Character Driven Stories

HappyThrowback Thursday.

Nicole Luttrell's avatarPaper Beats World

There are a thousand different kinds of stories, one for every star in the sky.  There’s fantasy, horror, science fiction, historical and all sorts of things that I haven’t the time to list and you haven’t the time to read.  But no matter the style, language, or theme, all stories fall into two broader categories; plot driven stories and character driven stories.  Given a choice between the two, I’ll always go for character over plot.

It can be hard to distinguish between the two at first.  Basically, though, a plot driven story is about something massive happening, like a plague or a riot, or an alian invasion.  This is a story that can be told from the pov of any number of people.  Like a riot, for example.  You can see that from the eyes of a riot officer, a pedestrian, an independent journalist who’s recording the action on her…

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Unsteady

The noise was too much, as they moved inside, so intense. The sensation of movement, of heat was foreign after so many years. There were two of them, the beings, moving about in the heart of me. As they moved, they made sounds. There was a part of me that knew, from a lifetime away, the sounds. But the knowledge of their meaning was lost.

“Damn it, Chris, come get all your weight junk!”

“I’ve got my weights in the basement already, Babe!”

“I know, I mean all these bottles of powder! Oh damn, Chris I just spilled this shit all over the place!”

One of them felt light, steady, and hot. So hot that I worried I would catch fire. The other one felt heavier and yet unsteady.

I waited for them to go. Most things didn’t’ stay. But these two, these tiresomely hot and unsteady things, did.

Ashley felt the cramping in her abdomen first, early in the day. She tried to brush it off. It was probably just a pulled muscle from moving boxes.

Then, late in the afternoon, she felt the wetness. She went into the bathroom of their new house.

Her underwear was stained with blood, as were the inside of her jeans. The blood had soaked through, clearly visible on the outside.

They were ruined, and had Chris noticed? No, of course he hadn’t, being self obsesses as usual.

Ashley threw her ruined cloths in the trash, and got into the shower.

Chris was in the kitchen putting dishes away when she went downstairs, still towel drying her hair. He was wearing a shirt from that shitty gym he belonged to. She remembered, when they’d first met, how his amateur UFC fighting had amused her. His rock hard body hadn’t hurt. Now, after a year of married life, it was just a huge pain in her ass. The weights in the basement, the protein powder all over her kitchen. The nights he spent at the gym, not to mention the membership costs. She’d hoped with the bigger house it wouldn’t bother her so much anymore. Maybe she could even stand when his idiot friends came over.

He smiled at her, like everything was fine, and it just made her want to scream. “Hey, Babe. You okay?” he asked.

She went to the nearest box, and grabbed a pair of scissors to slice the lid open. When she didn’t respond to him, he said, “Babe?”

She slammed the scissors down. “No, I’m not okay, okay? Don’t you ever pay attention?”

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, “What’s wrong?”

“My period started!” she screamed. She picked up the scissors, and threw them at him. He ducked, just barely avoiding them. “Maybe if you didn’t spend all your time at the gym, we’d have a baby like everyone else! But no. You’ve got to go lift weights, and put all of that shit into your body. No wonder you can’t get me pregnant.”

“Ash, I’m sorry,” Chris said again, holding his hands up. “Look, we’ve got that appointment with the fertility doctor in a few days, right? We’ll figure something out.”

She couldn’t stand looking at him, couldn’t stand being in the same room with him. She stormed out.

Chris was gone the next day before Ashley got up. He was probably avoiding her, she thought, after last night.

She got dressed, and set to work unpacking boxes.

As the day went on, she found that she was having trouble forgetting the look on Chris’s face when she’d thrown those scissors at him. He’d looked so scared. She told herself not to dwell on it. He was the big fighter wannabe, after all. Where did he get off, being scared of a little woman?

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Finally, she decided to go to the store for something special for dinner.

Six in the evening came. Dinner was sizzling in the oven, a giant rack of ribs with a peach cobbler. Ashley was dressed nicely, her hair and make up done. She set the table, and waited.

Six thirty rolled around, and Chris still wasn’t home. She waited. What could be keeping him? Was he angry about the night before? How dare he be mad! She’d been the one with the right to be mad, but she’d still worked all day to unpack the house by herself. Now, he was staying out late, probably with his gym buddies, worrying her on purpose!

