Story Saturday: Thread of Time

When I started this blog in 2008, it was a place for me to write out all of my thoughts about my writing. At the time, I was working on the first novel I ever finished, an epic tale of romance set in 400AD Ireland, telling the conflicting relationship between a Saxon warlord and a Celtic clan warrior’s daughter. Because I had so many thoughts outside of writing, I needed a place to put them. And because I’ve never been good at keeping a handwritten journal, starting a blog seemed like the perfect thing to do.

A few years passed of that, and then I discovered fashion blogs which morphed this blog into what it is now: mostly style, occasionally book reviews, and very little to do with its origins of being an aspiring novelist’s blog. I stopped writing almost completely for about five years. Marriage, motherhood, postpartum depression, and just life in general took over for a while. I quit reading, I quit writing, and I wondered if I’d ever get back to that place where I was passionately and frenetically typing out a story the way I did when I was twenty.

Enter this year. Turning twenty nine really reminded me of the dreams I’ve had since childhood that I so dearly want to accomplish. My 30th birthday is next year, so I vowed to finish writing a novel, and submit it for publication somewhere by the time I turned thirty. It didn’t matter which novel, or whether I thought it was absolute trash. I just want to get started on the aspirations that took root at seven years old, grew strong at sixteen, and have persisted ever since my very first novel gained a fair amount of internet popularity. Writing is, I think, one of my greatest talents and it is definitely one of my greatest joys. 

So this year I’ve been working on a novel (which you’ll see linked over to the right if you want to delve in), and I took a break from that novel to join National Novel Writing Month in November. I didn’t win, but I did get halfway through and I’m proud of that. My goal is to finish this novel by the end of the year. 

And I think it’s time to hearken back to the roots of this blog, and incorporate my writing as an essential part once again. I hope you enjoy reading what I share, and you can certainly skip ahead to read more online if you like. Every Saturday, I’ll be sharing a chapter of the novel I hope to finish by the end of this year, and then we’ll move on to other novels I’m working on.

This is all a very long intro to say, welcome to Story Saturday. A place where I can share my biggest passion and you, I hope, can become lost in another world for a little while.

Side note, Thread of Time won’t be very heavily edited or in-depth researched, as I am endeavoring to knock out a novel by the new year. Feel free to point out errors in grammar or spelling, any historical accidents, or anything else that isn’t quite correct. I highly appreciate it!

Enjoy.

Continue reading “Story Saturday: Thread of Time”

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.comWalking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

As the New Year gives us a fresh start, I thought it would be most appropriate to share the first snow of the year, which is fresh and clean in and of itself! There is something magical about the snow, and the first days of the new year;  both are crisp and new, both wipe the slate clean, both instill a sense of wonder and excitement for the times ahead. To start out the new year with snow feels incredibly appropriate.

It’s always hard to write the first post of the year, for me. I always want it to be something special, yet, generally, nothing has really happened in those first days of a new year. This year, though, is a little different.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

This year, I’ve already written nearly 5,000 words on a new novel. I began with no idea what it would be about, utilizing the site WriteOrDie to push myself to just write. I thought the idea was ridiculous, cliche, boring, and cheesy. And then last night, as I ended the first chapter, I had a sudden idea to transform the novel from blasé to (I hope) exciting, and I am now raring to go!

I haven’t been this into my writing since I sputtered to a stop with Sweet Ireland Air. Everything I tried to write since then I didn’t like. Either I wasn’t feeling its vibe, or I didn’t like the ideas, or I floundered for a way to continue writing because my creative imagination wasn’t what it used to be. I think a lot of my writer’s block has to do with having gotten married and gone through the realities of romance.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.comWalking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

Because for me, real life  romance is nothing like a novel. I rarely get butterflies in my stomach; I wasn’t tongue-tied and blushing and giddy over new love. My first kiss was anticlimactic and I didn’t like it much, even while absolutely knowing I wanted to marry the man who first kissed me (spoilers: if you didn’t know, I did marry him, and now I very much like kissing him. 😉 ) Nothing about our life and romance was really what I had expected or, honestly, even hoped for.

And to be clear: it was so much better and exactly what I needed, and I wouldn’t have us happen any other way. I am absolutely in love with my husband. It just doesn’t manifest itself in the way of novels. (Go figure. What does, really?) But, since it wasn’t like the novels I’d read — and I didn’t expect it to be exactly like them, but I did think I’d feel some semblance of the butterflies all these novelists and myself had written about (my husband got them, lucky fellow!) — I felt as though continuing all of these books I’d written with the same sort of feelings was false.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

So, for a while, I stopped. I desperately wanted to write novels. I desperately missed writing. But I had no idea where my place in the writing world was, now that I knew love and romance were not what I’d written about. Not for me, at least. And I couldn’t really continue writing in the same way. I couldn’t write about something so close to my heart as love when it wasn’t the way I had romanticized it to be.

