kimlajevardi

That’s right, I’m back! 🙂 Making up for my bad blogger moments with my second blog posting in a week. Are you shocked? Don’t look outside to see if the sky is falling, just sit back and enjoy the unexpected. You never know if it will happen again. 😉

So, I went back to Mother Load Boulevard, and as I was walking there yesterday, I took a few images to share with my huge audience.

Laughing, really? All right, I’ll wait until you’re done. Get it out of your system now. *foot taps impatiently*

Are you ready?

Okay. Well, my second trip was nearly as entertaining as my first. Not everything was the same as my first trip, I guess that was to be expected, but the setting still held a ton of creative ticklers.

Like this first house. What’s the big deal you ask. Just looks like a regular house to you? Zoom in on the window. That’s okay, I’ll wait. *Hum, hum, hum*

See it now? That creepy jack-o-lantern smile carved into the screen is not present on just that window, it’s on all of the windows that can be seen from the street. WTF, right? Well, if you could see the whole house, you’d realize that no one has lived in it for what looks like quite a while. Another foreclosure resulting from the Great Recession I’d imagine, but that’s not what got my imagination stirring. No. It was the creepy smile. Now, I’m not normally a horror writer, but I started picturing all kinds of creatures floating around inside there, and then I began to imagine the kind of magic that could keep a property empty when it’s so clearly on a large, valuable lot. The kind of magic that makes for a great story. And that’s just the first house on the street. :-O

Next up was this ranch. Just doors down from the other house, this ranch sits on a ton of property. If you zoom in on the gate, you’ll see that they’ve named their property, and it’s most likely the a beautiful family home. But…*cue maniacal laughter here* I didn’t picture a cozy family riding horses and sharing tea on the back patio. I envisioned a Dallas-type family, replete with evil schemes, sexy women falling into bed with every man that gives them a flex of their abs, and hot cars. A bit of a difference from the first house, huh? Just wait.

Back across the street and right next door to the first house, we have this little gem. Keep you’re eyes on the foreground, rather than the big, box houses in the back please. Those are not nearly as interesting.

The house hiding in the bushes, the one with the red paint sneaking out from a very old coat of white paint, looks like it was a one, maybe two room bungalow when it was first built. Simple, honest, no frills. But, do you see the small white structures on the right side of the frame? Those are attached to it. Not in a professional, “let’s spend a wad of cash cause we’re moving on up way”, they’re attached in pieces. Chunks, really. It brings to mind the ramshackle homes you see in documentaries of the slums of India or of squatters villages in Asia or Africa. Sad. Depressing buildings that are held together by scraps of wood and metal.

And I began to imagine the people who lived there at some point because this house also looked abandoned. I imagined their hard lives and the tenacity that type of life breeds.Can you picture the people who might have lived there? Who do you see? I smell a book of generations. What about you?

Next, I bring you the millennium’s version of hippies. A lot has changed. 🙂

That is the biggest peace sign I’ve ever seen. What was even funnier about this house was the fact that as I walked away, I actually saw an old school bus in the back yard. I tried to take a picture, but there were too many trees. It was hilarious because this is one of the nicest houses on the street and it had a relatively new high-end SUV parked on the side of the house. A lot has changed hasn’t it?

The story I saw in this house had more to do with the golf cart of their neighbor’s house. Across the street and two doors down was a golf cart with not one, but two rifle cases mounted on back. It was sitting in front of a cute, little ranch with flower pots and a cozy front porch. I imagine each neighbor would have something to say about the other ones’ choices in life. What would a conversation between them sound like? And how would they perceive that conversation? Oh, my mind was roiling.

And for the finale: a big, blue box. (For you Dr. Who fans out there, it’s not that kind of box. *Darn, I need a smirk emoticon.*)

Seriously. (Ha ha ha – sorry, it still cracks me up)

This sits across from a high-end house on the corner; the house that is for sale. Can you hear the conversations the real estate agents must have with their buyers? Oh, I can.

