WHAT'S THE PURPOSE OF WRITING?

Remember this picture.  Do any of you watch the Twilight Zone? 


I watch the marathon the 31st of each December while sipping wine and eating pizza, and each time I do, I find myself in awe of the writers. 


It is the best Sci-Fi/Fantasy combo I've ever seen.  Before Star Trek, Star Wars, Babylon 5 came Twilight Zone.

The twists keep you at the edge of your seat.  What luscious imagination.  It moves me.  The belief that there is something out there aside from reality as we know it has always rendered me speechless...and that's hard to do.

This particular episode is one of my favorites.  "The Eye of the Beholder".  This poor girl is beside herself with grief because she looks nothing like the majority of the other inhabitants of her planet.  They're all ugly creatures with pig noses, so they send her off to a colony of gorgeous people to live in exile.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Another of my favorites is about a writer who brings characters to life just by writing.  They materialize before his eyes.  He's been married to a woman all his life...and he made her up.  Wouldn't that be totally awesome?!  I write, therefore I am...and so is he, and she, etc.

That's what I'd like to achieve in my writing, to make the story so real that the reader will get sucked in and not ever want to leave. 

Honestly, no one writes like the Twilight Zone any longer.  The main concern of each writer is with the market.  How can we get out books out there?  What do we have to change?  How many hoops do we have to leap through?  Is the market going to crash altogether and leave us using our manuscripts for wallpaper?  What happened to just write and darn good story?

So, any thoughts?  Any favorite episodes that spark your imagination?  Any bit of info you'd like to supply about anything?  Do you just want to chat?  It's been two days.  I'm jonesing.  :)

Have a great day everyone!

Today

For some reason blogger isn't letting me do a darn thing today.  Will post if it ever lets me.

Troubleshooting.

I was all ready to post something nice for you all blogger buddies today, but I've reached a small stepping stone that need handling.

No, it's not about blogging..I can ramble with the best of them.

I sent my first few chapter to critique partner.  She ripped me a new rear end...NOT REALLY.  She's been wonderful and professional.  I totally love her.

See, here's the thing.  When I started writing it wasn't with the intention of publishing, so I've been using Microsoft Works Word Processor.  (You know, the program that comes with each computer.)

The problem is that she uses Microsoft Word, and I've discovered the two are not compatible.

When I email my sample pages over, they look like they were typed by a two year old with a crayon.

While I work on getting MS Word installed into my PC at home, does anyone know how to make these two programs compatible without converting them to RTF format?

I will be late visiting blogs today.  Have a wonderful day.

What programs do you all use to write on?

WORDS THAT END IN ...AN

Word that end in …an.

This is for shits and giggles.

If I were a man

My name would be Stan

I would have a tan

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

I’d drive a minivan

Or cruise in a sedan

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

I’d turn on the fan

Or play kick the can

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

My friend would be Fran

We would swallow jam

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

I’d join a clan

And eat a lot of bran

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

With a short attention span

I’d be the one that ran

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

I would have known to ban

I’d have a better plan

With my wife Jan

If I were a man

I’d visit my Gran

And let her plan

With my wife Jan

ARGH…I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE. (Wait, did Jan just run off with Fran.) Banging head against desk now. Will have nightmares of words ending in …an.

Have a great weekend!

　

　

ABOUT YOU. FUN! FUN! FUN!

Remember when you were a kid and you liked to take time off to play?

No?

Well, it's time you did.

Thursdays tend to be terribly boring...so let's play...^-^... Play with me! Play with me!

I want to learn about you. If you'll all just answer as many or few of these questions as you'd like, we could learn more about each other and revel in the fact that we're all terrific.

I'll start.

　

1. Favorite color?....hot pink

2. One word you say frequently that finds its way into your writing?.....Actually.

3. Favorite drink?....water.....(ahem, the occasional glass of red wine)

4. Number 1 favorite movie?....Avatar.

5. Personal preference...blonde or brunette?....hmm, both, but not at the same time. 

6. Favorite vacation spot?...If I had my choice it would be one of those cool StarTrek hollow deck simulations....but Bermuda would do...always wanted to get stuck there.

7. If you could do one (only one) thing, what would it be?...tough one....so many to choose from....got it...fly into outer space....yeah.

