T is for Touched

T is for Touched

One of my very first WIPs, Touched.  The MC came to me many, many years ago and the story is never far from my imagining's.  I hope maybe someday it will no longer be a WIP.

 

~*~*~*~

 “So what am I thinking now?” The bulky blond challenged, crossing his arms over his uniformed chest in a mildly childish stance.

Honestly, Logan had expected Mike to ask him to levitate a table or prick a finger and heal it. He’d already been witness to Logan’s strength and endurance. But the mind reading?

Quirking a dark brow at his pragmatic friend, Logan pushed off the window sill and stood before the young deputy, holding his friends unremitting stare. “Looking for proof, Sheriff?” Mike nodded. Logan simply shook his head, this moment bordering on a childhood dare. “Okay.”

Taking another step closer to Mike, Logan felt his friend flinch, but hold his spot at the center of the old hardwood floor. “You’re sure?”

“Do it.” Mike swallowed hard.

Logan smirked then shook his head once more. He’d never been in the position where the person he was reading asked for it.

Taking in a deep breath, Logan raised his hand between them, palm out to Mike’s chest. He could feel the hum of life within his friend’s body—strong and steady like the lapping of warm ocean waves. Slowly his hand hovered to the side of Mike’s curly headed skull and began to see the shades of images sharpen and sounds become words. It was no surprise to Logan that his friend’s thoughts came to him as straightforward as the man who had them—with little hesitancy and no doubt.

“So-so what do ya see?” Mike blurted out.

Logan grinned, his eyes still closed. “I see a pretty brave guy for letting his ‘alien’ friend have his way with his brain.” Logan felt Mike’s entire body go ridged and smiled in spite of himself. “Kidding, buddy. Kidding.”

Logan lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He saw a lot inside the stalwart man before him; more than what he was comfortable revealing to the other man if he wanted to keep him as a friend. Things like how Mike had secretly envied Logan when they were children or the extent of Mike’s present fears—that he would not be able to keep the people of this island safe during the coming storm. No, what needed to be said now had nothing to do with the things he saw within his friends mind, but the reason why his friend had let him see them at all.

“You trust me.” His eyes steady on his friend. “You think I’m a little fucked up and you’re uncomfortable when Anne and I are alone” Logan knowingly smirked when his friend’s eyes fell to his boots “but you trust me.”

Mike raised his head again and silently nodded.

“And that same trust does not extend to my family.” Logan continued.

“I’m sorry, Logan…”

“Don’t be. You are right not to.” Logan turned from his friend and walked back to his view of the mounting snow fall. Hell, he didn’t trust his own family. He was intimately aware of what his family was capable of and viewed mistrust as a survival skill when dealing with anything of his kin.

“And Anne?” Logan felt Mike’s brotherly concern before he spoke it. A pregnant silence fell between the men.

“I’d never hurt her, Mike. Believe that.” Logan just wished he could believe it too.

G is for Ghost Mountain

G is for Ghost Mountain.

A excerpt from the prologue of one of my works in progress, Ghost Mountain.


‘Now Boy, let me tell you about that mountain…’

The old voice warbled and faded out into the world of waking dreams, when the smell of smoke woke him from  his troubled sleep, sending one foot out of his bed and his heart beating out of his chest.  He felt cheated and relieved because it was just another dream.  Another memory the universe had decided to put on replay in his mind these last few weeks.

The dark young man fisted at his damp dark eyes and then ran both hands over a marine standard close crop.  Picking up his watch from the night stand, he groaned.  He’d only got in a couple hours sleep since ending his shift and he needed to be up to greet the day in another two hours time.  Stretching long arms out and up, well used joints popped and old and lengthy scars elongated along the lean lines of his form.  Placing his other foot to the hardwood he stood and remembered smelling the smoke.

He made short work of his jeans and shirt before making it out into the long hall.  The smoke smelled thicker now, he could taste the acrid stench.  Picking up at a run he made it down the back steps and out the kitchen door into the night. 

And then he saw flames...

Out over the rolling hillside further into the valley an orange glow leapt up out of the trees casting an eerie glow into the star strewn sky.  From the property where he stood it was clear whose house was up in flames and knowing only confused him more.  For the house had already succumbed to fire nearly a year ago the month before. 

“It can’t be.  The house is gone.  There’s nothing left…”

‘Because you were late.’ 

The young man jerked around to look for the source of the cold whisper, towards the blackened woods around the far side of the house. 