But it all goes back to setting, my friends. As time moves forward, so much changes, but as change takes place, pieces of lives are left out for us to gather. Those pieces can be found on a suburban street or on a far-away planet, but they’re there, and it’s our job to gather them. So, pull on your walking shoes, wand, or jet pack — whatever your mode of transport – and go take a look around. There are streets just waiting for you, but stay away from mine. 🙂

I should tell you right of the bat that I’m beginning this blog post full of energy and excitement. Now, you may ask yourself what is so exciting about setting, and why on Earth would this silly, little writer be energized by it?

Silly, huh?

Ah well, I’ll tell you anyways. 😉 I’m excited because I found a neighborhood riddled with inconsistencies and character.

Character? What does character have to do with setting?

Oh, oh, oh, let me tell you. Everything! Setting makes all the difference in the world. Whether our world or another one far, far away. (Cue Star Wars music please :)) There are numerous cases in television, movies, and books where readers get the sense that the setting is the elusive extra chess piece on the board. The “character” pushing the events forward. Fantasy is one genre in particular that jumps to mind when discussing setting. Science Fiction another. Both of these genres would be sorely incomplete without unusual times and or places, and the influences each has over the characters involved. What would Harry Potter be without Hogwarts, or Katniss Everdeen without District 12 and the Capital?

A pop culture example of setting directly influencing or becoming a character is in Sex in the City. The women in that show would be dynamic – not always likable, I know, but still interesting to watch – in any major city, but what made their dialogue take shape, and what influenced their very core relationship struggles was the fact that they lived in New York City. An aggressive, competitive, and influential nexus where these women all strove to gain some sense of their own piece of the apple, a large piece, probably an enormous hunk when considering what the average Joe gets, but still something they could call their own.

Without New York City, Hogwarts, or the fractured districts of Panem, none of the stories above would have been the same. None of the characters would have been either, and that leads me to what I saw today.

I was walking in an area around my son’s high school, waiting while my son practiced soccer with his team, and I stumbled on an example of setting that lit my writer brain on fire. Seriously. I was walking down the road head ping-ponging back and forth trying to take it all in because I was so excited. (Must have looked hilarious to anyone who saw me, but oh well.) What got me so jazzed was an eclectic mix of old and new, suburban and rural, hippie and hunter, McMansion and hovel; all on the same street. It was the mother load.

Characters began taking shape as I looked at each house in turn, and situations immediately followed. I imagined traumas and triumphs, marriages and divorces, and changes galore. And each piece of inspiration owed itself to the time and place, not just of the street, but of the locale. I’ll be revisiting this street and after those visits, I’ll be posting more about Mother Load Boulevard, but for now take a moment and remember. Remember the last time you were brought alive by a walk down a single road. Can you picture it? If not, do this for yourself, do it for your future characters, but just do it.

It’s on a bunch of t-shirts, so how could it be bad advice? 🙂

I’m going to talk about my new character in just a moment, but first, an apology. Yet again I’ve been a bad blogger. Does this sound like echoes of another entry, um, well, sorry. *blush*

But, and this is where the really good excuse comes in, I’ve been so busy in my regular life. Work was intense for a while, my mom duties involved a lot of driving for spring sports, and I’ve begun a big revision of my manuscript. So…I’ve been a bad blogger. I’m sorry, and if you could see me, you’d see the hang-dog expression on my face. It’s very pitiful. Am I forgiven? Well, am I? 🙂

How about if I proceed with my post about another great character?

Yes? Okay, here goes:

On Saturday, I was parked outside a local Dairy Queen waiting for my son to get his ice cream. I already had my frozen yogurt from another establishment (it sucks getting older and having to choose low fat, low sugar options. Ah, but I digress). Anyways, I was parked out there for a while because there was apparently quite the line inside. While I waited, I looked at a new kids store in the adjacent space. They took the space from Blockbuster after it closed many of its physical locations. I used to go to that Blockbuster pretty frequently.

