NEVER DELETE YOUR WRITING: Advice For Writers

"Writing is 5% talent and 95% persistence," -Unknown

One upon a sixth-grade Olivia, I wrote a Hunger Games fanfiction. And, quite frankly, it was gold. It was feels-y and well written (by sixth-grade Olivia’s standards) and so much fun.

But then, I deleted it. I must have had a brain aneurysm, because I hit ctrl+a and then backspace for some stupid reason. And since then I’ve been searching and searching for this fanfiction, and I was wanting to find it because it had a scene in there that I wanted to study and reread. However, I remembered that I DELETED IT. Gone forever.

And I narrate this sad little tale to you all because, writers: I beg of you, DO NOT DELETE YOUR WRITING. Because sometimes you’ll want to go back and read it. And enjoy it all over again, just as much as when you wrote it.

I know because I recently went back and reread significant sections of my first novel.

Believe me, 90% of it will be crap. You’ll cringe over your poor word choice and unclear sentences. You’ll shake your head at the stupid decisions your characters make. And, ultimately, you’ll think “holy chocolate chip cookie dough, what the frick frack, crack-a-lack, h-e-double-hockey-sticks was I thinking when I wrote this?” And you’ll feel like a shitty writer for a hot minute.

But then, you’ll realize that you feel this way because you’ve improved. You begin looking at your writing with a critical eye, seeing ways you can improve it, which is good!

But the best part is when you find those little gold nuggets in a sea of pyrite. Those scenes where the characters are brilliant and three dimensional, those scenes where the scene moves and climaxes beautifully, those scenes where the villain is pure evil, where the emotions connect, where the writing is eloquent and effective.

And that. That is where you appreciate your characters, your stories, and how far you’ve come. And it gives you a reason to keep going.

So, my dear writer friends, NEVER DELETE YOUR WRITING. Because when you read it later, you never know what great things might come out of it.

~The WordShaker

Writing a Novel is Easy - It's the Editing that Sucks.

"I try to create sympathy for my characters, then turn the monsters loose," -Stephen King

Something I've learned about myself is that I can write a first draft in a breeze. About a year, and I have a mess of a first draft - but it's done.  Full of long and hard hours of cranking out emotions and characters and words.

And I thought I would just have to polish the plot, add a few things for depth, and clean up the grammatical errors and such.

But no.  Editing sucks so much.  It's boring.  Clicking through paragraph after paragraph to just change a word.  Formatting?  Shoot me in the foot.  Spelling? Gag me with a knife. And don't even get me started on the actual hardest part which is cutting scenes, reworking paragraphs, changing backstories, adding scenes.  Pounding and melting and shaping my story like metal in a hearth.

I hate it.  I hate it because it's boring.  I hate it because I love developing a story, I love writing scenes and spending time with my characters.  But with editing, I get to do none of that.

One of the reasons that I have been spending more time with my blog is because now that I have finished my story, I truly have nothing to write. And I have to write.  It's a way of life. If I don't empty my mind, I'll surely go mad.  And without a story, it feels like I am on the brink of insanity.

And having nothing to write fills me with an odd feeling.  Without a story to weave, what is my purpose?  It feels like everything meaningful in my life has been sucked away now that I no longer have a novel to focus my energy on.

Writing it is the easy part.  Because that's exactly what I am - a writer.

Plotting is slightly harder, since we're fabricating something from nothing.  But it's doable.

Editing is shit. It's unfun and dull and boring. Devoid of emotion and like sweeping a floor. Menial and awful.

The only way that I can keep myself motivated to edit is the potential my story has.  If I keep my eyes on the prize, maybe then the bloodshot eyes and hunched shoulders and unenthusiastic work wouldn't be so menial.

Because my words are anything but.

~The WordShaker

The Problem with Passive Main Characters

"Writing is the painting of the voice!" -Voltaire

Since this forthcoming weekend is going to be jam-packed, I am posting today. Enjoy!

Recently, I read two YA novels:  The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks and Ship Breaker by Paulo Bacigalupi. While I recommend both of these novels, one is, in my opinion better, because of one simple fact:  their main characters.

