In the Zone

" It always seems impossible until its done."

-Nelson Mandela

So despite my awesome and peculiar idea for a short story, I failed to enter the NPR Fiction Writing Contest. I know, I know cue the "awwww" sound.

It was those dreaded sirens YouTube and Facebook, I swear! I could not resist!

Actually, it was also that I went out of town and did not bring a laptop with me so I was disconnected from the world for a few days. It was quite frightening, I tell you. I didn't realize how much my life revolves around Internet, email, online news and such. It's nice to just get away from it all and get back to basics.

The reason I went out of town was to attend a school trip to Oklahoma City to visit the National Memorial Museum where the 1995 Oklahoma City bombings happened. We were learning about terrorism and the press, how the media covers it as well as what is terrorism really. 

It was so fascinating to see the museum and learn about a domestic terror event that I don't even remember because I was only four at the time. The museum was incredibly well done and hit the perfect tone of solemnness, hope and courage for the survivors and the whole community. 

We also got to talk to an amazing man, Mike Boettcher, a former CNN correspondent and veteran in covering global terrorism. We met lots of really interesting people thanks to our professor and being a part of the Cronkite school. Everyone knows us so we get a lot of priveleges:)

But it wasn't all work. One evening we got to watch The Green Zone, starring Matt Damon as Officer Roy Miller. The movie although very fictionalized is an account of a soldier in Iraq who uncovers the conspiracy over the lack of WMDs and how America knew that and still went in, fabricating information in order to have authority to create a democracy in the country. It's "inspired" by a non-fiction book by a Washington Post reporter Raji Chandresekaren called  Imperial Life in the Emerald City. 

It looks like the only things the movie and book have in common are the setting and theme, otherwise the whole character of Matt Damon finding out about the nonexistent WMDs isn't true. But I guess that's Hollywood. The movie was really good though and I'm not really into pointless action movies. I don't flinch at blown up cars and shaky camera scenes. Well I do, but not in a good way.

I watched the movie not just from an average viewer but as a writer which made me notice several things:

• This movie had a compelling plot, although pretty simple, and made you follow the mystery the whole way through as you yearned to find out why the soldiers were being sent to sites that didn't have anything there and no one would listen to Matt Damon. Everyone should listen to Matt Damon! If it was over complicated then I would have lost interest. War and politics are already so confusing and complex that people don't want to have anything to do with it. You don't want readers to think that about your writing.

• It's possible to draw people into a story that they might not know anything about by adding human interest and emotional conflict because that's what everyone relates to and will be thinking about as the story goes on. I loved the character of Freddi, an Iraqi citizen with one leg, that just wants to do what's best for his country even it means helping the American invaders. What would I do? Would I trust that guy when everyone says not to? Do I do the right thing or the easy thing?

So I'm not really sure how they were able to craft this implausible story out of Chandresekaren's book, but it's definetly going to make people want to read it now. I sure do. But it's going to be a looong time before I get to it. I have a list of about 50 books I want/need to read and I've barely made a mark on it.

This is my current read for one of my classes, but it's one that I'm enjoying a lot because I love Nelson Mandela and am very interested in the history of South Africa's apartheid.

You have a face for radio... and a story to match

Fresh off my entrance in the Sparknotes Fiction Contest, I'm planning on entering this interesting one from NPR (National Public Radio.)

NPR Fiction Writing Contest
No more than 600 words
Deadline- Sunday, April 11, 2010. Must be received by 11:59 p.m. Eastern Time

To be qualified for the Contest, an entry must include only one (1) fictional story (each, a "Story"). The Story must include all of the following words, which may be used as nouns, adjectives or verbs of any tense:
plant
fly
trick
button
The Judge will select one (1) Contest Winner, based on the following criteria, weighted equally: (a) originality; (b) creativity; and (c) overall quality of writing.

I have absolutely no idea what to write about or how to use those four plain words, but I'm excited. I have a school trip Thursday to Saturday, but hopefully I'll be able to get enough work done before that so I won't miss the deadline. This is such a huge platform. I can't even imagine what I would do if I won or became a finalist!?!

