The Lion's Pride -- (short story included)

I am so proud of so much of the writing that I have done and created. Despite this, my shyness still makes me very apprehensive about sharing any of it. Worse, there are occasions that I share my writing, and then people say they like it, but leave it at that. It gives an impression of disinterest and insincerity. When I read a book I like, I look for similar books, I look for other books from the author, I latch onto the idea, and I think about how things could have gone differently. When someone is able to read what I have written and not feel a desire to ask about more, or to talk about it, I feel that I have failed as a writer.
My intent, when I write, isn't simply to help someone pass time. My writing is not to be read with the same level of disinterest as the weather report. Opening people's minds to the beauty of the world around them is a lofty goal, but it starts by opening their eyes. It starts by showing people that there are other points of view, that there is beauty and mystery and romance where they don't see it already. When I read (especially what I've written), I get goosebumps, my heartbeat quickens, my mind races, and I keep turning the pages until they become blank. And even then, I write more because there is so much that can be written.

When people read my writing as words, rather than ideas, actions, adventures, memories, and heartfelt feelings, I have failed at my task. I have not enthralled the audience, and I have not given them a way to relate to the story. Any feedback from someone that sees my writing as just words becomes that much harder to take, because I don't know where I failed to connect them to the characters, and they have a hard time describing it as well.
Part of me wonders if they just skimmed, instead of reading. Even so, this rejection by way of uncaring-ness is something that I have trouble getting over. Perhaps I simply need to share more, and my litmus tests for the reception of my stories has just been too small-scale. Having only a handful of people read something is sure to go less than hopeful for at least one. Perhaps I need to broaden my audience. Perhaps, though I lack the confidence at this time, I can borrow it from the future.

As such, I am sharing a story today, in an effort to bring interested parties to the fore.
This is not the complete story, and I am still writing more in this story. It will likely be the beginning of the collaborative work I discussed in previous posts.  Thoughts are not only welcome, but encouraged. Please leave comments.

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# !!Story!! #
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The first beam of sunlight came into the room and awoke Paul from his slumber.  He checked beside himself on the bed, still not sure what was dream and what was reality. There she lay, her silky-smooth legs rubbing enticingly against each other, reminding Paul of her femininity. As the blanket fell from her, Olivia's ivory skin seemed nearly luminous in the moonlight. Not an inch of her was hidden to him. He reached out to her, feeling her warm skin despite the cool morning air.
She stirred a bit in her sleep from his touch, and he removed his hand. Her jet-black hair outlined her face, causing a smile to cross Paul's. He had no intention of waking her from a much-deserved rest. He rose from the bed slowly, so as not to wake his fair-skinned goddess.
He searched the floor of the room with the sunrise as his only light in the unfamiliar territory. As his hands searched for his clothing, his memories of their past confronted him.
He had loved her for so long, before she even met the man that had yesterday broken her heart, yet Paul was a stranger to her bedroom. He had loved her since he first set eyes on her, he had supported her, and now when she needed to relieve stress, he allowed himself to be her plaything. It was crushing to him, to know all of his happiness was laying on the bed, dreaming of another man. A man who had left her for a woman less-worthy, some younger woman named Stacy.
As she slept, though, the truth didn't matter. While she slept, she was happy, she was free, and they were together. While she slept and hoped for happily ever after, Paul was nowhere in her thoughts.
He got his pants on, and buttoned his shirt. He wore the same clothes as he wore to work yesterday, when he had left work early to console her when she called him in tears. He came directly to her, not explaining to his bosses what had happened, too focused on trying to be her knight in shining armor. Now that armor was stained with her tears, and he knew he didn't deserve her affections. He had known for a long time, but that didn't make her less attractive. He knew he had flaws, despite all of her perfections, and that he would never be able to fulfill all her hopes and dreams, but he wouldn't give up, if only she would be his.
He had never told her he loved her. He relied on his actions to speak the volumes of feelings he had. It wasn't the big, sweep-her-off-her-feet actions that many men took, but simply caring and thinking of her. He'd ask her about her day, invite her to lunch or to pick up something for her. She was always in his thoughts, but he tried to limit the conversations he would start with her. Though he loved her and wanted her every moment, he wanted her to have space and freedom. So today he would give her the space she needed, along with support.
He went to the kitchen and began to make breakfast. He wasn't much of a cook, but wanted to be sure she was cared for and eating healthy. Still, a bowl of cereal would not suffice. He turned on the stove to prepare the bacon and eggs. Scrambled eggs were simple enough to make, and he seemed to remember her saying she liked them. It wasn't exactly five star dining, but it was enough to show he cared. He heard a sound from the bedroom, and went to check on her, moving the pans from the burners just in case.
There she sat, still on the bed. She was turned away from the door, her head in her hands, crying. He knew the tears she shed were not for him, and he fought the feelings of jealousy that brought.
"Olivia, I've got some eggs on the stove for you. Toaster is going, too. They should be done pretty soon. Any special requests?"
"Paul?"
"Yes. I'm here for you."
"I need you, Paul. I feel so alone."
Paul moved to the side of the bed and knelt in front of her, looking deeply into her deep-blue, tear-soaked eyes. His thoughts raced with the possibilities of what to say, but all seemed too intense, like they might scare her away. How do you tell someone that you've loved them for years? How do you say that on the far side of forever, your love will still hold strong?
"Olivia. I am here for you. If you need anything, if you want anything, just tell me," he spoke plainly, no need to burden her with his own hopes when she already had enough worries to weigh her down. She was looking back into his eyes, as if looking for a tell in poker, or really seeing him for the first time.
"Why?" It was just one word, but it took Paul off-guard.
"Excuse me?" He asked, hoping for he knew not what.
"We've known each other for half a decade, Paul. You've never been this kind to me before. It's just because he's gone, isn't it?"
"I'll be in the kitchen, I don't want your food to burn," he said. He knew the food would be fine. The reason he left the room was to hide his own tears. He had always tried to be a gentleman. She was with someone else, even if he was no good for her, so his affections hadn't been very pronounced. The one exception was within a few weeks of meeting her, when he asked her on a date and she told him she had a boyfriend. The months that followed included conversations about how her boyfriend didn't get along with her successfully, yet these same converstions brought she and Paul closer. Yet she believed Paul's kindness was new, that he hadn't made her happiness a priority. But one worry outweighed all the rest: what if she thought that he was doing this for selfish reasons? He shouldn't have slept with her last night, it only complicated things.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and wiped away the few tears that had fallen. He filled a plate with eggs and bacon. Adding some toast on top and a glass of orange juice, he went back to the bedroom.
"I made you breakfast, because you had still been asleep. The reason I did it is because you deserve to be treated well, and because I'd like to be the man to treat you well. I've known this for a long time, but you were with someone else. You aren't, and I don't want the regret of never having told you, of never having tried. So eat up, I'll be washing the dishes I dirtied. When I'm done, if I haven't been asked to do otherwise, I'll simply leave. But if you want to be happy, if you want someone in your life who wants you to be happy, then I am right in the kitchen. You deserve to be happy, the question is only if you want to be," and with that he turned and began to leave her bedroom.
"Paul!" She called out, and he stopped in the doorway, turning slightly back. "It's... now's just not a good time, you know?"
"No, Olive, I don't know. Because if I find a twenty dollar bill in my pocket, I am thankful to have such a great thing fall into my lap. I don't look at it and say that I've got too much on my shoulders. I let it help me take some of the weight. I hope that you allow me to be more helpful than money found on the street. I hope I mean more to you than money from the street. But again, the choice is yours, I'll be in the kitchen."

