Ramblings of a Writer: Creatures of Habit, Creatures of Change

I'm no psychologist.
I just wanted to make that clear from the beginning. The title of this post might make it seem as if I am, but I'm not.
Of course, I am a writer and that does give me some insight into human nature. Which, of course, brings us to the post of the day.
I was sitting in my church meetings this morning when a thought crossed my mind: humans are amazing creatures.
Think about it. We are creatures of habit and routine. We love to feel safe and loved. We love to know and understand what's going on. But we also are capable of being creatures of change. We want to explore and go on adventures and really live.
That's absolutely incredible to me. Because we want to be safe but we also want to grow into something bigger. We, as humans, want to make a difference in the world. We care about things, even when we like to say we could care less.
You're probably reading this and thinking what's the point? Well here it is:
Step outside of the box. Come on. Right now. I'm doing it too. Step out of what feels safe and step into the world. Be part of the world. Change it. Change yourself.
You owe it to yourself to be the person you want to be, not the person you are. Because the truth of the matter is that if you're not challenging yourself, what are you doing really?
Well, that's it for my ramblings. Happy Sunday all!

Review: TORN (Five Short Stories from the World of the Invincibles)

Okay! So the short stories I have been posting have been compiled into a book on Amazon in celebration of the upcoming TRAPPED. Here's a review of TORN:
"TORN: Five Short Stories from the World of The Invincibles by Brittany Oldroyd are well constructed stories that leave you curious. An introduction to some interesting characters with real tales to tell. A nice prequel setting you up for what I imagine to be a very good series. The author has a very natural writing voice that is both down to earth and inviting."

-brenda

The Editor in my Head

You may have heard that the editor and the writer often argue, to put it nicely. Well, here's an idea for you: what if they're the same person?
Yes, I am in fact talking about myself. I used to just be the writer. I had that mindset through and through. And then college happened.
I took an editing class last fall. Which was interesting and great. But it seems to have warped my mindset on writing. When I read a book, mine or anyone else's, I can be very analytical. Of course, I can also just be very creative. It all depends if I'm being the writer or the editor.
To some, this might be a great inconvenience. I have found it to be very good for my writing.The key is to learn how to turn it off.
Now, this may seem like a pointless blog entry to most of you. I mean, who cares? You should. Here's why:
1. Writers should be good editors.
2. And editors should be good writers.
For you writers out there, this is a skill you really should learn. See, as a writer, your creativity is endless. But sometimes that means we write things that, really, shouldn't be written. Bad dialogue, bad prose. Not what the public wants. And that's where the editor comes in, with a very scrutinizing analysis. Think about what would happen if you could have both. Think about what would happen if you could learn to turn each side on and off (something I'm still working on). Your skill as a writer would be unmatched!
So that's my little speech for the day. Write like an novelist, with all that awesome creativity and unparalleled imagination. But read like an editor. Find the flaws and fix them.
Trust me. TOTALLY WORTH IT.
Okay, that's it. Thanks guys! As always, feel free to comment!

No Perfect People

Today, I would like to take a moment to talk about this beautiful painting.
It's one of my absolute favorites.
A picture of the Savior holding a crying young woman.
The first time I saw it, it hit me hard. Because there no such thing as perfect people. Look at the woman. If we're going by stereotypes, she's not perfect. Far from it. It doesn't matter though. The Savior comforts her.
Sometimes, we forget that we can get comfort, no matter what, no matter when. But we can. He is always there.
This gospel is not for perfect people. It's meant to bring us together. It's meant to bring our gifts and talents together in a way that can help all of us get closer to Christ.
And, really, if you think about that, it's kind of beautiful.

Short Story #5: THE CHILD

THE CHILD

It’s the first day of second grade.

Mom drops me off at school, waving with the usual “be safe and make choices” she gives me every day.

I ignore her and walk into school. Well, trudge, really. I’ve never liked school very much.

For the most part, it’s a normal, boring day. Class, lunch, friends. Easy enough. Couldn’t be more boring. I just want to play outside.

Of course, a kid like me could never go a whole day without something happening. A kid like me never makes it through a day without getting in trouble.

And it’s the kind of trouble that gets kids like me sent to bed without dinner.

Or dessert.

