I don't think my dad realizes that when I walk around the house in a sweater with the hood up, hunched shoulders and the fluffiest slippers you can imagine, it means I'm cold.
But I am.
I'm very cold. And it's becoming a re-occuring theme all of a sudden. Which can only mean one thing...
Winter is upon us.
It's only two months (to the day!) until Christmas. Two. Months. Can you believe it? If I wasn't so cold, I'd be pretty excited. I mean, let's be honest - I've been listening to Christmas carols for a good three weeks now.
Still, as much as I day dream about hot chocolates and glistening sunlight on freshly fallen snow, my mind can't help but reverting back to thinking, "Why can't I feel my toes?!"
And this is me indoors. Which brings me back to my father.
I caught him outside the other day (when I managed to shuffle out of my room in my warmest sweater and pajama pants), just sitting on one of the muskoka chairs on our porch. I asked him what he was doing. "Cooling off," was his only response. The sad thing is, he hadn't come from a run or a work out - he'd just been working at his desk inside. But apparently the 'heat' was too much for him. The same 'heat' that makes me afraid to leave my bed in the morning for fear of frostbite.
Oh, the joys of having a father (aka thermostat controller) with an internal heater!
If you're wondering where I am this winter when you're out having a snowball fight or ice skating or snowboarding... I'll be cuddled up in my bed, too terror-stricken to venture out into the cold hallway and further out into the probably warmer outdoors.
Lucky for me I've got enough movies to last a lifetime and a new bar-fridge in my room, so I can afford to begin hibernating a bit earlier this year! Of course, you won't get rid of me that easily - my computer gets warm enough to roast marshmellows over... which is probably a bad thing, but it sure beats last year's 'middle-of-the-room-garbage-can-fire'! ;)
Keep it real!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
good news!
So... I was trying to come up with an eloquent way of relaying this information to the world, but it's past midnight and I'm running on three hours of sleep and way too much chocolate, so my brain just isn't functioning. Therefore, all I can muster are the blunt facts.
Remember how I always drone on and on about being an aspiring writer? How I've written a novel, tried to market it to agents, given up, reworked it, started writing another novel, etc etc? Well, I got some pretty exciting news last week. But let me just rewind a little further so I can fill in any gaps first.
In April of 2009, I started writing a novel. By about October of that same year, I found out about a competition for aspiring writers where the winner walked away with a publishing contract, so I started working on my novel everyday and finished the first draft by December 22, 2009. The competition closed on the 31st, so I literally just made the deadline.
In April of 2010, I found out that I didn't win. Somehow, that wasn't enough to discourage me though.
Fast forward a few more months and my novel was on its fourth draft. I'd let a few people read parts of it and was starting to learn how to take criticism, but - more importantly - I felt it was time to give the idea of getting it published another shot. I found ten different agencies in Toronto and queried each one. By now it was almost the end of the year again, so the fact that I'd lost the competition had lost its sting and I was once again feeling hopeful.
But with the new year came rejection letter after rejection letter and my hopes sunk again.
For a while I chipped away at it, but it was drawing close to the two year anniversary of its beginnings and after two years - especially for a commitment-o-phobe like me - it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the passion alive. So I started working on something new, brushing my first novel off to the side.
Once in a while I'd come back to it and try to make a chapter more interesting or take out some needless adjectives, but as far as I was concerned, I had bigger and better things to worry about. It had served its purpose by sparking the realization that I was interested in writing, so if it did nothing else, that would be enough.
And then May 2011 hit.
I received an email from one of the agents I had queries months earlier saying that the synopsis sounded interesting, so they were requesting the first five chapters. Extactic, I looked at my first five chapters and realized they could be so much better - so I rewrote them and sent them off.
Of course, once I had rewritten the first five chapters, it only stood to reason that I rewrite the rest of them. And that's what I did.
Month after month passed and I hadn't heard anything from the agency who had requested my chapters, but I figured that was okay. I has now on the fifteenth draft of my novel and it was four hundred times better than the first few drafts had been, so even if the agency disappeared into thin air, I'd still be a happy camper.
Now let's jump to October 14th 2011.
I was sitting in my car, parked in the driveway having just come home from a long day at work when I decided to check my email on my (amazingly brilliant) iPhone. My inbox told me that I had an email from the agency I had thought must've just fallen into a black hole since I hadn't heard from them in so long.