As the title states, I will be discussing the problem with passive main characters.  Never heard this term before?  Well, I think it's a real problem in a portion of today's literature. An active main character, well we probably can all think of examples, since they are so common. But an active main character is one who takes action when something happens. They don't just react, they act.  They are the main driver of the plot and the story, because they are the main character. For example, my characters have to react to the circumstances around them, but most of the time, this also causes them to act. To do something.  And we all want to see our main character do something, whether they are male or female, young or old,  a dog or an alien, we all want to see them be brave and take action and be involved. Why else would we read it if we didn't like the main character, and didn't want them to succeed. Linus from The Bunker Diary is a good example of this. Him and six other people have been kidnapped and are now trapped in this completely white bunker.  They are then being manipulated with their freedom and basic needs by an unnamed man called Him.  And, of course, they spend the story trying to survive and get out of this bunker. Linus willingly forms relationships with these people, reaches out to help them despite themselves. He always takes action.  Especially when he first arrives, he is the only captive, but is always active in the way that he handles himself.  Instead of spending his time sulking and letting things happen, he seeks out answers, sometimes ending up with unfortunate results.  But even though he fails over and over again, it is still entertaining and inspiring to the readers. While he had his emotional moments, those didn't distract from moving the plot along with the secondary characters, and him working with everyone else to get them out.  Even though they were stuck in a plain bunker with nothing to do, Linus is always thoughtful and active, a basic need of every good character.

On the other hand, a passive main character is one who, essentially, does nothing. This doesn't mean this character is a doormat, or reluctant or unenthusiastic.  These are character traits.  Passive, however, refers to a characters actions.  Or, lack thereof. Passive characters normally react, instead of act.  An example of this would be when Terra first sees her deceased father.  What she does in this instance would be a reaction. However, when Wyatt extends his hand to her, she decides to take it. Even though both of these are small actions, they both show that it is just as important for a character to act as it is for them to react.  However, you cannot have one without the other.

Also, passive characters as main characters in stories take backseats, almost as if they are watching the plot unfold, and they are just bystanders. A good example of a passive character that I have read of late is Nailer from Ship Breaker.

First, I liked the book Ship Breaker - there are some things it does very well.  The writing is exquisite and stylish,  the setting is descriptive, enthralling, and immersive, however, Nailer, the main character, leans to be very passive. Despite his mostly timid, reluctant, and quiet personality, he is still very passive in the things that he does in and for the story.  This is shown in many scenes, where his friend Pima makes most of the decisions, and he is only there to help.  His primary involvement is just because his father hates him, and abuses him. The problem is, is that Nailer doesn't seem to have much of a mind of his own. He's very smart and calculated, and is an expert at playing the game of life, except he never takes action based on this.  We never see him personally succeed or fail, because he is not the driver of the story.  He mostly reacts and is forced by the plot to do things.  Like I said, there needs to be a balance of a character acting and reacting, and in this novel, there isn't a whole lot of that, unfortunately.  And since timidity and reluctance are negative personality traits, one of the points of the story is to get him to overcome these parts of him, which he never does.

And now to what I'm really getting at:  The Problem With Passive Main Characters.  The problem with passive main characters is that their inaction shows us that they don't care. That they are utterly apathetic, and that they'd rather be gouging their eyes out with spoons instead of being there.  And, at times, this is understandable, but there needs to come a point where this passive main character realizes their situation, and decides to take action because there is no other option but for them to do so. The main problem is that these passive characters don't care.  They don't care much about anything or anyone or even themselves.  And this is all we want to see them do, is to care about something. We want to see them give a shit, because when someone does, they do something about it once said thing is in peril, ultimately setting a good, hearty plot in motion.

Over all, The Bunker Diary was a great novel with an odd ending (I won't spoil it for you.  You need to go read it yourself because it's amazing), and Ship Breaker was a good book with some annoying imperfections.

Happy reading,

~The WordShaker

My Review of Owl City's Mobile Orchestra

"Don't be afraid to write crap because crap makes good fertilizer," - Jessica Brody

Sorry for the lack of post last week. I have been on vacation and still am. Posting this now because I'm going to be traveling this weekend, and I don't know when I will have internet access to post. 

