3.15. Tech Issues

Sooooo, day 1 of NaNoWriMo is underway. Needless to say, it was a rough start. I reattempted to use Scrivener, for organization purposes, after losing my entire novel mapping about two weeks ago. The IMAC still wont start up so that’s a dead issue. Literally. So, I try it on my other computer at midnight. Ive got music, snacks, and a plan. I type for about an hour and get about 1600 words Im stoked about. I hit save as and the entire thing is erased. Gone. Vanished. NOT THERE. Im crushed. I cry for a good 30 minutes in the shower and vow that God hates me and Im not writing this novel as I believe this is a sign.
After looking up online, I find that scrivener had or has a bug that makes the save as option clear all work instead of saving. I decide to try again and use save instead.  So far, so good though I’m still a bit nervous.
There is obviously a reason I lost the initial work but I refuse to believe its because Im not meant to write this novel. And so, the beat goes on. Good luck to all my fellow participants!!!!


3.14. Countdown

Just a few more hours until NaNoWriMo begins. I will admit, I am a touch stressed. Life has not been kind lately and I have so much on such a small plate. Yet, I tell myself that it is important to my spirit to forge forward and continue to engulf myself in my writing as I have in the past when things are going much better. I am nervous I will not complete this, I will be sidetracked by having so much going on in life, by complete fear of this project being a waste of time. I’ll do it, nonetheless, because I have to.

3.13. Here We Are Again

It’s that time of year again…NaNoWriMo. I am excited to start working on book 3 of my series (something I hope I actually follow through with). I was stoked to be using Scrivener until the IMAC I was using completely went to shit while I was prepping. Not exactly happy about that. So, I’m starting from scratch in terms of my prep. Everything happens for a reason so we shall see how this changes things.

Hopefully, I can stay on track and get this book done in the next 30 days amidst all of my own life drama. Here’s hoping.

1.186 – Dream Catcher Page 1

You’re probably not going to believe anything I’m about to tell you. Reflecting on it all, I realize it is quite the story; a story that is almost impossible to believe. Evidence sets the validity of any tale; documentation that makes everything appears crystal clear. On this occasion, there is no concrete evidence. If you stick around, I’ll explain why that is, later on. Personal accounts can also be helpful, although no one is left to tell this story. No one except me. So, it’s really up to you whether you want to believe this story as truth. But, I will warn you now; no matter what you believe, there is a war happening and I am your only soldier.


While the masses argue over the hypothetical existence of heaven and hell, my kind is stuck in the ongoing battle to protect the tangible, the reality of the mind. In every cerebral computer, there is a functioning gateway, which allots so many visits to and from a place solely known as The Dreamscape.

More on this place later.

In the same way, the darkness of nightmares has its own portal, somewhere left of wonder and right of empty thought. However, in order for you to understand what’s at stake, you have to open your mind to everything you thought was fiction; revealing itself in the very beginning, to the moments, though few in number, before the war began.

And so, this story does not begin on the battlefields of earth amongst the untouchables in their times of triumph and defeat but on a young girls opening day into the journey of a lifetime. 

1.170 – #WordMongering Or Camp NaNoWriMo Day 2

Time to hit the page.

7:54pm – Haven’t done any writing today. About to do some wordmongering (some term I just learned about via Twitter) on the hour. Watching the end of Beauty and The Beast with my son, on a full belly of home made tacos. Got a desk today from a friend so my computer is no longer sitting on the floor. Yay for that. So…apparently, for the #wordmongering thing – you write from the hour to the half and then record your word count. Anything to help the creativity flow. I’ll update at the half and let you know what I think of the process.

8:37pm – Okay, #wordmongering is epic! Got 1409 words in 30 minutes. Great to hear people cheer you on after a rush. This might just be my way to go. I’m definitely supporting this.

8:58pm – Ready for the next round of wordmongering.

9:31pm – Holy Crap! 1608 words in that #wordmongering session. I’m a believer for sure. If you are doing any sort of writing challenge, do it in this fashion. It’s totally giving me room to just get these ideas out and develop them as I slam the words. Loving it.

9:58pm – I think this might be my last round for the night. Starting to get a headache.

10:32pm – 1272 on my last run. I think I’m done for the night.