It was after eight when he finally came home. She’d already changed into her pajamas, and put the left overs from dinner in the fridge.

“Hey, Babe,” Chris said. He came into the kitchen where she was setting up her coffee for the morning, and put his arms around her waist.

She pulled away from him, and gave him a shove for good measure. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!” she cried. “You’re hours late, you wasted all my hard work on dinner and you’re gonna ask me what’s wrong? Where the hell have you been?”

“I was at the gym!” Chris cried. “I told you yesterday I was going to go.”

Had he? She couldn’t remember him saying anything about it. “You’re such a fucking liar!” she screamed.

“No, I’m sure I told you,” Chris said. He laughed, but he sounded nervous. “Babe you probably just forgot. Maybe we should get one of those fridge calendars.”

“So now you’re calling me stupid?” she cried. “I worked all day unpacking, then I make you a nice dinner, and this is what I get for it?”

She slapped him across the face, hard enough that it stung her palm. When he took a step away from her, she hit him again.

Suddenly the house started to shake. A pile of dishes stacked on the counter fell, crashing on the ground.

Ashley screamed. Chris pulled her into the door frame, and held her against his chest until the shaking stopped.

When he let her go, she looked around the room in fear. Would the shaking come again?

“Since when do we have earthquakes in Pennsylvania?” Chris cried.

The sounds were too much. Always now, it was so loud. How could I help but shake? When I did, the hot one got colder, and the unsteady one felt more solid. But it

The unsteady one would leave sometimes, and that was some relief. But the hot one never left. I was sure I would burn from the inside out.

Finally, they were gone at the same time. I thought I would finally have peace again.

But the unsteady one came back. Even worse, now there was another one.

“Man, I haven’t seen you in the gym in weeks. Don’t play and tell me you got that bruise practicing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pauley. You said you wanted to look at the weight set.”

“Yeah. You sure you want to get rid of it? It’s a sweet set up, and you’ve got so much more room than at the old place.”

“We’re getting ready to have a baby. I’m picking up more hours at work, and I don’t have time for all this shit anymore, you know? It’s time for me to man up, and start taking care of my family.”

The unsteady one shook inside. I shook too.

“What was that?”

“I dunno. It’s been doing that every few days, though. Maybe there’s a train track nearby.”

“That doesn’t feel like a train.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t go downstairs right now.”

Ashley pulled up to the house, surprised to see another car parked there. Judging by the junker aura it gave off, and the shitty gym sticker on the back, she guessed it must be one of Chris’s UFC buddies.

She couldn’t handle that, not with the news the doctor had just given her. She was baron, would never be able to have children. The last thing she wanted was to play hostess to some meat headed freak. She took a deep breath, and went inside.

Chris and his friend were sitting in the living room. Ashley almost cried. The guy was sitting on her brand new couch, wearing greasy cut offs!

Both men stood when she came in. “Hey, Babe,” Chris said, “How did the doctor appointment go?”

How could he think it was a good idea to bring that up in front of his dirty friend? “Can we talk about it later?” she asked, doing her best not to scream.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” the other man said. He gave Chris a one armed hug, and left.

As the junker pulled out of the driveway, Chris said, “What’s happened at the doctors? Did he say why we haven’t been able to have kids?”

“Yeah,” Ashley said, going into the kitchen. “He said everything looks fine with me. I kept telling you it was you who couldn’t have kids. Now do you understand why I asked you to stop with all this fighting shit?”

She looked at the stove, and gasped. There was a pot of red sauce boiling. Large drops were flying out, staining the stove and counter tops.

“What the hell is this?” she cried.

“I wanted to make dinner for you,” Chris said. “You’ve been so tired, with the move and all.”

“So now my cooking isn’t good enough,” Ashley said. “Or are you just punishing me for not being home to make dinner for you and your loser friends?”

“Ashley, I was just trying to do something nice for you,” Chris said.

“No, you’re just trying to fuck my kitchen up! Well, lesson learned. I sure won’t be home late again!”

She grabbed the pan from the stove, and threw it at him. The pan missed him, but the hot sauce spilled over his legs and feet. He yelled in pain, reaching for a towel to get the sauce off of himself.

The house was shaking again. “And what is this?” Ashley screamed. “What the fuck, Chris? Exactly how much research did you do into this fucking house before you invested all of our money into it?”