I prepared myself for the worst. The, "thank you for sending us your chapters, but I'm afraid this book isn't for us" shpiel I'd gotten so used to reading.
Instead, I saw the most glorious sentence a writer could ever read: "I've read your first five chapters and I'd like to take a look at the rest of your manuscript."
I think I may have squealed. I'm not even joking.
Needless to say, the past few days have been spent making sure my manuscript is the best it could be, and as of last night, the manuscript has been sent off.
So it's back to the waiting game.
But it feels a lot more exciting this time. And a lot less hopeless.
Of course, getting an agent is basically still a part of the first step in the publishing process. If this agency decides to take me and my book on as a client, it still doesn't mean a publishing company will chose to pick it up - and then, of course, the book stores can chose not to put it on their shelves. So there's a long was still to go, but it's really cool that I've made it past rejection alley.
Anyway, I thought I'd mention all this in case anyone's interested in what the journey's like for a story to go from idea to book. If mine ever makes it as far as book, you can bet your bottom that the whole process will be recored on my blog. Beginning, obviously, with today. Though I have been taking you through a lot of the ups and downs in previous blog posts...
But I just realized how long this post is - and the fact that it's one in the morning and I have to work tomorrow - so I'm going to end it there.
Keep it real! :)
Remember how I always drone on and on about being an aspiring writer? How I've written a novel, tried to market it to agents, given up, reworked it, started writing another novel, etc etc? Well, I got some pretty exciting news last week. But let me just rewind a little further so I can fill in any gaps first.
In April of 2009, I started writing a novel. By about October of that same year, I found out about a competition for aspiring writers where the winner walked away with a publishing contract, so I started working on my novel everyday and finished the first draft by December 22, 2009. The competition closed on the 31st, so I literally just made the deadline.
In April of 2010, I found out that I didn't win. Somehow, that wasn't enough to discourage me though.
Fast forward a few more months and my novel was on its fourth draft. I'd let a few people read parts of it and was starting to learn how to take criticism, but - more importantly - I felt it was time to give the idea of getting it published another shot. I found ten different agencies in Toronto and queried each one. By now it was almost the end of the year again, so the fact that I'd lost the competition had lost its sting and I was once again feeling hopeful.
But with the new year came rejection letter after rejection letter and my hopes sunk again.
For a while I chipped away at it, but it was drawing close to the two year anniversary of its beginnings and after two years - especially for a commitment-o-phobe like me - it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the passion alive. So I started working on something new, brushing my first novel off to the side.
Once in a while I'd come back to it and try to make a chapter more interesting or take out some needless adjectives, but as far as I was concerned, I had bigger and better things to worry about. It had served its purpose by sparking the realization that I was interested in writing, so if it did nothing else, that would be enough.
And then May 2011 hit.
I received an email from one of the agents I had queries months earlier saying that the synopsis sounded interesting, so they were requesting the first five chapters. Extactic, I looked at my first five chapters and realized they could be so much better - so I rewrote them and sent them off.
Of course, once I had rewritten the first five chapters, it only stood to reason that I rewrite the rest of them. And that's what I did.
Month after month passed and I hadn't heard anything from the agency who had requested my chapters, but I figured that was okay. I has now on the fifteenth draft of my novel and it was four hundred times better than the first few drafts had been, so even if the agency disappeared into thin air, I'd still be a happy camper.
Now let's jump to October 14th 2011.
I was sitting in my car, parked in the driveway having just come home from a long day at work when I decided to check my email on my (amazingly brilliant) iPhone. My inbox told me that I had an email from the agency I had thought must've just fallen into a black hole since I hadn't heard from them in so long.
I prepared myself for the worst. The, "thank you for sending us your chapters, but I'm afraid this book isn't for us" shpiel I'd gotten so used to reading.
Instead, I saw the most glorious sentence a writer could ever read: "I've read your first five chapters and I'd like to take a look at the rest of your manuscript."
I think I may have squealed. I'm not even joking.
Needless to say, the past few days have been spent making sure my manuscript is the best it could be, and as of last night, the manuscript has been sent off.
So it's back to the waiting game.
But it feels a lot more exciting this time. And a lot less hopeless.
Of course, getting an agent is basically still a part of the first step in the publishing process. If this agency decides to take me and my book on as a client, it still doesn't mean a publishing company will chose to pick it up - and then, of course, the book stores can chose not to put it on their shelves. So there's a long was still to go, but it's really cool that I've made it past rejection alley.