Shout out to @JaseR75, @MonicaMarieV, @DanniM86, @GirlWriter, and  @Kymele for being supportive fellow writers, great tweeps and kickass cheerleaders!

1.161 – Here We Go Again

Seems like it’s that time again. No, it’s not November and yet I’m prepping for another go at NaNoWriMo. Apparently, the summer time has become another opportunity for writers to get their work on the page via CampNaNoWriMo.

I participated in the November 2011 challenge and finished the month with a little over 56K. I’ve considered editing the piece I worked on, Dream Catcher, in the months that followed…to no avail. I thought I would do a rewrite but that idea went out the window as well.

Nonetheless, I’m sitting here with my notebook, scribbling down ideas. Funny thing is, the idea I feel strongest about is the one that focuses on religion. Yep, I said it. Religion. I think it’s an interesting concept and one I’ve personally never seen done before though I’m sure someone has covered it in some book I’ve never read. It’s coming from my perspective so…yeah.

June 1st is the start date, although there is a second round of participation starting August 1 – think I can write two books this summer? We shall see.

Either way, I’m excited. I feel like I got a lot done in the month of November and felt most proud as a writer…even though no one has read Dream Catcher and I’m hating it to the point of not ever wanting to edit it and thrusting it in the trash. BUT just getting my work on the page is a huge breakthrough for me. So I’m willing to have a go at it again.

No expectations. Just words. May The Muse remain close.

1.156 – The Start of Something

After six months, I’m finally looking at the novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo. I’ll be completely honest when I say…it sucks…for the most part. I still like the idea and it seems to have its moments BUT it’s all over the place. It changes demographic about half way through and too many new things emerge that were not thought out in the beginning of the process. (Random “OMG, this is a great addition” moments).

I’ll continue to be honest in saying that I have not forced myself to sit down and read it from start to finish. Much more of a perusing effort. If I can’t force myself to read it…no one else will WANT to. Period.

This should be really discouraging to me. But if this blog and it’s readers have taught me anything – it’s this: everything is inspiration and my voice can be appreciated by people. In realizing these two things…I’ve come to terms with a couple of my own little worries.

  1. I have tried writing what I think people will want to read.
  2. I refuse to believe that people will appreciate anything other than a rant from me.
  3. I gauge my worth as a writer by how many people (non-friends) appreciate my work enough to comment/like.
  4. I don’t value myself as a writer and really just view this blog as a hobby now instead of what it was meant to be – a window into my journey and growth as an aspiring published writer.
  5. I’m so scared of myself and the rejection I’m convinced I will face when I actually try that I self-sabotage and instead pretend that my writing is not extremely important to me.
  6. I’m scared that the muse will never kiss me.
  7. If I can’t put out something worthwhile…I’m a fucking failure. I’m just not good at anything else. Seriously. Writing is my one and only chance.
  8. I hate the number 7 so I just hit enter. This one is not a worry of mine. But…it kinda is. Okay, whatever.

Yes, that’s a whole lot of emo. I’m a writer…what the fuck do you expect? I’ve got more useless verbal vomits than a bulimic and more scars than a burn unit. It’s all in my head and I am my own worst enemy in this. I know that.

I’m no closer than I was a year ago to being published, recognized, appreciated as an artist. And I haven’t been doing it my way. Not in terms of this novel. So, really…the question I’m asking myself as I blast FUN. is this…what the fuck have I got to lose?

You cant publish nothing.

Now, it’s time to start something.

Go big or go home, right?

1.126 – E-Race Me

With 5 minutes until closing time, a customer walks up to me and says:

“Hi, I know you must be wanting to get out of here, so I’ll be quick. I was just curious…um…what are you?”

What do you mean?

“Are you black?”


“Oh. What are you?”

I’m Puerto Rican.

*laughs* “Oh, cuz I was gonna ask you how I could get hair like yours but I’m not Puerto Rican. I’m Black.”

That’s nice.

“And um..is the Nook Tablet like the IPad..but like…cheaper?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay thanks.”

Exit ensues.