These short story contests are like little battery chargers for me while I rest for who knows how long from my novel. It's taken me much longer than I thought to finish my NaNo novel, but atleast I'm further than what I would be if I hadn't tried at all.

So that's saying something.

A Sorceress Spurned

**This is my entry for the Sparknotes Musical Fiction Contest. Try to guess what song it's based on:)

Honey honey, the bees sing to me. One by one, they land on my cheek as I rock back and forth in my chemise hammock  The softness of their legs and fluttering of their wings wakes me from my reverie. I move my hand and slowly crush the bees between my fingers.

They are not who I wanted to wake up to.

I let my hand fall to the ground and the breeze whisks their dead bodies into the pool of wine beside me. I want the bees to float over the white sand into the sea and follow his boat onto the horizons, so that when he looks into the choppy waters, he might stop and think of what he did to me.

Pah! Odysseus knows full well what he did to me. I gave that man a choice and he rejected me-the sentimental fool.

I hear a squeal and snort behind me. I look over my shoulder to see two of my potbellies sniffing the gardenias and jasmine flowers lining the cave walls. I get up to wave them away. They love destroying my beautiful work no matter how much I yell. I swear they are determined to taunt my only pleasurable past time.
 
Normally, I would have drowned the exasperating creatures, but I have learned to control my temperament somewhat. I would never change myself for any one, especially not a man, but Odysseus had been different. I learned carefully what pleased his soul, made his mind wander or heart beat faster. I also learned he did not share my amusement in turning men into swine.

The pigs squeal again and trot to the mouth of the cave. The sky is dark and I feel the blue rush over my tired body. The clouds opens and a sheet of rain begins to fall. A show is beginning,a grand performance of lightning, thunder and howling wind. My pitiful companions watch in adoration as I sit down on a plush chair behind them and began eating from a vine of white grapes.

How silly of me to sit here pining away when I am safe on this island and he is out battling the wayward ocean storm at the mercy of Poseidon.
      
Why did I promise Odysseus a safe return? I could have lied when I advised him on taking the most cautious path home for spite, but what good would my deals be if no one trusted me? I would never receive any more visitors of mortal or godly status and become even more hated, even though I don’t wish to be around another soul as long as I live-which is unfortunately a damned eternity.

Well look where that goodness got me. Now I am alone in my home, which is nothing but a hollow land of enchantments, trinkets and memories of our time together. I still wear the necklace of shells and pearls he strung together for me in a drunken stupor one night. I bubbled with glee in thinking that he was finally giving up what he had-his past, his home, his wife and son.

But I was stupid to think Odysseus would forget everything. When he overpowered my spells, I should have known he’d bring me trouble. For once, I had met my match, a feeling most unnerving and enthralling. I realized I would not have to pursue him the way I had imagined, not like with his dimwitted seamen and those who came before them.

Thunder crackles through the darkness awakening the same raw anger inside me so fast my back stiffens. How could I have lost to ghost of an old wife? Was I not flesh and blood beating, bursting right in front of his eyes? We shared embraces that were far from boredom or desperation. Didn’t I show him how I would care for him in every way yet never nag or bore him? The nerve of that man to grow tired of my companionship!

If only I had laced him with more sweet affection and crafted a stronger, more perfect love. But after Odysseus, I feel my identity as a sorceress weaken. All my jars and bottles have been sitting uselessly, cast aside in dusty chests. Somewhere along the way, I became a simple woman and came to the infuriating realization that he couldn’t be captured like an element or herb in one of my potions. I can only imagine how lesser, homely women react in his presence. Hopefully, I haven’t debased myself too greatly.

No, there wasn’t a single thing I did wrong but even so, my island and I will soon be but a waypoint on his journey. I will be a tale Odysseus will spin into a dangerous encounter with a sly, bewitching woman on a lonely island and they will laugh and sigh, then retreat to their chambers after a lavish feast on golden platters.

