Weeeellll....

I suck at keeping a blog. I need to try and keep this up again. I haven't done much writing as of late, and I need to pick it back up. Motivation, appear!

"If I knew all the words, I would write myself out of here."

I write because of days like today. I write because I have to say something and it’s too hard to do it face to face. I write because it’s easier to sort through my feelings on paper than it is during a screaming match. I write because I can keep it as private or as public as I want. I write because I don’t know how to not write. Even when I’m not doing much formal writing, I write text messages, emails, tweets. I’m writing all the time, whether it’s fiction or short 140 character insights into my daily life and random thoughts. I write because it give me more time to find just the right word, the right phrase to express what I’m feeling. I write because I can delete my mistakes and “perfect” what I’m saying. I write words because I can’t write music, and I write words because it’s more constructive and less destructive than hauling off and punching someone. I write because no matter how much fun dancing is, I can’t choreograph my styles to say what I want. I write because it’s healthier than going to a bar and soaking my ego in a bottle of Irish whiskey. I write because it’s cheaper than buying half the stock on Modcloth and getting frustrated when it won’t fit. I write so that my friends don’t have to listen to me bitch all the time. I write because like thinking, I can do it anytime and anyplace as long as I have pen and paper. I write because I want to remember details, feelings, images. I write because I don’t know how I would get it all out otherwise. Words are a comfort to me. I write because I am me. I am a writer.

Hundreds of pages, pages, pages, more words.

Okay, I guess I can't really claim writer's block, but I claim writer's...traffic jam? I've written a little more of my novel in the last few weeks. It's mostly been a scene here or there, all of which take place later in the story, far from where I left my sad attempt to win NaNoWriMo. I guess getting something on paper is better than nothing. It's just odd to be writing things so far down the line chronologically when I don't have a clue how the story is going to get there. Or if the story is going to decide mid chapter 20 that it wants to do something totally different and takes a 180 away from what I was writing. I normally write start to finish, so having story points that I'm shooting towards is both exciting/inspiring and slightly terrifying/odd.

Also, I have Jameson's. Maybe a shot of two of that will aid my creative process...

Being Rather Obvious

I left this as a sticky note on the desktop on my mom's laptop this afternoon. Subtle? I think not. Effective? We shall see.

BOOKS KELLI WANTS TO READ: OR, UNSUBTLE HINTS ABOUT FUTURE GIFT IDEAS.
Stealing Death by Janet Lee Carey
Chalice by Robin McKinley
Libyrinth by Pearl North
Hunger Games
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
Graceling by Kristin Cashore
Ash by Malinda Lo
The Smile by Donna Jo Napoli
The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan
The Song of the Sparrow by Lisa Ann Sandell
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz
Thirteenth Child
The Magician's Ward
Shadows Over Lyra
The Seven Towers by Patricia C. Wrede
The Water Mirror
The Stone Light
The Glass Word by Kai Meyer
Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception by Maggie Stiefvater
Pilliage by Obert Skye

Yes, I realize that it's 99% YA and mostly written by women. Those were the books that looked and sounded interesting during my shelf hunt at Borders the other day. Any suggestions for things I can add to the list?

A Certain Type of Inspiration

I'm sitting at my desk. All of the lights in my room are on, and the big paper lantern over my bed casts a softer glow than the overhead light. I can smell the Frosted Cranberry candle sitting near me, and it mixes with the scent of the Irish tea waiting for me to drink it. My Swell Season concert dvd is playing in the background, and Glen Hansard's strong, raspy voice makes me smile as he sings 'Say It To Me Now". My room is cold, so I've wrapped up in the maroon knit blanket that usually just sits on the end of my bed. My hands are poised over my keyboard, absorbing the warmth of the laptop. I sip from my tea, and it burns my tongue. As Glen starts to tell a story, I force myself to stop watching him and begin writing. I've created a (sort of) warm atmosphere, and as I concentrate on the Word document, I can feel my mind begin to form phrases, sentences, searching for words.

So I write.

Uh-oh.

NaNoWriMo is off to a...nope, wait...I haven't started. My plan was to work my 7-12 floorset shift tonight, come home, and then get down about 1700 words before crashing. However, due to some...well...um...

Anyway, at least 2/3 of the floorset crew was new, and we had to change every table in the store and a bunch of wall displays, so I just got home about 10 minutes ago. That's right, it's almost 4am, and I'm just getting home.

I'm going to spend all of tomorrow either sleeping or writing. Right now, I am just too damn tired to try and be creative.

It's official. I'm all signed up. Sam has agreed to be my writing buddy. If you don't hear anything from me the entire month of November, don't call the cops. I think I'm going to make a snack food/alcohol stock up run as soon as I get paid on Friday. Let the madness begin!!!

Also, I applied for a job tonight. Perfect timing, huh?