Restlessness

Every once in awhile I get this this nagging feel of uneasiness. Restlessness. Not being sure if I want to sit, stand, dance, walk, laugh, cry or sit like a blob and do nothing. Chances are, I'll do the later. Mostly because it's almost eleven at night and the town went to bed four hours ago. It isn't safe to go for a walk. A bear might eat me. Or a cougar. These aren't real fears. Just excuses.

These bouts of restlessness bring with it the ability to make me uncomfortable in my own skin. This happens once in awhile. I look in the mirror and am not too sure I'm pro the girl looking back at me. All I see are cons.

Don't get me wrong, I love myself, I'm relatively happy, life is fine, I'm okay and blah, blah, blah. Do not jump to any 'oh, she must be depressed' conclusions. Not everything is so dramatic. Actually, most things aren't.

Hormones. Can I blame them? It feels like a cop out.

Whenever these moods creep up on me, I end up disenchanted. With life, myself, writing, where I'm going to be in five years. The last year was a roller coaster ride, and not in the good way. The valleys out numbered the peaks about two to one. Some days, three to one. Then again, it's all perspective, isn't it? Through it all, I kept myself together. I reasoned. I kept a smile in place.

For the most part, I remain positive, looking to the bright side, being thankful, and walking around with the knowing smirk of a person who has most of it, if not it all, figured out. For the most part, see, that's the key. We cannot be positive, upbeat, happy, go-lucky, things are coming up roses people every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every...you get the point. It's just not humanly possible. Not without drugs, at least. And, frankly, it's annoying.

People are allowed to have bad days. Hell, people are allowed to have bad weeks. We are allowed to be in bad moods. Just don't let it take control and consume your whole being and smash apart your common sense or rationalization because...well, because that's bad. But it's almost as though, on my path to finding love and light and happiness, I forgot that there are downs. Oops.

In the end, the simple truth is, I feel sloth-like. And there is nothing wrong with a sloth. Actually, on any normal day, I'd embrace being sloth-like. I mean, those guys get to eat and sleep a lot, like up to twenty hours a day. Not to mention they only have three toes and are the slowest moving creatures on earth, so slow and sedentary algae actually grows on their fur. I mean, come on. How cool are these mammals.

Now I feel bad for comparing myself to these beings in a negative fashion.

The anxiousness is worse than thinking I look terrible or being agitated with everything I come in contact with. Sitting, bouncing my knee, and trying to think of a way to bring myself out of this state is most frustrating. Nothing really helps. Except, sleep. (See, sloth-like) And maybe cake. It's touch and go in these scenarios because I might end up feel like an even chubbier bunny after divulging in a cakey goodness with icing and some sort of jammy filling.

That said, I haven't had cake in like two months.

Oh, I think I just figured out what the problem is.

And here's a baby sloth, just because:

 

Settle In

For some odd and inexplicable reason, I absolutely love the phrase 'settle in'. Probably because I completely support the idea of taking time to ease yourself into a new surrounding, whether it is a living space, place of employment, coffee shop, school or anything else that involves new environments, you need to take your time. No sense rushing things. Besides, there is a very important allotment of time for you to learn your way around, like if there are stairs in your new home and you haven't had stairs in years. You have to take a few days to settle in so you don't tumble down the stairs one night on your way to the bathroom. No, I am not speaking from experience.

Moving along...

These days, I am settling into my new digs. Gaff. Home. House. Abode. Dwelling. Whatever you opt to call it, I'm adjusting. This is my period of adjustment. Meaning, I am getting used to things. And you know what, it isn't all that bad this new place I'm living.

I know a lot of you don't follow me on Instagram (I linked my account if you're interested in keeping tabs on me there). You really should, though, because I post amazing pictures everyday or my extravagant little life. If you want me to break it down, I mostly just post pictures of the dogs in my life and food I cook. Sometimes random lovely things as well. There was a stint where I posted a picture a day for a year, which I documented on my tumblr here, but Instagram allows me to post 5 pictures a day. And sure, I might be annoying, but I like documenting the things I love. It reminds me of what is important and keeps the unimportant things from the cobwebs of my overworked mind.

That said, I have been documenting my settling in on Instagram. See, I already posted a vlog  that showed the rather awesome insides of my new crib. It was titled New Home and mostly consisted of Oliver going up the stairs and the boys fighting on the bed. Totally worth a laugh. But what about the outside? What surrounds me in this new foreign place on Vancouver Island? Well, I am going to show you.

Here, in no particular order, is the happenings around town so far. I mean, there's a lot more than these ten pictures, but they will simply have to do for now. So, that's what I am doing, settling in. Once I complete this, I will regale you with my thoughts on love, life, writing and cake. You know, all the stuff I am known for rambling on and on about. Until then, enjoy the pictures and let me know what you think.

 Allen Lake

 Stone Inukshuk

 Random Bridge

 Graffiti Around Town

 Into The Mountains

 Random House Two Blocks Over

 Raging River

 Allen Lake Again

 Trees & Water

 Reflection

 Water Source

 Lots Of Biking Trails Around These Parts

 A Trail

A Dixon On A Trail

Spam

These days, all I am getting is SPAM.

No, not the overly salty canned meat. That'd be a ridiculous thing to send a vegan.

I'm referring to the ye old blog. This one.

