"Light My Fire"

I watched a movie that I absolutely loved, and I wanted to write something based on the idea. The movie that I am using as a "prompt" is Mr. Nobody. I know it sounds obscure, but that it is because the concepts in the movie actually are. From this originality, beauty is born, and I became deeply affected. Though there are several parts that have made an impact on me, I can only choose one to work off of in this blog, so I chose this particular quote:

"Urgh, you're still here? Did I fall asleep? Sometimes I don't sleep so I think... I think about how it was... and all I have left. What do you see when you look at me? A grumpy old man who never answers questions? Who mixes everything up? Who's kept busy by getting his meals? That's not me. Me... I wear shorts. I'm nine years old. I can run faster than the train. I can't feel my aching back anymore. I'm fifteen. I'm fifteen and I'm in love. "


I loved this after I heard it. I couldn't believe how beautiful this idea was. I know it may seem common to some, but I had never viewed it like that. After I heard this quote, I began thinking. Who am I? This is a universal question that I personally believe will never be answered. However, as I step into adolescence, I am discovering to a small extent of who I truly am. I am not the one who my parents had originally confided in, trusting that I will see it only their way and know that they are right in all things. I am not the sister who remains pure and forgets all past transgressions of my siblings. I am not the geeky girl at school who has to be before everyone else, or defined as the absolute "smartest in her class." I am not the friend who subsides to the will of others, hoping that they won't turn on me in the end. No.
 I am five years old, watching Little Bear and drinking coffee with my mom, admiring her for her beauty and strength. I am not seventeen and tainted with the perception of others...she is my mother, and in her do I place the deepest of trust. I am the five year old who constantly wants to hug her hero, the one who to this day has never let her down.
 I am seven and just learning how to truly evaluate the actions of others rather than succumbing to the social norms. I am learning the cruelest lesson of life, we all fall down sometimes. 
I am ten and am learning to simply express myself and not worry about what I am "supposed to be doing." I laugh freely, I write all the time, and I find the beauty in every person I cross because I wish they would do the same for me. 
I am twelve and am learning what going through puberty means, vulnerable yet excited to really live. I am looking at my sister and am in awe of her profundity, aghast at how people could think her anything less than magnificent. I am taking the first step away from my mother and am teaching myself the lessons of the world through movies. I am thirteen and am in a place I don't understand, but revel in the mystery. I express myself through words and music, stuck in an elated state of Hans Zimmer and my flute. I am willing to trust anything and anyone, so long as there is a smile in their eyes.
 I am fourteen and am crying over the loss of the two best friends I have had practically all my life. I learned the great lesson of closing off, preserving the very most inner workings of my heart. I am vowing over and over again that I will never open up to anyone again until I know that I can trust them, until I am sure that they will love me no matter what.
 I am sixteen and am terrified of doctors and weight complications. I am seeing the effects that old age may have and am desperate to become close to my family before I lose any of them to the will of God. God. I am sixteen and am struggling with how to define my faith in a world where no one seems to have an answer. I am sixteen, and I am in love. My dearest friend has revealed to me an irrevocable and infinite possibility to see  the good in everything I do. From her I have learned that hope is a necessity. I am learning that all the songs and stories are true to the extent of what we know it. The world has seemed to stop, and I have created my own with the one I choose. I am opening up, and though it is the most frightening thing I have been challenged to do, I am a new Sadina, a better one.
I am seventeen and am frightened about college, frightened about what it means to have a serious relationship, frightened of the relationship I am losing with my family, frightened about maturing and the obligations that come with it. I am seventeen and am excited for what is to come, excited about what I am capable of, and excited to show my family and loved ones how much their support and company has affected me. I no longer have to be the best. I just have to be me, and I know that's enough for everyone, especially me. 
I am Sadina the Wryter. Filled with an adventurous spirit, an ability to love with all of my heart, incredible passion, and a mind ready to open up to what the world has to offer, I am determined to understand that which I do not, and for the first time in my life, I truly believe in myself. I am Sadina Brott. I am who I am, and the perceptions of others will not alter that. 


Thanks for reading, and remember to keep writing! 