I’m about ready to run outside, to find Mom’s car. I stop. Listen. Sneering voices, laughter, sniffling.

I turn the corner, peer down the hall. Three third graders and one second grader. He’s in my class. I can’t remember his name.

He’s the quiet one. The teacher’s pet. The kid I usually steer clear off. Too smart to have fun.

The scene is like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. The smaller kid getting pushed around, three big bullies laughing.

I hate bullies.

I always have. Not for the usual reasons. Not because I’ve been bullied or because I used to be a bully or because I had a sibling that was pushed around.

I hate bullies because wimps are the only kids that bully other kids. And it drives me crazy. What’s the point? What’s it going to do for you? Why is that going to make you feel better about yourself?

“Hey!”

I step in the hall, make my entrance. The bullies stop, the small kid from my class looks surprised. He knows who I am. I’m the loudest kid in class. Not easy to forget.

“Who’s that, Chancey?” one the third graders mocks, shoving him. “Your girlfriend.”

Gross.

I walk forward, step right up to him. We’re about the same height. I’m tall for my age, tall for a girl, tall for a second grader.

“Knock it off,” I say.

The bully is laughing. He thinks this is funny. He thinks I’m kidding. He thinks I’m just a silly girl.

Fine.

I bring back a tight fist, punch him in the nose. That gets his attention. It should. He just got punched by a girl. A girl a whole year younger than him.

“Leave him alone.” I’m glaring. “I don’t mind beating up a group of boys.”

They’re staring, glaring, sulking off, and I turn my attention to the kid they were picking on. Chancey, they called him.

“You okay?”

I grin. “Good thing I don’t care.” I pause. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

“Alec,” he says. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Nerd.”

“Alec,” he corrects.

“Hey, I just offered to beat up a kid for you. I can call you whatever I want.”

He rolls his eyes.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Nerd.”

“See you, Kate.”

I walk off, run outside, meet my mom in the parking lot. I hop in the car and she starts to drive. “What took you so long?”

“Nothing. I just had to help a friend.”

*****Okay! So that was the last of the short stories. Next week, the collection will be available as an ebook. Stay posted for details! Thanks guys!*****

Book Trailer: TRAPPED

Okay, thanks to the amazing Naomi Bergstresser, I have my book trailer for Trapped! Click on the link to see it on Youtube or watch it right here in this post!
Trapped Book Trailer: Youtube

Thanks guys! For more information on Trapped, check out my website tab: Published Books!

Powerful Women, Powerful Heroines

I want to take a moment to be a little passionate.
We all have our passions, our beliefs, the things we feel very strongly about. For me, that's creating powerful female leads in a story and showing women their own power.
Now, I'm not sexist or anything. I'm not saying men are useless, I'm not saying men aren't important. They can be heroes, just as easily as women. But I do believe it is more common for women to see themselves as victims, as damsels in distress.
What a very mistaken concept.
Women are powerful creatures. It is rare for us to believe it, but we really are. We have the strength, the compassion, the courage to do the right thing, even if we stand alone. In the words of Albert Einstein, "The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before." That's an intimidatingly beautiful idea. Don't be afraid to stand alone, don't be afraid to be the heroine of your own story. It will take you further than being saved by a knight in shining armor ever would.
A lot of the time, women wait for someone to save them. We are often drawn to the idea of being a princess so we will be saved by the knight.
Be your own knight.
This is a theme in thousands of stories. Thousands of heroines are created every day, heroines who stand up for what is right. Tris in Divergent, Melanie in The Host, Juliette in Shatter Me. Headstrong women in stories fill our world. Why? Because we want to like them. We admire strong women.
This is exactly why I write female protagonists. Women need to know that they are not the victim. Take the examples of Edgeshifter and Nissa in Segolia. Nissa is a young princess that goes from reluctant hero to a legend in her world. Edgeshifter's compassion makes her a heroine.
Be the hero in your own story. Don't wait for someone to take control. You are strong, beautiful, and independent.
Let that incredible strength shine.

Short Story #4: THE RUNAWAY

The Runaway

My mother left when I was five years old.

Sometimes, in a drunken rage, my father will talk about her. He says it’s my fault. He says that if I hadn’t been such a difficult child, she would have stayed.

 I know better.