So, I am a huge Owl City fan.  I have loved him from the beginning.  Actually, probably not the beginning with Of June, but sometime between the Fireflies debut and All Things Bright and Beautiful.

But anyways, Owl City will forever be my core music.  Even if Adam Young changes, even if other music I like will come and go, there will always be Owl City.

Anyways, on to Mobile Orchestra.

1. Verge (feat. Aloe Blacc)

Star Rating: 2/5

Why I Chose this Rating: *deep sigh* This is kind of like Good Time, in the sense that it's a marketing campaign and just the purpose of being a single. Formulaic. Aloe Blacc has a nice voice, but again, he doesn't mesh well with Adam's voice.  I wish he'd go back to using Matthew Thiessen, Lights, and Breanne Duren as his backing vocals, because their voices were perfect for OC's sound and his voice. I don't have much else to say about this thing, other than the intro is stolen from Shooting Star and the bridge is from Wolf Bite.

Favorite Lyric: I ain't too sure what I believe in / But I believe in what I see / And when I close my eyes / I see my whole life ahead of me

2. I Found Love

Star Rating: 4/5

Why I Chose this Rating: I love this song, if Bird with a Broken Wing wasn't on here, this would probably be my favorite. I love this song, mostly because it reminds me of one of my characters and his almost-death and his love for my female main character.  It definitely rings true with his attitude, because he knows that his death is near.  This reminds me of TMS: Acoustic, which I like, with the strings and synths.  It's not amazing or mind-blowing, but it is sweet and reverent and desperate and bright and hopeful all at the same time.  I can definitely feel the love.

Favorite Lyric: I'm not afraid / Because your love / It falls like rain / It burns like fire

3. Thunderstruck (feat. Sarah Russell)

Star Rating: 4/5

Why I Chose this Rating: LOVE the EDM vibe here.  I love electronic music, so this is amazing.  It is complex, and dreamy in a more mature way that feels like lights are streaking by around you and you could jump up and dance and couple dance at the same time. I have never been in love, so it's harder for me to connect to his love songs, but I still like this one.  I still can rock out to it.  And Sarah Russell, who I have never heard of as well, is one of the only collab. artists whose voice meshes well with Adam's voice. Overall, awesome, but it will probably be better when I'm not as single as a sock after a cycle through the laundry.

Favorite Lyric: I chase the phantoms down the hall / I watch the floorboards rise and fall / I lost and never loved at all

4. My Everything

Star Rating: 3.5/5

Why I Chose this Rating: This is probably my favorite explicitly Christian songs Adam has made of late.  It seems to have more life and spunk than the other direct songs he's been putting out.  I can sing to it nicely and feel the reverence he has.

Favorite Lyric: And I sing, Hallelujah / My almighty God divine / Hallelujah / I am yours and you are mine / This is all I know I how to say / Hallelujah

5. Unbelievable (feat. Hanson)

Star Rating: 4/5

Why I Chose this Rating: This is such a fun song, and even though a lot of people dislike it because of it's simplicity, I am a child of the nineties, so this strikes my nostalgic vein.  This song is so happy-go-lucky, I can't help but smile, which is one of the qualities I always look for in an Owl City song. Hanson is a nice touch, even though I've never heard of them. It's a nice, bubbly change of pace in the midst of a darker album.

Favorite Lyric: It’s unbelievable / When I think back, I'm amazed / It’s unbelievable / Cause baby those were the days / It’s unbelievable / It ruled in so many ways / It’s unbelievable

6. Bird With a Broken Wing

Star Rating: 5/5

Why I Chose this Rating: This is by far my favorite song off of this album.  It's not as beautifully lyrical as his old stuff, but this song shows that he's still got the touch inside of him.  This is the classic Owl City sound: darkly encouraging. It shows Adam Young's will to survive, and his pure passion.  It goes back to his feeling of a misfit and a survivor in this hard life, which I connect with greatly. This song is just amazing in every way - from the lyrics to the pounding electric guitar to the hopeful darkness that lingers. I can't even.

Favorite Lyric: I'm an astronaut / On the ocean floor and basically the whole chorus.  Actually, the whole song.

