Saturday, August 26, 2017

A Cactus In the Valley Playlist | #OliviaJisPublished

"If I'm trying to sleep, the ideas won't stop. If I'm trying to write, there appears a barren wasteland," -Terri Guillemets

If you haven't been online lately, you'll know that I received my final proof copy for A Cactus In the Valley, and I ordered the first print run of 50 copies!


Keep your eyes peeled for that release date!

In the meantime, I'll be releasing special information about my book, like the playlist here. 

1. Cactus In the Valley (Lights & Owl City)
2. Where the Fence is Low (Lights)
3. Two Pieces (Demi Lovato)
4. Curl Up and Die (Relient K)
5. Candlelight (Relient K)
6. Same Sea: Acoustic Version (Lights)
7. Beautiful Times (Owl City feat. Lindsey Sterling)
8. Addict With a Pen (Twenty One Pilots)
9. You Found Me (The Fray)
10. I Found Love (Owl City)
11. Look On Up (Relient K)
12. Pluto (Sleeping At Last)
13. Awakening (Switchfoot)
Bonus Track: Folsom Prison Blues (cover by Owl City)

Listen to the A Cactus In the Valley Playlist on youtube here!

Enjoy, and follow me on social media for the fastest updates on how #OliviaJisPublished is coming along . . . 

~The WordShaker

Saturday, August 19, 2017

The Man On the Rock | Short Story

"My time is best used by making art, not worrying about whether it's good or bad."

For the love of God, words can't express how I feel. But I suppose I can try, in the most cryptic and creative way possible, as per usual. 


~

The railroad tracks stink with that twinge of metal. The spaces between the trees hold my heart. 

My hands, they ache and crack with overuse. At the places where my heart rests in between the branches, rain falls. 

Cold and aching, the water drenches me. I hold my brother even if he doesn't want me to, because I know he needs it. 

The rain falls but the sun shines. A conglomeration of stars I'll never begin to understand. 

For every step I take, the rails peel further and further apart. The sun is lined with iron and the clouds silver. 

I cast a line made of my own veins. Off a bridge made of iron and oak, the water swallows the green and yellow land. 

Slivers of fish swim by, far below. My spine grinds beneath my armor made of tissue paper skin. 

Brushing it's comforting fingers over my face, the air meanders past, warm and sweet. For a moment, I can't breathe. 

Sorrow dances on the wind like ribbons. I toss a red one down into the white water. 

It moves and bends and forms along with the current. A depth rises in my bones, from the metal below. 

Along comes a yellow light and a steaming engine, plowing through the sun and rain and greenery. Things of little meaning flutter off the trees. 

For another moment, I can't breathe. The air presses against me, and the sun, the iron god, explodes in a million different rays that make everything look so damn beautiful. 

The hot, metal rails move further and further apart, ripping apart a great divide. I jump, and for a fleeting moment, I believe I'm flying with all the other leaves and butterflies and birds. 

Four timeless moments, I feel. Four timeless moments, I become. 

Four timeless moments shed off of me like the jacket flying behind me. 

From under the water, the rain makes coin sized stalactites. The in between space, that place, is the place I can feel. 

The train shudders through the forest, across the bridge. Fish wrap their way around my submerged body, in ribbons of silver. 

For a moment, I can't breathe. The sun, the sky, everything glitters like diamond and solid gold. 

The current pushes me along, across the slick rocks and the souls in the river. I suppose this is where the ducks go when the pond freezes over. 

Frightful, I emerge from the water. The golden sun touches everything, blessing it with threads of the brightest yellow. 

Beyond the rapids is a waterfall, where the trees bow before the man on a rock. The man on the rock tells me to jump, and again I feel strange. 

And again, four timeless moments, I feel. Four timeless moments, I become. 

Four timeless moments shed off of me like the water droplets that crystalize into gold. 

Old and haggard, the man tells me to swim to the bottom of the lake. A deep and murky darkness stretches out below my feet. 

I tell him that he's crazy, that I'll drown. And he tells me that he knows already. 

Inflating the tired balloons in my chest, I dive. The water cuts through me and I believe for just a moment that I'm flying again. 