It was my father that drove her away. It was his scorching temper, that tendency to react with violence. She could not take it anymore, the constant danger of being in her own house. So she left.

What I will never be able to understand, never be able to forgive her for is leaving me here. Heartless. She left me behind, letting me deal with father all on my own. Selfish. Why didn’t she take me with her? Cold. Didn’t she love me?

I grew up in that cold empty house, locking myself in my room as often as I could. But sometimes, avoiding my father was impossible. And spending time with my father usually meant a couple bruises, whether he was drunk or not.

This is the case today.

Looking the mirror, I can the see the purplish blotches painted across my face my arms my neck. A long-sleeved shirt and wintry scarf to cover my arms and neck. Nothing strange about that. It’s bitter cold in Zaraysk this time of year. I dab makeup on my bruised face. I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding my injuries. No one knows about the abused life I live.

I look in the mirror when I’m done, fluffing my hair. I stare back at the mirror. This is the girl everyone sees. Serious about her studies, fun to talk to, living an absolutely perfect life. What they don’t know is that girl is a lie.

I grab my bag, tiptoeing past my father passed out on the couch. Classes will be starting soon and I can’t be late again. I’ve been beat before school before, making me late. Then, of course, when my father gets a phone call about me being late I get a few more bruises as punishment.

 It’s a fairly uneventful day at school. I put on my usual bubbly face, laughing and flirting and being the Tatyana Galerkin everyone knows and loves. It’s not until the end of lunch that things get a little more interesting. There’s a table set aside for strangers in the cafeteria. I tell my group of friends to go on without me.

“What’s this?” I ask, putting a hand on the table.

The woman standing there smiles. “The Verona Modeling Agency is looking for new talent. We need new, young models, girls your age.” She hands me a brochure. “We’re holding auditions in Moscow on Saturday. Would you be interested?”

Yes yes yes yes yes. Totally and completely interested. Take me with you. Save me from the terrors of Zaraysk. Take me away from this place.

“I don’t know,” I find myself saying. “I don’t have any experience as a model.”

The woman smiles. “Well, come and see, you’ve got the body for it. You might be surprised by how well you do.”

She gives me a card with all the information on auditions and I smile before walking away. Tears prick but I push them back. No crying, not where people can see. I didn’t realize until now there was any sort of desire for something other than escape. But I want this bad. I want to be a model, I want to be loved, I want the freedom. I want it all and I don’t see how I could ever get it. My father will never let me go to Moscow. I’ll never get there. There’s just no way.

That night, I do something stupid. I mention Moscow to my father. I try to tell him that it would be good for me, that it would be an opportunity for better money, that it makes sense. He wouldn’t hear it.

When I go to room tonight, it’s with sore beaten muscles and a split lip. It’s enough to send me over the edge.

I pack the essentials, plus anything a potential model might need. Makeup, hair products, clothing, all the money I’ve been saving for years. I grab the keys to my father’s black Yamaha. He’s not going to be needing it anytime soon. He got so drunk tonight. He won’t even think I’m gone until tomorrow night, let alone notice that I stole his motorcycle.

I swing my bag onto my back before getting onto the bike. With a rev of the engine, I’m gone.

*****Okay, only one more short story to go! Look for THE CHILD February 27th!******

Short Story #3: THE HOSTAGE

The Hostage

Chicago is on fire tonight.

My senses are alive with the heat, the spicy aroma of cayenne peppers, the fire rising from the pan as alcohol drops into the sauce, the ordered chaos of chefs and waiters shouting, the commotion of pots and pans ringing through the kitchen.

I grab my apron, stepping into the confusion. I stride over to a woman, who tastes a sauce before shaking her head.

“Hello, Miranda.”

“Jay, what do you think this needs?”

I smile. Miranda has never been one to waste time on pleasantries, like hellos and good mornings. I grab the spoon, wrinkling my nose as I taste the soup. “It needs something sweet.”

Miranda snaps her fingers. “Like honey.” She lets a couple drops of honey fall into the sauce. “Can you make a sauce for Fettucine Alfredo? It’s crazy in here tonight.”

I start gathering up ingredients. “It’s crazy in here every night, Miranda.”