Anyway, I thought I'd mention all this in case anyone's interested in what the journey's like for a story to go from idea to book. If mine ever makes it as far as book, you can bet your bottom that the whole process will be recored on my blog. Beginning, obviously, with today. Though I have been taking you through a lot of the ups and downs in previous blog posts...
But I just realized how long this post is - and the fact that it's one in the morning and I have to work tomorrow - so I'm going to end it there.
Keep it real! :)
Saturday, September 24, 2011
lights...camera...
Not so much action. Mostly just talking. But not too much, don't worry. Just check it out!
Oh, and I may have exagerated my editing skills... this hasn't been edited at all.
Aaaand, yeah.
:) Keep it real!
Oh, and I may have exagerated my editing skills... this hasn't been edited at all.
Aaaand, yeah.
:) Keep it real!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
muay thai!
Have you heard of the new perfume by Chanel called 'Muay Thai'?! It's totally rad, man. I bought, like, five bottles the second they hit the shelves...
Not!
This blog is titled 'Muay Thai' because it's about Muay Thai - the real Muay Thai. As in, the mixed martial art that I'm told some people in the UFC are trained in. Oh, and me. Yep - I'm now going to make the list of people trained in Muay Thai. Yesterday was my first class. And can I just say,
Owww!
My ENTIRE BODY is sore today. Literally. Every. Muscle. Aches. Except maybe my fingers, which is why I'm even able to write this post.
But despite the stiff, ache-y muscles, I am in love.
We started off with a warm up. At least, that's what my instructor called it. I call it 10x more of a work out than I've ever done in my life. Forty-five minutes later (I was sweating buckets), we actually started in on the learning of fun martial art stuff.
To say it was intense would be putting it lightly. When we were doing our boxing stuff (like jab, cross, kick, etc), any time any class member dropped their hands away from their fighting stance, the entire class would have to do ten push ups. I can now say that I've been told to "drop and gimme ten". Which - contrary to most people, I'm sure - is something I've always wanted to hear. :)
So if you see me not sitting for the next few days, it's because it's too painful to move that many muscles at once. And the floor is so bloody far.
And yet next Saturday I'll be driving to my second Muay Thai class with a big fat grin on my face, eager for more.
There's just something about training the body - I find it fascinating. My instructor (his name is Kevin) doesn't make us do push ups and sit ups and crunches and skipping (and everything else under the sun!) because it will give us sweet abs or make us lose ten pounds. He does it to keep us in peak condition so that we can do more. Not look hotter or whatever other reasons people have for losing weight and getting fit. And when I find myself being able to do more, it feels so amazing. Just the fact that I made it through the entire warm up yesterday made me feel fantastic. Because I knew there was absolutely no way I would have been able to get through it if I had tried it a year ago. But since I've been training my body and keeping it healthy, I was able to keep up.
And then there's always the bonus of a certain confidence that accompanies most martial arts. Knowing that I could defend myself if I'm ever in the wrong place at the wrong time? Pretty dern sweet if you ask me.
So yeah. First archery, now Muay Thai. I'm loving all these new discoveries I'm stumbling upon.
Which reminds me.
General public, here is my statement to you: get out there and find something incredible to do! Make discoveries and go on adventures and just DO things. Because you only have one life. And it has so much potential for awesomeness.
:D
I'm still on a bit of a 'work-out high' I think. They're pretty much the best.
Anyway, I'm going to go write a book. So...
Keep it real!
Not!
This blog is titled 'Muay Thai' because it's about Muay Thai - the real Muay Thai. As in, the mixed martial art that I'm told some people in the UFC are trained in. Oh, and me. Yep - I'm now going to make the list of people trained in Muay Thai. Yesterday was my first class. And can I just say,
Owww!
My ENTIRE BODY is sore today. Literally. Every. Muscle. Aches. Except maybe my fingers, which is why I'm even able to write this post.
But despite the stiff, ache-y muscles, I am in love.
We started off with a warm up. At least, that's what my instructor called it. I call it 10x more of a work out than I've ever done in my life. Forty-five minutes later (I was sweating buckets), we actually started in on the learning of fun martial art stuff.