7. What is something no one knows about you?....I was a security officer for a full year...all 5'4 badass me.

　

Enough about me. Tell me about you. Be creative....go with your gut...one word answers will suffice.

　

I appreciate every single one of you.  It makes my day to have you at my blog...so celebrate your greatness.

　

I was going to stick a game in here, but Blogger didn't like it...so enjoy some pics instead.  If you want the cute frog leaping game that requires that you have Excel let me know and I will email it to you.

 .....^-^...... Happy Thursday!!!

                                        This brings back memories.  Told my hubby I had red hair
                                        and green eyes when I met him on the net, oh, and I was 5'7.

                                          Not this one.  Leg humping is not for me.

                                                   Addicts? Can't say I've ever been addicted to balls.

Still trying to figure out what that 57 is doing up there...left it just for kicks.

See you guys tomorrow.　

　

　

ALEXANDER

When I was in sixth grade we studied ancient history, and I was introduced to Alexander. You know…this guy.

Oh, and about this thing:    this is way easy.  Nebraska is famous for it's corn..that's why our football team is called the Cornhuskers.  Don't blame me...I wasn't born here, and I grew up in Florida. :)

　

Don’t ask me why but I thought he was so cool. All I know is that I didn’t want him to die or feel unloved. To me he was a great general, so around that same time I wrote a story for him in the form of a poem.

　

Imagine my disappointment when this movie came out.

　

It was bloody and depicted him as someone easily manipulated. I hated it so much that I wrote variations to the story. In one of them he meets a lovely Egyptian girl. Unfortunately, I will not be posting any of those stories on this blog because material may be sensitive to viewers…that is readers. They don’t call him Alexander the Great for nothing.

What I will be sharing is that poem/story that I wrote so long ago when I was basically still a child. I had two poem books going at one time. The first was religious. The second I called Flesh. Bear with me. I didn’t edit any of this. It is exactly as I wrote it back then…and it is gushy as all hell. I try not to judge my writing from back then, but as everyone should know, teenagers experience some pretty strong emotions…specially when they’re going to grow up to be writers. I had to pause a few times to cover my face while I was copying it down…almost considered hitting delete. (See, they fall in love, he goes to war, he comes back, things are cool…you’ll see. And I obviously have a thing for green eyes.)

　

ALL’S WELL IN LOVE AND WAR.

Come fair Alexander, arise from your bed.
Your plentiful army awaits to be led.
Awaken beloved, open your eyes, let me behold their green.
I’m real my flaming cupid, not a silent part of a dream.
My loving Alexander, you’re awake at last.
I’m so very confused. It all happened so fast.
I’m like a kitten inside your arms ready to cuddle or hiss.
Yet everything seems to disappear when I feel your brutal kiss.
We must not linger here right now, my general in black.
Your army is awaiting you to lead them through this war and back.
Kiss me now my husband and then depart from me.
Then when we meet again we’ll make love in ecstasy.
Forgive me love if I have saddened you, but I can not help but cry.
You see, I fear an awful thing, that death darken your eyes.
He left, my Alexander, to fight an ugly war
And left within me the precious seed of a child that would soon be born.
In nine month’s time was born the child, his hair an ebony black.
His eyes as green as my precious love whom I hoped would soon be back.
Then came our baby’s birthday, a celebration sweet.
Yet I was always fretting. Would my love be obsolete?
Upon the door came an empty knock, and I sat steady as a rock.
I rose to my feet, opened the door, and felt the endless joy of a wife never scorned.
There was my Alexander, and he was free from harm.
He looked at me so lovingly, then took me in his arms.
Like thirsty animals we drank from each other in that long awaited kiss.
To the floor we fell, my lips still pressed against his.
We went on to fulfill that promise he made to me,
That if he ever returned we’d make love in ecstasy.
Still gasping on the ground, we heard a shriekish cry.
It was little Alexander who was ready now to dine.
There we were the three of us, a family not fake,
Sitting around the table, eating a birthday cake.
I put the little one to bed
And followed the general to where I was being led.
Within the blankets made of foam
My lover proved to me he had come home.

　

　

　

PEEK INSIDE ONE OF MY WIPs.

Shakespeare anyone?