"A Little Push"

I have reached an impasse as I like to say. A serious conflict has been established in my book and I have no idea how to resolve it without betraying the history that my novella is written to correctly portray. Luckily, I have come up with a solution. I looked back on the "Twenty-One Tweaks to Write a Better Tale" from The Complete Handbook to Novel Writing and have resolved to use some of these tips to help expand my novella. However, I will not disclose how I will due this due to my attempt to preserve the originality that my writing may hold. Therefore, I will simply list the tips and hope that my readers can use them to their advantage. Call it a little push if you will.

1. Could it use a new beginning?
2. Does the ending point toward a deeper story?
3. Is there a dominant visual image?
4. Is the right person telling the story?
5. Is there enough interior monologue...or too much?
6. Are there too many minor characters...or too few?
7. Are there enough scenes, too many, or the wrong ones?
8. Why are you telling me this?
9. Do you appeal to a reader's senses?
10. Do you appeal to a sense of place?
11. Do your characters have sufficient motivation?
12. Could you make the time frame more interesting?
13. Could you add texture to your story with echoes, allusions, and metaphors?
14. What if your narrator was unreliable?
15. Do you give readers enough trivia information and "deep thoughts"?
16. Will lyrics, letters, or lists add interest?
17. What about coincidence or irony?
18. Does the story have enough contrast?
19. How lively is your dialogue?
20. Can you up the ante? (not quite sure what this one means)
21. When all else fails, why not try a "side car" approach?

I have already applied a few of these to my story when I went through and revised what I had, but I also am excited to try a few more. These tips work during your writing process as well, not just during the revision process. Best of luck to you, and don't forget, keep writing! 

"Paradox"

Due to Naming of the World's numerous exercises, I was tempted to do yet another one. Therefore, this exercise starts with a sentence and I keep running with it, akin to Levine's exercise I did earlier in my blog.

I did tell one person. God help me. She responded with a single touch. All this time, wondering what she would say, how she would evaluate the information, what she would hide from me, for naught. I am left as empty as I came, yet the sensation of her touch remains. Five years ago, I never saw this life for me. Oh, how obvious it was. I am now lost in the memory of her touch. What life is this? How can one survive from this.
She laughs as she removes the boundaries surrounding me. I weep as I end my days as one of the many who have forgotten all but what is. The presence, my future, is the entirety of my life. Integrity fades as realization sets in. I do not yet know if I should have told her. I do not yet know if I desired her touch. Yet here I am, submissive again to the whims of time. My end is her beginning, and in that do I reside. 

"It Is Only Beginning"

This is yet another exercise from Naming the World. I was somewhat hesitant in choosing this one, because I am a big believer in choosing your title after the piece is written. However, I thought that I should step out of my comfort zone and really challenge myself, and I am actually pretty okay with my results. The basic idea is to write six title according to the stipulations that the author listed. Then I was to choose a title and elaborate, stopping right when I was really getting into it.

Potential Titles:
Immensities
Suppression
"What Shall We Die For"
Pleading Night
From Whence Did I Come?
Tell Me to Come Here


For clarity's sake, I chose Pleading Night...here goes!

She winced as the light from Jerry's torch pierced her eyes. "You bloody fool," she spat. "Don't blind me!"
"Sorry, mate. I was merely trying to see if it worked or not."
"Well be careful where you point it then." Lucy tucked her long auburn hair behind her left ear as she continued down the dirt tunnel.
"Every night I wait for you, hoping that you won't be late or that you'll rescue me if something terrible happens."
"Aren't I supposed to be the damsel in distress? Jerry, you're slightly a git; do you realize that? I swear, that's not the way you woo a lady, even if she is as untoward as I."
"I'm sorry, Lucy. I just love our nightly explorations."
"Then dig."
With an indignant silence, Jerry scraped the dirt from the sides encircling him. He constantly marveled at the way the grains fell softly, without sound, as if free and passionate, without thought of where they would reside next.
"Do you ever wish you were a woman, Jerry?"
"Once. Why?"
"I find that women tend to be as observant as you, and as thoughtless."
"That's an awful judgment to say about your own sex."
"I come out here sometimes at night and wish for our lives to be different. That I were a man and you were a woman. Imagine our lives and how different they would be, happy even."
"I'm happy now."
"Oh don't be thick. No one is happy."
Jerry saw more dirt fall out of the corner of his eye and could swear he heard the night release a small cry.