As I sat in my car, chowing down on my frozen yogurt, I remembered one of the employees. In reality, I think she was a manager, or at least I’m remembering her that way. I thought about her final days in the store, imagining her packing up the videos, sending them back to the main office or some warehouse somewhere. I visualized her saying goodbye to the employees, finishing up her employment by herself, the final arbiter of where stuff goes and what gets thrown away. I imagined her locking the door for one final time, getting in her not-yet-paid-for car, and driving the few miles to her one-bedroom apartment. I could see her setting down the keys for the now empty storefront on her kitchen table, while she poured herself a glass of wine. Now that I think about it, though, she may be a beer drinker. Young, probably about college-aged, and a little rough around the edges. Yes, she’ll be a beer drinker for my purposes. 🙂

Can you picture her, can you see her twisting the long neck of her beer bottle around as she sits in the dark? I can. I imagine her on a balcony, sitting in a cracked plastic chair, contemplating what’s next. I want to believe it’s a chance for her to climb through a different open window, step up into a brighter future, or some equivalent. But what if it isn’t? For every person who takes change as opportunity, aren’t there others who take it as a set back?

For now, this character is sitting on her balcony, twirling her bottle, and thinking. But in the future, who knows where I’ll take her. For good or bad, she’s become another character in my mental file.

Can you think of one that stirs up a story for you?

No? Well then maybe you need a little frozen yogurt, or if you’re lucky enough to still eat ice cream, then ice cream. 😉 Go out, eat, and enjoy. Your characters are waiting.

It’s February 6th already and time for another round of The Insecure Writer’s Support Group. A wonderfully supportive group of writers. If you get the chance, go check some of these great writers out.

This posting began in a fog of last night’s Nyquil and continued under the support of Sudafed. Pardon me while I take a second to cough my brains out for the millionth time this week.

TMI? 🙂

Anyways, back to my posting. I thought I’d go on to Youtube, pull up an inspirational writing video, and crawl back under the covers. Simple, easy, and well within my virus-adled brain’s ability. But that changed as I watched a particular video of a speech Stephen King gave to some University of Mass students – I began to want to say something.

Each month the writer’s of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group post about their fears, their thoughts, or their experiences as writers in an increasingly competitive writing environment. And each month we take solace in the similarity of the experiences of each other, swim in the words of other people who are traveling the same path as us.

But this month, I want to do something different. I want to put forth the words of those who’ve come before us. People who were or are the authors who made us want to read, to devour the books they slaved over. Just like I was inspired by the words of Mr. King this morning, I want to share the words of other talented writers who have run the race and helped define the very profession we hope to join or already are a part of. Without further ado, please consider these words of wisdom as you make your way through your manuscripts in February, and may their words speak as strongly to you as they have to me:

People on the outside think there’s something magical about writing, that you go up in the attic at midnight and cast the bones and come down in the morning with a story, but it isn’t like that. You sit in back of the typewriter and you work, and that’s all there is to it.
– Harlan Ellison

Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it’s the only way you can do anything really good.
– William Faulkner

Tell the readers a story! Because without a story, you are merely using words to prove you can string them together in logical sentences.
– Anne McCaffrey

And in homage to Mr. King, who helped me focus my posting today:

“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s work. … Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything. Or a broken billboard. Or weeds growing in the cracks of a library’s steps. Of course, none of this means a lot without characters the reader cares about (and sometimes characters—‘bad guys’—the reader is rooting against).”

“Writers must be fair and remember even bad guys (most of them, anyway) see themselves as good—they are the heroes of their own lives. Giving them a fair chance as characters can create some interesting shades of gray—and shades of gray are also a part of life.”

Take 2

This began as a post about IWSG, but has now morphed to include a mini tirade about technology. I actually submitted a post this morning, but after I returned home from some errands, I discovered that the post was gone. Argh…if you were sitting beside me right now, you would hear my best expletives because I can really curse up a storm when stymied by technology. 😦 But, it’s probably not appropriate here, so…on to another version of the post from this morning.

