tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21404502516328651012024-03-04T21:46:21.058-08:00Scribbles and NotesGretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-7290242649014616172012-07-06T07:40:00.001-07:002012-07-06T07:40:42.741-07:00MovingHello, Dear Reader,<br />
<br />
First let me say, I'm MOVING this blog! Yes I know scary exciting, where will I be blogging? Well you can now find me here: <a href="http://gretchenschreiber.blogspot.com/">New Blog Exciting!</a><br />
<br />
Why? Hmmm well you will have to click the link and read.<br />
<br />
Hope to see you Off In La-LA Land!<br />
<br />
GretchenGretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-78792370940398513092012-05-31T08:00:00.000-07:002012-05-31T08:00:05.141-07:00What to Expect When You're Writing.The last two weeks I went on vacation and saw the movie "What to Expect When You're Expecting." If you want to see this movie and have it unspoiled please stop reading now and tune in next time. If you've already seen it or are just brave and don't care about spoilers, read on.<br />
<br />
Everyone always seems to compare book writing to baby making. I don't know anything about baby-making--except what I read in books or watch in movies. In this case I think I feel like I'm more like Elizabeth Bank's character and this book might kill me.<br />
<br />
In other words, this is that odd stage where it's just like...I'm gonna punch someone in the face, but then again not. And I want this gosh darn book to be OVER. Then again, I still love it cause it's cute and cuddly. See it's the post writing that doesn't live up to this baby making metaphor--or it's just my lack of baby-making.<br />
<br />
So while being in this odd place, I decided to make a list of all the things I liked about this book (because I've spend so much time focusing on the bad stuff--AKA editing hell)<br />
<br />
All I want is my book to be healthy....<br />
<br />
(also these are in no particular order, except for numero uno, because that one's just awesome)<br />
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<b>One.</b> I'm going to take a moment and celebrate (you can celebrate too) because Draft 3.0 is done. It required some hacking, some re-writing, some character smoothing, some fight scene adding--good times.<br />
<br />
<b>Two.</b> I still absolutely LOVE my main character, she's a crazy girl, but I heart her. I also put her through a lot of pain so kuddos to Foxtrot for surviving my imagination.<br />
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<b>Three. </b>Woot for secrets--because now every character has one. Scary dark deep secrets that come out to bite them. Oops, just remember secrets don't make friends, they make very very very good friends.<br />
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<b>Four. </b>Totes brand spanking new ending. Complete with cute brother/sister moment.<br />
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<b>Five. </b>Let's just say for five minutes that crazy-psycho-killers are extremely fun to write.<br />
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<b>Six. </b> I found out way more about ballet. Who knew, dystopians and ballet went together... Also I now have this insane desire to buy tickets to New York just to see a performance by the NYC Ballet or travel to San Fran and see their ballet company.<br />
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Now I am going to stop, because once I started I found I could keep going. When editing do you ever feel down about your work? Have you ever made a list of things you like about it? Wanna share something off that list?Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-14490295571430810232012-05-08T09:32:00.000-07:002012-05-08T09:34:23.520-07:00ShareSo today we're deviating for the blog schedule. One, because my friend is coming into town [I'm super excited for this] and two, because I thought I'd tell you quickly something about writing me and do a little share-thingy. [I hope that's ok? I'm going to go with the it's ok] [plus there will probably be no blogging for the rest of the week, because A) super awesome BFF in town and B) Disneyland with other super awesome friend on Sunday, so extra long-ish thing for you all!]<br />
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Inevitably, while I write/edit/refine WIP there are side projects. They really don't go anywhere but will distract we for an hour or so, while I cook on the true project. They're nice because it's a "just for fun" thing. It's not meant to be something more than what it is, a few thousand words written quickly with some characters who probably aren't as rounded as they could be. Side-projects span every genre and often start as what-if questions from books I've recently finished--which probably explains why they rarely turn into anything like a WIP. But they are delightfully fun to imagine and think about. <br />
<br />
So I'll ask the question first and feel free to respond without reading the rest of the post. Or respond to it all I'm coolies with either. Do you have "side-projects" like these? Do they turn into anything or are they just fun for you to write?<br />
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<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
This side project is entitled Rules for a Restoration, it takes place after a revolution as is about the next generation that's left to deal with their parents war.</div>
<br />
Rule #7-M: The back way is my
way. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It’s late after school, and I bypass
the front entrance in favor of the rear.
There are no poppers back there, no one waiting with a camera to snap
one more photo of Turin Sirless on yet another first day of school. I’d complain, but it tastes sour on my
tongue, just as it always does. When your very life is a symbol, anyone in
charge can run it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
But no one comes to the back of the
school, and thus it is safe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Buildings couldn’t be remade fast
enough for the growing population and things were just commandeered. Our school used to a mansion. A single family lived in a building where
several hundred kids now go to school.
The back hallways and passages are still smoke charred and burnt out. I drag my fingers through the ash leaving
trails in my wake. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
No one comes back here; no one
wants to remember what the war did. So
this part remains a silent unseen testimony.
The bodies were removed years ago, while I was still a baby. If you
travel deep into the cellars you can find the shadows they left imprinted on the
walls. Not that I will ever admit to
traveling the cellars but still. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I pick my way through the destruction. Ducking under a beam there, sliding through a
doorway here, and always skipping the missing bottom stair. Overgrown gardens meet me in the back. Clearly, no one is supposed to come this way.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Safe in the knowledge I won’t be
met by poppers, I ditch my sunshades. They’ll gather at the front gate, where the
fence has been repaired. Few chance the
back where the wilderness and started to reclaim its territory.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The gate back here hasn’t been
refurbished and secretly I like it better.
It bends as if the air has suddenly collapsed on it. The black and rusted rungs fold in on
themselves in shapes I have drawn for hours.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As always, I check behind me,
before ducking under the fence. No one’s
ever followed me before, but what’s to say today won’t be the first time. That’s my mother’s favorite phrase. She says it’s saved her life more than
once. At least that’s what the history
books say. I don’t ask my parents about
the war. It’s not that I don’t want to know, but it’s best to let some memories
sleep in peace. So I let my history teachers recount the story of how my
mother’s mantra saved her life when she checked behind her and found a tracker
on her trail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There’s no one here, but still I check. The over grown kitchen garden is empty save
for me. I duck through the jungle of
iron and vanish into the true forest beyond. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The sun instantly dims, and the air
cools as I step among the trees. The
wild things, I used to call them. They
are unkempt and grow where they like.
Where we in villages and cities across this nation struggle and grow
specifically where we’re planted, here life is uninhibited. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There is no path, but I know the
steps to follow. Long ago, when I was
smaller, I learned these woods. My
father taught me how to bend around the trees and how to move through the
underbrush silent as death itself. We
sometimes made a game of it. I’d move as
quickly and as quietly as I could through the forest, while he tracked me. The goal was to make it to the lake, without
him catching me. I suspect he let me win
more than once. The lake has always been
our hiding spot. As clear as the mirror that hangs in our one bathroom and
smooth as ice. It stretches for what
seems like an eternity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My father and I spent long
afternoons up here, while we waited for my brother to get out of school. I
learned to swim in these crystal waters and caught diner on early grey
mornings. This is my childhood bound
into a single space.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I scamper along the sandy beach,
losing book bag, and shoes, and letting the lone blank sheet of paper fly free. It’s code. One I never answer, but one that tells me I
won’t be alone long. More importantly,
it’s one no one can break. This is a
code without words. No invisible ink, no
cypher, no code word. Just a simple
idea: a blank page for yes, I’m coming, no paper means not today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Today, I’m not going to be alone
for long.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Heedless of anything else, I head
straight for the water. My mother will
worry when I come home wet. She’ll see
me drenched from head to toe and think I’ll catch a chill or that next time I
might not come out alive. I’ll roll my
eyes and kiss her gently and remind her father taught me well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
So for today, I shall chance giving
her another grey hair or a winkle in her brow.