Here are a few tidbits that will enlighten you as to why this interaction annoys the ever-living-piss out of me. This customer sat in the cafe area for a good hour, doing nothing. This customer was bald. This customer was a male. How the hell are you inquiring about my hair, boo? How did you assume you could get hair like mine? Maybe you dress up, so you assume I bought it?

I’m a Puerto Rican female. I’m just a female. I don’t ask people what they are, racially…to be quite honest – I don’t ask because I don’t give a shit. I don’t search for a specific race to date because I have some fetish. I don’t hang out with a specific race because I feel “accepted.” I interact with people. Not their race.

Not everything darker than white is black. Not everything that is spanish is mexican. For 11 years, I’ve answered this question a million times. It comes with the territory…or so I assume. It’s even funnier to me when people act shocked…or as if I’m lying. If I was black – I would be proud to be black. If I was mexican – I would be proud to be mexican. But I am none of those things. I am proud to be a woman who does not fixate on race. I am proud to live outside of stereotypes and labels. I am proud of the beauty of my internal being versus the shell you stare at.

On a side note – I’m actually excited about a children’s series concept that I discussed with an artist friend tonight. Don’t know where the idea will go…but I’m grateful I’m still having ideas. Means I’m still alive.

1.117 – I Quit

On my way home from work, I got to thinking about my writing.

Where the hell is this going? Is it going anywhere at all?

The answers are simple: I don’t know and no. That being said, I start reflecting on why the hell nothing is going nowhere. And I reflect on my own bitter, emotional moment of the day.

It sucks when you feel like people see you for your negative attributes. I float in the ongoing punchline of me being the mean girl. Maybe its’ funny. Shit, maybe it’s true. But I really don’t want to be the mean girl. I’m just extremely sarcastic and extremely…blunt at times. Label it rude, obnoxious, neurotic. Maybe I’m making up for years of living in the damned shadows…I don’t know.

I’m probably all of those negative things and more. But I’d like to be better. My writing is nothing but I’d like it to be more. I’d like to know more than five people are reading this damned blog. I’d like to see my writing flourish into something worth sharing. I’d like to be considered a talent, a person worth knowing, something more than a late night secret friend. Yeah, I said it. Because I know that’s what I am to people. Someone worth knowing in the daytime at a distance and someone worth talking to late at night when no one else is available. My writing is what people read because…well fuck if I know why people read any of this. It’s about the same as me wondering why the hell people waste their time…AND MINE…talking to me.

It’s all a crock, really. It’s all made up. It’s all a badly written work of fiction. It’s all maybes and what-ifs, coulda woulda shouldas and false precedents.

I want to edit Dream Catchers. That will probably never happen. I want to complete Euphoric Damnation…which is on an indefinite pause because the concept sounded good about 5 months ago but now just seems to be a stupid ass story. I want to write a trilogy called Windows – one story told from his perspective, one from her perspective and the final one being the truth. I want to write a humor piece – one story done in several genre formats. I want to re-write Lullaby – a play set in in the voice of suicide and the victim. I want to write Killing Off Allison. I want to compile my poetry and finish The Dark Room. I want, I want, I want…to write, to write, to write…


I wont do any of it. Because I’m one of those fucking people. I’m all talk. Because attempting at putting these ideas to paper will force me to realize that I’m a fake. I’m no fucking writer. I’m just one of those people who spews out ideas. And the majority of them suck ass.

I want people to think better of me. I want to be valued for what’s in this mind of mine. I want there to be a reason I am the way I am. I thought writing was my justification. But maybe…no, I’m pretty sure…there is no justification. I’m just not what I thought I was. I’m nobody…babbling on about nothing. I’m a con artist – making you believe I’m strong, smart, pretty, artistic, confidant, secure. But I am none of those things. I am a weakling, screaming for acceptance at the top of my lungs. The problem is…no one seems to hear me. Or maybe they do. Which is by far the worst of fates.

Maybe this is just a majorly self-deprecating emo moment. But for the first time in 20 years, I’m almost certain it’s time to give this shit up. My fear of rejection obviously outweighs my desire to live the dream. Story of my fucking life. The self doubt is debilitating. And I’m over feeling like a crippled woman, friend, artist. I just want to fade into the backdrop and pretend it never mattered.

My love affair with writing is over.

That’s it. I quit. I’m moving on. (Thanks Sam Cooke).