Angela and I

My characters are very real to me. 


If you ask anyone who really, really knows me well they've heard all about them. I know what they look like, what music they listen to, little personality quirks; I'm safe with them-- comfortable. And the more I write about them the more I get to know them, and the more they grow. 


I'm not as comfortable with the real world... Oh, the woes of an introvert. 


It may not seem like it, but when I'm around anyone who's not in my close inner circle, my 'pack,'  I retreat inside, hiding in my little shell like a turtle. Especially people my own age. Teenagers terrified me, even though I am one, and to an extent I still feel clumsy and awkward around my youth group, but something's been changing here lately. 


...I'm starting to be comfortable around kids my age.


Gasp! I never thought I could do that! I'm Daundra the loner, little kids and old people love me  (and I love them too), I suck at the whole friendship thing, and I do not trust people, because when you trust people they smile and act like they would do anything for you, then they stab you in the back and spread lies about you. 


At least that's what I used to think.


But I felt a change in Angela today, that seemed to change me too. She looked at Ornan, my newest, Scottish creation (who I absolutely adore!) and she saw him differently. She had a lot of preconceived judgements about him so she wrote him off, but today she saw that he wasn't who she thought. She opened herself up to the idea that she was wrong (a huge thing for Angela) and as I wrote through her eyes, my prose adapted and the atmosphere changed. Call it an epiphany, a revelation, whatever you want; it was something special. Something that had such a profound effect on Angela that it effected me too.   


Today, I was around kids my age and I felt like some of Angela's confidence rubbed off on me. I talked to people and acted weird, goofed up, but the whole time I didn't freak out about it. I interacted and I felt part of the pack. hehe <- Pun. 


I opened up, and exposed a part of my crazy self to my little piece of the world and my little piece of the world didn't kick me out. They still accepted me when I tried to be witty, and did strange things, when I used my real voice instead of my 'little girl' voice that I use when I'm nervous or intimidated. I felt more at ease in my own skin. I didn't feel like I had to be someone else. 


I can't wait to see what Angela will help show me tomorrow.






28,800 words 181 pages

The First Block

As of today Sable is 22,300 words and 140 pages long and I hit my first writer's block at around page 125. 


I knew it would come-- it always does, but never has it happened to me after such a surge of exciting plot twists and character-driven action. The momentum built and built and I braced myself for the ride ahead expecting the sheer force of the words flowing from my fingers to easily carry me through the rest of the week. 


No sooner did I break the sound barrier then I fizzled out. I was losing speed fast and nothing I typed could give me the extra boost I needed to get me through my daily twenty pages. I tried to save myself; clawing at flowery words, tweaking my prose, and throwing characters into places they were never meant to go, making them say things they would never say. Which only turned them against me, dragging me down with pit-bull determination and vice-grip hands. I was plugging out the words ready to bang my head against the keyboard!


So I stopped writing. 


I backed away from my laptop and took a deep breath trying to evaluate the broken pieces and flimsy characterization. The editor in me tried to rear her ugly head, stabbing a boney finger at the screen barking at me to fix the typos, rewrite the scenes, and scrap all of the excess words that bulked up the story adding too much extra weight. 


I was ready to give up, call book two the end of it, and banish Sable into the dark, musty dungeon in my hard drive to suffer, never to see the light of day again. (My poor novel. I'm so harsh.) Instead of making any sudden decisions, in my foggy mental state, I went back to bed for an hour and a half to cool off.


After my alarm squawked me back into consciousness, I came back, told myself I wouldn't revise anything and took an honest look at my scenes, then I saw the problem... well at least the root of it.


I came off a real, fast-paced, adrenaline-pumped scene then the next one broke away from trying to stand its own ground. My sub-theme disconnected from the main theme, the backbone of the whole story. Oops. The whole time I tried to make the story flow smoothly from a detached appendage, losing sight of the root of the whole book. 


I can laugh now. It was so obvious, but my pride didn't want to let those 2,000 words go. I put the purpose (writing a 80,000 word YA fantasy novel) before the principle (writing to the best of my abilities, as I tell my characters' stories.) 


So I did get my 20 pages today, and it was hard overcoming the dreaded writer's block-- which I'm still trying to scramble over, darn it-- but I know it will get better. :)


At least until I hit the next one...

Killed Some Characters Today...

One of them had it coming, naughty little wolf-- broke pack law and got caught by the top dogs. He really was a filthy little mutt, completly heartless and not even a trace of remorse.