As Miranda’s sous chef and a saucier in the kitchen, I spend the night making sauces. The kitchen remains a madhouse for the rest of the night. There are endless amounts of dishes going in and out of the kitchen, endless amounts of orders. The night seems as though it will never end. But then it does.

Slowly, the other chefs leave the kitchen, their work shifts ending. It’s not long before it’s just me and Miranda, closing up the restaurant.

“Well,” Miranda says, leaning back against a counter, “Looks like we’re done for the night.”

“Well, isn’t that handy.”

Miranda and I both turn. There are three men standing in the kitchen, none of which belong here. Not only that but they are all armed. Each holds a handgun and they all look like they know how to use it.

Miranda takes a step forward. “If it’s money you—”

“We aren’t here for any money,” one of the men says. “We’re here for you.”

Miranda tenses. I do, too. What’s going on? What do they want with Miranda? Is she in trouble? Am I in trouble? I don’t know what to do or what to say or how to act. Terror is sinking in, as usual, turning everything into illogical paranoia.

“Of course,” the man says, toying with his gun now, “The kid’s got to die.”

Everything starts moving too quickly for me to really understand what’s happening. There’s a gun in my face and I’m staring into the barrel of a gun and I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready to die.

I think the trigger is going off and suddenly I’m pushed so hard I fall onto the tile floor. There’s a loud sound, deafening, and I let out a yell.

There’s no agony, no blood, no bullet. Why? What caused me to fall if not the powerful blow of a gunshot?  

I look around, sitting up slowly. And that’s when I understand. That’s when I see. She’s on the floor, too. Blood everywhere. Tangled limbs. Fading breaths. She pushed me out of the way. She took the shot meant for me.

The man that shot her curses. “We’ll have to take the kid instead,” he decides. “He’s scrawny but it’s better than nothing.”

I’m too shocked to fight them as they drag me out of the kitchen, leaving a dying Miranda alone on the floor. They drag me out into the street and I let them, not sure what else to do. They’re murderers. And if there’s one thing I know about cold-blooded killers, it’s that they don’t care how many people die.

Miranda is proof of that.

*****Thank you for reading THE HOSTAGE. More than halfway there! Only two short stories left. THE RUNAWAY is available on this blog the 20th of February! Don't miss it!

Short Story #2: THE SPY

The Spy

“Why do you want this job?”

I take a deep breath. I've waited so long to get here, spent my whole life preparing for this day, this hour, this moment.

It feels that way. Like this has always been my purpose in life. Even if it hasn't. It was the Catastrophe that brought me here, that realized this was the job I wanted, the job I needed.

“I’ve always wanted it,” I say. I've always been a good liar. The trick is making yourself think the lie is true so everyone else thinks it is, too. “I want to protect people in this country,” I say. “Not as a soldier, not as a police officer, but as an agent. I remember 9/11. I want to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”

Even if it kills me.

The interviewer fingers paperwork. “It says here that you lost a brother in that attack? Is that why you’re here?”

Not just a brother. Not just an attack. A twin. A massacre.

I’ve tried to forget about it for so long, tried to lie to myself for years, try to imagine that I never had a brother. It never works.

“He was there when it happened.”

The interviewer nods. Approval. “A good reason to want to join.” He starts shuffling papers. “However, we cannot overlook certain qualifications you do not fulfill. We don’t accept anyone under the age of 18 or anyone without a college degree. I’m sorry, Mr. Rothstein.”

I sink. I knew this was coming, I knew they’d never say yes. I don’t know what I was expecting. They only gave me interview so I would leave them alone. What was I thinking, expecting a different answer than the one I got? That the CIA would let a fifteen year old kid join their ranks, let him drop out of high school? Stupid.

“Thank you for your time.”

His face is a blank slab of stone, no guilt, no regret, no pity. He doesn't care if I've worked every minute of every day for this. He doesn't care that I've spent hours training my mind and body to be the best applicant he could have asked for, despite my age. He just cares about getting the job done.

I stand. “Thank you,” I say evenly. Too evenly. The lie comes far too easy. It would have been a good quality for a spy.

I shake his hand, leave the room. I want to be angry but I’m not sure how. I’m shocked. I knew the rules, I knew I needed a college degree, I knew I needed to be a legal adult. But I’d hoped, I’d fantasized that they’d overlook it. If it weren't for my age, I’d be the best spy they could hire. I could have done a lot of good if they had let me.