I will not think of the horrors she will invent for where I’ve
been. I will simply enjoy the sun-warmed
water.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As I splash through the shallows
and the water soaks my skit, and I wash off the first day. The voyeuristic poppers snapped up every
picture of me they could. Stares from my
classmates as we sat in history. It’s
been the norm since I started, people are curious but cannot bring themselves
to ask the question. It’s a topic Sooze and I have long discussed, her parents
being famous revolutionaries as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Plunging my head below the surface,
I pull myself out into the deeper parts.
My skirt drifts around me and my shirt pillows out. They fill with water and drag me down. I allow myself to slip below the surface,
floating in the water watching the sun dazzle the surface. To stay here forever is a dream. But my lungs scream out and compel me to the
surface. Cracking the water, I flick the
strings of my hair out of my face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You’ll catch your death in there,”
someone shouts from the shore. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“So I’ll have caught it and it may never come
for me.” I call back. “You could come
in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Naw, I’d like not to dance with
death today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As I paddle back to the shore the
speaker comes into focus. He’s not a
stranger here, but outside of this spot, we don’t speak. That is Rule #1-M: Outside of the lake we are
not friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The repercussions our friendship
could tear everything apart. Marin is
the son of Sommatist, those we revolted against in the years before I was
born. My father slit their dictator’s
throat. It would never be allowed. Even though we are now one nation; we live as
a house divided. What is left of the
Sommatists live in one section and we, the revolutionaries, share another. And always, always the Sommatists receive
everything last. That is Rule #1-S. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Marin’s taken his usual seat on the
beach when I crawl back to the land. His
cloths are old and patched many times over.
His cornsilk colored hair that normally licks his collar has been tied
back for today. His books sit on the
ground next to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I plop down
in the sand next to him and spread out my skirts to dry in the sun. I pull out the pins, holding my braids to my
head to let it dry as well. Marin scoots
away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If I
wanted to get wet, I’d’ve jumped in the lake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well
perhaps you should, it would drown that sour attitude of yours.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rolls
his eyes and pulls out his book. It’s
full of words, words by Marin. I’ve never seen these words. No one has.
It is a book fit only for the consumption of its author. Or as he tells
me, it’s not ready for human consumption yet.
I tried to tell him once that I should be allowed to see the book, after
all it was my present to him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A present
for his birthday. It was several months ago; I overheard several of his
Sommatist friends discussing it in the halls at school. Marin never has enough
paper. To be a writer you have to
practice. Marin practices all the time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
All Marin had was scraps of paper
bound together with rubber bands. The
pages shuffled together and never stayed neat.
He’d fill every corner with his unruly hand. I found the book on a
supply train. Soft leather coverings and strings to hold it shut. The paper, thick and heavy, sturdy enough for
even Marin’s worst words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s it
about today?” I ask, hoping for a snippet of his story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing
for you.” Is all I get in response. I leave him alone, digging in my bag for the
key. To my brother and my parents, it is
a nothing key. A good luck charm, I tell
them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The truth
of the matter is the key unlocks a box I keep by the lake. There in the shade of the trees I find
it. Old and worn down by age, there is
my box. Inside wrapped in oilskins lay
my sketchbooks. The ones I have dared to
fill with placed lakes, aging trees, moments of imagination, and sketches of a
boy I’ve tried to understand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marin is
face down in the sand when I get back, words dribbling from his pen to the
page. I settle on a rock and flip to a
blank page. <i>A wordsmith a work</i> I title the page and set about sketching in
rough outlines of Marin’s form. I grow
bored with the detailed work and flit around the edges of the outline, drawing
in what I think is flowing on his page.
Worlds of sea monsters and hovercrafts.
Here is where I dig in deep.
Smoothing over the original lines with my imaginative world. Layering over the boy I know, just like our
friendship. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because we
don’t exist as friends outside this space, there exists Rule #7A-M we leave the
world and our problems in the forest.
Here we talk of the future, where we want to go. What we think the world may be like outside
of our town’s confines. Marin dreams of
unending land. He’s convinced there
exists a place where the sky and the land are caught in an eternal race,
unimpeded by mountains or sea. Perhaps there is, but so much of it is probably
contaminated by the war. It’s a miracle
we have enough land to grow crops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dream of
cities where buildings reach to kiss the sky.
We have made so many fake plans that it is easy to forget our problems
here. Family, friends, school,
poppers. It all fades when confronted
with a fantastic future. Hours have
passed where we discuss nothing but what we will be and where we will go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So fist
day of school, thoughts?” Marin asks as his words finally run dry on the page. The question stills my pencil. It breaks the
rules. Granted, Marin doesn’t know all of my rules. The Rule #7-M is shared, but most are like
all of my rules of my own design and secret.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Like all
other days,” I answer, trying to be as generic as possible. “Where are you
going today?” I ask, redirecting our conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In what
ways? Was it like all others?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want to
travel to see all of the hidden spaces, where people kept art during the war.”
I will put our conversations back on track. “I read in a book, that many people
have opened their houses and have copies of the art works where they were
hidden. In the larger cities where there
are several hiding places, they have tours.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holding my
breath, I wait for Marin to answer, praying he will ask me about the pieces I
want to see. Or if I will try and hire
myself out as a painter, to reconstruct one of the pieces for a hiding place. Anything that will take me away from the
reality of our lives. Let us journey
into the future where our friendship won’t matter. He knows my dreams, why does he need my
present?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Is that how today was different?”