To say it was intense would be putting it lightly. When we were doing our boxing stuff (like jab, cross, kick, etc), any time any class member dropped their hands away from their fighting stance, the entire class would have to do ten push ups. I can now say that I've been told to "drop and gimme ten". Which - contrary to most people, I'm sure - is something I've always wanted to hear. :)
So if you see me not sitting for the next few days, it's because it's too painful to move that many muscles at once. And the floor is so bloody far.
And yet next Saturday I'll be driving to my second Muay Thai class with a big fat grin on my face, eager for more.
There's just something about training the body - I find it fascinating. My instructor (his name is Kevin) doesn't make us do push ups and sit ups and crunches and skipping (and everything else under the sun!) because it will give us sweet abs or make us lose ten pounds. He does it to keep us in peak condition so that we can do more. Not look hotter or whatever other reasons people have for losing weight and getting fit. And when I find myself being able to do more, it feels so amazing. Just the fact that I made it through the entire warm up yesterday made me feel fantastic. Because I knew there was absolutely no way I would have been able to get through it if I had tried it a year ago. But since I've been training my body and keeping it healthy, I was able to keep up.
And then there's always the bonus of a certain confidence that accompanies most martial arts. Knowing that I could defend myself if I'm ever in the wrong place at the wrong time? Pretty dern sweet if you ask me.
So yeah. First archery, now Muay Thai. I'm loving all these new discoveries I'm stumbling upon.
Which reminds me.
General public, here is my statement to you: get out there and find something incredible to do! Make discoveries and go on adventures and just DO things. Because you only have one life. And it has so much potential for awesomeness.
:D
I'm still on a bit of a 'work-out high' I think. They're pretty much the best.
Anyway, I'm going to go write a book. So...
Keep it real!
Saturday, August 20, 2011
curiosity killed the cat
And, quite unfortunately, it also killed my afternoon.
Remember that movie bucket list I spoke of oh so long ago? Well, I've been slowly but surely watching the movies from that list, but I'm beginning to think what started out as a fun idea is becoming a bit of a chore. And it's movies we're talking about here! They've never been a chore to me!
It started with Annie Hall a few months ago and culminated in the headache that was Breakfast at Tiffany's just this afternoon. Needless to say, I've made the discovery that I am very much a product of my time. I have very little patience - if I'm going to be staring at a screen for two hours of my day, there'd better be something worthwhile about it.
...Here's my idea of a good basic story: there's a clear beginning, a clear middle and an end. Within that there should be one or two likable characters - maybe even loveable, but I can deal with just liking them. At least one of these characters should have some sort of purpose to their lives and the story as a whole should probably have a conceise point. Sure, call me German, but I do like a little logic to my storytelling.
Annie Hall met none of those criteria.
And, the lingering headache confirms that Breakfast at Tiffany's didn't meet any of 'em either.
I know, I know - they're classics.
But I don't think I care about whether or not it's a classic - just tell me a good story and I'm yours, Hollywood.
I know I haven't dissected any plots in this movie review, but that's because there are no plots to dissect. Which is just hurting me inside. Both Annie Hall and Breakfast at Tiffany's had main characters who were all over the place in all the worst ways and the "plot" was much the same. One thing happened, then another, then another - no connections, no purpose, no nothing but a migraine on my part.
I apologize to everyone who loves the classics, and these two in particular... I know it's just a matter of differing tastes. But please never put me in the same room as either of these movies ever again.
At least Breakfast at Tiffany's had a dashing leading man. I can't say the same for Annie Hall, but I guess that's neither here nor there.
I need to go do something. After spending 2 hours watching nothing happening but pretty people having fun on a movie set... I need to get rid of some of this pent up energy. Apparently when high expectations come crashing down, it makes me a little wired.
I may have to wait a while before I take on the task of watching another "classic". Until then,
Keep it real!
Remember that movie bucket list I spoke of oh so long ago? Well, I've been slowly but surely watching the movies from that list, but I'm beginning to think what started out as a fun idea is becoming a bit of a chore. And it's movies we're talking about here! They've never been a chore to me!
It started with Annie Hall a few months ago and culminated in the headache that was Breakfast at Tiffany's just this afternoon. Needless to say, I've made the discovery that I am very much a product of my time. I have very little patience - if I'm going to be staring at a screen for two hours of my day, there'd better be something worthwhile about it.
...Here's my idea of a good basic story: there's a clear beginning, a clear middle and an end. Within that there should be one or two likable characters - maybe even loveable, but I can deal with just liking them. At least one of these characters should have some sort of purpose to their lives and the story as a whole should probably have a conceise point. Sure, call me German, but I do like a little logic to my storytelling.
