Writerly Cats

I'm back from my vacation, and I'm here to share a little wisdom with ya'll. And by widom, I mean cat pictures, because it's Saturday, and Saturdays are supposed to be awesome. Mine usually aren't but, you know,whatever, right?

More Lizard Pictures

I'm just going to post more pictures of my lizard, because I can't think of anything to write. She's pretty, isn't she?

My New Plotting Process

So, I needed to re-plot my novel, since the current plot is confusing and kind of all over the place. So, I decided I needed a new approach. So here it is:

I start a new Google Slide. I titled it: Plot Outline. Then, I made a slide for each chapter, writing a basic synopsis of each one. Then I made bullet points to remind me of important details or subplots. It looked something like this:

This obviously isn't what it actually looks like, because I don't want to spoil the book. But you get the idea. A basic synopsis, and some important points to remember. 

This is just my method. You do what you want.I just wanted to share this to give you some ideas. Happy plotting!

Autism Awareness Month

So as some of you may know, this month is autism awareness month. I thought I'd take some time off of my regular blogging schedule to share my experiences with autism and anxiety. (Also, I couldn't think of anything else to write about😁)

When I was little, I was kind of strange. I was pretty smart (I used to draw multiplication tables in sidewalk chalk), and very anxious. My mother is very fond of telling the story of when we were driving to a place I didn't know. I couldn't read at the time, but I thought I knew everything, and I told her, "Mom, that sign says 'if you go here you will get lost'." She thought that was tremendously funny.

I used to line my toys up in rows. I didn't even know how to play pretend with them until my little sister came along to teach me. 
I also loved princess and racecars. I was obsessed with the movies Cinderella and Cars. 

I was diagnosed with OCD-- oh, I don't remember when. I was definitely young enough for my mom to get me a little book called What to do When Your Brain Gets Stuck. A while later, when I started showing symptoms of anxiety, she got me What to do When You Worry too Much. I don't remember either of those books working. 

What did work was what we called "Snuggle Time." It was fifteen minutes of uninterrupted hanging-out with Mom and Dad, and it helped me stop being afraid of going to sleep. We continued Snuggle Time for years, until about September of last year.

Then things really hit the fan. School had been in session for a while, and I was already hating it. My teachers were scary (and, I mean, like, pale twins slowly advancing towards you from the end of a deserted corridor whispering in ancient languages scary)
My smarts had practically deserted me, and my lab partner and I were always the last to leave the science classroom. In English we were reading a book that legitimately made me cry, almost in front of the whole class. My mom spared me the embarrassment of PE by having me work in the library, but I somehow managed to embarrass myself even there: tiptoeing around classrooms working at the computers, getting distracted and reading the books I was supposed to be putting stickers on, and then putting the stickers on the wrong way-- every possible embarrassment you can imagine. I took math on the computer, but I couldn't seem to grasp the concepts presented.

All of this was terribly distressing. I had always been the smartest, the tallest-- and even if I was a little shy, people had always seen it as cute-- until that year. 

I was so anxious about the last two paragraphs that I couldn't go to class. I spent hours with the school counselor, who was always telling me that being afraid was stupid and that I should face my fears at any cost. But I was already too far gone. Missing classes put me even farther behind, and that made me feel even more stupid. I would get awful head and stomach aches and have to leave after working in the library (my first class of the day). The office ladies would just ask if I needed to call my mom, without even looking at me. When I told them yes, all they said was, "You know what to do." And I did. I could work that stupid office phone better than they could.

Mom got me a phone to call her on, so that I could wait in the library for her after discreetly texting her from where the librarian couldn't see me. I would go and sit in the office, trying not to make eye contact with the kids who came in late, until she came to bring me home.

Eventually, it became too much. I started refusing to get out of the car. It was not the highlight of anyone's morning. Mom would take me home, so mad she couldn't even talk to me without screaming, and deposit me in my room. I'd apologize around noon, get a hug, and disappear back to my books. 

Soon, my mom enrolled me in an online school. That worked for a few months, but then I developed an irrational fear of the website. On top of that, I was really sensitive to small sounds and things like that (I always have been, but it's getting even worse), and I was sleeping on a cycle of nocturnal and diurnal that rotated as predictably as the phases of the moon, although I was so stressed all the time that I didn't even try to keep track. We gave up on school entirely.

And that brings us to today. I'm enrolled in a charter school, but I still haven't done any schoolwork. I'm still anxious about all kinds of sensory input, though I got my first pair of jeans this year, and my first long-sleeved shirt a few months ago. I'm still shy, short, and behind in school, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've got. 

I just want ya'll to know:If you're struggling with any kind of illness or disability, any at all, I just want you to know that you can still accomplish your dreams. I don't care if you're blind: if you want to be a painter, then be a painter. Do what makes you happy. That's what matters.

Sorry for the sappy post. Do what makes you happy. (Unless it's murder. Murder is wrong.) 

Killing Off Characters

So, you need to kill off a character? Do you really?

"Well, yeah."

You sure?

"Yeah....?"

Will this character's death change the plot or other characters? Killing a character and having no one and nothing react means that they're basically not important in the first place. Cut them out entirely.

"Well, I'm killing my MC's best friend, and she's absolutely devastated, so...."

Good job! Now, does the character's death reinforce the theme? Deviating from your theme to kill a character is like veering off the highway to kill a hitchhiker. 

"Well, the best friend's death helps my theme of overcoming obstacles...."

Yay! But do your readers care about the character you're killing off? If your readers don't care, they'll just be annoyed when that character dies. 

"I think I did all that..."

Awesome! Now send it off to your beta readers, to see if you actually did all that. Sure, you care about this character and her death, but you need others to care about it too (including the characters who know about it). You have to have beta readers to make sure that this character's death is impactful, meaningful, and tragic.

Happy fictional murdering!

The Virtual Writing Academy by M. Kirin

So, I've been watching this youtuber called M. Kirin for awhile, and he has a writing prompt series called the Virtual Writing Academy. His latest video in that series is here. I thought I would do the prompt here instead of in my usual software, because I like sharing my writing. So here goes-- Virtual writing Academy #10:

Trickster, Charlie, X, and filed back to the spaceship, our hearts heavy. The U.I.P.F. agents cheered for us as we staggered up the gangplank, but I heard nothing. Nothing but Destiny's final words: "take it. This is your destiny."
I couldn't believe it. Settling into my place at the ship's helm, and readying the holographic images that would lead us home, I felt the meteor pulsing like a second heartbeat in my right shoulder. Why it chose to lodge itself there, in the center of my tattoo, I had no idea. Perhaps it had thought the red and the green would look festive together.
The idea was laughable, but I didn't laugh. I had a job to do. I pressed the hologram in all the places Firestorm had showed me, and felt the ship lurch beneath my feet. I fell back in my chair, and the hologram to my left showed us hurtling at light speed towards Earth.
"This is the Andromeda galaxy," Ahmed whispered in my ear, almost an hour later.
I swore, and hit my head on the keyboard. Firestorm had betrayed us.

So this is awful, but I did my best, and that's what counts. Happy writing!

I'm Not Dead!

It's true, I'm alive! I was out of town for a few days, but now I'm back. I have no idea what to write, though, and I can't find anything funny about writing on the internet, so, no real blog post for today. Sorry. Keep writing, though.