Marin asks, titling his head. A smile
plays at the corners of his lips and he flips his pen around his thumb. “You
skipped class to see art?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. You know I was in class.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marin and I
share four out of our seven classes. He
sits in the back with all of his friends and I sit in the front surrounded by
people who call themselves my friends. But we don’t speak; Marin barely opens
his mouth in school. Before our lakeside
friendship, I’d barely heard him say four words, and we’ve been in the same
class since our earliest years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wraps
the chords around his book, and tucks it into his bag. “I should probably be getting home.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re
leaving already?” Normally, we linger at the lake until we have to race home as
to make the nightfall curfew. The sun is
still well above the horizon, we’ve hours left.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marin
shrugs and drops the strap of his bag across his shoulders. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-18523473982154024882012-05-07T08:37:00.003-07:002012-05-07T08:37:50.220-07:00First PositionFor those of you tuning in at home, Blog me MAYbe Mondays are MAY I tell you something about my writing? Here goes something about my writing but first we're going to pause and talk about ballet, and then get back to writing.<br />
<br />
This past week I have sort of thrown myself head first into the world of ballet. I took classes at my local gym when I was a kid, but I stopped after a few lessons. In sixth grade I picked up dancing again, but this time it was tap not ballet. <br />
<br />
Still I've been a closet ballet freak my entire life. I've never met a dance movie I didn't love, Center Stage, Turning Point, First Position. (Yes even all of those Step-Up movies--I've seen them ALL.) Every year, I get excited for the Nutcracker Ballet. I enjoy going to see them and more so, I like learning about the dancers themselves and their training.<br />
<br />
How does this have anything to do with writing? Because I am a research freak and one of my characters is in fact a ballet dancer. <br />
<br />
I research because I am always looking to understand people who have completely different lives. My life is weird enough sure, I mean very few people I know have spent more time on the operating table than I have. But as I started this rewrite of my novel, I found I needed to know more about being a dancer. These are kids who at a very young age decide what they want to do. They practice every day giving up their childhood in order to achieve a dream. <br />
<br />
In my first draft, there isn't a lot of dance references. A few but not many. As I went back through, I noticed there was not a lot of depth to the passages. Right now my characters past did not round out her present. Because I knew this had to add to her present and play a major role in her story, I dug back into the research.<br />
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I've spent hours on wikipedia reading about the different dances (I now need to find a company performing Coppellia because I really want to see it now) and looked through youtube videos of professional dancers, as well as watching documentaries on old ballet companies like Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo and ones on new dancers like First Position which follows six dancers competing in the Young American Grand Prix.<br />
<br />
Even though I knew how hard ballet was, I mean think about dancing on your toes for five seconds and I realize how much pain that it. But my research gives me a whole different look at the world. Yes it's hard but if you have passion and you love what you do, it's all worth it. There are tons of little things I've picked up from my research, now it's time to let them simmer and what will come out will go into the story.<br />
<br />
Do you research before you write? After? During? What sort of things are you looking into now?Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-65477665602081490922012-05-02T09:48:00.003-07:002012-05-02T09:48:31.513-07:00Questions, questions, who's got answers?So it's time for day two in the Blog me MAYbe world and that means it's time for you lovely followers to come on down!<br />
<br />
When thinking about the subject for today, mainly asking all you lovelies out in the blogosphere a question, I was at a loss. Do I ask about writing? Reading? Real life problems? (ok not real life problems) <br />
<br />
Still it's a question. Then I hung out with some of my film friends and they know me as the TV person (and also the girl who reads way too much YA--although I don't think that's possible). They asked me "What shows should I be watching." <br />
<br />
So because we're all writers I assume we're all readers as well. I'm always looking for a new read. <br />
<br />
Today's question will be reading related. The question, should you choose to answer is:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When someone asks you what should I be reading, what book do you tell them? </span></b></div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-28139846317853798432012-05-01T11:02:00.001-07:002012-05-01T11:02:40.006-07:00BookcakesGood Morning Blogosphere, long time no see. (and that's totally my fault) Anyway there is this super cool idea going around and maybe you've heard of it? It's called Blog me MAYbe started by the wonderful <a href="http://babblingflow.blogspot.com/2012/04/blog-me-maybe.html">Sara McClung</a>. Basically it's to help us all remember why the heck we love blogging in the first place. Every day has a topic and today it's all about me, but it can totally be about you too. If you sign up. <br />
<br />
Actually Tuesdays' Topics are MAY I tell you something about me?<br />
<br />
I bake cupcakes. Not professionally, but it's sort of a hobby. I think if the whole film thing doesn't pan out, and the book fails, then I'll open a small bakery called Bookcakes. That is a long about way to say, I bake cupcakes with literary themes. Or at least based on literary works. How did this happen? Well it all started when my BFF posted a recipe for snicker-doodle cupcakes. <br />
<br />
There's no literary idea there, but it was the start of my cupcake frenzy. I'd already been addicted to shows like Cupcake Wars. Plus, when I get stuck creatively, I find my way by baking. Like how some authors take showers or long walks. I bake. Which is great because then I have tasty snacks while I write.<br />
<br />
I mention my BFF and her Facebook cooking recs because she also got me started on the baking with books track. Now a book from my childhood and a cupcake from my adulthood: the Butter Beer Cupcake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyzM74NOINViVOfsFFlKMFO3n7asbhrOF4CO5V_GMtQP2VBi8EbGV1qtZujyM0eXEj1p4TFYt0AgOMuIWGsKs6oZYUIQyfRlYJqmkeyg6Llbob8UT99OeNHzimUzJpQtxLqmC-diUs7y5/s1600/386068_2399368622084_1187070348_32446651_1529506119_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyzM74NOINViVOfsFFlKMFO3n7asbhrOF4CO5V_GMtQP2VBi8EbGV1qtZujyM0eXEj1p4TFYt0AgOMuIWGsKs6oZYUIQyfRlYJqmkeyg6Llbob8UT99OeNHzimUzJpQtxLqmC-diUs7y5/s320/386068_2399368622084_1187070348_32446651_1529506119_n.jpeg" width="181" /></a></div>
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Doesn't it look yummy? They are a class favorite. I've made them a few times and every time they fly out of the pan as if they're attached to Nimbus 2000. </div>
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Now familiar with books and baking, I became the magnet for all recipes book related. In honor of a very special movie, that I very much looked forward to, I baked Girl On Fire Cupcakes. Which should be called Will Set Your Mouth On Fire Cupcakes. </div>
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(Also a cameo of other books on my shelf)</div>
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You need a glass of milk with these cupcakes. 2 tablespoons of cayenne pepper will set your tongue on fire. </div>
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So there you have it. What will I do next, no idea. But I am willing to take suggestions.</div>
<br />Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-14859733249575756682012-01-09T16:46:00.000-08:002012-01-09T16:46:00.394-08:00Book Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
**We interrupt this book review to bring you a special message from this book blogger. Okay, so here's the thing, LOTS of people blog reviews. According to Maggie Stiefvater the world does not need another blog, the world will not care if I do not blog. BUT I am going to blog and I am going to tell you about the 30 books I am reading this year, AND I am going to do it as if I were passing this book to a high and mighty at my internship. Which means, let's make movies! We now return you to this regularly scheduled blog.**</div>
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Log-line: Incarceron, the NYT bestselling novel by Catherine Fisher, is<i> The Rock</i> meets <i>The Matrix </i>where fifteen year old FINN tries to escape from a prison that is alive aided from the outside by CLAUDIA the Warden's daughter.<br />
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Coverage: <i>Incarceron </i>tells its story from two points of view. The first is FINN, a boy who lives among some of the most dangerous criminals in Incarceron. When he receives a key, which he believes will open the locks of the prison, he, his oath brother, an old scholar, and a slave girl embark on a journey to free themselves. The key it turns out is a link between worlds. Where we meet CLAUDIA, the daughter of Incarceron's Warden. Stuck in an a world where time has stopped circa the middle ages, she is engaged to the Prince, and doesn't want to be. She believes the Prince's older brother, GILES, who died mysterious years earlier. The two form a friendship and a romantic relationship while trying to free Finn from the prison. <br />
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(**Normally, we give the ending. But because this is a review and technically NOT coverage, I'll stop there.)<br />
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Comments: I started reading this in the midst of finals. Let me put it to you all this way, I read it ALL while in the taking graduate level finals. The world is fully formed, both the savage world of the prison and the strictly ordered outside. The world provides an excellent barriers for our protagonists. Finn and Claudia must both figure out the underpinnings of their respective worlds in order to free themselves both literally and psychologically. <br />
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Finn, Claudia, and the rest of the characters are well developed. They each have a goal, whether it is to escape, to find a long lost mother, to serve a friend well, or even who am I? They struggle for the answers sometimes coming up against answers they would rather not face. <br />
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The book is fast paced and has the ability to do cross audience business with it's high pack action plot, romance, and the politics. My suggestion buy this book before another studio snatches it up.<br />