Annie Hall met none of those criteria.
And, the lingering headache confirms that Breakfast at Tiffany's didn't meet any of 'em either.
I know, I know - they're classics.
But I don't think I care about whether or not it's a classic - just tell me a good story and I'm yours, Hollywood.
I know I haven't dissected any plots in this movie review, but that's because there are no plots to dissect. Which is just hurting me inside. Both Annie Hall and Breakfast at Tiffany's had main characters who were all over the place in all the worst ways and the "plot" was much the same. One thing happened, then another, then another - no connections, no purpose, no nothing but a migraine on my part.
I apologize to everyone who loves the classics, and these two in particular... I know it's just a matter of differing tastes. But please never put me in the same room as either of these movies ever again.
At least Breakfast at Tiffany's had a dashing leading man. I can't say the same for Annie Hall, but I guess that's neither here nor there.
I need to go do something. After spending 2 hours watching nothing happening but pretty people having fun on a movie set... I need to get rid of some of this pent up energy. Apparently when high expectations come crashing down, it makes me a little wired.
I may have to wait a while before I take on the task of watching another "classic". Until then,
Keep it real!
Sunday, July 31, 2011
summertime!
I just realized it's July 31st and I haven't written a post yet this month! I think it goes without saying that July has just whizzed by and that is probably because I've been having the most fun I've had in years. I mean, lazy days on the beach plus the discovery of the eliptical and spinning classes plus a new fall wardrobe plus Hugh Jackman equals my definition of an awesome summer. I can't believe I've still got another whole month before school starts. Crazier still, I can't believe how excited I am for school to start. It's like my horizon couldn't get any better.
Of course, the one and only pitfall to having such a full (and have I mentioned awesome?) summer is the fact that I haven't really done any writing. With only one year left of university, the fact that I'm not any closer to publishing a book is a bit of a weight on my shoulders right now. It probably shouldn't bother me that much, but it does. But then I'll somehow find an hour of free time, so I'll sit down at my computer, re-read the prologue of Broken Silence and then suddenly find myself watching yet another episode of Vampire Diaries... bad news all around.
But this weekend is a long weekend so I will absolutely, 100% find a chance sometime in the next two days to write at least one chapter in at least one of my projects. For sure.
...
And also watch Captain America. And maybe Crazy, Stupid, Love. And pick up my parents from the airport... It's going to be a full weekend...
But I think that's about all I've got to say this July 31st. Well, that and listen to this song (watch it too, 'cause that's half the fun). If it doesn't make your summer feel even awesome-r, then my name isn't Winnie the Pooh. Which it is.
Hope you crazies have some incredible long weekends yourselves :D
Keep it real!
Of course, the one and only pitfall to having such a full (and have I mentioned awesome?) summer is the fact that I haven't really done any writing. With only one year left of university, the fact that I'm not any closer to publishing a book is a bit of a weight on my shoulders right now. It probably shouldn't bother me that much, but it does. But then I'll somehow find an hour of free time, so I'll sit down at my computer, re-read the prologue of Broken Silence and then suddenly find myself watching yet another episode of Vampire Diaries... bad news all around.
But this weekend is a long weekend so I will absolutely, 100% find a chance sometime in the next two days to write at least one chapter in at least one of my projects. For sure.
...
And also watch Captain America. And maybe Crazy, Stupid, Love. And pick up my parents from the airport... It's going to be a full weekend...
But I think that's about all I've got to say this July 31st. Well, that and listen to this song (watch it too, 'cause that's half the fun). If it doesn't make your summer feel even awesome-r, then my name isn't Winnie the Pooh. Which it is.
Hope you crazies have some incredible long weekends yourselves :D
Keep it real!
Monday, June 27, 2011
whaaaat??!
For years now - decades even - I've been convinced I couldn't cook. I've bragged about it, complained about it, even blogged about it!
But today I made a discovery that I may forever refer to as life changing.
I can cook.
All these years I thought it was me. It turns out all I needed was new cookware!!
I'm sure none of you believe me. I mean, you've all heard the horror stories - or worse - tasted them. The last time I tried to make an omlette, it ended up looking like this:
![]()
Not exactly appetizing, I know. It looks a heck of a lot like messed up scrambled eggs.