“I think I need to go to the hospital!” Chris cried, looking at his legs. There were blisters where the sauce had hit him.

“Oh, man up for once,” Ashley said.

So much heat! So much shaking! I couldn’t stand these beings anymore. I was sure that they would rip me apart if they stayed inside of me.

The next day, Ashley was home, still trying to make some semblance of order among the boxes, when the phone rang. She dodged boxes and bags to answer. “Hello?”

“Ashley,” Chris’s mother said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, thanks,” Ashley said. Of course Chris would have told his mother that she’d gone to the doctor. “Chris isn’t home yet, I can have him give you a call back.”

“Oh, actually, I called to talk to you,” she said. “I came by this morning before you were up, to take Chris to the hospital. That was one hell of a nasty burn on his leg.”

“He didn’t tell me he wanted to go to the hospital for that,” Ashley said.

Chris’s mother was quiet for a minute. “How did that burn happen, Ashley?”

“Oh, he was making sauce, and dropped the pot off the stove,” she said. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“It was, and I don’t think that he dropped that pot himself,” Chris’s mom replied. Her voice sounded like ice. “I think you lost your temper, and you threw it at him.”

“Why would you think that?” Ashley asked. Had Chris really gone crying to his mommy?

“I think it because I’m not an idiot,” the older woman replied. “I think you’ve been losing your temper with my son a lot. And I think that you had better stop it. Chris is patient, and he gets that from his father, not me. Do you understand?”

Ashley hit the release button, and threw the phone against the wall. How dare he involve that old bitch in their business?

So much heat!

It was raining when Ashley heard Chris pull into the driveway. It was almost exactly six.

He came into the living room, where she was sitting in the dark. “How’s your leg?” she asked.

“It hurts still,” Chris said. “I had my mom come take me to the hospital this morning.” He pulled up his pant leg to show her the bandage.

“Really, your mom?” Ashley asked. “Have a nice talk with her?”

He gave her a strange look. “It was alright,” he said finally.

“Because, she seemed to think there was something wrong,” Ashley said, getting to her feet. The baseball bat was still in her hand. “She seems to think I’m not treating you right.”

“Ash, let’s be fair for a minute,” Chris said, pointing a finger at her. “I had to go to the hospital because you lost your temper and threw a pot at me. I didn’t say anything to Mom, but maybe I should have. This has got to stop. I don’t know, maybe we need to see a counselor or something.”

Ashley laughed. “What’s a counselor going to do? I don’t need someone else to tell me what a worthless piece of shit you are.”

She was close enough to him, she took a swing. She hit him on the arm, and he winced and pulled away. She swung again. “You don’t do anything around this house, you bring your buddies into our clean home without warning me, then you go crying to your mommy when I stand up for myself!”

With every accusation, she hit him again, and again. Finally, the bat landed on his head. It split his forehead open, and blood spilled over his face. He turned, and ran for the front door.

The house was shaking again, but Ashley barely noticed. She stood in the center of the living room, listening to Chris run for the front door, and out into the rain.

So much heat!

The floor under Ashley’s feet started to split, as books and figurines fell on the floor. She looked down, scared now. She tried to run, but it was far, far too late. The floor split open, and she fell into the basement. Landing on the cold cement floor, her head snapped back. She felt it split, and was still conscious when the warm blood soaked into her shoulders.

The heat, the unsteadiness, is gone. There is some warmth in the heart of me, but it will be gone soon, too. Finally, there is steadiness and coolness again. Finally, there is peace.

When to share yourself, and when to wear a mask

I think you all know that I don’t hide a lot of who I am. I’m pretty upfront about my opinions of politics, religion, science, stamp collectors and whether a story should be plotted. (It should.) I’ve also been open about my struggles with depression and adult ADD, and how it is to be an introvert in a world that rewards extrovert tendencies. I talk a lot, maybe more than I should, about my abusive ex and my horrific mother.

I’m very careful about what I chose to share about my personal life, and what I don’t. Don’t ever think it’s just about me deciding to rant about a certain topic, or being too embarrassed by some dark thing in my past. I don’t do this at random.

How and what you share with people as part of your personal persona as a writer and blogger is exceptionally personal. I can’t tell you what you should share. I can tell you what I chose to share, what I chose to keep to myself, and why.