In high school I took French and was pretty darn good at it. The teacher decided that to help engrave the values of good language speaking abilities in us she would take us to a play entitled Le Malade Imaginaire (The hypochondriac). I had a blast, liked it so much that she decided to take us to see Taming of the Shrew. If you think it's hard to follow in English, you should try it in French.

There's a reason I'm harping on Willie, and I'll get to that soon, but first.

                                              This was the hottest picture of Shakespeare

                                               I could find.  He didn't age well.  Ah the stress

                                               of literary life.

Favorite Quote from Macbeth because it touches my writer's heart:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

In one of my WIPs, which I have tentatively called World in the Mirror, Craven has settled down with his lady love. (Theodora is now known by a new name to match the results of her metamorphosis.) A fall along with a few metaphysical aspects prevent her from remembering who she is or understanding anything Craven is saying. When she finally does snap out of it, she has a really fun discussion with him regarding Shakespeare and romanticism.

Please read below. I loved writing this scene.  (It might still need editing, but I like it.)

*

*

“I want a bit of romance from you.”

Craven arched both brows. “What?”

“You heard me. If Mael can do it, why not you?”

He grunted. “I’m going to throttle that wolf.”

She cleared her throat. “Listen up, it has come to my attention that lately you’re quite hung up on sex.”

He grinned, unable to help himself. “And that’s a problem?”

“There was a time when you wooed me. I can’t remember the last statement you said that had any romantic connotation whatsoever.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. What about all that stuff I said to you on Kalea?”

She raised her hands to her hips. “I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

He stepped closer, predatorily. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t say it. What else do you want?”

“You’ve studied up on Earth romanticism. How about poetry?”

He laughed. “Poetry? Should I be spouting Shakespeare, honey? He’s probably the only one I can remember from three years ago in the bathroom.

She sucked in her cheeks to keep from grinning. When it came to reading anything about Earth, Craven was, for all intent and purpose, a lavatory scholar.

“I don’t consider old William much of a poet. Willie Blake was more my type.”

“What?” He feigned shock. “Shakespeare knew his stuff.”

She glanced heavenward. “For example?”

“Taming of the Bitch.”

She giggled. “It was a shrew.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “We don’t have any shrews in our galaxy. Besides, I like my version better.”

“That’s redundant. Taming of the Shrew was a comedy.”

“I beg to differ, my love. The man was clearly a genius and highly skilled in the art of lovemaking.” A devious smile curved his lips and placed a twinkle in his eyes. He stepped forward. “Shall we speak of tongues in tails?”

She held a hand out to stop him. “What we will do is focus.”

“Very well.” He could play her game for just a little while. “How about Romeo and Juliet?”

“Tragedy.”

He wagged his finger. “No, no. He threatened to profane her with his lips. I do that to you every night, if you’ll remember. And you say I’m not romantic.”

“He was merely begging to kiss her hand, you unruly barbarian,” she rectified.

“Really? Huh, is that what all that garble meant?”

“Craven, you’re making a shamble out of Wil’s work. He’s probably churning in his grave.”

“And Hamlet…”

(I’ve cut out the next scene because it gives away important information about Theodora, her real identity, new name, and plot…way too many spoilers.)

“Oh fair Ophelia. Your breasts are lovely orbs bobbing over the waters. The glistening droplets remind me of the tender milk of my youth. I find myself on my knees for the first time in my life. I patiently wait, pleading a silent prayer for your return. The heavens hear me. Now that you’re here in my arms again, my mouth waters with anticipation. I dip my face to delicately have a taste. Shall I sup you, lick you or suckle you once or…thrice?”

She stifled a giggle by pressing her right hand over her mouth. “That was not Shakespearean.”

He snorted. “No, actually it was Cravean.” He paused to hear her laughter. “Do you object?”

She wrapped her arms around his midsection. “Absolutely not. It was deplorable, but they should start teaching it immediately in every school.”

He swooped down to peck her lips. “I love the sweet meats beneath your tongue. That was from the Bible.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I know. But you love me anyway.” Then he deepened the kiss.

Craven was everything a man should be. He was immensely tall, ridiculously handsome with a most wicked honeyed tongue, an untamable beast in the sack, and terribly bad at poetry. In his arms she found bliss, not because he was so good in bed, but because he breached her. He penetrated the part of her that was tender, vulnerable, woman and completed her with the force of his strength and passion. Their touching made them one, and for that and so much more she adored him.