Thus, my pen — or rather, keyboard — went untouched for four years and I let writing in novel form sit on a backburner. And then at the end of last year, I realized that I did not want to let my writing go, and that somehow I had to at least try. If writing was lost on me forever, then I would give it up. But I wasn’t going to let it go without a fight!

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

So I made a goal to write for 30 minutes a day, as you saw in my goals post. I used Write Or Die to motivate me, because I get really determined to meet challenges. That first day, I wrote over 1, 667 words in under 30 minutes (1,667 is the number of words needed to write a 50,000 word novel in a month) and while I thought the idea itself was a bit silly, I felt excited to have at least written so much in so little time. I was happy to see that I still “had it” in the sense of being able to produce some sort of story when it was demanded of me.

And I didn’t really like the idea, but it was writing and I figured this would just be the gateway to something more original and creative.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

And then, last night, as I went to begin my next writing session, my husband threw out an idea as he often does when I tell him of my stories, and my brain started turning. I had just written the end of the chapter with a sentence that meant I needed to introduce the motivation of the plot, but I had no idea how I was going to make it an interesting plot until he started offering his own ideas. (Which I rarely actually use, because I want my stories to be mine and not someone else’s. I’m stubborn like that.) And his idea spurred my own… and I am now incredibly excited for this story!

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

It gave me the title, the plot points, the ending, a few future scenes; all things I can never quite do without when I’m writing a story. The title is always especially important to me. A title tells you so much about the story, and it’s kind of the thing that needs to pull a reader in. I rarely choose books with boring titles.

So now, I have to decide if I will share snippets of it as it’s being written, or if I’ll keep it all to myself until I can proudly announce that I’ve been officially published. Being myself, a person who loves to share stories with others, I will probably give in and share bits of the story here.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland | www.eccentricowl.com

Coat and scarf, (old) c/o Oasap | shirt and headscarf, thrifted | tights, Target | shoes, Modcloth | earrings, Rocksbox
Pictures by my husband | Suko Photography

But for now, I will leave you with the title and the temporary summary (I’m still working on it) and leave you to wonder about the rest.

The Wolves of Moehr

In September of 1849, Irene Brennan travels to Ireland from her home in America to rediscover the heritage of her grandfather, and to find her own purpose in a life that expects little more of her than to care for house and home. But when she arrives, a chance meeting tumbles her deep into a world of mystery and change, where everything she thought to be true is a charade, and her life is irrevocably entangled with the mysterious wolves of Moehr.

 

Three words to describe this story: Victorian. Ireland. Werewolves.

Happy 2016!

Signatured

Bloglovin|Facebook|Twitter|Pinterest|Instagram|Fiction Press|Etsy|Photography

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.comGraphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.com

The stars in her eyes
Reflect the grandiose dreams of
One who has seen it all, yet
Desperately hopes for more

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.com

Dreamer, is she
Creator of worlds beyond the seen
Harbinger of the doom or success
Of fictional creatures she hoards
In the depths of her mind’s palaces

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.comGraphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.com

Dreamer,
Lost and found again
Rejecting the hard cold truth for
A prison of faeries’ making
Buried deep beneath the intoxication
Of voraciously consuming words

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.com Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.com

Breathing in the scent of
Pages long since penned by
Authors whose bodies rot
And feed the needs of the earth’s fauna
And flora

Graphic cardigan and star-print tights | www.eccentricowl.comDress and tights, Target | cardigan and necklace, c/o Oasap | boots, Kohl’s

Eternity swirling and glowing in the
Hopeless depths
Of her eyes.
Dreamer, is she

Bone-raw fingertips pounding
At keys too real to express
The desperation of her mind.

Um… I didn’t know what to talk about today, so I wrote you a poem inspired by these star-and-moon print tights, which you have to admit are pretty awesome. I feel like a chameleon and/or a rockstar today, because this entire outfit is not my usual vintage or retro, and… lots of black.

Happy Monday!

(P.S. If you happen to get these tights, size up. These SAY they fit 5’5-5’11 and 140-190lbs, but… if these were meant to be waist-high, they only came to barely over my rear-end. With lots of stretching and struggling.)

Signatured

Bloglovin|Facebook|Twitter|Pinterest|Instagram|Fiction Press|Etsy|Photography

Life update

Hi there.