But yesterday my friend and I were hanging out and she was giving me some healthy tips (since I'm such a health nut now - and getting nuttier by the day) and one of said tips was to eat protein before bed. Not right before bed, 'cause that's just gross - and counterproductive. But protein in your last meal of the day is apparently a good thing. More specifically, egg whites.
And here's something you might not know about me. I love egg white omlettes. Spinach and cheddar egg white omlettes. But I can only ever get those when I go out for breakfast (which is almost never). Because I didn't think I could cook, remember?
Anyway, skip ahead 24 hours to 8pm this evening when I was digging around my kitchen looking for the rumoured non-stick pan my mother keeps someplace hidden. Due to my awesome sleuthing skills, I found the non-stick pan and poured my concoction of egg whites (which you can apparently buy in supermarkets!! who knew??!) and cheddar (my fridge was all out of spinach and I'd already spent my life savings on the egg whites - I'm a student, what do you expect?) into the pan and stared at it.
I stared at it for a good five minutes. Worrying the whole time that it would burst into flames.
It didn't though.
Eventually my weird, slimy mixture started turning white. Another five minutes and it was almost completely solid.
And here comes the best part!!
Once the entire top of my omlette-to-be had solidified, I started carefully poking at the edges, making sure if I were to flip it, it wouldn't fall apart on me (like every other time I've tried to make an omlette). I then placed my flipper (I may be able to cook, but you can't expect me to know the lingo!) under my eggs and turned it over and it stayed together!!
Long story short - take a look at the final product:
![]()
I made that. I made that. I know, it's hard to believe. In fact, many of you may think I'm not telling the truth because of the stark difference between what I ate for dinner tonight and that previous picture of a more pathetic dinner I ate a few months ago. But alas, it's true. I made that glorious looking (and even better tasting) omlette.
Larissa Benfey can cook.
Dude, now I'm beyond convinced that literally anything is possible.
Keep it real!!
But today I made a discovery that I may forever refer to as life changing.
I can cook.
All these years I thought it was me. It turns out all I needed was new cookware!!
I'm sure none of you believe me. I mean, you've all heard the horror stories - or worse - tasted them. The last time I tried to make an omlette, it ended up looking like this:
Not exactly appetizing, I know. It looks a heck of a lot like messed up scrambled eggs.
But yesterday my friend and I were hanging out and she was giving me some healthy tips (since I'm such a health nut now - and getting nuttier by the day) and one of said tips was to eat protein before bed. Not right before bed, 'cause that's just gross - and counterproductive. But protein in your last meal of the day is apparently a good thing. More specifically, egg whites.
And here's something you might not know about me. I love egg white omlettes. Spinach and cheddar egg white omlettes. But I can only ever get those when I go out for breakfast (which is almost never). Because I didn't think I could cook, remember?
Anyway, skip ahead 24 hours to 8pm this evening when I was digging around my kitchen looking for the rumoured non-stick pan my mother keeps someplace hidden. Due to my awesome sleuthing skills, I found the non-stick pan and poured my concoction of egg whites (which you can apparently buy in supermarkets!! who knew??!) and cheddar (my fridge was all out of spinach and I'd already spent my life savings on the egg whites - I'm a student, what do you expect?) into the pan and stared at it.
I stared at it for a good five minutes. Worrying the whole time that it would burst into flames.
It didn't though.
Eventually my weird, slimy mixture started turning white. Another five minutes and it was almost completely solid.
And here comes the best part!!
Once the entire top of my omlette-to-be had solidified, I started carefully poking at the edges, making sure if I were to flip it, it wouldn't fall apart on me (like every other time I've tried to make an omlette). I then placed my flipper (I may be able to cook, but you can't expect me to know the lingo!) under my eggs and turned it over and it stayed together!!
Long story short - take a look at the final product:
I made that. I made that. I know, it's hard to believe. In fact, many of you may think I'm not telling the truth because of the stark difference between what I ate for dinner tonight and that previous picture of a more pathetic dinner I ate a few months ago. But alas, it's true. I made that glorious looking (and even better tasting) omlette.
Larissa Benfey can cook.
Dude, now I'm beyond convinced that literally anything is possible.
Keep it real!!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Write write!! Right?
There's nothing like a writing workshop to get you inspired to pick up that pen and paper (or in my case, computer) again. Don't get me wrong - I've been feeling mighty inspired lately anyway; in fact I find myself almost desperate for the chance to just sit down at my computer and write in longer than four minute increments... But today I went to a writing workshop that made me more than inspired. I think I'm actually feeling pretty optimistic.