What I share

I always try to share when I’m struggling with my writing. I do this because I never want to be that person. The one that others think is perfect, and no one could live up to. I don’t think there’s that much of a danger of this, but I don’t want to risk it. This week, for instance, I’ve had trouble finding the time to write, and haven’t gotten more than a few pages done. It’s not a good writing week. But maybe you’re having not a good writing week, too. Let’s try to get better together.

I also love to share my success stories. Look, I’m probably not a better writer than you. I know for a fact that there are people who read this blog who are way better writers than me. I know this because I read their blogs too.

While I get angry about a lot of things, I do my best to share with you all when something has legitimately angered me, not just frustrated me for a day. Even in that category, I try to keep it to things that might impact you, too.

My mental issues are a struggle for me, but it’s not one that I want to hide as though I’m ashamed. If I had a physical illness, I wouldn’t be quiet about it. I know that a lot of people suffer from mental illness, and a lot of times we keep quiet. We shouldn’t. I am not ashamed of who I am, the good and the bad.

I share funny things that my kids and darling husband say and do, because I love them and love to talk about them. My kids are my first love, and I am honored with the responsibility of raising them. I could never have written four books and self published two without the never ending support of my husband.

I am, above all, honest about who I am. I don’t post on social media about coffee to be a stereotype. Coffee preparation is my favorite hobby. I really do love cats, too many actors for me to add here, Youtube, blogs, comic books and everything else I talk about. I want people to read my writing, but I would also like it if people knew who I am. It would help if I was honest about who I am.

What I don’t share

I don’t share personal information about my kids. I’ll mention the names of adult members of my family, with their permission, but not often. I actually wrote a whole post here explaining why I don’t share information about my kids online, so I won’t go on very long here. Suffice to say that I want my children to be their own people, and make their own mark on this world.

I don’t share where my day job is. It’s not because I’m ashamed. I actually love my day job, and am proud to work for the company I do. It’s a good company that treats its customers and employees with respect. But a lot of what I say here in PBW is controversial, and I don’t want anyone to think that I speak for my company. Also, there are a lot of legal repercussions to sharing where you work online, especially when you’re trying to have a professional online persona in a creative field. Better just to avoid it.

I don’t share my anger when something trivial and personal has gotten under my skin. You can point to the time I dedicated an entire post to demeaning Taylor Swift because she is not a feminist as she claims to be, but that’s not personal. I don’t want little girls to look to her as an example. But if I’m fighting with the husband, or some jack ass almost hit me when I was crossing the street, you probably don’t need to know that.

I don’t share anything when I am depressed. Honestly, most of it comes out bitchy and self indulgent. When I’m in one of those moods I resent everyone and everything, and I will say something I don’t mean.

If you are like me, and you’re trying to make a name for yourself as a writer, you could find worse ways to spend a few hours than considering what you do and do not want to share of yourself with people outside of your home. Knowing where your personal line is will hopefully keep you from over sharing, and give you the freedom to share with the world what you really want to.

Cut These Things Out of Your Day

I’m sure you’ve all heard the jar analogy when talking about time management. If you have, feel free to skip the next paragraph.

If you haven’t here’s a brief overview of the story. You have a jar, a pile of large stones, a pile of small stones, sand and water. If you pour the water in first, of course, there’s no room for anything else. Same goes for the sand or the small stones. But, if you put the large rocks in first, then the small rocks, then the sand and finally the water, it all fits in. This analogy is pretty easy to break down. The big rocks are the most important things in your life, the little rocks are the second most important. The sand and water are the little things that fill our day up. For me, here’s how that breaks down.

Big Rocks- My family and my health, both physical and mental.

Little Rocks- My writing and my day job.

Sand- Horrible chores like housekeeping and errands.

Water- All my lovely little time wasters like social media, hand crafts, watching makeup tutorials and reading Buzzfeed.

When I first heard this analogy, I actually thought it was bullshit. No matter how I prioritize things, there are still 24 hours in a day. But I also knew that, every single day, there was more on my to do list than could ever get done. And I knew that, as much as I wanted to be a famous writer, I wanted to experience my monster’s childhoods more, not to mention still have a partner in my darling husband when they fly away. So, I decided that even if I lost all of my water and most of my sand, I had to get my big and little rocks into my jar.