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**Update: <i>Incarceron </i>has actually been purchased by 20th Century Fox and is slated for a 2013 release. Taylor Lautner is attached to play Finn.Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-56973178293034019552012-01-08T13:46:00.000-08:002012-01-08T13:46:36.086-08:00Dun, dun, DONE!That's right, who has a first draft? ME! So the first draft, well it's probably not fit for human consumption just yet and those of you who have been reading, thank-you!<br />
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So I just put the whole she-bang together, as Foxtrot was sitting between three word docs, and the grand total (including epigram) is<span style="font-size: large;"> 53,743</span> (knowing that I need another character and at least two scenes to flesh out the beginning.). <br />
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What an extraordinary accomplishment. <br />
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But as I am wont to do, I began to think over some of the things that brought me to this story and really what has inspired me. These, unfortunately, are not pictures (but you can still see those awesome pictures in that post if you like).<br />
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War. War that seems so far removed. For most of my life, at least the last ten years, I have lived in a country that is at war. But you wouldn't know it by looking at the streets or hearing people talk.<br />
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History. I grew up in the middle of the country and was always fascinated by the people who would be paid for a buffalo head. The bigger the head, the more you would be paid.<br />
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Medicine. When I was a child I was constantly surrounded by this profession. Discussed dissected and taken to some places that were interesting to my. Having recently revisited this wonderful magical place, where one never has to come up to the surface, I believe I stumbled into what I call the substraits.<br />
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Theater. No seriously. Or I should say my theatrical education which always makes me question people who write literature about revolutions. In history and with most revolutions they start in the theater. Did you know La Marriage de Figaro is said to have sparked the French Revolution. People unite around art because it is an artists responsibility to hold up a mirror to society and show all of the flaws within. Where others are beheaded, the artist continues to work. As far back as the ancient Greeks, theater practitioners have been critiquing their government with their bodies on stage. Secondly, I was thinking over really different things trying to a) name this thing and b) think of something I could put at the beginning to set the mood for me. I came upon this quote from one of my FAVORITE plays evah! I think it sums up some of what I am trying to say....<br />
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"Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name."</div>
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John Proctor</div>
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<i>The Crucible</i> by Arthur Miller</div>
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Right, right, good huh? So with that, I give you all my new title, because Foxtrot was a) totally not the real title and b) it's a hard duck to crack.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Infected</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By Gretchen Schreiber</span></div>
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Okays, well I am off to start polishing or just plain reward myself.</div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-52736395277153700402012-01-02T08:33:00.000-08:002012-01-02T08:33:53.689-08:00A day late, and a dollar up!Hello, 2012! <br />
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This is probably like many others this is where I reflect on the year and make up some ideas for the year to come.<br />
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I label 2011 as the year of change. It was the year, I graduated undergrad. It was the year, I moved half-way across the county. It was the year I got my first real critique partner. A lot of things changed in 2011, and while I liked it--although I was not prepared for all of it. My goals for 2011 looked something like this:<br />
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1. Have faith in what you do. <br />
2. Try something new as often as possible<br />
3. Finish your novel.<br />
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They were some lofty goals. A tad silly, or at the very least they were worded funny. Also hard to tell when you've actually achieve your goal. <br />
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2012 I am going to label as the year of writing. Why you ask? Well because all of my goals have to do with writing or reading as the case may be. Unlike last years goals, which were awesome these resolutions will hold me accountable. <br />
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1. Polish Novel. This is also known as editing.<br />
2. Send out at least one batch of query letters.<br />
3. Write two pilots.<br />
4.Read at least one book a month AND blog about it.<br />
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There is it internets, my 2012 resolutions.Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-85236392297048926412011-12-14T08:07:00.000-08:002011-12-14T08:07:32.006-08:00It's What You Leave BehindSo I am back in the land I like to call the cold and the north. This is to say Minnesota. And while it might be raining outside or as my weather app likes to call it "winter precipitation" it's been a great visit.<br />
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I have lots of friends here who do all sorts of things in the arts. There are theater people, dance people, film people. People people...errr. But the best thing to come out from one of these meetings was a conversation I had with some of my friends who are costume designers. If you are in the arts (and you are all writers so yes, that counts.) then you know how hard it can be to be an active artist. <br />
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I once has a teacher tell me that there was no space for art in the future. That if the world would end the people leaving on the spaceship bound for distant galaxies would not be filmmakers or theaters artisans, but scientists and such. There was no room for art. <br />
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How sad is that? <br />
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Speed forward to me meeting up with friends. After a tough semesters, and really all semesters are tough, they were down about what they had chosen to do. <br />
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I was reminded of a paper I wrote for an assessment test that asked about state funding for the arts. My answer really hasn't changed. If you look back through history, the only things we remember or the things that flash instantly into our minds is art. The pyramids in Egypt, the plays of Ancient Greece, fashion, architecture. All art, all stamped for eternity on the page of history.<br />
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So remember if you ever get down in the dumps about art, this is your mark on history. This is something you can leave behind.Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-19184195299399666762011-12-01T10:04:00.001-08:002011-12-01T10:22:12.947-08:00What I know.The typical list of "how to be a writer" usually contains the phrase "write what you know." And when what I know isn't enough? When confronted with this question, I used to say, "Yeah but I don't know what it feels like to live in a dystopian future or be mixed up with faeries. Or..." The list went on and I slowly but surely wrote off the "write what you know" mentality.<br />
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Because really, I don't write what I know.<br />
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While reading through some notes on my most recent story, I discovered one vital thing. I write ALL about what I know. I mean A LOT. So I started to think about how much of "me" was in each one of my stories. Not me as in the protagonist is me, but how much of my knowledge has impacted my novels.<br />
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There are strange medical procedures, leaving home for the first time, medical procedures, shots, clothing....<br />
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That's when I realized, I know a lot. Or at least I'd like to think I know a lot. I can make an outfit if just given a picture (Admit it, that's cool). I can shoot you a movie given the proper camera and equipment. I know what it's like to be injected with radioactive isotopes (that is not made up people.) (And, no, I don not glow). I'm deathly afraid of shots. I know what it's like to have a broken heart, to fail, to question what I'm told..... If you think about it for a few moments, you can probably come up with your own list and anything from that list can easily become the foundation of a novel. I could write a novel about costumes designers trying to finish a show or movie producers desperately pulling their movie together. What you know can take you all kinds of places. <br />
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And what you don't know. Research!<br />
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Are you using what you know if your novel? Wanna share? Leave a comment!<br />
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Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-39105724167926656292011-11-13T14:37:00.001-08:002011-11-13T14:47:06.489-08:00Word BingeYup the title says it all. That's how I write. In big long word dumps. Some people do it every day, I do it once a week...on a good week. But I usually get between 5 and 10k done on a weekend. It's nuts. It's emotionally draining. It's probably not healthy in some respects.<br />
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This weekend, I think I hit a milestone. Something I've seen coming in this novel and probably rewritten about ....9 times. I call it the crossing, cause we're going from one location to another. Both locals are awesome but getting from one to the other--chaotic! Lot's of death and pills and craziness. But I decided to give you all a taste, cause this needs to be shared with the world. So from my word binge to your computer screen:<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Buildings poke from the
ground, small stubs jabbing at the grey sky over heard. An accusation or
statement that says we’re still here and we’re still building. The fence
encircling the city is unlike any one I have ever seen. Chain link, razor
wire sandwich thick metal poles, creating a net of safety net the likes of
which I’ve never seen.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> The car has stopped in front of
these, but behind us rise yet another impossible sandwich of metal and
barbed-wire. Several people in suits sit
at a desk with a person in a white coat.