And all my comments are spam. Meaning, they want to sell me something or take me back to their awesome websites. I get a little thrill when I see the 'comment pending' notification. And the thrill is promptly squashed under the heavy boot of reality.

Some lesser beings might take that as a sign to give up and go home.

Not I. I simply feel this means I need to get back into the blog-o-sphere and draw my readers and commenters back in with my wiles.

First, I have to figure out what and where my wiles are.

But then it's on, like Donkey Kong.

Seriously though, has anyone else been getting an abundance of salty meat in their inbox?

Oh, I do declare. That sounds positively rude.

First Lines

I have been thinking about first lines lately. You know, the ones you write at the beginning of your novel to grip and entrance the reader. It's those first words that really set up the stepping stones of your novel. They can encourage you to continue crafting or tempt you to toss yourself over the side of a bridge. Okay, maybe that's a bit much.

Regardless, I got to mulling over my first lines. You see, I started this new book. It's going. Not very fast, but it is going. It took me awhile to figure out where to begin. Is it just me, or is the pressure on the first paragraph astronomical  When you set out to query agents, they are going to decide off of the first four or five pages whether they want to see more of masterpiece it took you two months to six years to complete, give or take depending on who you are and what sort of novel it is.

Anyway, the new first line to my story is:

Like some sort of post graduation cliche, I found myself working at a coffee shop called Bitches Brew, where only snarky females seemed to get hired, and living in a dive apartment with two others girls I barely knew. 

Maybe it isn't the greatest first line ever put to paper (virtual paper, that is), but it allowed me to delve deeper into the story. 

Because I love getting distracted, here are a couple first lines from three of my other novels: 

1. Most believe the decline started with the earthquakes and floods, but Falcon knew it began with greed. 

2. Despite what Carla Wells told everyone, I wasn’t jealous of her and found the idea itself insulting. 

3. When he entered the world, the odds were already stacked against him. 

First lines are both my favourite things and the bane of my existence. Only because I am being overly dramatic, though. Let's have share-fest 2013!

What are you first lines?

The Bane Of Pacing

I have been doing a whole tractor load of editing lately. It's a yours, mine and ours situation. Which, to be honest, has been rather fantastic. I know that's crazy for you to hear coming from me because editing used to be the bane of my existence, but these days, I kind of like it. Sure, it's time consuming and aggravating when I see what a juvenile writer I used to be. I mean, I'm still a child in this word-wielding game, but I see improvement. At least, that's what I call it. 

Pacing is important this yours, mine and ours writing situation for two reasons, and I shall deliver them forthwith. 

1. Pacing to a story is essential. You want to have a plot that unfolds like a butterfly emerging forth from a cocoon, or something as equally as poetic that signifies the importance of not rushing through things. This day and age, I'm seeing people catapulting themselves into their novels, they start with a bang and whizz, a huge amount of drama and, to be blunt, I'm simply not a banger and whizzer. Does that sound weird? 

Anyway, let me clarify by saying I fully encourage people to hit the ground running. I myself sort of jog along, easing myself and the reader and my characters into things. There's always important bits and bobbles in the first couple of chapters, but I view it like poker and not wanting to give my hand away right away. In my opinion, a bit of mystery is necessary. 

This said, I fear readers might not feel the same way, so I wonder if I should change. I mean, I am aware this is part of my writing style and I don't feel it weakens the words I put to virtual paper or even the blooming plot lines. Others will most likely disagree, because not everyone likes apple wine and strawberry shortcake - whatever that means. 

To be honest, I think a lot of people struggle with pacing. Not only when it comes to plot, but also sentence structure. There are many different ways to put a paragraph together. Sometimes when you read a section aloud you will see when the pace is off. It's like poetry in some ways. You want the right beats. The correct pauses. This is something I'm working on. 

2. Now, pacing yourself when editing. I believe it is a time consuming task to painstakingly go through each and every line and pick it apart only to put it back together again in the exact same way. At times, it can feel overwhelming, which is why I strongly recommend knowing your limits. Taking on too much, yeah, I'm the Queen of that. I want to help, lend a hand, but sometimes, it isn't possible. Stress is a killer. No, really. I think stress is one of the most toxic things people cater to. 

In the last couple years, I've noticed how daunting a full manuscript can feel. Finally, I understand why agents ask for the first couple of chapters or fifty pages. It doesn't seem like such a monstrous mountain. I have a couple critique partners, editing buddies, and I've come up with the chapter by chapter method. Not only is this easier on me, but I believe it to be easier on the person I'm exchanging with. Mostly because I'm ruthless with the scalpel and have the tendency not to sugar coat things. 

Here's the thing, the chapter by chapter method allows you see areas you struggle with as you go. The changes are done more easily. And, if necessary for huge plot holes, you can fix things in advance before hitting your partner with the next chapter. Also, it helps to brainstorm as you go and get feedback so you aren't walloped over the head with a bunch of suggestions for areas of improvement. 

This, of course, may not work for you, but have you ever gotten an entire manuscript back with a crap load of red all over it and wanted to shove it in a drawer and never look at it again? 

Yeah, this method prevents those crushing feelings. 

The funny part is when I sat down to write this little post I fully intended to talk about pacing in life. Then, it turned into a little rant about editing and writing. I find it interesting where my brain takes me. 

Until next time, this is Tyson, signing off.