As it turns out, though, when I started living by this basic principle, I really am fitting just about everything in. And man did I feel stupid, but it turns out that I can scroll Buzzfeed just as well when I’m tired, but writing my blog posts should probably be done when I’m fresh, even if I still think I’m too tired.

Some things did fall by the wayside, though. Or, at very least, they were dramatically reduced. If you’re struggling to fit writing into your day, here are some things that might not fit into your jar at all.

Social obligations that I don’t actually want to fulfill.

I have a lot of people in my life that I like a lot. They do things sometimes, and they invite me. I used to say yes to everything, thinking I would offend someone if I didn’t. Now, if I don’t have the time, or I just genuinely don’t want to go, I don’t. Major things I’ll sometimes make myself go to, because I’m learning the difference between ‘I don’t want to’, and ‘I might actually like this but my social anxiety is preventing me from saying yes’. But in general, it’s been a relief to not only be able to say, “I can’t,” and be surrounded by people who genuinely understand.

Chores no one but me cares about

My house needs cleaned. Stuff needs to have a home, dishes need to be done and laundry as well. But I think if we’re all honest with ourselves, some things do not need done as often as we do them. I’ve often found myself doing things because I thought it had been long enough since I’d done them, not because they actually needed done. My sheets are clean, and I don’t have any allergies. Unless we’ve been sick, they don’t need cleaned. My jeans don’t need cleaned after every use, which saves on laundry and water.

Basically, if I don’t think it actually needs done, it probably doesn’t.

Time management games

Now, this was a personal demon for me. Some people can play all these games like Candy Crush, Farmville and Tapped Out with no problem. They can play a little, and not have their whole day sucked into them. If you are that sort of person, you play those games my friend. I am the sort of person who can have a glass of wine and not finish the bottle, so I understand how you feel, and will not be the alcoholic telling everyone else to not drink at the party.

For me, though, it was an addiction. I played them way too much, as they are designed to make you do. I lose more time to them than I should. Thankfully, I never got into the habit of losing money to them.

Social media

This is not a demon for me, but I know it is for many people. In fact, no longer feeling obligated to read every single tweet in my feed was liberating. These days I take care of my own social media via Buffer, and hop on sometimes in the evening if I’m done reading Buzzfeed. (Usually I just cyber stalk Liev Schriber.)

Now look, I don’t want to demonize social media. If you find value in it, that’s great. But make it a reward. The Pomodoro Method is well adept to this. Say you’ve got some writing to do. Well, set a timer, write for 25 minutes, then spend five minutes scrolling twitter. Or if you’ve cleaned the whole damn kitchen, maybe you’ve earned some Facebook time.

I’ll even go a step further. If your separated from someone you love by distance, then social media might just be one of your big rocks. I have had many a night where a friend and I talked on Facebook. That’s great, and you should do it. I actually hate it when people downgrade chatting and texting as inferior ways to communicate with people. Why is that better or worse than calling someone? I think it’s just because it’s different, and there will always be people who distrust things that are different.

Feeling Guilty

I have this really bad habit. If I have a lazy day, or if I just get sidetracked by life, I get down on myself. I feel guilty. That guilt makes me feel bad, and since I don’t like feeling bad, I avoid the thing that makes me feel bad. Then, my stuff still didn’t get done, so I feel even worse.

The worst thing I do, is when I miss a day of writing, I tell myself I’ll make the pages up the next day. So, instead of expecting three pages from myself, I want to write six. Even if I get four or five pages done, I’m still not reaching my goal. Then, even though I did better in a day than I usually do, all the happiness from that is sucked right out of me.

If you skipped the housework, or didn’t get your pages done, don’t get down on yourself. Especially if you skipped a small stone for a big stone.

Clarkesworld Magazine

This one’s a pretty standard science fiction market. A good one if you’ve got a solid science fiction story you’re looking for a home for.

Genre- Science Fiction and Fantasy

Word count- Not listed

Payout-10¢ per word for the first 5000 words, 8¢ for each word over 5000

Wait time- At least two weeks

Here is your list to the full submission guidelines.  Of course, it’s always important to read the the the guidlines in a market. But make sure that you do in this case, because they have a pretty extensive list of things they don’t want, including zombies and talking cats or swords. So check it out.