Through the darkness, through the blind mud, an emerald that shines like a star unfolds before my eyes. I reach out and a soft light begins to flood me, begins to flood the whole lake.

Like flaking rust off of iron railroad tracks, this jewel becomes my armor, becomes my flesh and blood and the cloak I wear. The water has those divets of raindrops on its surface once again. 

The man on the rock smiles at me, but it's only now that I realize he has become a part of the rock, a part of the lake. The moss and algae leave behind streaks on my fingers. 

Still, the scent of wet metal travels through the sweet air. I wave goodbye to the man on the rock, and face the expanse of trees before me.

Leaving my fishing pole behind, I suppose I should try and find a way back up the hill, to the railroad tracks. My brother is still up there, and he needs to find the waterfall as well. 


~
Well. I have no idea what the hell that was. If someone wants to tell me what they think it means, that would be great. 

~The WordShaker

Saturday, August 12, 2017

WHY I'm Publishing my Novel | #OliviaJisPublished

"A writer is simply a photographer of thoughts," -Brandon Trean

"But Olivia, you want to publish your book because you want people to read it, duh!"

Well, kind of. 

It's a bit more complicated than that. 

Sure, I want people to read A Cactus In the Valley, and enjoy it as much as I do. 

But my original intent in seeking out self-publishing was to put a period on A Cactus In the Valley. As you know, many other ideas have been boiling on the back-burner, but A Cactus In the Valley was still open, in progress. By publishing it, by finally compiling an official manuscript and having copies, it will be done. I can finally let go of it and move on to my next project. 

So, I've been working through the last draft, until I come to a point that I'm happy with it. And I can finally say that I am, despite it never being perfect. It never will be perfect. 

But hell, this was a long time coming, and I hate to say that I'll be glad when I can stop editing and formatting and such and begin creating again.

But at this point, I'm making the finishing touches on the interior, and have already received a few proof copies. When I get back to school, my goal is to have the cover completed by the end of August, so there's plenty of time to order final proofs and the first print run of 50 copies during September.

This is real, and in the coming months, #OliviaJisPublished will be everywhere....

~The WordShaker

Saturday, August 5, 2017

How We Learn Better From Bad Stories | Writing Advice

"Being a writer requires intoxication with language," -Jim Harrison

I have a strange hypothesis, that everyone should watch bad or subpar movies, read subpar books, etc. because we can learn about stories so much better that way. 

Now hear me out, because the popular dialogue says otherwise. By consuming good media and identifying why it's good, then our creations will become better, right?

Wrong. 

See, everything we create is tainted with our emotional connection to it, so we can't see it in full clarity. And we can unsuccessfully emulate something we like in our art. 

But if we cut out everything that's bad, everything that we can identify in subpar fiction, then that can vastly improve our writing. 

To prove my point, I recently watched The Space Between Us with my friend, and it was okay. It had its moments of brilliance, and, inevitably, it had its missteps. Spoilers, duh. 

But by watching a movie like this, I was able to look at it critically and better see what it did right and what it did wrong. 

When we read okay books and watch okay fiction, the bad stuff seems to pop out, as does the good stuff. For example, the origins of the relationship between Gardner (Asa Butterfield) and Tulsa (Britt Robertson) are never established, so there is a delay in which the audience connects to their relationship. 

The focus was also a little off. A significant amount of time is spent with the adults in the movie, namely Gardner's father and his mother figure, Kendra, when it should have been focused more on the romance between Tulsa and Gardner. I say this only because this was how the movie was marketed, and it seemed to be the overarching theme of the movie as well. 

But The Space Between Us also does some things well. It's aesthetically beautiful and has some poignant lines. It has a lot of potential in its concept and characters, but it barely scratches the surface with Gardner and Tulsa, who had the beginnings of enthralling and deep characters. 

Seeing the potential in an "okay" story is inspiring to the writer, scriptwriter, filmmaker, storyteller. By seeing what doesn't work and why - and, by default, seeing what does work - allows us to apply it to our own stories. 

So, go watch that 3/5 star rated movie, and read that book you know you probably won't like. It will help you in the long run. 

~The WordShaker