7. Back Home (feat. Jake Owens)

Star Rating: 3.5/5

Why I Chose this Rating: Even though I hate hate hate country with a burning passion, I like this song.  It has a nice vibe, and it reminds me of small-town fun that I grew up and still experience.  It reminds me of late summer nights and snowball fights and wading through the river and fireworks and just everything small-town and humble.  Even though I usually dislike living in the small town midwest, this gives me perspective about how cool it is, regardless. The guitars are nice, but my only real critique of this song is that I just wish that it was only Adam singing.  Jake Owen's voice is okay, but it clashes and doesn't mix well with Adam's. This song would have gotten a four if it was 100% Adam Young.

Favorite Lyric: Personally, I love the entire chorus of this song: I'm saying goodbye to the skyline / Hello to the sweet pines / Gonna see you later street lights / I'm headed back to tree lines / To free time and starry nights / To bonfires and fire flies / Pack your bags it's time to go / Cause we got brighter lights back home

8. Can't Live Without You

Star Rating: 2.5/5

Why I Chose this Rating: I wish Adam would start writing songs like Galaxies, Meteor Shower, Tidal Wave, and Dreams and Disasters, songs where you would have to listen to them three or four times to know that they were about God. Unfortunately, all that's coming out is Christian contemporary run through the Owl City filter. That's what I loved about Owl City, is that he didn't bang you over the head with it. And yes, people and things change, but I personally liked the previous style better. This song, however, is unimpressive and lackluster.  He steals the hook melody from Wolf Bite, and the background synths are directly from Wolf Bite too.  It has a nice melody and aesthetic, but I'd like it much better if it had original background music and more creative and elusive lyrics.  It just doesn't seem as creative or original as the other songs on the album. But I feel like this is one of those songs that's going to grow on me. It, however, has a nice beat.

Favorite Lyric: When I trip and I fall / I collapse like a tidal wave

9&10. You're Not Alone (feat. Britt Nicole) and This Isn't the End

I will not be reviewing You're Not Alone and This Isn't the End, mostly because I'm a bit disappointed in Adam just tagging these two songs onto the end to make the album longer.  It shows . . . laziness.   And personally, I feel like he should have added Tokyo and Beautiful Times on.

Back to Mobile Orchestra, I have some last concluding thoughts. It struck some truly great notes (Bird With a Broken Wing, I Found Love, Thunderstruck, Back Home), but there were places that it went very wrong (Verge, the two tacked on songs at the end, all of the collaborations). Overall though, this album doesn't have much direction.  With all of the other Owl City albums, they had a common aesthetic and sound that made it an album, not just a collection of songs. There will be songs like Bird With a Broken Wing that I will always listen to for ages to come, but songs that I will definitely skip over.  Mobile Orchestra is a haystack, and it has some needles that need to be found.

However, I am afraid to say that I am quite disappointed with Owl City/Adam Young at the moment. Maybe it's not him.  Maybe it's his record company and his managers, but it seems that he's lost his focus, or is focusing on the wrong things, yet they keep making him pump out music. Which is wrong.

Maybe it will grow on me like The Midsummer Station did.

~The WordShaker

Worship Camp and Short Stories

A story is like something you wind out of yourself. Like a spider, it is a web you weave, and you love your story like a child," -Katherine Anne Porter

This week, I spent 30 hours with a hodgepodge of church kids, ages from 8 to 17, at my church's Worship Camp. There was a lot of highs, lows, tears, and laughs, but there were also scavenger hunts, crazy hairstyles with shaving cream, water wars, first-time tie-dyeing, Okay, maybe I didn't learn how to worship like a pro - nothing groundbreaking happened.  (But then again, nothing in my life ever happens in a groundbreaking fashion.) However, I did learn a few things. I learned that God is growing me in the music department, since I have flourished in writing and visual art. I was definitely dragged out of my comfort zone kicking and screaming.

Here is what I wrote, edited, and . . .  did not preform on Friday morning.  The youth leader read it, and told me that it was too mature for the younger kids and wasn't fitting for the theme - which basically translates to 'Sorry, our church cannot handle your awesomeness.' However, she did introduce me to Teen Ink, which I am thinking about getting involved in. This little short story doesn't really have a title, so enjoy!