"Tell Me Now (What You See)"

There was another writing practice in Writing Magic that I was intrigued by, so I thought I would give it a go. Gail Carson Levine gave a sentence and I had to keep writing. Therefore, the first sentence is hers and the rest is mine. Bear with me here, it was done in ten minutes and in a very noisy classroom, but admittedly, I'm still okay with it.

I have one green eye and one brown eye. The green eye sees truth, but the brown eye. The green eye sees truth, but the brown eye sees much, much more. It sees life. Reality. The exact opposite of truth. I've always been this way. My truth is perception, but their truth, observed with my green eye, is a different kind of reality. In our world, my brown-eyed world, lies and chaos rule. For those who don't know, this is a different time we live in. The music, the movies, the violence, the news, everything, it's all meant to add to the deception. Under the haze, the green eye understands that the intentions of the world are nonexistent. We are clouded by fear. Our reality has ruined us.

-July 2026

Is destruction a green-eyed or brown-eyed perception? I saw a man fall today, his heart completely obliterated from the impact of the bullet, only I saw with both of my eyes. Could this mean our worlds are colliding? Is truth becoming a reality for my brown-eyed world? Is perception no longer a reality? Or worse is their reality becoming my truth? Will I ever be able to tell?

-August 2026

That's all I have today. Thanks for reading, and remember, keep writing!!!! 

"Three Musketeers"

There was a writing exercise in Naming the World, yet another instructional book for writing, that I simply had to try so here it is. It will make sense as you read it. 

My Firsts:

1. My first kiss
2. My first fight with her
3. My first Ralph Fiennes movie
4. My first secret from my parents
5. My first concert - Rascal Flatts

My Lasts:

1. The last time I said "I can't"
2. The last date I went on before Sam
3. The last time I confided in Katie
4. The last poem I wrote
5. The last time Sam and I told our parents anything

**This creative activity is freely adapted. I had to choose a first or last and write about it...but I chose to add a little creativity to the mix. Therefore, not all the information is true.**

This was the first secret I had ever kept from my parents. As the "three musketeers," we had kept a very open relationship where honesty was a must. This, however, was something I could not share. What I was doing was improper for ladies of society. My companion promised she would not tell either. We betrayed my parents together, our passion for what we were doing too great to let the opportunity be taken from us.

We were reading.

Learning was restricted, for women were expected to fuss only about their petticoats and the happiness of their husbands to be. My friend and I had much more in mind though. We would not settle for the dull and expected life they set before us. Indeed we wanted to expand our knowledge, read about important issues, and expose ourselves to what we referred to as the real world.

It was worth it. What we read inspired us to be more, and now here we are, standing among the ancient ruins of Rome, the seemingly endless forests of Africa, the beautiful pyramids of Egypt. Yet that world was only on the page. My friend and I took so many adventures, forgetting completely that we were only admiring a mere photograph. I have traveled the world, met the great poets of the sixteenth century, and have married my own version of Prince Charming. Although, at the end of the day we report back to my parents, we have truly lived. This secret I shall cherish forever. 

"I've Got My Eye On You"

I have another writing exercise for you! In Gail Carson Levine's book on how to write, there was a passage when she listed ideas for writing. I chose one idea and just went with it, writing what I could before the person noticed what I was doing. The idea was that I should study a stranger and write how I perceive him. This is supposed to be a practice that would assist me in developing my skills of characterization. Anyway, there was a boy who is my friend's little brother, so of course I had to study him. I have always wondered who he was, and when I saw his last name, I knew I had to study this stranger. 

He looks just like his brother, same delicate eyes, same crooked nose, same hesitant smile. Quiet. Unsure. Only he was the one who had to try harder. He wasn't what his brother was. His solitude was born from a beauty of the unsatisfied. Too big, too unspoken,too unique. In a society today that strives for individuality, it condemns those who achieve it. He lumbers toward me, polite and with purpose. "Excuse me," a husky voice implies. He reaches past me, sharpens his pencil, the point still dull when he is finished.

I've studied his academic past in his classes and I've graded his papers, each problem done to perfection. Yet not one ounce of real enthusiasm ever crosses his face. There's something more to him that I must discover.

**At this point he had noticed me staring at him and writing, so I had to stop before he asked me to explain...how can one explain that without sounding potentially creepy? 

That's all I have for today, but I will keep this updated with my new writing exercises! Always remember, keep writing! 