I’m approaching the end  – well, end is a strong word because if a publisher ever agrees to publish my WIP, I’ll probably need to edit my brains out – but, I digress. I’m approaching the end of my WIP, and I’m feeling – I don’t know – I guess I’m feeling anxious. The anxiety stems from feeling that some days when I sit down and write I give it everything. I slip into the writing zone: my fingers fly across the keyboard, and my internal editor is mostly quiet. In those moments, I can dissolve into the words, see the characters in motion, and even feel what each character is feeling. I love those moments. I think I write for those moments, for the instances where I’m set aside and my mind can simply create.

Then there are other days. The days where I sit at the computer and a sentence comes out, and I stare at it. Then I change a word and stare at that. Then I hear a car drive by and stare at it. Get the picture. Those days are frustrating, and right now as I approach “the end” of Silent Witnesses, they are annoying. I’m so close to the end that my next project beckons, and yet I still have those wasted days. I know others out there experience the same thing. Alex posted about the watching the squirrel problem today.

Does it frustrate everyone else as much as it does me?

Check out the writers of the IWSG. It’s a supportive network of writers across the blogosphere that post the first Wednesday of the month.

The tree is up, the lights are hung, and ornanents hang from every branch. Tis the season for fun, food, and gifts. So what’s there to be insecure about you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you: my committment to keeping my tuchus in the chair.

With the parties, the shopping, and darkness before five p.m., I find it easier to slip from my writing routine.

Am I the only one, or are there other writers out there who are just plain distracted this time of year?

http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/p/the-insecure-writers-support-group.html

Stop by and support the fantastic writers of The Insecure Writer’s Support Group. Merry Christmas!

Another month, another chance to connect to other writers worldwide. Check out the other writers of IWSG by clicking on this link: http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/p/the-insecure-writers-support-group.html.

My post this month isn’t going to focus on my insecurities as much as previous posts. Sorry. I’m actually feeling okay at the moment. I worry about typing that without throwing a pinch a salt or some other superstitious gesture, but it’s the truth. I’m making progress on my WIP, and I’ve got little snippets of ideas percolating for my next project which satisfy my need for a little creative variety. I know my current state of satisfaction is temporary. As an adult survivor of a beautifully-messed up childhood, I know a cloud will eventually drift back over my head and provide a grey haze, but for the time being, I’m enjoying the sunlight. So, for all my cohorts in this loosely affiliated blog web/ring/whatever, I’m sending good wishes your way. Maybe the sunlight is contagious and the clouds can clear for a little holiday cheer. (Wait, did I just type that? Argh… I must be channeling a deceased pop star.) Anyways, have a great Thanksgiving and happy writing!

My writer brain showed up in yet another random location last night – the blackjack table. For all of you who’ve sat at gambling tables for any length of time, you’ll know what I mean when I say that gamblers are a mixed bunch. Whether I go to my local establishment, which is where I was last night, or I gamble in Las Vegas, which I’ve done a few times ;-), I always encounter a wide assortment of people. From obvious differences in clothes and mannerisms to more subtle differences in temperament and speech patterns, it’s never a dull night at the casino.

But last night, I again experienced my transformation from judgmental observer to a writer who’s interested in building a mental catalog of characters to draw from.

A sort of disheveled man approached the table, the dealer was shuffling so we had a down moment or two to wait, and as we waited, he proceeded to count of a handful of bills he’d had clutched in his hands when he walked up. His hands shook as he spread them out on the player side of the table. First two tens, then two fives, and a couple of ones to round things out. Thirty-two dollars in total. Nothing to sneeze at for sure, but not much for a table with a minimum bet of ten dollars a hand.

I continued to watch our newest player as the dealer finished her shuffling and converted his cash to chips. Not only did his hands shake while he was counting out the cash, but they continued to shake as he settled into the stool and adjusted his position and his chips. He rested one hand beneath the other and finally seemed to ready himself to play.

The cards were placed back in the chute after another player cut the deck, and I thought that was the end of my brief character study, but I was wrong. And the reason I was wrong was because of the initial impression I’d formed. The small buy in, the shaky hands, and the man’s disheveled appearance all made me think that he was a fish out of water, either inexperienced or underfunded, but either way I didn’t think he’d last long. Players do have a tendency to come and go at a blackjack table.