How many drafts do you need?

It’s Throwback Thursday!

Nicole Luttrell's avatarPaper Beats World

This is a burning question, and I’ve seen people do it wrong both ways. Lots of people will write one draft, say ‘wow, this sucks,’ and toss it right out. Others will never get done with that first book, because they must make it perfect before they move on to any other project. Brothers and sisters, hear me; these are mistakes!

I shoot for four drafts, and a final polish. Each draft has a specific job, though. Here’s how you break it down.

Draft one-

My first draft is all about playing. I write whatever I want, pages of um, love scenes that never make it into the book. I write my outline, deviate from it, think of something better, and write that instead. I make up characters, throw them away, forget their names, rename them, decide love triangles, make up brand new plot lines, and sub plots, give characters…

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My Home Town

I want to talk today about my home town, Butler Pennsylvania.

Full disclosure, it’s not where I was born. I was born on a military base in Groton Connecticut. But I digress.

My great grandmother moved to America from Hungary with her parents when she was little. For some unknown reason, they decided to settle in Butler. They built a house, that my great grandmother lived in until the day she died. She raised my grandmother and my two great uncles there. My grandma ran away and raised four of her six kids in Connecticut. Then, she and my mother moved back here, grandma to raise the youngest two of my uncles, and my mom to have me.

Both of them have since moved back to Connecticut, leaving me here alone. I have no blood family in this town.

Butler isn’t known for much. We’re the birthplace of the Jeep, that’s about it. We’re an old coal mining town, and we used to be a steel town. We’re not in the Bible belt, but you wouldn’t know it from looking. My town is mostly Republican, and those Republican’s voted for Trump in the primaries. (We few Democrats voted for Bernie, though, so that’s a plus.)

Can I also add that we don’t have a Starbucks, Whole Foods, Ikea or Ihop. Trying to find fresh produce isn’t a thing that happens, and I can’t find a decent place to buy Indian spices anywhere outside of the Strip District.

So, if I wasn’t born here, I don’t like the politics here, and I’m frustrated by the shopping and food choices I have, why do I stay?

Because I have roots here.

I walk through my memories every day. This is only something that you’ll understand if you also live in your hometown. I was married in the middle of Diamond Park, where I played as a child and now take my monsters to play. Walking down Main Street I pass my first job, the bar I had my first legal drink in, the restaruant my mom used to run, the crappy apartment we lived in above the burger place. There’s the coffee place I used to go to with my friends in high school. There’s the coffee shop where I sat and scribbled a prayer over the first draft of Broken Patterns. My kids will go to the same high school I went to. I can see the hospital where my monsters were born from my back porch. Here is where my great grandmother is buried. Here is where I’ve had all but two of my birthdays.

Being from this town, I have a great appreciation for miners, and steel workers. They built this country, and were casually disregarded when no longer needed, left to choke to death on Black Lung and poverty.

I’ve seen Pittsburgh, our closest city and my favorite place on Earth, become a home for technology and medicine. We are also apparently becoming Hollywood South. (We were Gotham!)

Our dialect is unique, stranger than even our other Appellation towns. Gumbands, Sou’side, all that. Yinz know what I’m talking about.

People know me here, and for the most part they like me. They knew my mom, grandma and great grandma, too. Which means that some times I’m called ‘Becky’s daughter’, or ‘Mary’s granddaughter’. My husband’s the same way, and now that we’ve been married awhile sometimes I’m getting ‘Denise’s daughter in law’.

There’s something great about that, though. I don’t have a lot of family, and I don’t talk to most of what I have. For much of my life I’ve felt sort of like a tree with very shallow roots, as though I could be blown over at any moment. When someone recognizes me from my family, I’m reminded that I wear my heritage on my face, and that my roots are deeper than I realize.

I draw inspiration from this town, and a lot of that is fed into my writing. When my main character in Woven says she thinks her city is the most beautiful in the world, that’s me talking about Pittsburgh. When another character weeps for the old mining town he grew up in drying up, that’s me talking about Butler.

I walk with my memories, with my roots under my feet every day. I don’t think I would be the person I am if I had grown up anywhere else. And even if I someday leave it, it will always be with me. This will always be my home.