CRIME FICTION JUST FOR FUN.

I'd like to start out this day by thanking everyone who commented on my Friday blog.  You guys brightened my day and kept me form being bummed out.  You are all unbelievably awesome people.  You totally rock!!!.....Now for the Monday stuff.

I don't write thrillers and don't know the first thing about crime fiction.  This is a minor character I've placed in one of my books.  Her appearance is brief and an editor might do away with her altogether.  I thought she merited a moment of life on the blog. 

They called her Ginger. It was the color of her hair and the shade of her favorite lipstick during the Summer months. When she walked the length of a room wearing that silk red miniskirt all eyes were on her. Each wiggle of a curvy hip was enough to lure a saint onto perdition. A cheap version of Chanel No. 5 had her smelling like she just walked out of a French whorehouse. She liked her men, adored her cat, and was the best damn undercover detective in the whole precinct.

Keith stood at the entrance to Maroon Steakhouse and waited for her to reach his side. He nodded his head in greetings, took her by the arm, and escorted the brazen goddess to a table. The spark of authority in her eyes prevented him from pulling out her chair.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

He reached into his pocked and produced a flash card. “It’s pretty graphic.”

A burrow formed between her brows. “Kid, I’ve seen things that would make your skin crawl. Now hand it over.” She placed a hand on the table.

He rubbed her wrist before dropping it in her palm. “Let me go with you.”

Amber eyes twinkled with amusement. “Do you have any clue what a white slaver would do to a boy like you?” She slipped the flash card into her purse.

“What do you think they’ll do to you if they discover you’re a cop?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take to save those girls.” She stood.

He hurried to her side. “You could at least stay for a glass of wine.”

She patted the baby-fine skin of his jaw. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He held her hand in place. “What’s your real name, Ginger?”

“Keith, never mind that.  Just feed my cat.”

He released his grip. Her fingers slid slowly from his face. Sadness dimmed the bright amber of her eyes to a rich brown. The next few days would be critical. If she didn’t survive she’d find herself drugged and sold for prophet to some pervert on the white slave market. He watched her leave, and so did every civilian in the restaurant. Lustful eyes crossed envious ones, but she never went unnoticed. That was Ginger, his superior, and a woman after his own heart.

ENJOY...^-^...

I'M TOO HUMAN.

I was feeling a little blue last night...all better now, but blogger suffered the consequences.

Did you ever feel so different that the world didn't know quite what to make of you?

I have often enough. It's difficult not to when I've set out on my own journey to create the best in me. Sometimes that freaks people out.

As humans we have the bad habit of condemning what we can't understand. It's natural, but I'm not immune to the effects.

And I've questioned myself.

What drives the thirst to explore beneath the confines of my flesh to the raw amber of my soul? What moves me, defines me?I doubt. I obsess.

I pommel the sand in an attempt to rebuild my own castles.

Then I remind myself that we're all particles of the same starstuff. We're cut from the same mold.

                                                            I'm a zonkey.

                                               Are you a zonkey too?

Happy Friday everyone!

Enjoy the weekend with your loved ones. I know I plan to. ...^-^...

MONDAY

: Don't forget to check me out on Monday. CRIME FICTION (THRILLER) excerpt.

FOR MY SCI-FI FRIENDS...heck it's for all of you.

I write Fantasy, but Science Fiction was my first love. My childhood wishes were filled with desires of being taken out into space by a lovely race of aliens, all because they thought I was just that special. Or, I fooled myself into believing that a group of aliens had dropped me on Earth in the care of human parents so that I could save the planet. Kids have wild imaginations. Isn't it grand? 

I have a short scene with similar creatures in one of my books....book 7 I think.

Here goes...again this is a quick one.
*
*

Sugar, an elaborate taffy confection, that's what the atmosphere smelled like on Traxis. A three-fingered hand reached up and poked at the dense fog. It was the closest Eva could come to saying goodbye to the land of her ancestors. Every planet suffers through an evolution phase, a season of refurbishing. Traxis was no exception.

"Are you ready, Erin?"

What could have been a beautiful voice was merely a form of telepathy. How could a creature without a mouth form words? It was foolishness to expect that they could survive on Earth. How did the elders not see that?

Erin joined her. "Eva, stop worrying."