I pause, standing in the hallway, glancing across the room. A man leaning against the wall, wearing a black suit, hands shoved in his pockets.

“So,” he says, “They didn't accept you.”

I grit my teeth, clench my fists. It’s starting to sink in. My failure. Zack. I failed him, I failed to become the one thing that could prevent deaths like his.

I’m walking away and the man calls after me. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I did what I could.”

The man runs, catches up to me. “What would you say if I told you I could help you be an agent based here in Chicago?”

I stop. “What do you mean?”

He’s smirking a little now. “There’s an organization founded by a CIA agent meant to fight crime in Chicago. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Are you offering?”

He grins. Hands me a black file full of paperwork. “There’s everything you need to know in there. If you decide you’re interested, I left my contact information inside.”

I glance down at the file. A red dragon embossed on black. Swirling across the space of the file, smoke rising from its nostrils.

“Who are you?”

The man smiles. Holds out his hand. “Garrett Kingston. Head of the organization known as The Dragon.”

*******Thanks for reading! As the schedule goes, next Friday, February 13, I will release a short story called THE HOSTAGE.********

The Clone, The first of five TRAPPED short stories

The Clone

The Invincibles, short story #1

I’m not human.

This is a truth that has been pounded into my head since the day I was born, created, built. I have no mother, no father. I don’t have a childhood. I came into this world, a thirteen year old girl from day one.

They say I’m one of a kind, that nothing like me has ever been created. They say I am completely unique. They say that no one else has the technology needed to create something like me.

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been given the opportunity to explore that for myself.

They keep me locked away in here, left to the darkness. I crave sunlight, a summer’s breeze, the harsh cold of a winter morning. But I know those are things I will never get. My creator has deemed that far too dangerous.

Most of my time is spent wandering the tunnels, when I’m not too busy being a lab rat. They’re always checking up on me, making sure my body doesn’t start deteriorating or anything else that could be considered catastrophic.

I wander through the darkness, exploring the hallways. No matter how often I walk through these tunnels, I never make it through all of them. This place is a labyrinth of steel.

I pause, clicking my tongue. The sound reverberates off the walls, sending images across my vision. There’s a man to my left, two corridors down. There’s another man in the hall to the right, and a woman strides down another hallway four corridors down. I avoid all of them.

As I walk, my mind drifts. I’ve been here so long. It has to have been years, even if it’s impossible to know how much time has actually passed. I find myself remembering those first few moments of existence.

“Is she functional?”

His voice reaches me from far away, as if there are layers and layers between me and him. It’s a low voice, empty and cold and dead. There is no curiosity in his question. Not a trace of emotion.

“She should be awake soon,” another, smaller, voice says. “She formed properly.”

“So the cloning process was a success?”

“Yes,” the smaller voice answers. “She will need a name. What would you like to call her?”

“Zandra.”

“Like your—?”

“Yes,” the cold voice answers curtly.

There is silence for a moment. I think about what I’ve heard. Clone. What does that mean? Are they talking about me? And the name, Zandra. Is that my name? Everything feels so uncertain. I don’t know who or what or where I am. I can’t recall anything. There’s nothing to remember. This is my beginning. There is nothing but now.

I can hear a soft pounding, the fading of footsteps. I wait, unsure why I’m so unwilling to open my eyes to an audience. I don’t want them to know I’m awake quite yet. I don’t even know what’s going on but I feel unsafe. There’s something in the air that screams danger.

When I’m sure I’m alone in wherever I am, I open my eyes. Immediately, I’m blinded by—what is that?—some kind of bright light. I blink, trying to adjust.

I’m surrounded by glass. Above me is open but everywhere else is glass. It’s some kind of cylinder that I’ve awoken in.

“Zandra Glass.”

My gaze flickers, noticing the man standing over my cylinder. It’s the man with the small voice. He’s wearing a white coat over his clothes. He looks down at me, standing tall.

“Welcome, Zandra.”

I stop, standing before a dark door. I click. There’s no one in the any of the hallways near me. I push open the door, slipping into the room. If anyone catches me, they could decide I’m better off dead. After all, they say the point of making me was to see if cloning was a possibility. They know it works now. They don’t really need me for anything else. I’ve already been deemed a failure in the two years I have existed.