Well, the first couple of hands seemed to confirm my thoughts and I pulled myself away from studying the man long enough to concentrate on a couple of hands of my own (I’m pleased to say I won those two hands. Can’t always say that 🙂 But my writer brain was shaken back into action from how the man played, and the way he went about engaging the other players at the table. Although his first couple of hands wiped out his thirty-two dollars, he didn’t leave, he didn’t complain to the dealer – some people do that for some reason – no, he just pulled out more money and settled in for a few more hands. He chatted up the other players and flashed a smile that really lit up his face, transforming his windblown and slightly unwashed face into a handsome image that was relateable. Well, that caught my attention faster than my own money being pulled from me as the result of a bust hand.

I realized my first impression was wrong, and beyond that, it was actually the reverse of reality. Because the man with shaky hands and just a thirty-two dollar buy in, pulled out money for a third time, and began coaching the less experienced player to his left. His tips and play showed me that he was not only completely comfortable at a blackjack table, but that he was sharp as well.

Suffice it to say, that my writer brain was in overdrive by this time. I began to look beyond my initial impression, studying the clothes he wore and coming up with reasons for the dichotomy between his appearance and his reality. A couple of possible storylines presented themselves; each of which could build out into a short or make him a character to watch in a novel. But it confirmed for me what I realized when I had my little experience at Starbucks (see my post from last month), my transformation into a writer is complete (Well, complete might be the wrong word. Since I can always learn more, it’ll probably never be complete in the finished sense of the word.) Regardless of how long it takes to move toward publication – and hopefully that’s not too long 😉 – the last few years of working on my craft and writing daily have produced what I’ve always wanted. I’m a writer. A real writer. It feels good to say that.

And now I have yet another character in my filing cabinet of a brain. I hope the man he’s built upon came away from that table a winner. I know this writer did.

So I just got back from Starbucks with a steaming hot vanilla latte. Great way to start a lazy Sunday, right? I think so. Apparently a number of other people felt the same way because the drive through was packed. I could have gone inside, but because it’s a lazy Sunday I was in my pajamas, and so I wanted the anonymity of my car. So as I’m waiting for the four cars ahead of me, I looked back at the car behind me, and this is what I saw:  a woman smoking a cigarette in the driver’s seat and a small pair of feet resting on the dashboard. My first instinct was a mother’s instinct; I thought about how that poor kid was getting exposed to cigarette smoke.

But then another perspective stepped in – that of the writer. I took note of the bags under her eyes, the fact that the cigarette and her nicely manicured hand hung out the window until she wanted to inhale, several times she laid her head back against the headrest as if exhausted. Then my writer brain went further, and I noticed the condition of her car – newer, but signs of wear around the wheelwells – and I listened to her order – a chai tea with soy milk.

And what do you know, a character and storyline began forming. I imagined a woman who was newly divorced. Her husband a successful guy who’d walked away for a younger woman and left her with four kids. I imagined that two of the kids were little – too little for school – and the other two were a challenge, maybe one of whom is autistic. I thought it would be interesting if she was unaccostomed to having to work hard, but she was fiercely devoted to her kids. The old her relied on nannies to help carry the burden, and the new her was exhausted from experiencing all of the work a family that size requires.

At first I thought the ex-husband being a jerk who left her for a younger woman would be good, but then I thought about how much more interesting it would be if he wasn’t a complete jerk. Maybe he initially left her because she didn’t make room in her life for him, focusing exclusively on the kids and her charity relating to autism. Only later did he bring in the younger woman, showing that he may have also had other reasons for leaving. This would undermine her confidence as she plowed forward with rebuilding her life and add tension to their co-parenting relationship. I like tension. 🙂

All of this character and story building took place in my head as I waited for my coffee, and I had to chuckle to myself. Just a few years ago, I would have just left my judgement at: why is that lady smoking with a kid in the car?