The workshop was called "How to Write a Bestseller" and I learned a lot of really valuable information, met a best selling author and signed up for a creative writing class that'll take place in the fall - but none of those things were what really stuck with me.
What I really loved about today was something that happened during a writing exercise. We were given some pretty vague instructions on what our final product needed to accomplish and then were told to just start writing. So I looked around the room, trying to figure out what to write about. I kept thinking, it has to be something gripping, something people will want to read. Murder, mayhem, love... But I kept defaulting to ideas I'm already working on. And I couldn't do that. I knew I needed to make up something new. And suddenly a first line popped into my head. It had nothing to do with vampires, crimelords or valiant heroines... it had to do with a pen. A guy clicking a pen, to be precise. As soon as the first line appeared on the page, it's like everything else just spilled out until I found myself staring at almost two pages of writing.
I love writing exercises for this very reason. You think you've got nothing and then suddenly... you've got an entire scene playing out before your eyes that never used to exist.
Later on, we were asked to read our short scenes aloud to the rest of our table-mates. So I listened to the first lady read her work and it was pretty dern good. I looked down at my sheet and thought, my work is so juvenile next to hers. But it was my turn to read, so I did. And as I read I realized how different my 'voice' was than the lady next to me. Not better or worse - just different. And I think different just might work for me.
I keep reading all these books and try to emulate the way other writers write, but I think it's time to just accept my own style and move on. So I'm not the greatest writer of description - who cares? For some reason I seem to do the whole 'inside the character's head' thing to an extreme degree and focus almost completely on only the present circumstances said character is facing... and maybe nothing's wrong with that.
Of course, publication would really cement these wacky theories of mine - the whole 'my style is my style so just deal with it, world' theory, that is. But what can you do?
Oh yeah. Write. That's what I could do. People aren't too keen on publishing blank pages... so maybe I should hop to it, now that I'm done my random update/rant post.
I'd say 'keep it real!', but I'm actually going to end my post with that scene I wrote today. I'm kinda nervous about sharing it with a bigger audience than just my table-mates, but if I want to be a published author, I should probably get used to a couple more people seeing my work.
So... here it is. (Oh, and keep in mind, it's just supposed to be a scene, not a story...)
He'd been clicking his pen for seven minutes now. Was is pathetic that I knew that? That I was keeping track? Well, what else was I supposed to do? I couldn't concentrate on anything else but that infernal clicking.
He knew this was a library, right? I mean, he didn't look like the type to frequent libraries, but everyone had to know that libraries are meant to be quiet - noise-free.
I glanced up at him again from my spot two tables away. His head was buried in a book; blond, shaggy hair falling into his face. You'd think he was sleeping if it wasn't for the small movement his thumb was making every two and a half seconds. Click... click.. click.
Okay, I was seriously going to have a mental breakdown if this continued any longer.
I pushed against my table to slide my chair back, but the legs of it must have caught on something because before I knew it, I was losing my balance and toppling to the floor -- making a hell of a lot more noise than his stupid clicking pen.
My cheeks were already burning as I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Of course everyone's eyes were on me. The librarian at the front desk seemed to look as though she couldn't figure out whether to shush me or come see if I needed help. I'd much prefer the shush. I didn't want to endure further humiliation by suffering through any "are you okay"s.
"Graceful," a voice suddenly scoffed from behind me and I felt hands being slid under my armpits. I was being hoisted to my feet before I had a chance to even wrench my neck around to see my unwanted rescuer.
"Thanks, but I didn't need--" I said, turning to face -- Pen Clicker?! He was picking up the fallen chair now so I could only see the sandy mop on top of his head, but it was definitely him - one quick glance at his now unoccupied table confirmed it. I hadn't thought my cheeks could get any hotter, but they suddenly went nuclear.
He straightened back up as he set my chair in its place. His pale green eyes were taking in my expression as a smile spread across his face.
I cleared my throat.
"--I didn't need help up."
"Right. Because you did such a good job getting out of your seat the first time," he said, smirking.
I opened my mouth, but snapped it shut again - completely at a loss for how to respond.
"I'm sorry," he said, still smiling, though lowering his gaze, making his bangs fall back in front of his face. "I guess I should be asking if you're okay."