She glanced at the beloved shape of her lover. For years she'd adored the forest green splendor of his iris. "They'll dissect us."

He patted the bulging vein at the crease of her blue eyelash. "Don't say that."

A pale lid closed over a violet iris. "It's what the humans do, destroy what they can't understand. See what they've done to their own planet."

Three stubby digits laced with hers. "And that's why we're going to take it from them."

She stared down at her three-toed feet and surrendered to her destiny. Gently, Erin ushered her away. The future beckoned.

See you tomorrow.  ....^-^.....

A LITTLE FUN WITH HORROR...and other cool stuff.

For those of you who don't know, I like to play with horror. It sparks my creativity.

Fear plays an important role in everything we say or do. It's the force that keeps us from crossing the street or turning into a dark alley. It's the lurker who keeps us from submitting a query. It can be a useful tool or serve to hold us back and keep us from fulfilling our dreams. In honor of the trickster in question and because I love to tempt fate, I've included a fearful excerpt that just popped in my head.  Bear with me.  I wrote it in just a  few minutes.

Scary huh?  Who the heck comes up with this stuff?

Thunder rippled in the distance. It was a subtle sound like a wheel over cobble stone. Beth sat at the dining room table nibbling on her thumb nail. It was almost time. Any second now her mother would waltz out of the study and demand that she go to bed. Being a senior in high school hadn't rewarded her with any rights whatsoever. She still had a curfew and was expected to be in bed by eleven.

The stairs creaked. A flash of lightning streaked through the clouds. Thunder pounded against the rooftop, or maybe it was just her heart.

"Beth, are you still up?"

She glanced at the woman tapping her foot before her. A scrunched up face accentuated the wrinkles that were previously smoothed by the gel mask. Her mother's hair was in curlers. Tomorrow was the big day, and she wanted to look her best for her own wedding.

"Mom, I can't go to bed just yet," she replied.

The older woman reached out and grabbed her arm effectively lifting her from the chair. "If you do anything to ruin tomorrow I will never forgive you."

Beth tugged on her arm to free it from the clawed grip. "Mom, you don't understand."

"Go to bed now." The tone of her voice had been low, mimicking the rumble of thunder.

Beth hurried to her room and plopped down on the bed. Her mother had no clue of what went on in her head. If only she could stop hearing the voices, but they grew louder at night, specially when she found herself alone. Those evil shrieks tempted her. They tried to get her to do terrible things. Sometimes she listened. Often she was able to ignore them, except when it stormed.

"Elizabeth," came the sultry whisper near her ear. A warm breeze tussled her hair. The windows were closed. "Elizabeth," the voice repeated itself. A swampy breath doused her earlobe with a layer of mist.

"What do you want?"

"Did you get the pills?" the voice asked.

She hopped out of bed and hurried to a corner. "Please. It's her wedding."

Invisible fingers traced a line over her jaw. "There's no better time for a present."

Beth dropped to the floor, crouching. If she could only concentrate hard enough maybe she could make it go away. It was useless. The voice grew louder, so did the thunder. Lighting streaked outside the window. The sizzling spark outlined the dark form of a man beast, the creature hovering over her, chanting her name.  Her eyes met his.  She screamed...

So, what are you afraid of...bugs, the dark, failure?


SCARY MOVIE ALERT.  I watched this last night.  My stepson brought it home.

                                                            It had a few parts where stuff
                                                            jumps out at you.  Made hubby
                                                            scream like a girl...which always
                                                            cracks me up.  :)

Since we're in the horror subject I thought I should post my too cool video of the ghost I recorded by the campfire for anyone who missed it when I first started blogging.  Check out below.  It only takes about 30 seconds.

Hope everyone enjoyed my little bit of horror.  Visit me tomorrow for some lovely Sci-Fi.

FREE SEX ADVICE...about your writing.

You make me giggle.  You are so sweet.  I love your wiggle.  Let me tickle your feet. 

Kids of the opposite sex are drawn to each other.  They don't know why it happens.  The only thing they really know is that it makes them happy to be together.                                                               

Then they grow up and find themselves in a heap of trouble.  Why?  Well there's this thing called sex. 

No, anything but that!

I had a fabulous romance writer friend ask me a question yesterday that got me thinking.  How can I write a sex scene without being too explicit?  Now why the heck would I want to do that?  I've asked myself the same question for the last ten minutes but decided to just go with it for the sake of the blog.