He turned on the faucet to drown out the sound of her crying, so he wouldn't have to face the fact that he had caused it. He felt guilty for it, and it had probably come off as condescending by speaking in such decisive terms, but it was a point that needed to be made. If something is a good thing, why not hold on to it? As he washed the dishes, Paul hoped she found him worth hanging on to.

She sat on her bed, thinking about what he said and the implications. Had she really been blind to his interest? Or was it that what had seemed like acts of friendship simply had ulterior motives the entire time? Was she out of a relationship that lacked trust, only to be offered another?
He was right, though. Like her father used to say, "You've gotta strike while the iron is hot." No matter if you're distracted or it isn't a good time for you, you need to take the opportunities you're given, or risk losing them forever. Yet he had waited so long for her already, why rush now?
She knew what she needed to do.

The dishes were on the drying rack, and Paul was checking Olivia's drawers for a dish towel. Her arms slid around him before he even noticed she'd entered the room.
She undid his buttons, and caressed his chest. He wasn't muscular, but he was in fairly good shape. Her arms tightened, and she pressed herself against him. She leaned her head down,pressing her ear onto him. He slowed his movements, and she listened to his heartbeat. Stable, reliable, and supportive, it was exactly what she needed more of.
"Come back to the bedroom, Paul."
"I've gotta finish the dishes, Olive."

"It's God's turn to dry. There's no rush," she said. She took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

Collaboration Step 1.

Today we organized our stories and aligned them for what we would need to do. A collection of short stories that tell a larger story. They can be read individually, or as a set. So far we have 13 stories mostly written, and we have outlined a few more stories we need. I was apprehensive about seeing we had only 13 stories, because I didn't think I had written many, but upon review, I found I had created 7. This is not said out of pride, but out of a sense of relief. I am doing better than I though. And my favorite story that I wrote is 9 pages on an 8*10, when double spaced. So when (sticking to when, not if, because I am motivated to see this through) this is published, it's going to be quite a chapter in the book.

Still, though I need to make a few corrections and retune a few details, all in all I am feeling much better about my ability, though these were mostly some of my early works.

Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month)

Just got wind of a thing called Nanowrimo that happens each November. Joined up and they had a few more tips which I'll leave here.

1) It’s okay to not know what you’re doing. Really. You’ve read a lot of novels, so you’re completely up to the challenge of writing one. If you feel more comfortable outlining your story ahead of time, do it! But it’s also fine to just wing it. Write every day, and a book-worthy story will appear, even if you’re not sure what that story might be right now.