The room is empty, except for stacks of boxes. Curiosity gets the better of me. I tear open the first box I see, peering inside the small crate. Then, slowly, I pull out the silver whip. It’s beautiful, shimmering under the fluorescent lights. There’s a black belt with it and the whip itself ends in barbed strands. I touch the strands, suddenly jumping as it shocks me. It’s an electric whip. This could be a powerful weapon.

“Zandra?”

I hear the voice in my ear, coming into the small ear piece I am required to carry at all times. I press a finger to my ear, out of habit. “Yes?”

“The boss wants to see you.”

I sigh. “Okay, I’m coming.”

I take the whip, going back to the wall and sliding it into the small crevice. No one will think to find it there. No one will even realize its missing. But there may come a day when the boss realizes I’m no longer useful and it will be on that day that I will need the whip, just long enough to escape the terrors I have been born in.

********For you that haven't heard, I will be releasing a novel called TRAPPED this March. Over the next five weeks, I will release short stories about the characters to help you get to know them better. Hope you enjoyed this first one! There will be another February 6.********* 

The End of TRAPPED

The end is near.

Exciting. 

Today I'm reaching the conclusion of the end of TRAPPED. A superhero novel. About a girl who is experimented on and wages war against her creator, becoming a superhero in the process. And this is the final revision. Almost there.

And with the end close, I have to think about it. Resolutions are bittersweet, whether you are a writer or a reader. You readers understand this. You don't want it to end but you can't wait to see it, to feel it. It's the same with being a writer. This is only the first of a series but it's sad to know what is in this book will not be written again. And everything is different after this, every character, every scene, every setting. It's all new and fresh. And goodbyes are both beautiful and very sad.

Never fear. The beauty of a new book outweighs the sadness of ending this one.

I guess what I'm saying is I am sad to say goodbye to Trapped but excited to begin Tainted. 

It's going to be an adventure.

Who's ready for its?

Dream Journal: The Good Ones

For the past couple of years, I've been haunted by nightmares. But, seemingly at random, these nightmares have stopped, replaced by a bunch of pretty good dreams. Yay! 

Today, I'm going to share a couple of favorites.

1. Selling Stephen Amell a copy of my superhero novel at comic con.

This was a fantastic dream, I got to say. It's one of the few times I've woken up, going darn it! I wished it was real. So basically this is what happened:

Stephen Amell walks up to my table, where I am selling copies of Trapped, my superhero novel (currently unpublished). He asks to buy one and I sign it for him before calling up my friend to join me at the table. She starts freaking out and we're both trying to not scream we're so excited. The beauty of the dream was that Stephen Amell plays the Arrow and my superhero novel drew a lot of inspiration from his show. Really, a dream would be for him to be as big of a fan of my work as I am of his.

2. Watching a scene from Trapped.

So the other day I created a new character, a gorgeous bad boy with a British accent. Anyway, I dreamed about him and my protagonist's second meeting. It's hilarious and memorable, but unfortunately I can share the dream. Spoilers.

3. Taking Selfies with the Twelfth Doctor on a Cruise Ship.

This was a fun dream. I just got into Doctor Who and am loving it. Anyway, in this dream, the doctor happened to be the president of the United States. I got into the pool on the cruise ship and he joined me and we took selfies, with my copy of The Amulet of Samarkand, the first book in The Bartimaeus Trilogy. Fun stuff.

Okay so those are the top three. There are others but they're not as interesting or I can't remember all the details. Thanks for reading!

She Would

She would fight.
Harder than she thought she could.
Longer than anyone expected her to.
Every day she would push
Back against the walls that held her
Testing their limits.
She would fight.

She would cry.
In grief, for the people she loved.
In joy, for the life she lived.
In despair, for everything she’d lost.
The tears would fall like rain.
More tears than she’d ever expected to shed.
She would cry.

She would laugh
Every worry and tear away.
Everything would be okay
Because she knew who she was
And that knowledge gave her joy.
She would laugh.

She would mourn.
For the poor man, for the soldier, for the lost and the lonely.
Every sorrow would be hers to bear.
Every pain hers to share.
She would mourn.

She would struggle.
Nothing would ever break her
Not the jeering nor the anger nor the doubters.
Her strength would never falter.
She would struggle.