Rocking Self Care

As promised, I want to talk about self care today. It’s something I’ve touched on pretty often, but I’ve never really written about straight out. It’s also something that I think we all struggle with.

This isn’t an issue that’s exclusive to writers. It’s not exclusive to parents, though I think parents are slightly more likely to fall victim to it. It’s not exclusive to people who suffer from depression like me, though I think it’s more damaging to us.

It’s just that, once we’re adults, we stop thinking that we need taken care of. We stop having someone to take care of us, and we’ve started taking care of other people. We need, though to take care of ourselves.

Your physical health

It seems silly that we, as grownups, should have to be reminded to look after our health. But it happens. Especially those of us in our 20’s and 30’s. We really think we’re freaking unkillable. Until something happens.

Like when my husband was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. You decide to get healthy really fast after that.

  • Make doctors appointments for yourself, and keep them. See your PCP, your dentist, your eye doctor, your lady parts doctor if such things apply to you. I am so bad at this! I hate taking the time off work, or out of my writing time. But I’m getting better. It helps that I can finally get health insurance.
  • If you’re a woman, preform self breast exams. Every month, not just in October when everyone’s reminding you to.
  • Watch your diet. Make sure you’re making yourself a decent dinner, at least five times a week. There are a ton of recopies and tips on making easy weekday meals, so I won’t bore you with it. That’s what Pintrest is for. In fact, if you follow me on Pintrest, I pin them all the time.
  • Go to bed! Again, I try to shoot for at least five times a week actually getting seven to eight hours of sleep.
  • Get some exercise, outdoors if possible. I have the best way to do this, I don’t have a car. The walk to my day job is about 20 minutes, so that’s at least 40 minutes, 5 days a week that I walk.
  • If a doctor has prescribed you medication, make sure you’re taking it. Talk to your doctor about what vitamins you should be taking, too.

Mental Health

If you don’t fail at adulting like me, physical health might not be something you struggle with. But mental health is something I find a lot of people take for granted. And this, really, usually comes down to doing more than you should for more people than you should be doing things for in the first place. Here is what I consider bare minimum for mental care.

  • Meditate. I try to clear my mind for ten minutes in the morning and evening, then do a longer Chakra meditation three times a week. I say try, because it doesn’t always happen, but most days I can get at least ten minutes in.

  • Learn the difference between an indulgence and a self defeating habit. Generally, this comes down to portion sizes and timing. As an example, I like to have a glass of wine after work. I don’t do it every night, and if we’ve got a tight budget I won’t do it at all. That’s a healthy indulgence. I also like to go shopping for frivolous things I don’t need. I am a compulsive shopper, and the less control I feel over my life, the more likely I am to buy something I don’t need. I also have a hard time saying no to my kids. That is a self destructive habit, and I need to stop it.

  • Watch your inner monologue. This is one that I struggle with when I get depressed. I feel lazy and worthless. I hate everything I’m writing and I hate my day job. I also am sure that no one in my family really likes me that much. And no, just telling myself over and over that I’m smart and loved doesn’t waive a magic wand over my brain and fix the legitimate chemical imbalance that makes me feel shitty. But not constantly telling myself that I’m a useless waste of flesh doesn’t help any.

  • Have some hobbies. Now, this one is big when you’re a writer, because writing is no longer your hobby. There’s pressure there to succeed, and produce. Hobbies should be low pressure. For instance, I like making fancy coffees. I can use a french press, and make espresso. I also discovered the wonderful world of makeup recently, and that’s been fun. It’s low pressure, and I really like the results, whether it’s a good cup of Mexican coffee or a great smokey eye.

  • I did a whole post about this once before -Insert link to Yes and No-, so I’ll not rehash it a lot here, but learn when to say no. I like to look at it this way; if the thought of doing something makes me want to cry, I should say no. I actually think it’s kind of crazy that there was a time in my life that I had to be told this!

Know when to get help

Help comes in different forms. Sometimes it’s no longer doing something that you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Sometimes it’s seeing a therapist. Sometimes it’s just asking for a hand.