2) Do not edit as you go. Editing is for December and beyond. Think of November as an experiment in pure output. Even if it’s hard at first, leave ugly prose and poorly written passages on the page to be cleaned up later. Your inner editor will be very grumpy about this, but your inner editor is a nitpicky jerk who foolishly believes that it is possible to write a brilliant first draft if you write it slowly enough. It isn’t. Every book you’ve ever loved started out as a beautifully flawed first draft. In November, embrace imperfection and see where it takes you.

3) Tell everyone you know that you’re writing a novel in November. This will pay big dividends in Week Two, when the only thing keeping you from quitting is the fear of looking pathetic in front of all the people who’ve had to hear about your novel for the past month. Seriously. Email them now about your awesome new book. The looming specter of personal humiliation is a very reliable muse.

3.5) There will be times you’ll want to quit during November. This is okay. Everyone who wins NaNoWriMo wanted to quit at some point in November. Stick it out. See it through. Week Two can be hard. Week Three is much better. Week Four will make you want to yodel.
And we’re talking the good kind of yodeling here.

Now, that's some good advice, especially when it seems they want 50k words within just 30 days. But that's still a month and a half away, and I have a different story to be working on. And a collaborative book. So I'm going to focus on the now, but also use some of the advice and tools that the website is giving.

If you have questions, a great website is right here: http://nanowrimo.org/en/about/

And the best advice from the above, the part that stands out and resonates with me, and the thought I will end with today is this. "your inner editor is a nitpicky jerk who foolishly believes that it is possible to write a brilliant first draft if you write it slowly enough."

Tips and Tricks

Lately, along with continuing to write, I'm also looking for ways to improve on my writing. So to start, here are some places that I found advice and insight, which I've collected in an effort to help other writers as well.

http://www.openculture.com/2013/02/seven_tips_from_ernest_hemingway_on_how_to_write_fiction.html -- Ernest Hemingway. My biggest takeaway from this is #4, to read over what I've written. My mind never seems to shut off, so I am constantly imagining things to do with my writing, and things I could have done differently. It's getting to the point where I do have chapters, but I don't have them labelled, so I just turn back a few pages to catch myself up. But I have also created a sort of "character appendix" that details some of the key features of characters, so their hair color doesn't randomly change or something.

http://www.iuniverse.com/ExpertAdvice/20WritingTipsfrom12FictionAuthors.aspx Tip #20 is a biggie in this site, but many others are also resonant with what I've already started doing. But the simply idea of "Get on with it" is one that cannot be given too much emphasis.

There are a lot more links that I could share, just look up "tips for fiction writing" or similar in google.

But the most powerful and most moving that I found was actually even before I began writing. From the company that brought us Toy Story, Wall-E, Cars, and more (actually from Emma Coates, but w/e):
The 22 Rules of Story-telling
http://io9.com/5916970/the-22-rules-of-storytelling-according-to-pixar

Just in case the link goes bad or something, I'll just leave this here.

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.

#2: You gotta keep in mind what's interesting to you as an audience, not what's fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different.

#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won't see what the story is actually about til you're at the end of it. Now rewrite.

#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___.

#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You'll feel like you're losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?

#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.

#8: Finish your story, let go even if it's not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.

#9: When you're stuck, make a list of what WOULDN'T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.

#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you've got to recognize it before you can use it.

#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you'll never share it with anyone.

#12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.

#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it's poison to the audience.

#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What's the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That's the heart of it.

#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.

#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don't succeed? Stack the odds against.

#17: No work is ever wasted. If it's not working, let go and move on - it'll come back around to be useful later.

#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.

#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.

#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d'you rearrange them into what you DO like?

#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can't just write ‘cool'. What would make YOU act that way?

#22: What's the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there.

Stop! Collaborate and Listen!

Today I was reading the writing of a friend who has been helping me with some of my own. At some point they came up with the idea of a collaboration of some of our short stories. Short stories are actually how I started writing and grew an interest, but they are simply not something I am prepared to show publicly at this time. My problem with short stories is that they never really give me a sense of closure. Even Edgar Allen Poe's works always leave me wanting more. Of course, that's beginning to be something I'm starting to accept. After all, make a reader content and why would they bother turning the page?

If I get at least 5 comments on this post requesting I share my short stories, I will give in to the pressure and share. Otherwise I'll stay my shy self and keep them hidden away until I gain more confidence. Are you brave enough to ask?

Falling behind

It's been far too long since my last update. Which is not to say that I'm not working, just that I'm not communicating the work I'm doing. I have gotten a bit more done, but still doesn't feel like enough, of course. And sadly a bit of apprehension concerning how I want the story to end is causing some hesitation for me, but I shared quite a few of my older stories with some friends the other night, and one requested me to share more. Out of the 4 people paying attention, even 25% interest is taken as a compliment. And the fact that the others still at least listened without ribbing me too much was also nice. Definitely puts some wind in my sails.