"The Way of the Sword"

Welcome to my new section of the blog where I share all of my warm ups. As you read please keep in mind that these are WARM UPS....not meant to be written with great talent or care. They are only to get my creative juices flowing, as my instructor likes to say, and help stir ideas. The post I am writing tonight was inspired by a Lead O' Lists I had made a while back. I liked the first sentence, so I took it and built from it. Excuse the short passages, for though they are limited in length, they helped me write the beginning of my novella. The second passage is strictly from my mind. I wanted to write just so I could write. 

9-12

I inhaled the passionate and seductive essence of death as I drew my sword for the last time.

"Too long have I fought for you Ari. This is goodbye." 

The blade descended, gleaming under the crimson sun. As the tip impaled my foe, penetrating his gold embroidered tunic, a warm liquid caressed his body. A single breath, drawn too quickly as blood frothed in his throat. The weight of the weakening corpse caused further impalement as his knees gave a sickening crack upon their meeting with the hardened ground. 

"Goodbye brother. We will meet again." 

A final movement, to sever the head from his body, and my Adrien was no more. 

9-13

I could see his reflection in the glistening blood beneath him. Thick, resisting ripples dance in a laughing rhythm as the wind cried in despair for the fall of my warrior. As his hair whipped his lifeless face, the spike tipped in favor of the breeze. This was all I had left, the head of my love. I am a knight; he was a lord.The steel coloring to his icy-blue eyes left when his nose did, pecked away by the savage crows. We had played the game and lost. I no longer feel. I no longer live. My love, I give myself to the crows. 

"We Ride, Really!"

It has finally happened; my last book on writing has been read. Of course I will read many more, but for right now the required ones are finished and I can write about the last one. After that, we are on the road of writing!

Because the instructive books were great in length and shared a wide range of tips, I have a limited amount of things to share with you from this book. Nevertheless, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird gave me hope. There were moments when I thought her writing was over the top in humor, even crude in some aspects. However, there were also pages that brought tears to my eyes as she conveyed her trust in every aspiring. Though she does not know me, she spoke to me on a level that no one else has. One thing I can say about these books on writing is that it is beautiful to have someone who is a writer relate to you. We live in a world where we feel alone most of the time, but these books reach out and tell you to keep writing no matter what because your words will break through someone's heart. Lammott touched me, and even though the book was tedious to get through, I feel that I will be a stronger writer because of her blind faith in a stranger such as myself.

Alright, now to the tips I have promised. After this post, I am only revealing the writing practices that I have done myself, so enjoy these tips while you can because you may just lose interest in the posts that follow.
Please excuse the random order. As I said, there is a lot more to the book than I will summarize, but they are probably in previous posts or I already knew them.

• Almost all good efforts begin with terrible first efforts. 
• Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism. It is also the voice of the oppressor. **I took this to heart because I am a known perfectionist. It's time to start trusting myself and understanding that the key to my success is knowing when to stop and hand it to an editor. 
• Read all of your dialogue, or just writing in general, out loud over and over. Just keep practicing this. Then, eventually, you'll edit people as you hear them. Listen, observe, store, and make it into a sentence. Capture life. You're a writer, so write. 
• Trust yourself to hear what your characters are saying, not the other way around....I am guilty of not doing this, so I read this page a few times. 
• Understand your characters and story. The example she used was to understand like Anthony Hopkins understood Hannibal Lector. If he hadn't, then what would Silence of the Lambs be like? 
•  Block out all of the little thoughts. Anything that doesn't have to with writing, chuck. Grab those squeaking mice by the tails and stuff them into little jars, planning to let them out later.
• Believe that you are worth it. When people write, they are broken with the most acute amount of the vulnerability. Bask in this; revel in it. Let the innocence of writing surround you, and learn to love your words. If you're a writer, words are what you are. Accept the beauty in this, and write. 
• This was just a quote that I loved very much, even laughed out loud while class was in session. "One writer I know tells me that he sits down every morning and says to himself nicely, 'It's not like you don't have a choice, because you do - you can either type or kill yourself.'" 

It is done! The tips have been listed, the writing process has commenced, and I have turned in my first five pages to my instructor. Don't worry though, the journey of my writing will continue in later posts. For now, thanks for reading, and remember to keep writing!