Just a little update; I’ve been sick as a dog for the past five or so days, and I haven’t taken outfit pictures in approximately two weeks. I have, however, been writing. For those of you that have been around forever, I finally moved back to posting on FictionPress, after a long stint of being wary. So if you’re a fan of reading and want to check it out, here’s the prologue for the story I’m currently working on.

Enjoy!

He was a typical bad boy. Leather jacket, roughed-up jeans, scuffed boots, and a head of dark hair that fell over his forehead just enough to make her fingers itch to push it back. As she watched him pace the far end of the dim bar, his icy blue eyes met hers and made her heart race with a tense jolt of mixed feelings. Fear, excitement, intrigue, nerves, confusion; her thoughts were one jumbled mess, and she couldn’t make sense of anything.

 

His gaze dropped back to the floor, and then to the drink in his hand. A few women entered, and gave him an up-and-down pass of admiration, and she felt something else jump into the mix of emotions: jealousy. Which was odd. She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. The sense of possession that filtered through everything else was growing from far-off attraction, surely, because they had barely spoken two words in this place.

 

Yet, as she let my attention fade from him to the little diamond sitting on the ring-finger of her left hand, it was clear that they had definitely spoken at length sometime within the past 72 hours. Yes, he was a complete stranger, whose last name she didn’t even know. Yes, she had absolutely no idea where he was from, what he was like, or why they should even know each other. The fog of memory from the past three days was distorted by the alcohol she hadn’t stopped consuming. Every time she had started to feel sober, she’d grabbed another drink. Anything could have happened, and she would remember nothing.

 

That had been the point. Drink, and forget.

 

When she had finally woken up sober, scrunched under the covers of a dirty little hotel she didn’t recognize, there had been bottles and cans everywhere. It looked like someone had hosted a twenty-person party. But there was just her in the bed. Just her and a lethal amount of bottles that she hoped she hadn’t emptied all by herself.

 

And then he came out of the bathroom in nothing but his boxers, looking bleary-eyed and confused, and the amount of relief that she hadn’t consumed all of that alcohol was completely overcome by the blow that there was a man in her room that she didn’t know, who she had probably slept with, who was wearing a wedding ring. Which made her a marriage wrecker, a slut, a hypocrite to her beliefs.

 

But then she noticed the unfamiliar ring on her own finger, and the slightly crumpled marriage license on the side-table with an unrecognizable scrawl right above her own signature. Judging by his alarmed look as he stared at his hand and then at her, he was experiencing the same amount of shock and bemusement as she was.

 

And then things got a whole lot more interesting.

You can read the next few chapters  here.

Signature

follow me on: bloglovin chictopia facebook twitter pinterest | Instagram/Ink361 | Fiction Press

Dark Tower: Chapter Three

Gosh, I am SO behind. I got to 7k and suddenly got distracted. So now my goal is to write upwards of 10,000 words by… Friday. It’ll be fun.

When Rosalyn left her mother’s chambers, she found herself wandering aimlessly through the castle, so deep in her thoughts that she noticed not who passed her nor where her steps would take her next. Her heart contracted every time she thought of her mother’s announcement. What could she do? She had no power to keep the Queen from marrying unless she herself married first and forbade Lilith to take a husband.

But who could she marry? The foppish Prince of Semlick, who spent more time gazing at his own face in the mirror than he did speaking to her– and what words that did come from his mouth were unadulterated praise for himself? The aggressive King of Elwich, who saw war as the only way to solve any and all problems with other Kingdoms? The disgustingly soft Prince Edward, whose hands were smoother than hers, and who refused to even feed himself for fear of breaking a nail?

Her choices were not good. On all sides, the neighboring Kings and Princes fell far short of the high standards Rosalyn had built from the example of her father. They made good allies in times of need, though their loyalties might shift now that the King was dead, but none of them were high on her list of potential husbands. Then again, would she ever meet a man who could stand up to her father’s example?

Rosalyn rubbed her forehead and sighed. Her mind was buzzing with questions, giving her a splitting headache, and she felt as though she were lost. She wanted someone to tell her where she should start; what she could do to fix the situation, who she could go to that would save her from it. The Queen’s announcement had been far worse that Rosalyn had expected. Forcing Rosalyn into a marriage, she could  have handled. But knowing that her mother’s marriage would most likely become fodder for war?

How was she supposed to bear this? She had only just lost her father, and now she had to worry about keeping war from ravaging the land. And the only way to stop it was to marry before her mother did.

Continue reading “Dark Tower: Chapter Three”