She would love.
Every heart would be hers to hold.
Every heart to be cared for by her gentle hands.
Not an ounce of it would be held back
Because it was all she had to give.
She would love.

Call Yourself a Writer

Step one of becoming a writer: call yourself a writer.

Step on of staying motivated as a writer: again, call yourself a writer.

Sound too easy? You'd be surprised by how much this helps.

There will always be times when you'll struggle with writing. It happens to the best of us. What you have to learn to do is not let it get to you. And the best way to not let it get to know is to learn to remember that you are a writer.

The moment that you decide that you're a writer, the moment you become one. So if you're reading this post with the intent of becoming a writer, congratulations. You're a writer. When people ask, that's what you tell them. It doesn't matter if you have written a thousand words or none. You are a writer.

Staying Motivated

The number one problem most writers share is commitment. We start billions of projects but never finish them. Months pass with no writing getting done.
Never fear, my young writer friend. There are things to help you stay motivated and keep writing. Here are a few ideas:
Schedule
Setting a writing schedule for yourself is a great way to stay motivated. Find a time to write every day, always at the same time. Consistency will make it easier to write. Find a time to write every day and keep to your schedule. For example, I write every night, whether that be for thirty minutes to three hours.

Surround yourself with writers
Get to know other writers. It's an extremely beneficial to talk to others who love your craft. Join writer groups on Facebook, find other writers in community. Bounce ideas off other writers, as well as get advice from others.

Call yourself a writer
You'd be surprised how few people see this as a necessity. But the moment you decide you are a writer, even if you haven't written a word, the easier it is to write.

Writing space
It's important to be consistent about where you write. You can work in a cafe or a library or a desk in your bedroom. Wherever you can focus comfortably.

Writer's Block Help
Writer's block? Try doing something to get the juices flowing. Read, ride a bike, go on a walk.

Writing Prompts

So you want to be a writer but you don't know what you want to write about. Well, look no further than this epic list of writing prompts! This is a list of prompts to help you get started on a project for those writers that are a little stuck. Give it a try!

1. What does moonlight sound like?
2. In your dying moments, you see a "Game Over" screen with two options: Try Again or End Game.
3. Write a scene about gold ballet shoes and a deciduous tree.
4. Write about the seasons in terms of sounds.
5. "I promised that I'd save him, that I'd take him home. I promised."
6. Write about an assassin who gets hired to kill a man who doesn't exist.
7. Write a story set in a world where crying is forbidden.
8. Choose a line from a song. Use this as the first line of a story.
9. Write about the way he died.
10. Write about a time traveler and an ancient scroll.
11. Write about the dragon that saves the princess. 
12. Write about the little girl who is afraid of the monster under her bed, which turns out to be her guardian protecting her from the real enemy-her parents.
13. Write about a land where night doesn't exist.
14. Pick a line of a poem and write a story about it.
15. Write about a cursed princess and her pet owl.

Have your own to add to the list? COMMENT!

Movies can be just as inspiring as books can. I can remember several movies I watched that got the ball rolling for my latest project. 

Here are some movies that every writer should see:

1. The Lord of the Rings
2. Inception
3. Pride and Prejudice
4. Dead Poets Society
5. Avatar
6. Harry Potter (8 movies)
7. Secretariat
8. Courageous
9. Forever Strong
10. Divergent
11. The Fault in Our Stars
12. The Blind Side
13. Star Wars
14. Oblivion
15. Jack Reacher
16. After Earth
17. The Vow
18. The Great Gastby

Okay so this list is just a few of my personal favorites. There are plenty of other amazing movies out there to see. 

Have anything you want to add to my list? Leave a comment!

Readers Are the Best Writers

It's the truth. No writer can survive by writing alone. Reading is a crucial aspect to being a writer. After all, hidden between the pages of a novel are the secrets to good fiction writing. Reading is inspiring and it helps us understand how to be good writers. The best writers are always readers.
In my mind, there are three different kinds of books writers need to be reading.
1. Writing Guides
Duh. In order to more fully understand the writer's craft you should be reading books about writing. When I first started, I read every novel writing book I could get my hands on. I suggest you do the same. Here are some ideas:

• Writing Fiction For Dummies
• This book is awesome from the planning stage to the publishing stage.
• Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway
• This book is a must. I'm currently reading it and it's the most clear guide on writing I've ever read.
• How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card
• Definitely check this out Science Fiction and Fantasy writers.
• 90 Days to Your Novel
• This book is split up for those who are anxious to finish but feel overwhelmed.
• A Writer's Guide to Character Traits
• This is awesome for creating three dimensional characters.