‘Because you’re a do nothing and do nothings do nothing right…’  Cruel and even, the familiar voice mocked from somewhere in the shadows, slithering out and hitting the startled young man soundly in the heart like a south bound freight.

“No-NO!  This is a dream!  You are not here!  He is not here!  The house-the house isn’t burning.  I-It’s gone…” 

Stepping back up onto the kitchen stoop, trying to grab onto what he knew to be true, he felt his taut body begin to shake.

‘Ya couldn’t do a goddamn thing, could ya kid.  I told ya how you were gonna turn out.  Useless—a ‘do nothing’...’   

D is for Dreams.

D is for Dreams.

photo by me.

   And I'm not talking about my goals here.  I'm talking about that moving picture show that warms up and plays in my noggin once the rest of me passed out from a long day.  Dreams.

I very often remember my dreams.  My earliest when I was less than 2 years old.  I smell things and feel things in my dreams, these amalgams of my day to day, past and future.  Although some dreams are just images, emotions or small scenes of much debate, some of my dreams have felt epic in scale and detail, and have repeated over the years.  And when I wake, its as if days or months have passed.

As of yet, I have not used any of my dreams for fiction, but I have had my fiction visit me.  Usually when I am neglecting that particular story, or when Ive had a long run of good writing. 

One night, in my 20s, I remember waking up to the feel of a hand on my foot, and found my MC Logan (shelved WIP Touched) at the end of my bed, is eyes glowing a serene azure.  I thought I was awake and then I did wake and he was gone.

Has this happened to any of you, or should I be going back to my old profession as a client...

Type at ya tomorrow A to Zers.

WIP Wednesday: Needed Reminder...

"She found him standing out in the square, staring up at the night sky like he was about to howl at it.