Ms. Norberry, removes a briefcase from the trunk of the car. Digging around inside she hands a stack of bills to the driver. </span></span></div>
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There you have it folks! The City (yeah I'm working on the title). What a new playground to discover corruption and conspiracy in! Plus Foxtrot might, and I mean MIGHT, wear a dress at some point. And there is some more kissing and some more hunting, and some more info about the infection. It makes me slightly excited. </div>
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But only slightly.</div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-3889873873135047232011-10-17T10:38:00.000-07:002011-10-17T10:38:17.248-07:00Writer's Block InnoculationSo this post is really a true example of me, knowing at some point I will have Writer's Block and heading it off before it can sink its evil story stalling claws into me. It's sorta like a flue shot.<br />
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With every story I write, I always try to have a character, who I personally love (but really that's all of them). So I try to have a character who if put in a scene will ultimately a) up the stakes and b) create some sort of story. Now, you may be thinking, Gretchen that's supposed to be your MAIN CHARACTER. And yes I agree with you. Your main character should constantly up the stakes and you know move the story along.<br />
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But when you hit Writer's Block it's probably, at least for me, fatigue between me and my main character. We're just too darn tired. She's exhausted from telling me all the dark things in her life and I'm tired of speed typing my fingers off. We're in a creative slump, and the only thing that can even remotely save us is: this on little side character, who I call my Saving Grace.<br />
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In my latest story, my saving grace is a character named Brody. (Any of you who have read Foxtrot, you all LOVE Brody--you can admit this. If I killed him you'd kill me. Not that I would....there are worse things than death....) But the point is, whenever I pull up this character, I can't help but smile and Foxtrot can't help but smile. It's impossible to suffer from fatigue when I plop my saving grace on the page. <br />
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I've had other successful and not so successful saving graces in the past. Sometimes, when they don't work too well, they just repeat the same thing over and over. OR the same thing just keeps coming up in conversations. But with Brody, he happens to be a six going on seven year old who thinks his world is a) wicked awesome (his sister shudders at this thought) and b) that his older sister can do anything. Really ANYTHING. (yes I know this isn't quite typical of siblings, but hey this is the future, things change.) c) he's sort of adorable....ok he's COMPLETELY adorable. So I smile every time he does something.<br />
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Even if the scene eventually gets cut, Brody can give me a new way to pull in characters, recenter myself in the story, and basically smile in the middle of a really dark world. <br />
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Do you have any ways of solving Writers Block? Or just have characters who just make your day?Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-54896939998582899582011-10-09T20:26:00.000-07:002011-10-09T20:26:11.043-07:00The World Be Dark.Let's get one thing straight people, books are dark places. Books are also light and happy places. Books--and really stories in general--give us places where we are confronted by darkness and shown that even in the darkest situations we can triumph. Recently, in my story analysis class, my professor brought up this book <i>The Uses of Enchantment</i> by Bruno Bettleheim. (Now please be aware this is second hand info--my copy in on it's way but this is her assertions from the book)<br />
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Bettleheim is a child psychologist who studied the impact of fairytales on children. His assertions on fairytales are that children need to hear them. They need to hear the ones specifically with "happy endings" this is not because we too all want happy endings but because of the characters triumphs over darkness.<br />
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Children's largest fear in life is that their parents will abandon them and they will have to face the evils on the world on their own. This is a valid fear. How many of us feared losing our parents or being left alone, when we were children? I know that was one of my biggest fears as a child. <br />
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What fairytales do, according to Bettleheim, is they confront children with this fear. There is no sugar coating, no talking down to them and telling them everything will always be rainbows and sunshine. Fairytales say that yes, someday you will be left in the woods by your parents and you will be forced to deal with the evil witch, who wants to eat you.<br />
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Scary right?<br />
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Yeah, I shivered there just typing that.<br />
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Here is the reason why children need the "happily ever after." It's not just icing on the cake. It's a teaching method.<br />
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Who know that?<br />
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Apparently, Bettleheim.<br />
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Fairytales put children in horrible situations and then show that they, even at such a tender age, can triumph. They can persevere. Dark things WILL happen to you, but if you are prepared for it, you too can shove the witch in the cauldron. <br />
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Children NEED this because they need to know they can prevail in the darkness of the world. That's why fairytales feature children. They are not the heroic myths that we receive in high school and college, about great men and women who affect the world around them. Fairytales are about the ordinary boy or girl who are put into horrendous situations and prevail. <br />
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It's part of growing up. Facing the world head on and not waiting for people to come to you.<br />
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Now there are those (and WE know ALL about them) who would argue that literature, especially for children, has taken a darker turn. They argue this is not a good turn. It is in fact a horrible one, that will teach our children all of the horrible values we endeavor to help them avoid. With the advent of dystopias as the current trend, and the love-y dove-y, sparkly vampires being shoved aside, they say we are going to disturb our children with such darkness.<br />
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To those people I say: have you read a newspaper recently?<br />
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Here's the facts: our government can't work together, our national debt is through the roof, the largest number of 20-somethings are moving HOME (reasons include, no job, lack of funds, failure to launch), the jobless rate is the highest pretty much since the Great Depression, oh and did I mention the millennials are going to be the FIRST generation EVER in the USA to not out pace their parents in terms of over all state of living?<br />
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The world be dark.<br />
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How are we supposed to face this? Hmmm? With stories that are happy, where nothing bad happens, and everyone ends with a smile on their face? That helps me, sure.<br />
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The book most often cited as too "dark" is the Hunger Games. Let's look at that book for a moment. It features a girl fighting for her life in a word where her government is corrupted, she doesn't have enough money to feed her family, her mother is less of a mother and more of child, and to add insult to injury she's fighting for her life, literally, in an arena being filmed all so that she can protect her sister and be there to take care of her in the future.<br />
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How many of those things from Katniss's life happen to deal with real world problems we see today? (And I didn't even add in "deal with war")<br />
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*SPOILER*<br />
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And yet, we see her triumph. She lives, you could argue she thrives, but more importantly Katniss perseveres through this life. Whether or not you think the end of Mockingjay is happy or not, Katniss has her happy ending: family and love. <br />
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The lesson to be learned is not: how to kill the kid next to you, but rather that you as a reader can come through the darkness of the arena (x2) and civil war, losing your best friend, and STILL find happiness at the end. <br />
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So yes, the world be dark, but thanks to tales like fairytales and the Hunger Games, I can face it. Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-51789806596762092752011-10-03T11:56:00.000-07:002011-10-03T11:56:21.786-07:00In the MiddleSo two weeks ago (yeah sorry about that), I wrote about my beginning as a writer. That one space of time where my life went from easy and ordinary to confusing and extraordinary. Yes, writing can make your life confusing ex. Sunday me having written all afternoon, I sit on my couch crying. Not because it's bad prose, not because I'm upset about life. But because I'm emotionally drained from reworking Foxtrot. See crazy.<br />
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But this is about my middle. That awkward space between me turning away from fanfiction and my first novel. Yes it was a scary time. Yes it was a scary novel. Yes I'm going to tell you about it.</div>
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The title of my first ever novel was called: The Debate Closet Debacle. (nope it was not whimsical. It was like Harry Potter meets present day America meets Policy debate--which yes, I did in fact do.)</div>
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It was about three girls and how they became friends and bonded over magic...and debate. Also there was this debate closet, which if you know anything about policy debate you know it's ALL about the research. Tubs of the stuff and it's gotta go somewhere, hence the closet. This is a place where tubs of research have been known to try and assassinate debaters. See brilliant! I wrote all over the place on this story crafting characters and places and no actual plot. Plots are hard things for me, characters--check, awesome places--double check, plot--ehhh we're still looking for that.</div>