...yeah. That's all I wrote.
And now I'm going to go. So...
Keep it real!
The workshop was called "How to Write a Bestseller" and I learned a lot of really valuable information, met a best selling author and signed up for a creative writing class that'll take place in the fall - but none of those things were what really stuck with me.
What I really loved about today was something that happened during a writing exercise. We were given some pretty vague instructions on what our final product needed to accomplish and then were told to just start writing. So I looked around the room, trying to figure out what to write about. I kept thinking, it has to be something gripping, something people will want to read. Murder, mayhem, love... But I kept defaulting to ideas I'm already working on. And I couldn't do that. I knew I needed to make up something new. And suddenly a first line popped into my head. It had nothing to do with vampires, crimelords or valiant heroines... it had to do with a pen. A guy clicking a pen, to be precise. As soon as the first line appeared on the page, it's like everything else just spilled out until I found myself staring at almost two pages of writing.
I love writing exercises for this very reason. You think you've got nothing and then suddenly... you've got an entire scene playing out before your eyes that never used to exist.
Later on, we were asked to read our short scenes aloud to the rest of our table-mates. So I listened to the first lady read her work and it was pretty dern good. I looked down at my sheet and thought, my work is so juvenile next to hers. But it was my turn to read, so I did. And as I read I realized how different my 'voice' was than the lady next to me. Not better or worse - just different. And I think different just might work for me.
I keep reading all these books and try to emulate the way other writers write, but I think it's time to just accept my own style and move on. So I'm not the greatest writer of description - who cares? For some reason I seem to do the whole 'inside the character's head' thing to an extreme degree and focus almost completely on only the present circumstances said character is facing... and maybe nothing's wrong with that.
Of course, publication would really cement these wacky theories of mine - the whole 'my style is my style so just deal with it, world' theory, that is. But what can you do?
Oh yeah. Write. That's what I could do. People aren't too keen on publishing blank pages... so maybe I should hop to it, now that I'm done my random update/rant post.
I'd say 'keep it real!', but I'm actually going to end my post with that scene I wrote today. I'm kinda nervous about sharing it with a bigger audience than just my table-mates, but if I want to be a published author, I should probably get used to a couple more people seeing my work.
So... here it is. (Oh, and keep in mind, it's just supposed to be a scene, not a story...)
He'd been clicking his pen for seven minutes now. Was is pathetic that I knew that? That I was keeping track? Well, what else was I supposed to do? I couldn't concentrate on anything else but that infernal clicking.
He knew this was a library, right? I mean, he didn't look like the type to frequent libraries, but everyone had to know that libraries are meant to be quiet - noise-free.
I glanced up at him again from my spot two tables away. His head was buried in a book; blond, shaggy hair falling into his face. You'd think he was sleeping if it wasn't for the small movement his thumb was making every two and a half seconds. Click... click.. click.
Okay, I was seriously going to have a mental breakdown if this continued any longer.
I pushed against my table to slide my chair back, but the legs of it must have caught on something because before I knew it, I was losing my balance and toppling to the floor -- making a hell of a lot more noise than his stupid clicking pen.
My cheeks were already burning as I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Of course everyone's eyes were on me. The librarian at the front desk seemed to look as though she couldn't figure out whether to shush me or come see if I needed help. I'd much prefer the shush. I didn't want to endure further humiliation by suffering through any "are you okay"s.
"Graceful," a voice suddenly scoffed from behind me and I felt hands being slid under my armpits. I was being hoisted to my feet before I had a chance to even wrench my neck around to see my unwanted rescuer.
"Thanks, but I didn't need--" I said, turning to face -- Pen Clicker?! He was picking up the fallen chair now so I could only see the sandy mop on top of his head, but it was definitely him - one quick glance at his now unoccupied table confirmed it. I hadn't thought my cheeks could get any hotter, but they suddenly went nuclear.
He straightened back up as he set my chair in its place. His pale green eyes were taking in my expression as a smile spread across his face.
I cleared my throat.
"--I didn't need help up."
"Right. Because you did such a good job getting out of your seat the first time," he said, smirking.
I opened my mouth, but snapped it shut again - completely at a loss for how to respond.
"I'm sorry," he said, still smiling, though lowering his gaze, making his bangs fall back in front of his face. "I guess I should be asking if you're okay."
...yeah. That's all I wrote.
And now I'm going to go. So...
Keep it real!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)