2. Classics

This is something I struggle with. I've never been that into the classics. Jane Austen, George Orwell, eh. But I truly do think every writer should invest some time with these kinds of books. There's a reason these books are classics, people. Here are some examples:

• J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings
• The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis
• Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
• Dracula by Bram Stoker
• The Great Gastby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
• The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

3. Fiction

Now for the fun stuff. To be a fiction writer, it's crucial that you read the kinds of books that you write. So below are lists of books to read depending on what genre you write. These are not the only things you can read but just some ideas to get you started.

Fantasy and Science Fiction:

• A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin
• Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling
• The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
• Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

Romance:

• The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks
• The List by Melanie Jacobson
• The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum
• White Hot Kiss by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Young Adult:

• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
• Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi
• Vampire Academy by Richelle Mead
• The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Historical Fiction:

• The Book Thief by Markus Zusack
• Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• The Undaunted by Gerald Lund

Those are just a few examples. Of course there are plenty more genres to choose from. If you want to see more options, a great place to look is https://www.goodreads.com/genres. 

Start reading today. Even if you aren't writing anything yet, read. It'll make a huge difference.

Have any books to add to any of these lists? Leave a comment!

People Watching: Why You Should Do It

So, as promised, for the next few days we'll be discussing the different ways to boost your creativity as a writer as seen in the blog post, Creativity Boosters: How to Stay in Tune With Your Creative Side. Today, we begin by discussing the importance of people watching.
Before we begin, I have one very important thing to point out: when I say people watch, I am NOT giving you permission to stalk. It doesn't matter your intent, that's just creepy. What's the difference? Well, people watching is observing other people's habits and dialogue to gain a better understanding of people in general. Stalking is following a single person around in an extremely creepy manner. Writers don't stalk, we people watch. Clear?
Okay, now that that's over and done with, we can get into the fun stuff.
TO THE MECHANICS OF PEOPLE WATCHING!
Okay, so there really aren't all that many mechanics to people watching. It's not that complicated. You're simply observing people. However, I do have some advice on how to get as much out of people watching as possible.
1. Have the right equipment.
For starters, bring your eyes. Not that you wouldn't have those with you anyway but I guess you never know. Of course, if you wear glasses or contacts, I would highly suggest you bring those. But I digress.
You also should bring a notebook and a pen. Of course, if you truly want to be a writer, I would expect you to have those no matter where you go. For people watching purposes, use the notebook to write down anything you notice, how that one girl kept brushing back her hair or how the one dude talked. Trust me on this, it's a good idea.
2. Location is everything.
You're going to have a really hard time people watching without a good place to watch those people. Think about the town you live in. Is there a good cafe you can observe from? Or a park a lot of people go to? Or are you a college student and there's a good building on campus you can watch at. Take me for example. I go to BYU-Idaho so I spend my people watching time at the Manwaring Center on campus. There's the a bunch of tables inside for people to eat and talk and do homework. It's the perfect place for me to people watch. There's people, food, a place for me to sit back and watch. Perfect.
3. The actual watching.
Congrats. You've got your place and your equipment. You are now ready to start the people watching. When you take your seat to begin the watching, make sure it's somewhere with a good view of a lot of people and close enough that you'll be able to listen to how they talk(do your best not to eavesdrop; that won't make very many friends).
As you watch and listen, pay attention to the different things people do as they talk, how they talk, different facial expressions, how they are dressed and look, and anything else that could help you write better characters. Write everything down in your notebook.
I suggest spending ten to twenty minutes people watching. Less than that and you won't get a whole lot out of it. More than that and you're spending too much time watching and not enough time writing.
Okay! So that, my loyal friends, is people watching. Even if you aren't working on any project in particular, I highly suggest that you make this a habit today. It'll work wonders for your writing.
Any questions? Any suggestions on people watching or how people watching has helped you as a writer? Leave a comment!