  • First and foremost, take a long look at your list of to dos. If you have kids, I bet there are some things on that list that shouldn’t be there. For instance, I used to make myself responsible for getting my kids up and ready for school. I even considered it my responsibility to make sure they had clean clothes. At some point I realized how terrible that was. My monsters are responsible for cleaning their rooms, and I have a bin in the hallway for all of their dirty clothes. I was the clothes, sort the clothes, and they’re responsible for folding and putting their own clothes away. If I’m doing my part of that, and they’re not, why was I rewarding them for that?

  • I’m a big fan of dividing the work. My darling husband takes care of all of the homeschooling details, so I do some housework. Like laundry, because I really don’t mind laundry. I also keep the living room and bathroom tidy, since I’m the ones wrecking those rooms anyway. These things are things that don’t make me cry. Dishes are another matter. I don’t do dishes. Nor do I cook, or clean the kitchen. Those are things my darling husband does. These are things that don’t make him cry.

  • If you’re not in the position to share chores with a spouse, consider what you can do to either swap chores you really hate with a friend, and when to hire it out.

  • Finally, if you’re feeling down, stressed, or just worried a lot, it might be time to talk to a therapist. Since I don’t know anyone who isn’t either down, stressed or worried a lot, you should probably make an appointment with a therapist. Think of it as seeing an eye doctor if you don’t have glasses. You’re probably just fine, but it’s a good idea to check in every now and again.

My four Lists

I think you knew this was going to come down to lists. But I depend on these lists, and they might help you, too.

The first of the three is what I call my gold standard list. It’s the things I try to fit into every day for self care. And I actually think that my gold standard list will look pretty similar to yours. A good night’s sleep, a breakfast heavy on good fats. Reading time, meditation time, family time. A good walk. If I can get all of these things into my day, I feel good.

It doesn’t always happen, though. Some nights I can’t sleep, some mornings I don’t have avocados. Some evenings are full of chores and I can’t get any time with my book. On those days, I have a bare minimum list. It is a list of things I must do, or I’ll feel like hell.

  1. A granola bar with coffee before work if I don’t have time for a more substantial breakfast.

  2. A through face wash, followed by some primer and eyeliner, if I don’t have time for a full face.

  3. A ten minute meditation in the mid afternoon, when I transition from day job to home.

  4. At least half an hour watching a tv show with my kids.

Now, here’s the magic of that second list. I have faith in it, like Dumbo with his feather. I believe that if I can do those four things I’ll be okay.

Finally, the most important list is the list of things I know trigger depression episodes. I can’t always avoid them. Sometimes I can be very good, and do everything I’m supposed to do and I still just get smacked in the face by it. But I also know that certain things mess with me. If I sleep in, if I fight with the husband and we don’t make up for over a day. If I don’t drink enough water, leave work early, or eat too much junk food. All of these will trigger guilt, which triggers depression. If I’m in a crowded place, in public for too long, or just knocked out of my routine for more than a day, I’m running the risk of an anxiety attack. This is all very specific to me, but I advise you to make your own list.

Basically, I want you to consider this your personal permission form to take care of yourself. It’s not selfish, it’s not weak. It’s what you need to do to make sure you’re physically and mentally healthy enough to take care of your family, and your writing. If I could boil this whole post down to one suggestion, it would be this. Treat yourself the way you’d treat someone you really love, because you should be someone that your really love.

Prose

I love any re-occurring contests, as you all well know. Anything that allows you multiple chances to enter, especially when they give you a fun new theme. This one can be prose or poetry, whichever you prefer.

It’s hard to give a lot of details since they change every week. I intend to give it a shot most weeks, though. If nothing else, it’s good exercise.

Here’s a link to the full submission guidelines.

Best of luck

Editing Dialog

Happy Throwback Thursday.

Nicole Luttrell's avatarPaper Beats World

I think it’s important to know your strengths and your weaknesses in life. Doubly so when you ‘re a writer, (read small business owner.) For instance, my weakness, which has been pointed out many times, is fight scenes. Probably because I don’t like to read them.

What I really am good with, though, is dialog. Talking, which shouldn’t be a surprise to anybody. No one runs a blog who doesn’t like to hear themselves talk. But I really love writing dialog, and I think that’s why I’m good at it. But, like everything else with writing, the first draft is shitty, and the second draft is only a little bit better. It’s really my third draft that makes my dialog sing. Here’s how I edit dialog.

Read it out loud.

I read my whole second draft out loud. Every single page. When something makes my mouth trip, I highlight it…

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