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But it was my first solo novel and I love those girls and that closet.</div>
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My first attempt taught me a lot. Like most things you learn for some of your early failures and you go on to discover all new and amazing failures and strengths. Don't ever forget you have strengths. </div>
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It may take you a while to discover them, but they're there, trust me.</div>
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I'm not ashamed of my first novel. Granted you're not getting much beyond this post, but still. This was my first project the start of me becoming my own writer. Letting go of DCD was hard, but I moved on quickly to bigger and better projects. In this murky middle ground, I found myself investigating plot. Looking for ways to circumvent traditional methods and revamp stories that I felt had been told one too many times. It was a time for growth and to use an obscure over used phrase "find myself" as a writer. But I did, when I wrote DCD it was the first time I type a by-line with MY NAME not a penname from a fanfiction site. <br />
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So, I 'm not going to ask you to share your first novel experience (unless of course you want too!) but tell me the time you first considered yourself a "writer."</div>
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Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-83290895337566448492011-09-22T23:39:00.000-07:002011-09-22T23:39:10.368-07:00Re-readingI feel this title should actually read something like this:<br />
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Re-reading or how I avoid the to-be read stack that is a mile high and the 200 pages of right of publicity case law</div>
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but that just seems to be a bit too long don't you think? [and you all thought film school was about making film....]</div>
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Now, I will say my re-reading stack is considerably smaller than my to-be read pile. I have a stack of about five books that get re-read at least once a year. These are books who are either special to me because of when I discovered them or the characters never fail to wrap me in their stories. I laugh, cry, and cringe in ALL the same places every time without fail.</div>
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They are a random assortment of books so YA some adult, some romance others sci-fi, and even a fantasy series or two.</div>
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I think sometimes I'm less adventurous than I should be with my reading skills. I'll pick up all sorts of books [second hand bookstores are my favs!] and they will sit in my stack probably a year before I pick them up. I always enjoy them, but if push comes to shove I'll reread one of my guaranteed best books.</div>
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Now the reason for this post. When I started my most recent project I realized one fatal flaw, I'm writing a freaking dystopian novel. If you check out the list below, there is not a dystopian novel on it [and yes for those of you who know my LOVE of the Hunger Games, will be surprised that HG be not on that list--that's another blog post]. </div>
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As I worried over how to grapple with this genre, someone suggested I read in the genre. Well that's easy, but I'm always skeptical of Amazon reviews. Mostly cause I'm weird and I read all the one star reviews, cause I find people's whiny-ness amusing. Then by the end I don't learn anything useful about the book This is where I hope some of my blogger friends will come in. So I plan to read some dystopian, I mean I will not be allowed to re-read my favs until I have finished these new books. Which I will say I have a book that ALWAYS gets reread at Christmas so there is a goal. Plus, let's be honest, I need some variety in my life.</div>
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So tell me your fav dystopian novel and why (if your's is Hunger Games please suggest your second fav). Or one you think I really should check out. Kay thanks! </div>
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My Re-Read Pile: </div>
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Crown Duel by Sherwood Smith </div>
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Dragon Prince by Melanie Rawn </div>
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Shards of Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold</div>
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The Mad, Bad Duke by Jennifer Ashley </div>
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Blue Bloods by Melissa de la Cruz</div>
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Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-22144701017865116142011-09-21T08:00:00.000-07:002011-09-21T08:31:12.377-07:00Welcome to Foxtrot's world....So, today as promised I intend to give you all a taste of my crazy novel-child. But I feel that just giving you a blurb about it, is not enough (because my current "summary" drives me crazy). Plus they say a picture is worth a thousand words so here's some "words" about the world in my novel.<br />
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For some sound effects...or songs that get me into Foxtrot's head you can look up the song Still Here by Superchick, Thistle and Weeds by Mumford and Sons, or Down by Jason Walker. (yeah, all those sound real uplifting...right?)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIsYL8Cyyhk5ljmkJbelbEvfK-3BN4JrdFxL5qdflpWFHootUzX9ZQjXU3oFiwPLYIxLodGhgGNDD1Y80y3rbmos78mAMJKDbA13CXJNsN_wJzK2FTe2Gge8HTE9ZgbXiRDeFSPdAub4U/s1600/BarracksLong.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIsYL8Cyyhk5ljmkJbelbEvfK-3BN4JrdFxL5qdflpWFHootUzX9ZQjXU3oFiwPLYIxLodGhgGNDD1Y80y3rbmos78mAMJKDbA13CXJNsN_wJzK2FTe2Gge8HTE9ZgbXiRDeFSPdAub4U/s320/BarracksLong.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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So this is where Foxtrot lives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2k5pohH0TPeUwcAAy1HwY3Qzki9mBLgCwA1iABiPDyYH8AFvChP3M9dK1Ty3nEcULzcnYwMCoUe5UB6813W2rmQW-ddt0FcC0Hz6KKjXQMpmd76lvBZP00cWjYqGhr1C1TWJaRDvELl4C/s1600/buildings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2k5pohH0TPeUwcAAy1HwY3Qzki9mBLgCwA1iABiPDyYH8AFvChP3M9dK1Ty3nEcULzcnYwMCoUe5UB6813W2rmQW-ddt0FcC0Hz6KKjXQMpmd76lvBZP00cWjYqGhr1C1TWJaRDvELl4C/s320/buildings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is what the center of her city looks like.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqSbTFM1FHsRLAgRB2_g6lYfbvXwAejEsZH_kwJUW4zhDXyZojrs0xakkiu8yCCELfmDZcO27BwV_dhe4xYsprlaPD47Iho7HIkj1PBVdn1UOJMdCwMdFWoEdL4ibAvvmi3gdcr59lbgy/s1600/virus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqSbTFM1FHsRLAgRB2_g6lYfbvXwAejEsZH_kwJUW4zhDXyZojrs0xakkiu8yCCELfmDZcO27BwV_dhe4xYsprlaPD47Iho7HIkj1PBVdn1UOJMdCwMdFWoEdL4ibAvvmi3gdcr59lbgy/s320/virus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Worst possible out come....you could get infected.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOC-3myluqH7PB2D8X8Dw8dI3Z7l3ilZJkHECQBLqGvCnGc9BVb540aKwfDFvvMxPkVgVr5uTECRicfTvW2PUOs1XFOwuwBZe_XiuJzqeW3m8OL8Iw4VqoZs_rhHJa5YrNMLBIEd0qMvhR/s1600/shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOC-3myluqH7PB2D8X8Dw8dI3Z7l3ilZJkHECQBLqGvCnGc9BVb540aKwfDFvvMxPkVgVr5uTECRicfTvW2PUOs1XFOwuwBZe_XiuJzqeW3m8OL8Iw4VqoZs_rhHJa5YrNMLBIEd0qMvhR/s1600/shot.jpg" /></a></div>
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Could there be a cure...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQWK2l9gL_Q7sGntcnRcVOBx3_fPrF0a0sMXjozG0gHmpHN1CDZzmT_u_C8ZIqG785IcPCakSpShQhyOabCvOQhQp3Dql00nE0hKYmEwB9hg82D3bWUcVtyNwMrDoqxMpNhraLSlOCfLZ/s1600/piles-of-money.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQWK2l9gL_Q7sGntcnRcVOBx3_fPrF0a0sMXjozG0gHmpHN1CDZzmT_u_C8ZIqG785IcPCakSpShQhyOabCvOQhQp3Dql00nE0hKYmEwB9hg82D3bWUcVtyNwMrDoqxMpNhraLSlOCfLZ/s320/piles-of-money.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Above all else, one thing that can keep you safe.</div>
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So that's a little bit about the world my characters run around in. I'm pretty sure it's not a place I want to live, but I seem to be spending quite a bit of time there. My characters make it bearable.<br />
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Anyone else feel like sharing a bit about their novel world? (you can share en comments or do your own blog and leave me a link) </div>
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<span id="goog_1498800124"></span><span id="goog_1498800125"></span>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-3474172744536257592011-09-19T20:00:00.000-07:002011-09-19T20:00:03.122-07:00In the beginning....Right, in the beginning of me being a writer, I wrote and published things that were maybe not entirely my own. That is to say, I wrote fanfiction, and I'm not ashamed to say I did. (Now keep in mind, I won't tell you which fandoms I wrote in or where these stories may or may not be published.) But deep within some else's imagination I got my start in creating stories.<br />
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Now, I'd written some things up to that point in my life, but most of them were in journals that I buried in my room. <br />
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I should and do credit fanfiction with my formation as a writer because the sites I visited were invested in making their writers better. By the time I left the site, it required at least 1000 words a chapter and they needed to see a semblance of story within the chapter.<br />
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I enjoyed writing fanfiction because like most kids who read I didn't want to leave the characters at the end of the story. I wanted to know what happened next, and more importantly I wanted to be in control of what happened next (yes, I admit I have some control issues).<br />
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Fanfiction taught me how to grow characters, taking them on journeys to become the characters I wanted them to become. Like what obstacles could I put in their way to make them change. What would they change for? It was a balancing act between reading and looking for clues within the published novel, and my own imagination.<br />
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I can't remember the day I started making my own stuff up. I think it was around the time, I found these pre-created worlds confining. I wanted to go in another direction but the world wouldn't let me... So I scrapped the fanfiction thing and tried my hand at my own novel.<br />