Dear Listeners, 

You're probably only reading this because I'm making you. Or because I'm telling you.  But a forewarning.  Don't expect this to be some kind of touching, moving story full of truth and heart. Because, well, it's not.  If you cry, don't say I didn't warn you. This is the story of how one person ruined my entire life. 

I was an . . . interesting teenager.  I still am. On the outside, I was rough. I had everything I needed, but I didn't care. I had more than enough, but I choose to waste it with drugs, exploit it with other men, and soil it and everything around me black with my own malice. I ran with the wrong crowd, did all of the wrong things, etc. You know, classic, stereotypical bad girl. Now, hold that image in your mind: Everything that you think of, I was probably it. 

But my parents.  My parents . . . I have an odd relationship with them.  They've kind of always just been there, and I've always been like them.  To be dreadfully blunt, I've taken on my father's salty mouth and smoking habit, and from my mother I received bitter apathy and a knack for manipulation. I believe most of what they tell me, even though we fight about everything from the shade of off-white so-and-so painted their door to what's the best kind of breakfast cereal. I hate them, but I can't get rid of them. 

But one day, everything changed.  Now, don't look at me like that.  Yes, it's a cliche, but that's the way it happened. 

I was sitting on my front porch, preparing to light a cigarette when a truck pulled into the empty house across the street - abandoned and run down.  No one had lived there for years, for as long as I could remember.  But a big U-Haul van was driving in nonetheless. 

Out stepped a boy, about my age, and his parents.  I watched them take a few things out of the cabin of the truck, then pause.  I narrowed my eyes.  Obviously a good, well-off family. Tight-laced, probably.   Rich. Why they were moving here, who knows.  Not my problem . . . 

Or so I thought. 

Just as I was about to get up and go back inside to my hell-hole of a life, the boy started strolling across the street . . . towards me. Me, of all people.  And what the hell did he want anyways? 

He told me that his name was Joshua.  I wasn't ready to tell him my name yet, but he extended a hand, and I took it.  He pulled me up and shook my hand.  I hadn't had anyone shake my hand in a long time.  It felt, odd, in a satisfying way that I hadn't felt in a while.  Good is the only word I can find to accurately describe it. 

I really didn't want to make conversation, so I didn't.  He, however, was as bubbly as a shaken up can of soda.  Unfortunately, we ended up talking for hours as his family moved into the house across the street. He even gave me his phone number, but I rejected it because, gosh, he was just across the street anyways.
The next day, after school, he came over. I ripped open the door, confused. I asked him what are you doing here? 

He replied with that he's just here to talk. 

When I asked him what about, he shrugged and just said 'stuff'. 

Reluctantly, I invited him into my house.  Not the nicest place, but too bad. He would just have to deal with it. 

We sat on my bed together, silent. Then he asked me about myself. 

Myself? I questioned.  There's nothing to tell. 

When I refused, he started talking about himself. 

He recounted his entire life to me, about being born when his parents weren't married, and, he was born on a couch, of all places. 

But then we got to talking about the deep stuff.  Like, the really deep stuff. He asked me what I thought about life, death, God, people.  Anything and everything you could think of.  He also gave me his insight on these things.  Nine times out of ten, we disagreed, but it was amiable.  Mostly because his answers confused me.  They were gritty and real, but optimistic for the most part.  Not convoluted, as he seemed to me. Real was the descriptor I finally decided on. 

Eventually, that day, he had to go back home.  As I walked him out, our conversation was tumbling around in my head, and something odd rises up in me, like those painful pimples that you can feel underneath the surface of the skin, but they haven't come to a head yet.  Yeah, that's how I felt. 

Once he was out of earshot, I sighed. Despite my better judgement, I liked Joshua, in more ways than one. 

Joshua and his insight came back every day for two weeks. After school, before school, during my work hours.  He was even cutting into time with my friends.  I could obviously tell that he did not approve of the things I was doing with my spare time, but he did something unexpected.  He let me know that he disagreed with me, but he wasn't intrusive or arrogant or hateful.  He was . . . loving.  