I set down my half-eaten vine with a sudden desire to walk out into the rain. The pigs grunt and roll over on their sides as I move past them. Raising my hands up and closing my eyes, I relish the droplets of sustenance that is falling on our skin at the same time-me on dry land, he on the sea.

Perhaps Odysseus is thinking of me now, wishing he had abandoned his fruitless quest. Perhaps he is holding back the impulse to stop and order his crew to turn the ship around. I hope the cold wind bites his watery soul and make him yearn for my arms.

It isn’t worth risking your life to glory, but they never learn.

I feel a light kick inside and touch my stomach gently under my soaked gown. I turn back into the cave to dry off, knowing even if he wanted to, he wouldn't come back.


** Based on the song "Honey, Honey" by Feist. It's on my playlist on the blog, so check it out and have another read while you listen to it. Hopefully it fits well:)

creative lollygagging

"It's spring fever.  That is what the name of it is.  And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!"

 -Mark Twain

It's spring break and my mind is happily at ease sleeping (yay for snoozing), eating (a real kitchen!), writing (hello neglected journal) and reading(Prep is really good!) Unfortunately, I also have homework yuck. With only one week, I find it very unfair to have to divide time between socializing, homework and personal time.

 If it weren't for my homework, I would be writing full speed ahead on my Sparknotes Fiction Contest entry which I really want to finish before going back to school. I'm stuck between 3 different songs now, so it's even more frustrating.

I'm also pushing through my NaNo novel. I laugh now that that I thought I would finish it by the end of December. That was a horrible miscalculation. I remember reading somewhere that the first draft is like the rough sketching of a picture before it's painted, so that's how I'm trying to approach my novel. I have no idea where it's going at times as I try to connect each point and each scene. Sometimes it feels too rushed or that I'm ignoring certain characters or not attending to certain story lines, but I shouldn't really expect all of it to make sense at this point, right?

For now I'm soaking up good music, weird art, current movies and amazing photography to hopefully allow all those creative geniuses soak into me and allow something to click. After all, it's break, this is when my imagination should be it's best.

musical fiction story

So this is Sparknotes 2nd fiction contest. You should enter it too! I had a great response from my last entry, which sparked my other blog Zac Serves It Right otherwise known as Lunch is Served. I love contests like this because they're short and sweet and focused, which makes me more motivated and encouraged to enter and actually FINISH lol.

RULES

Entry period: March 1 — March 31

Story length: 2,000 words max

What to send:
1) Your username
2) Your story, pasted into the body of an email
3) The title of your story
4) The name of the song on which your story is based

Where to send your entry: missmarm@sparknotes.com

bitter love story

"Remember writing doesn't love you. It doesn't care. Nevertheless, it can behave with remarkable generosity. Speak well of it, encourage others, pass it on."

Dear Journal,


I hope you enjoy your travels with me on the lightrail. That means you mean enough to me that I don't leave you behind in exchange for a novel, because that would be so much easier for me to deal with. You're tough, stubborn and don't listen, but when things go well, I'm incredibly happy and thankful you're there with me. 


Sorry for the yogurt or tea stains on you. I eat breakfast on the go.


Love,


Your dutiful attending writer

The Genius Stops By

It's been a looong time since I've posted. Why? I haven't felt inspired...haven't had time...felt lazy-- a whole number of reasons. Since NaNo, my creative fuel has altogether vanished, but once listening to the amazing Elizabeth Gilbert speak at the TED conference, I realized that I was approaching my writing process the entirely wrong way. It's not exactly my fault if I'm not writing brilliance, but it's my fault if I don't " show up to work" ready to be assisted by my writing genius. Check out her speech to see what I'm mean.



I'm off to sit my butt in a chair, grab my journal and pen and begin writing, whether I like it or not.  I might add some dancing around every few minutes with some chants of Allah and Ole:)
I'm going to finish this first draft before school ends, I swear.