                                  

How would my readers feel about this?  It's a question each writer should ask themselves.  Above all we are storytellers, entertainers.    We should care what the readers think, yearn to deliver the perfect tale.                                                                                                                                                          

I have learned that there are ways to tweak a scene so that it's pretty clean.  Aluding to an act can some times be just as powerful and dramatic.                                                                                                                                             

                                                                               

Let's say for instance that Sam invited Mary back to his hotel room. 

They talk.  They kiss.  The lights go off.  Next thing we know it's morning and Mary is dropping off her room key at the front desk while Sam is still snug in bed with a self-satisfied grin that goes from ear to ear...or he could be smoking in bed....or maybe she's cooking him pancakes while wearing his pajama top and nothing else....or perhaps she stepped out of the shower.   There are tons of ways to alude to the fact that they've spent the night together.  I know a couple that plays scrabble in bed.  They didn't take kindly to me asking them if it was nude scrabble.  Heck, I thought it was funny.                                               

Then there's the whole issue of body parts.  If you're going to refer to genitals please avoid scientific terms.  Vagina and penis make me feel like if I'm sitting in a biology class.  Also, refrain from using funny terminoligy unless it applies to your story. 

To say, "she reached for the one-eyed wonder weasel" might have me laughing my ass off but it will not get me hot and bothered and ruin the whole scene.  Okay, I will most probably keep on reading just because it's me, but I doubt editors will be too happy.  

Speak real English.  Use the words we say behind closed doors.  Don't be bashful about it.  Readers will love you for it.  If you can't manage the actual words consider not saying them at all.

For example:  Mary stepped out of the tub.  Her mouth watered at the sight of Sam leaning against the doorway.  She took a few steps toward him eager to wipe that smug grin from his face.  She lifted her hand to her face while trying hard to maintain eye contact.  Very slowly, she ran the tip of her tongue over the length of her palm.  Then, she reached for him.  (See, no naughty words at all.)

 

Hope this has been helpful or at the least entertaining.  Have a great day!

LITTLE GIRLS HAVE BIG DREAMS.

                                                               
                                                                
Little children can have incredible dreams.  They can believe they can fly, shoot into space, slide to the other side of the rainbow and land in a pool of pink bubbles made of cotton candy.  The dreams grow even more fantastic when there's no adult around to tell them to stop dreaming.  And that's when children become scribes.  My message today is for first time writers.  I want the world to know that I've made mistakes in pursuit of my dreams.  Why?  It's our frailties that render us human.

Years ago I committed a crime that immortalized the words of a horny teenager. I submitted what I considered a masterpiece to be filed in the Library of Congress. Why? It was my first completed manuscript. I was young, and I thought it was the initial step to publishing. Pleased with my achievement, I queried an agent and sent him the first fifty pages only to receive a tiny card with an impersonal refusal. I was devastated. Believe it or not, your first rejection should be gut-wrenching. That’s what makes you try harder.

I purchased a how-to book and educated myself in the art of querying, which for me is as horrible as attempting a sudoku. I learned about manuscript format, spacing, and the dreaded synopsis. I began to search the net for agents, having memorized the common mantra. “The business of publishing is subjective.” Translation: An agent has to love the story enough to toot your horn and get publishers to like it. That’s okay. We want an agent that’s going to be passionate about our writing.

There are rules to follow. Know your genre. If you find an agent that represents your genre, it’s a good idea to check out the books on his site to see where you fit. Obviously, I’m still searching. There is an overwhelming amount of information available on the internet alone for anyone who wishes to master the art of writing. Don’t ignore it. Show respect. Know your grammar. Demonstrate your willingness to learn. Whoever said that ignorance is bliss was a fool.

Some books are meant to be shelved. None of us are born with a quill in hand ready to execute the perfect novel. Your first few attempts at writing serve a purpose, to chisel away the rough edges. You’ll find you’re telling instead of showing, going crazy with the adverbs, accidentally writing porn scenes, and losing all track of the plot. When all else fails, just write because it’s what you love to do.

The best advice I can offer: Don’t view an obstacle as an opposing force. Instead, see it as an opportunity to better yourself and ultimately achieve the much coveted literary glory.

Happy writing, and don't forget about your dreams.