Which, at the time, confused the heck out of me. 

Soon enough, I started recording our conversations. 

I remember one thing about those recordings. They were a lifesaver. One night, I remember, my parents, who rarely talked anyways, were fighting.  Screaming and shouting and throwing and crying and hitting, and oh my God.  Oh, my God. 

The clearest memory of that night was me, sitting there, curled up with my back to the door, and reaching for the file with all of those recordings on there.  I pressed one, hoping that just to hear Joshua's voice, I'd feel better. 

It was him, talking about trust and rest. "You know, you can always come to me when things are hard, and I'll help you.  I'll talk to you, I'll listen, I'll take everything I can from you. For I don't ask for anything in return.  I promise I won't put anything on you." 

I click the device off before I can hear my reply. 

* 

Time passes.  Joshua and I spend more time together.  I don't however, notice my life changing that much, other than spending time with him.  I would still go out and party with my friends.  I would still use drugs in pathetic solitude.  Etc, etc, blah blah.  You don't want to hear about my pathetic life. 

But one night, my friends and I, we were out on the town - drunk. After a long night, I was irritable and susceptible to impulsiveness.   Meaning, I am what people call 'an angry drunk.' 

Someone, I forget who, had the idea to get a midnight snack at the local gas station.  We followed, stumbling along like lost puppies on drugs. 

One, lazy teenager with bright red hair sat at the counter, biting his nails. We snuck around corners, shoving bags of chips into our baggy sweatshirts and candy bars into our pockets. I remember grabbing a pack of gum off of a shelf when the fluorescent lights  shone off of a familiar face at the gas station.  It was Joshua, filling up his car. 

In retrospect, the whole endeavor was the stupidest thing I've ever done. 

By the end of our rampage, we had a total of 300$ worth of stuff between the four of us.  But listen to this, after that, we just walked out.  No joke, we got in a single file line and walked out of the gas station. Thinking about it now, I want to punch myself in the face. 

Of course, the nerdy cashier chased us out of the store and started shouting at us in the night.  My friends just laughed and swore and threw around obscene gestures. 

Unfortunately, I was the last one out of the store, so I was closer to the cashier when he stormed out. 

However, the second he laid a finger on me, I whipped around and punched him in the face. 

I saw him hit the ground with astounding clarity, and everything was pushed away as my friends ran off into the night, hooting and shouting with drunken glee. The boy's skull cracked like an eggshell against the sidewalk, blood pooling out, staining the concrete with it's toxicity.  

Every ounce of my dignity was stripped away as I turned to face Joshua.  He looked at me with a sharpness in his eyes. Dull and blunt, like a punch to the stomach, because his face was stricken with utter disappointment.  The sadness turned his eyes a deep blue, drowning my heart. 

I turned away and left him in the buzzing fluorescent lights and the cold night air, running home and tossing my selfish indulgences aside. 

Joshua called the police.  The teenage boy with the obnoxious red hair was fine, by the way. They arrested Joshua, even though he told the absolute truth. Somehow, he was convicted of our drunken ordeal, charged with theft, assault, and underage alcohol use. 

I haven't seen Joshua since that night. Despite how short our relationship was, despite how much we disagreed, I still missed him.  I missed him with a burning in my heart, like I had taken a drill to my chest. Everywhere, I saw him. I saw him in the way that the trees danced, reminding me of the way that he would move his body to his favorite song.  I saw him in a child's eyes, and how his eyes would always glow when he smiled. I saw him in the way that the wind whispered to me, mysterious and beautiful.  I actually saw him a few times, in similar people's faces, and I would chase after them or call out his name, but he was never really there. 

But I was wrong.  I realized that he was really there.  I still had the memories, as sharp as a pencil on the first day of school.  I had the recordings.  I had pictures.  But for now, I mourn and actively wait joyfully, because Joshua may not be present, he's also not absent. 

Joshua will eventually be released, and I absolutely cannot wait for the day when the Groom will get to meet his Bride.

Copyright 2015 Olivia J, The WordShaker

God bless,

~The WordShaker