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This has pretty much stuck with me. Not that I rip off other people's text, but the research part. I'll comb through huge volumes and webpages looking for some small insignificant detail that could spark a story. Or I wait for a world to creep inside my head and place characters into it to see how they react.<br />
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Currently, I'm splitting my time between my dystopian novel (stick around for Wednesday to hear more about my crazy half fantasy half dystopian love child) and a sci-fi screen play (this is me having fun, because I've never done full screenplays before--sort of like a side project [and no, this will probably not be discussed yet])<br />
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Yup, that's my beginning, what's yours? Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-45726729715443155342011-09-18T21:19:00.000-07:002011-09-18T21:19:12.106-07:00TV--or why this week I may be absent.So you know when mother's tell their kids to go outside and not watch so much TV?<br />
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heh....well my mother can't say that anymore, mostly cause it's homework. No seriously. <br />
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Currently, I've been working my way through quite a few movies--again class. (Sometimes I swear this film school this is BA--and I live in fear of telling other children what I do now for "school" because this is just plain awesome). <br />
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But I digress....<br />
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Anyway this week for those of you who may be more cinephiles than tv-philes I'll let you in on a little secret we're in the middle of PREMIERS. So between classes, watching stuff for class, reading for class (surprisingly lots to read in film school), and catching all the latest shows, I may be a little less than active this week. <br />
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(also I promise to catch up blogs I really do)<br />
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So for today, what TV show are you most looking forward to returning or starting out this fall? Me, I'm totally digging Once Upon a Time....twisted fairytales you just can't go wrong!Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-85022624370294104262011-09-12T08:17:00.000-07:002011-09-12T08:17:16.367-07:00Seriously?Last week my friend (hi Emily!) and I had a conversation about the word serious and how it applied to our writing. On the one hand you have the definition (at least the one I feel applies to writing) of serious as<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">: </span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Being in earnest; sincere; not trifling</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And on the other, there was me interpreting the word serious as: </span></div>
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Having absolutely NO fun because you're too worried about being serious.</div>
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Here we have an intersection between connotation and denotation. The denotation being the actual definition and the connotation being my freak out mode when the word "serious" is applied to me. But my friend insisted, I was a serious writer (which from her is a TOTAL compliment). </div>
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But I had to disagree with her.</div>
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I freaked out, cause I don't consider myself to be a serious writer (at least by my definition).</div>
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Emily was totally cool at handling my freak out and explained how I was totally and awesomely a serious writer.</div>
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Tiny voice (yes it visits me so often and it just won't shut-up) came back and in a bit of a snit. Because I was still thinking of being "serious" in my connotation of the word.</div>
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For me being serious, in my mind, is like kissing a kid with chicken pocks and KNOWING the kid has chicken pocks. Just replace chick pocks with writers block. It's asking to be sick. I do what I do because I have fun while I do it. When I try to make myself be all "serious" as in a set schedules, make outlines, and forcing myself to <i>experience</i> the story, I find my attention wandering. The story evokes a stale taste in my mouth and Tiny voice comes back, extremely angry, to say WHAT WHAT WHAT are you doing.</div>
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I can't put two words on a page that I like. I can't even put two words on a page that I don't like. So I go back and write like a I do. You know on the fly, spur of the moment, with three chapters in my head and nothing beyond that point. I grab some music and my tiny laptop and stand at my kitchen count (cause I can't dance at a desk) and write.</div>
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Now I would love to someday be paid for what I write or what I think up, but the main reason I do the creative things I do is not for the hopeful payday, but because I enjoy what I do. I like to put words down on a page that make sense when read from left to right (I know, I'm not cool enough to be experimental....yet). These things I do, in my mind, without seriousness. </div>
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Which is a lie, of sorts. I don't want you all to think I'm not professional when I write or interact with other writers. Or that I'm just a frivolous girl out to be a "writer" without any real drive. I have drive. I have desire to be better.</div>
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That makes me serious, I suppose, in the denotation sense. I have crit partners, I read, I'm slowly figuring out this whole publishing process. By the dictionary, I'm SOOOO serious. </div>
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But in my mind, I'm not so serious....like at ALL. If I think of myself like that, I freeze.</div>
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Slowly, I am coming around to see myself as a serious writer, but I'm still looking for a better word. Any suggestions? Are there words that stop you in your tracks? How do you deal with them?</div>
Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-54621466874181467972011-09-10T20:41:00.000-07:002011-09-10T23:25:13.881-07:00The never ending question.I feel this post has rambled a bit from where I originally started. Originally I wanted to share my story. But then I realized my story seems to small and insignificant. It is not so much my story as where this story has brought me. You are more than welcome to skip this post, or read here and there as you will. This is my story of that day and my feelings toward what I can and cannot remember. This is not just about not forgetting, our stories will forever cement that day in our social consciousness. <br />
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Tomorrow marks the ten year anniversary of September 11, 2001 and the question flying both on that day and every anniversary since then seems to be: where were you?<br />
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In the ten years since this event, I've answered this question a hundred times and have dissected my actions a million times. <br />
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That September I was a teenager, running full throttle through the first full month of school. Concerned, I'm sure with theater auditions and homework. In the ten years since the day, I've tried to piece together what I remember. <br />
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To put it simply I was in school, walking down a the hallway from my core classes to the gym for PE. Whispers flew this way and that, snip-its and snatches of what might have happened. I ignored them. I didn't have time to get the whole story, because I had ten minutes to get from one end of the building to the other and change for class. <br />
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The moment I stepped into the gym--on time--I received my first piece of information. My teacher asked for a moment of silence because someone had blown up one of the Twin Towers...<br />
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...the next thing I can remember is later that afternoon, I was sitting in my babysitter's car (because my parents were supposed to be flying out to a conference--which didn't happen) waiting in a long line for gas. That one moment on a hot Kansas afternoon sticks out as a lonely island in a sea of obscurity. <br />
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I don't know what happened on that day. Or the events I do remember do not fall into any sort of chronological order. Even me walking down the hall is the one shining moment before the world changed. I have tried to recall the events from the rest of the that day. Attempted to bring up feelings or even when I finally got the "real" information. But for me it's a very large span of time of convoluted emotions--the most prominent of which was fear and confusions nips at fears heels. <br />
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I can remember crying and I can remember wanting to see my parents. I can remember talking to a friend, and the exact placement of furniture in the living room of my parents house. They bob to the surface briefly and sink back down without any real regularity. <br />
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As I'm certain most people in my age group have done, I've recounted this story in a number of classes dissected it for every reason my teacher could want. But the thing that always frustrates me is my inability to relate the whole story in a way that makes sense. All that remain are what my script teacher calls "gleaming details."<br />
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At least once a year, I pull these details out and sift through them, trying make sense of what happened (then and now) and each time I come to something different. This year for me it's the loss of time. The fact that the one day that changed my world, is a day I really can't remember. Do I blame myself, no. I was thirteen. The mind is just not meant to meant to hold onto those details and I didn't write any of it down.<br />
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We come together to share our stories about what happened to remember a day that for many of us will never be forgotten. This is where I was, and where I go I will carry my stories and the stories I read with me. They will teach me, hold me and haunt me. A year from now I wonder where will I be and what will I find among the gleaming details next.<br />