He was taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders too. His once enviable dark mane was now cut so short it followed the lines of his scalp. And even if she hadn’t seen his shoulders slump when he turned away from the stars, she knew he’d become a whole lot older than he was suppose to be."

~~~Chapter 1: Just Howling at the Moon.  Ghost Mountain.


Just reminding myself that I can write when I wish to.  Now just to sit down and make more pretty words...


  

IWSG Wednesday: Not Alone And Never Could Be.

Yes, reading does this.  But writing... 

Writing is one of those lonely vocations, is it not my fellow members of The Insecure Writers Support Group. The initial act done, for all intents and purposes, alone with ones works.   But I must contend, are we really alone then?

As a child, some may call them imaginary friends.  And some medicated individuals call them "the voices in their head".  But we writers know these apparitions as our characters.  Part us trying to understand ourselves, part amalgam of those we want to better understand, and if we are lucky our characters grow and become something of their own. 

I don't know about you, but when a character begins to break free of the mould I originally made for it, it begins to stay with me.  At least it sometime feels that way.  During quiet times (when my life and my two year old allows me) characters visit me as passing thoughts.  And when I write, I feel like I have become a passing thought in their lives.  Someone among them, but just out of the way as to not get in the way of their lives.

So alone?  No, not alone while I write.  And of course, I have all of you when I leave their company.

Now don't forget the coffee, or neglect the cookies and donuts, on your way out of today's meeting of the IWSG.

WIP Wednesday on a Thursday AGAIN!

Unless you are a writer and sitting your ass down is a paramount move towards completion.  Happy "ass sitting" when ya can, folks!

WIP Thursday:Getting More With Less.

More and more I am drawn to simple stories, both on and off screen, involving the not so simple complications of the human heart and head.  Don't get me wrong, a great bash-up, blow-up, special effects wonder still gets me rolling.  But give me a handful of well crafted characters, sitting on a June bug lit back porch just talking like folk, and you'll have my attention. 

I figure, if you can't strip a story of it's "special effects" and continue to find interest in its characters or plot, you need another story.  

Here's to stripping our stories down to idiot proof.
 

The Day After WIP Wednesday...

 

     I have decided that no matter if my Wednesday Blog is late, by a day or week, I will post regardless.  And if I have no big topic to rant on, ask questions about or report, I will post something on this blog.  Even if it's a photo of my kids big toe, word count update, or a quote of the day I found somewhere on the net, something will be posted each week.

 

A writing friend of mine once commented that it didn't matter the amount of followers or comments one had, but that you got in the habit of making deadlines.  And blogging is good writing practice.  Well, I am out of practice with deadlines, NEED practice, and if I can continue to bond with other word-slingers once in a while I will sure as hell keep posting.

 

So quote of the day #1 shot a true path to this target.  Belief that my goal (completion of a WIP) is out ahead of me so long as I keep writing and working on my craft, helps my focus to stay true.

 

And quote of the day #2...  

 

 

...bodes well with #1 for all writers.   We are the only ones to blame if we fail.   My goal at this time is simple, to complete a WIP. No grand notions, just a earnest attempt at a childhood love.   So I write.

 

Keep writing team!

 

N. Murray

WIP Wednesday: Still Tangled. Not Stopped

"There is no royal path to good writing; and such paths as do exist do not lead through neat critical gardens, various as they are, but through the jungles of self, the world, and craft."

~Jessamyn West, Saturday Review, 21 September 1957

 

 

And although my jungle seems very tangled and acres deep, I do see a window of light far out ahead, and it continues to call to me.  Good writing folks and good luck.

 

Now to pull out my machete...

 

 



WIP Wednesday: How Thin Is Your Skin?

Our writing works are our babies, and like most parents we do not like being told our kids have issues. 

Now, I grant ya.  Opinions are like ass........ Well, you know what I mean.  Everyone has their own taste and not everyone is going to like your work.  Par for the course.  But to get a negative critique from a creditable peer regarding that much loved and slaved over WIP????

I have found over the years, my tolerance for criticism to be greatly improved.  Now, personal criticism can still make my stubborn horns flare out.  Just ask the poor souls who love me best.  But I am quite proud of my acceptance of professional critique.  It's something that has grown with age and came early while working in the Mental Health field.  A profession that proves more often than not, there is no "I" in team and no one person has all the answers.

I actually crave writing critique from my peers.  When I am in my writing zone, I get so anxious to get my work right.  I want my "baby" to be the best it can be.  I want help when I am stuck with technical issues and listen to creative opinion even when I do not agree with the other persons view.  In my past profession, point of view was an important key to dealing with my clients.  In creativity, I feel the same.  Even if we do not agree, your opinion of my work gives me another view of it and often helps me mould my WIP.

In the end, writing critique is meant to point out flaws based on both opinion and technical fact.   Either way, I have found much truth can be found in ones flaws.  And truth can sometimes be a tough thing to face.

So my fellow writers and creative colleagues, how do you handle constructive critique from your professional peers?   Is your skin thick or thin?

And a shout out to Alex J Cavanaugh Insecure Writers Support Group.  Sign up and check out their blog hop every 1st Wednesday of the month. 

 

WIP Wednesday: Feeding My Muse His Visuals

Old inspiration board from a past story.

I am a visual person by nature.  In childhood I would save stones, twigs and bits of nature found on walks or cuttings from a favorite funny or colorful magazine.  I was drawn to it like other children feel compelled to toss a ball or skip.  I still have some of those bits. 

Over the years I have continued my stockpiling of nature, art post cards, magazine clippings, favorite quotes scribbled on bits of paper, snips of fabric or paper, pictures I or others have taken...the list goes on.....

So she's either one of those creative people or burgeoning hoarder you say?  Maybe a bit of both.  I do know if you follow this blog you are probably much like me in this compulsion--this feeding of our muses I will call it.  Am I wrong? 

Like me, does your imagination spin in some needed or unexpected direction with each new gathered bit?  Do you start new projects by one swatch of fabric or one quote of the day?  Did a painting help you know a characters world better or (in the realm of sound) did a song ever give you your characters soul?

So tell me, are you a muse feeding pack rat?  What things do you pin or tape to your wall or sit upon your shelf.  And if you have progressed like me, what images have you copied and pasted from the net to sooth that ever hungry muse?

For me each new long term project brings a new set of inspirations.  Here are a few of the collected bits I use for my novel, Ghost Mountain.

Good Writing Folks!

 

 

Drive Even When It's in the Wrong Direction

I sit at my old fold top with a million and one varied and drastically tangled thoughts, wrapped not so neat in plethora of to-do lists. And this little bouquet of nasty seems to have created a traffic jam in my head.  A pile up, really.  A bash up where the realities of a young family and a old house and my creative aspirations have collided. Where my muse has left the scene, my fingers are at a stand still (except right now) and my imagination is on a bus to the ER.

GrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRR!

Okay, I will say this.  Maybe I'm not getting the word count I've been aiming for lately, but I'm still getting the NaNoWriMo word meter to climb.  And  maybe I didn't have a plan for my blog today, but I did choose to write something instead of skip out. And look, I came up with some sort of point...I think.

My point is just do it!  Pick something out the pile up in your brain, shake it off and begin it.  It's okay to feel overwhelmed.  It's normal to get bogged down and not feel at your best.  And maybe whatever you choose to begin turns out to be rubbish in the end.  But at least your further outside the pile up in your head and closer to.....something.   And never NEVER!!!!! sit and do nothing.  It's how muscles atrophy and it's how dreams die.

So I leave you with a quote I know I have quoted before on these pages.  A fitting quote from Alice in Wonderland... 

Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?

The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to

Alice: I don't much care where.

The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.

Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.

The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.

And the WIP Returns Once More.

I have been having a hard time starting back up my writing life. It starts up, sputters and then goes dormant for another day, weeks, months. The spark gets dulled by never ending housework, by continued renovations of a new old house.  My muse ignored, for the day to day needs of my new little family. 

Now I would never take back the newest changes in my life.  Right now, everything that's the hardest work are the best parts of my life. (Motherhood anyone?) But I would like to bring back some of what hasn't changed for me.  I still want to write.  And I still want to blog.

So I sit here with pen in hand (Original post written on back of junk mail earlier today) and I begin what is to be my next chapter in this life.  Where I am both mother, wife, home renovator and writer.  Where I learn how to balance these jobs because frankly I need to be all those things to keep my life a good life--a wanted life for me and my family.

Today, I come back to my blog very much a work in progress, still.  I have missed being here with all of you.  I miss being inspired and challenged by your own works and comments made regarding my own.  I regret not visiting often.  I hope to find all of you well and your endeavors continuing on and I look forward to being apart of your worlds again. 

Nicole Nicholson Murray, WIP 

 

While I was gone...

Let's see. (index to lips in great concentration)
Since the last time I tapped keys in this neighborhood Jim and I visited this place again...
Yep, Jim's folks on the Big Island were and are still doing fine in the Aloha State. I took this pic across the street from their condo the last night we were there. As always, there were no loss of beautiful memories to be had or gorgeous days to enjoy those 3 weeks. And it was a wonderful place for a Baby Moon (wiggles brows). But, FYI: Air flight while pregnant can be and truly was a bitch! I'm sure I will find a way to get that experience in here one of these days. All experiences have their use when one is a writer, right? Right? And it was just sooooo dang fun I'll have to share... :-P

And then this Spring Jim and I bought a house in preparation of our growing little family. Behold yet another room under construction (below). This is good but frustrating, but mostly really really good thing. Because with each wall of plastic, nail struck, floor refinished, each treasure found and personal touch placed in our new old house, makes it even more our home. And not the neglected red headed stepchild (and it was red when we bought it) of the neighborhood that it will soon not be. I knew my addiction to HGTV would save me some day...

And then exactly one week after moving in--I want you to think towers of unpacked boxes, dusty cobwebs yet un-mastered and barely a bedroom to sleep in--we had James. Nearly 9 pounds, 22 inches. James Alan Murray was born healthy and happy on May 24th.

And now...

My Man and my little man just the other day in front of the tube. Jim was teaching James the fine art of channel surfing at the time. Lord, in the short time that little monkey has been in my life I have learned so much more than I could have ever guessed about parenting--hell, about life. No talent for empathy prepared me for feeling what its really like to be a parent. I don't think I could love another human being more...and I love his Daddy a considerable amount.

I had said that my son would be my best WIP. The truth is, he is his own WIP and I am so much a WIP still.

As for WIP's, Ghost Mountain is still a go, although it had stalled for a bit, due to EVERYTHING!!!! I have started this again...

And not just writing, but sketching again, home repair and decorative project making again. I still have a pile of boxes in the third bedroom where Salvaged Beauty will begin again, so no jewelry at this time. But it will come.

And with my creative self finding its way back again, my socially active self has been making its way around. Slowly I make contact with old friends and soon I hope to attend a writing group session again. And while I dip a toe or two into the waters of my small social pond, my mind has already been taking dips into the much bigger pond--our nation and the world.

A anniversary solidified my need to voice some long held opinions. 9-11 and those days that followed to be exact. I remember that day, a decade ago like most. I was working a double at my old job as a mental health worker. We had a small TV in our office. The Today Show was on while I went over the log entries from the day before. And then I heard something that caught my attention--Matt Lauer reporting on some plane hitting one of the World Trade Towers. Something similar had happened many years ago. In 1945 a B-25 Bomber smacked into the Empire State building. A horrible accident. But this day.... As soon as I watched a second plane do the same to the second tower, I knew what I had seen was a act of terrorism. I had never felt so angry or hyper aware than I did that day in front of that small TV, side by side with staff and half the clients stable enough in the building to do so.

When the next day came I was still angry, still raw from what I had bore witness to on live TV. But I could sense something else in me as the day drug on with each new bit of horrifying footage from all 3 sites. This thing swelled in me. A protectiveness, a patriotism, a pride grew in me while I watched those who had come out of the dust or those brave enough to travel into it, band together in the rubble strewn streets of Manhattan, the defiled home of our military in DC and that scared field just outside a small town in PA. For the first time in my life I saw what I knew my America was capable of. What my grandparents always reminisced. A America that didn't hold into account your sex, religion, race, or economical place when the shit hit the fan. You were a human being in need of help and that was all that mattered. We were all in it together. We were Americans. I just wish it hadn't took 9-11 to remind people of that.

And now--oh how times have changed and not at all how I would have imagined or hoped. I remember who we were those hard horrible days, months, years. I see the good and feel the pride of being a American still, but something has changed. Something wrong floats in the air and I want to help air it out if it still can be. How will I do this, I am still figuring on. I know it may be wise to keep some sort of separation between my writing and jewelry biz self and my inner politico. Maybe I can find a way to do that on Blogger? But after all that has gone on these last few years, I need to get a few things off my chest and out into blogisphere.

So, I am back. There will be some changes here and there, but I am still me--a eccentric, hopeful WIP.

WIP Wednesday/Sunday Musing: A Quote...

...life is much more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party.

