hormones for just twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes!

Maybe twenty minutes would be too mean. Ten? Five? It wouldn't take much!

The mood swings are by far the worst part, worse than the constant nausea and vertigo. I'm also tired all the time, and simple household chores are nearly impossible. I can't even cook for myself, as food preparation sends my stomach over the edge. Tanner is handling all this calmly and doesn't seem phazed by my sudden helplessness, but I HATE IT. I've always hated feeling vulnerable. I take independence far beyond where I should, so this is a bitter pill indeed. Humility lesson, perhaps?

I still don't "feel" pregnant. I feel different (usually sick!) but not pregnant. I know there's a child inside me, but I can't "feel" it yet, physically or emotionally. That's probably what I look forward to most: the day when I can physically FEEL this new life inside me!

Tanner, I think, is most looking forward to when I start to show. He keeps standing at a distance, squinting at my belly from all angles, hoping it will magically start to grow!

We spend a lot of time looking at photographs of unborn babies, imagining what our child looks like. Sometimes, we sit there for half an hour just looking at one photograph. Then, in unison, we look up at each other and smile. No words. The emotions inside us are too fragile at that moment to find voice.

Okay, well, I'm rambled out for now, plus I need to get to work. I've some writing news as well, but that'll be the subject of another post. If you managed to get through these paragraphs of insanity, I would love to hear your thoughts and input!

Oh, yes, and I'm thinking of starting to swing this blog over to some personal posts, as well as strictly writing posts. Thoughts? Good idea or bad?

Wedding Bells!

No, I've not died. Nor fallen off the face of the earth, actually – though the attention I've given this blog over the past few months does make such a supposition likely.

Actually, two things have been occupying my time to such an extent that I haven't given much attention to anything else. Thing #1: college, specifically a technical college nestled in a beautiful swatch of country fifty miles from my house. I finally decided to try and make something profitable of my graphic hobby, and am going for graphic design. Juggling school and my usual proliferation of jobs has been quite a challenge.

Thing #2: (and this may come completely out of the blue for some people) a very special man named Tanner. We met early this spring at the restaurant where I work (which is an entire story in an of itself!) and started dating in early summer. On August 25, he asked me to marry him. A week later, upon receiving my “Yes” he gave me a shimmery ring promise.

And on October 24, 2010, we had a wedding!

So. Yes. Been a bit busy! Hopefully now I'll have more time to apply to blogging, writing, and so forth. I'm certainly going to try, as I've missed this whole writing life!

Not much is new on the writing front for me, as I've had writing on hold pretty much since I started college and began planning a wedding. I intend to start querying again and gradually get back into the swing of writing.

Whew! Just reading over this blog post leaves me feeling a bit breathless. Needless to say, it's been a summer full of surprises. I promise to return to this blog again soon (ie, not three months from now) to share more.

Murder By Pumpkin - Excerpt!

Teaser time! Today's the day for a novel excerpt - this time, a snippet from my still-untitled parody of fairy tales and detective fiction. I started this novel a few months ago and haven't had much time to work on it: so far it's my "fun" project. I've never done a parody before, though I've a passion for reading them, and Leonie, with her snarky-yet-introverted personality, is completely unlike any character I've ever met. It's been brilliant fun!

Now, I'm thinking of taking it seriously...and wondering if it ought to be a serious project at all. Hence my casting the opening few pages up for review! What do YOU think? Want more?

***

Lady Leonie L'Amarr was having a very bad day.

That's how I'd begin it, if today were a novel and if I were writing it. Which of course I would be since nobody else does. But on re-read, that sentence doesn't begin to do today justice. I'd write:

Lady Leonie L'Amarr was having the most miserable, perfectly putrid, absolutely awful and completely contemptible day of her life.

There. That's more like it.

It has been the rottenest day ever. First, I was promoted. Some may rejoice and throw balls when they are promoted. I feel like jumping into a swamp. Because, you see, I was lady's maid to Her Highness Princess Albania Whitefrog, a youngish woman of few brains but amiable intent. Serving her required little work and no mental exertion. Besides, she frequently took long naps in the afternoon, which gave me time to kill off a few more dukes and duchesses before putting the kettle on for tea.

And today, this morning which promised to be full of sunshine, birdsong, and a tour of the torture chamber, proved to be miserable when I got the notice that I'd been promoted Up two Levels. I am now lady-in-waiting to Her Highness Princess Welberta Quillnose. Princess Welberta's amiable intent has not been in question since age three, when she pushed all three of her larger (also male) cousins into the well, and then dropped in her pet piranhas. She is, also, unfortunately for me and for her cousins, not dumb.

In fact, she is considered to be the most intelligent woman in the land. “Welberta doesn't miss anything” is the word whispered behind palm plants at the balls.

So here I am. The one person in the palace with a secret (well, the only important secret, the only one worth keeping) and I will be locked in mortal combat with Welberta the Clairvoyant Cousin-Killer.

Oh me.

The news about Welberta, however, was only the beginning to my shining day. The second bit of wonderment occurred when I opened my Box of Weapons and discovered that chapter 3 was quite as horrible as it had been when I'd shut it up in there the night before.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I should explain a few things first. If I am going to keep this diary...journal...book of events...or whatever it is, I should do it properly.

It would be a first.

So then. I am known (because it's my name) as Lady Leonie L'Amarr. I'm of common birth, with just that drop of royal-ish blood somewhere in my ancestry (not pedigree, I'm not royal enough for that) to allow me to serve those with more royal blood. Hence my existance as lady-in-waiting.

I celebrated (with a new bottle of ink and second-hand sheaf of paper) my twenty-third birthday five months ago. I like lizards and spiders and things that go bump in the night (usually royalty stumbling home from a ball) and I enjoy sunshine in moderation. Thunder is excellent at all times, and a good smashing hailstorm does wonders to wake up the world. I have a passion for poached eggs on toast and cannot bear snail soup. Which is another reason to be thankful for not being royal. I cannot bear porridge either, which is a reason to be thankful for not being common.

In matters of looks, I'm tallish, with sticky-out elbows and long toes. My fingers are long as well. I have long straight brown hair. In a book, I would have ginger-brown hair, or autumn-brown, or hair the color of leaves in a stream.

In reality, it's just brown.

My eyes are indecisive, much like me, and change from green to blue to brown on a whim. Some say it's with my moods, but since last time I looked in a mirror, carefully feeling cross, they were brown, and the time before, blue, I feel my orbital color is not a safe meter of my mental state.

My face is oval, with a chin that juts, and I have interesting cheekbones, one slightly dented from a run-in with a wall. Overall, my physical appearance is one to attract little attention, a tendency I cultivate. Invisible ladies-in-waiting get into less trouble.

And they have more time to write.

Which brings me to the purpose of this journal—diary—shall I just call it my List of Rants? I like that. Very well. The purpose of this List is (when not being a list of rants) for me to collect my thoughts on people, and cutlery, and life in general. The purpose of such a collection brings me back to my horrible day.

Because it was today I finally realized that I am going nowhere as a writer.