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The question I feel that always goes unasked is this: this is where we were on 9/11, where will we go next? We will always remember, the sheer number of stories being shared is a testament to that, but how will we honor those whose stories stopped that day?<br />
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The first time I remember pushing back against the fear was the summer of 2002. My parents had planned a trip to Washington DC long before what happened on 9/11. They wanted my brother and I to experience A Capitol Fourth. We flew out to DC on the 4th of July 2002. I remember my mother telling me that if I let the fear of getting on a plane keep me in Kansas then the terrorist had done their job. <br />
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The initial fear, I feel has morphed, with the new regulations at airports, racial profiling, a war. We've changed. And not always for the better. But not always for the worst either. Every year we take steps forward and back, but the tally will never equal a time before the fall of 2001.<br />
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How will we change the world again? How do we go forward remembering the tragedy but striving to change to make the future better as a way to honor those who died? Going forward not with anger or terror, but the small details in our daily lives. How will your own stories challenge you to change?Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-20313088097132807602011-09-07T08:00:00.000-07:002011-09-07T08:01:46.030-07:00Turn OnsOkay, so before you all think my mind is in the gutter, hold on for five seconds--or five sentences....<br />
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Last night on #writersroad chat (for those of you who don't know what this is-- it's a tweet chat held every Monday at 6PM (PST). It's crazy and a ton of fun!) we talked about taking your writing serious. Now, we can create habits or just smack words down on to the page, but one thing that always comes out is what if I just don't feel like writing. If I'm not in the mood, so to speak, should I write? Because I'm sure it'll be crap and I'll delete it tomorrow.<br />
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Now add in me also reading a romance novel last night and it got my brain thinking..... well like other things in life, can we manufacture the mood to make us want to write?<br />
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This morning I woke up early--like a whole hour before my alarm. I thought about laying in bed until my alarm went off then I had the following conversation with myself:<br />
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Tiny voice in my mind: Girl, you wanna be a writer, get your butt out of bed and go write.<br />
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Me: uhhhhh....no.<br />
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Ting voice: No, I'm serious! Write. NOW.<br />
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Me: I don't feel like it. Maybe later? Like tomorrow?<br />
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Tiny voice: You could make coffee and then write.<br />
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Me: Did someone say coffee?<br />
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Tiny voice: Yes and music you could listen to that music you like...<br />
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Needless to say I hauled myself out of bed and sat down at my computer. For a moment I stared at the screen. I don't write in the morning...like EVER. I didn't really even feel like writing this morning. Mostly my brain, I feel just isn't in it's fully functional creative state. But thanks to Tiny voice, I was doing just that. So to put myself in the mood, I provided something highly caffeinated, music (to inspire me) and my computer spit out some words. <br />
<br />
And nothing happened, I really wasn't feeling it. But when are you going to find the time? Tiny voice popped in and clearly it didn't get the hint to shut up so it continued, If not now, when? I go to school and it's picking up work wise, and I gotta prep for NANOWRIMO (my brother's going DOWN...again). So I put on some music that always screams my story to me and got to it.<br />
<br />
By the time the first song wrapped, I was feeling in the mood to write. In forty-five minutes before my alarm went off I got just under 800 words (and most of them aren't too shabby). <br />
<br />
So how to you get yourself into the writing mood? Can you pull it out of thin air or do you wait for it to strike?Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-61022858140663712772011-09-05T20:41:00.000-07:002011-09-05T20:52:37.421-07:00Flash-itize me, CaptainSo it's the first challenge of the campaign writers and readers! Rachael has challenged us all to you know write a short tight little piece of fiction. The challenge as most of you know (because I read your blogs) is a 200 word short that must begin with the words "The door swung open." I have problems sometimes keeping things small and well, not complicated. But I think I have managed this. Hopefully you like my flash fiction.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Trouble With Glass Slippers</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The door swung open
releasing me into the night. A sharp
edge on my slipper catches on the fine carpet of the stairs. The jolt sends me into the marble bannister,
searing my blood soaked dress to my skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My step-mother constantly
informs me I am too impatient, she wants me to learn control. Washing floors and cleaning house are not my
idea of control. If anything it bred
within me the need to prove my skills.
She has no faith in me, preferring her offspring over me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This assignment wasn’t supposed
to be so messy. The mess has been
trained out of me, all I know is slick and silent ways to kill. I know how to sneak up on targets and divest
them of life before they are any the wiser.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boots pound on the
terrace above me. I don’t suppose I
could hope for a clean escape after that escapade. Who knew a body could hold so much blood or
fight back when it had lost so much of it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I yank at my foot but the
chipped glass is caught fast. I slip off
the offending slipper and sprint for freedom.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Wells readers that's it...you can tell me what you think or just read for enjoyment. (And if you'd like to vote/like it I'm number 126) I'm looking forward to popping around to all of the other blogs.</span></div>
Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-61798339480193404102011-09-01T23:40:00.000-07:002011-09-01T23:59:10.636-07:0010 Things You Might Not Know.....Okay so that's a little misleading, because most of you (most of you campaigners) have never met me or communicated with me on a regular basis. But as a get to know you game (because really name games don't work on blogs....they just don't.) So in no particular order here goes ten random things about me, Gretchen Schreiber.<div>
<br /></div><div>10. I can do a thumbs up with my toes (yes there is a 90 degree angle created between my big toe and the other toes)</div><div>
<br /></div><div>9. At one point (like college freshman year) I wanted to be a pediatric oncologist. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>8. Number 9 did NOT happen and I am currently getting my masters in film at a kick ass school (yes I am accepting film rights...but be warned I have no money with which to pay you for them. So we'll need to do a Stephen King.)</div><div>
<br /></div><div>7. I feel I should mention this, but if something I write seems off it might be sarcasm....actually it's probably sarcasm....</div><div>
<br /></div><div>6. The scariest thing I've ever done was throw a book at a doctor's head....yes, I hit him...it was a high fantasy book....I apologized A LOT.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>5. I watch way more reality TV shows than I should.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>4. I grew up in a state where the only thing that can catch the horizon is the plains....this is a place also known as Kansas. I kinda like it there.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>3. Research intrigues me, especially in subjects like war and fairytales....both of which I've written/am writing about. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>2. I have a basket that looks like a duck and it holds my favorite writing block solver, a toy called "tangle." Basically, you can twist turn pull through and it never tangles.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>1. I drink Pepsi out of my Santa Clause Coke glasses.</div><div>
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<br /></div><div>There you have it folks, ten random things from my life. Also bonus fact, I seem to love the ellipsis... </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Also, Dystopian people I feel we should talk, or do something....cause we're in a group....and you all seem awesome (also you campaigners in general are awesome)....yeah.</div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2140450251632865101.post-74176620306185266842011-08-31T08:26:00.000-07:002011-08-31T08:37:39.792-07:00You Win, I Win.Perhaps the most important thing I have learned thus far in graduate school is the title of this blog. "You win, I win."<div>
<br /></div><div>In the arts it's so easy to get jealous of people, really quickly. Critique partners, writers you follow, new comers who you think might be better than you....the list goes on. They get good news and at least I know I sort of fall into the black pit of I-am-no-good-I'll-never-get-there. They make it look so easy and I just can't seem to put two words together. But I know that is not true. I know that I am totally more than what my brain is telling me.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So jealousy, meet someone who is smarter and brighter than you. I talked to a friend about this who had some help from another friend who we both feel is a better screenwriter (I'm a film student people, I write more than novels). His comment was if you do well that is a reflection of me. So you do well, I do well by association.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>This is a business but it's also about people. In fact, like most businesses it depends on people. The only way to get through all of the craziness of the publishing, film, or arts business is to support each other. Because when your critique partner does well, you do well--because you helped them get there. In turn, they will support you on your way to being published because your success is a reflection of them.</div>Gretchenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16632334349589066341noreply@blogger.com4