~~~Jimmy Buffett

Allthough, I must say "surprise party" usally means a great plot twist in the WIP world

Wednesday WIP: The Road Isn't to Hell...

"The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.”

~~~Philippe de Comines




I'd say the road to publication in paved with rejection letters. WIP's are not good intentions to me, they are proof that our dreams can become tangible, viable steps towards our goals. So, long live WIP's!!!!

BTW, check out NPR's website. They are starting up another round of Three-Minute Fiction, Laughing And Crying is the subject and per usual, a 600 word limit. Winners are read on the air and published on the web site. Take a peek.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Time to Make Hero's

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson


I do not believe we need larger than life hero's to save us from our hard times. We need everyday people with immense hearts and even larger volumes of courage. I like the quote above for that reason.

Heroes can be the guy who sells insurance down the street or the granny who smiles at you every morning at the Circle K. All of us hold a possible hero within us. All we need to do is hang on just a little while longer...

WIP Wednesday: The Curse of Knowing What You're Doing.

"Fiction writers, present company included, don't understand very much about what they do-"not why it works when it's good, not why it doesn't when it's bad."

~Stephen King.On Writing.





BUT... We sure as hell know when we are dragging our feet. Procrastination--we the procrastinators. We are our own worst enemy...

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go kick my ass.

WIP Wednesday: Inspiration Through Reading Old Blogs.

OOOKAY. I was going to write out a nice, long sentimental WIP Wednesday entry involving the similarities of nursing a WIP and impending motherhood. Even made it a point to go looking through older entries to find the link to another entry of similar but not same nature and then it happened...

INSPIRATION!

The last few days I have been a little lax writing new material for my WIP 'Ghost Mountain'. I have been...distracted. Well, I fell into reading some of my old blog entries concerning said WIP and its MC Wyatt and BAM!!!!!!!

Soooo, have a lovely evening all and nice of ya to stop by, but I have a date with my WIP.

WIP Wednesday: Self Realization Time Again.

When starting this blog, I referred to myself as a Work in Progress. I don't think I fully appreciated that statement or that fact at the time.

More than anything, the WIP part was pointed more at my professional and creative endeavors. I understood that through working on these things, I would find changes in myself. This occurs with any new road one takes. What I didnt fully grasp or maybe just wasnt ready to see yet, was the more personal--more elemental things that would-could change in me when the WIP's in my life delved into big life changes (i.e. the little space alien inside my tummy and what its birth will mean).

You see, I have had some major shake ups in my life within the last few years, but the changes they evoked in me were somehow different than what I am experiencing now. I would sooner name all the stars in the heaven than I could exactly or accurately explain what I am feeling now... but I like it.

So many changes are coming for me. Things that will join my present works and other things that will change them. Jim and I will find a house before spring and that will be a big change in our daily lives--but a welcome one. I will continue to care for my little family and myself and fall in love with him or her as the day grows nearer. And then I will be a mother, a job I believe I have been in training for a long time and will justly make my priority.

But how will these changes mix with the things I want for me? Should they be pushed aside and turned away like many of the women in my life have done? Or maybe WIP's and dreams do not have to disappear, only change a bit. The true nature of a WIP don't you think?