The other character was one of my favorites and it ripped the heart out of a lot of my MC's. Poor things they're so lost now. I can't wait to write their stories as they grieve, lash out, cope, make mistakes, and grow. It's going to be rock bottom for a lot of them. It will be hard to write, I think, especially Angela-- there's no telling what kind of stunt that little spitfire's going to pull now. 


I have a feeling she's going to throw me some curve balls pretty soon, hopefully they won't clip me in the jaw. She's got a mean arm on her and my parents paid all that money for my teeth... ;) 


Sable day three: 80 pages, 13,000 words.

Sable: Day Two

42 pages, 6,500 words so far. 


My characters are so happy, but not for long-- it happens tomorrow; I'll ruin it all tomorrow. I'm going to give them everything they ever wanted, then rip it out from under their feet just when it couldn't possibly get any sweeter. It will ruin their lives, and literally drive them into madness... but I know how it all ends... 


Man, I love being a writer.

Sable's First Words

Twenty pages, three-thousand words-- done. 


It feels good to be working on another book again. I think I'm adjusting to the tone of this novel well so far, but I dread the coming scenes... it's going to be a dark time for my main characters. I'm going to be so cruel and harsh to them that I almost feel guilty-- almost.


But I know how it at ends and I know the light that will eliminate the darkness by the time I type THE END on the last book in The Silvermoon Series, and I know my characters wouldn't be able to step into that light with as much appreciation and gratitude without the coming darkness to show them just how sweet their happily ever after will be. 


My family know what I plan on doing, and they don't think I should. 


They like how happy my characters are and they don't want anything to ruin that, but it's all I can do to keep from telling them why, telling them what the light is at the end of the tunnel, because it is so great, I'm just itching to write it.  Hopefully when it's all said and done they too will see why and I hope the end will be more satisfying because of it.


Only time will tell...

The Book, the Wall, and the Writer

I've been trying to plot my third book for days now, following rabbit trails until I hit a brick wall. I knew the one was just on the other side, I had to get over there, I have to be writing again-- but I couldn't until I found it.

It was the plot that would knock my socks off and demand to be written, like a toddler screaming at me until it had it's way, fists slamming into the ground, face red, wailing at the top of its lungs to be typed. Sable. My book.

But here I was, on the other side of the wall while Sable mewled through the brick. I tried everything, but my bridges from scene to scene were so flimsy they snapped in the middle, my fresh new subplots refused to boost me over, crossing arms and cursing at me as they tried to tell me they didn't belong in this book. The frustration found me banging my head on the wall and scraping at the brick with my fingernails, screaming at Sable for being so difficult, threatening it.

Angela and Cole sat back and watched smirks cut across their faces, they new how it all ended, but they wouldn't help me, it was too entertaining watching me kick the wall. My characters were useless to me.

Finally I gave up and slumped against the wall wallowing in my own self-pity. Telling Sable I gave up and it wouldn't ever grace the screen of my laptop. Then I took a deep breath and told myself it wasn't a big deal, I shouldn't get so obsessed.

Angela and Cole walked over to me with a twinkle in their canine eyes and slid a pen and paper in my hands. They stepped back and watched.

Hesitation had me staring, frozen, at the blank page, I knew where my characters were going and where they started, but after days of failing to get through the wall to Sable left me feeling cautious. It was only a matter of time before this came back to bite me in the butt.

Slowly I picked up the pen and the ground started to rumble. One scene, then two, they kept coming, flowing so well together I laughed at myself for making it so hard before.

Scene by scene the bricks fell away, the wall defeated and broken. Angela and Cole nodded their heads in approval as I sat in the rubble stretching and warming up for another trek across my computer screen.

The dust settled and I saw a few bits of wall still standing, like tombstones, leering at me. I gasped and ran to them, but Angela stopped me and shook her head.

All along I was searching for perfection instead of letting go, letting the story flow, but when I looked at the snot-nosed, red-eyed, toddler of a novel waiting for me, I realized this wasn't the time to perfect anything. Sable was still a baby, not even into its first chapter, it won't be perfect yet, it won't ever be perfect and I was ashamed at myself for setting such high standards for my poor little novel. Yes, my book was a mess, but by the time I send off my final draft it will be older, more mature, ready for hungry eyes to devour.

I wiped Sable's nose and held its hand as I walked forward, my pen in hand listening to Angela and my other characters give suggestions for where they were going in this book. They will probably change their minds a million times in the coming weeks, but I'm ready for the winding road of novel writing ahead of me.

Tomorrow starts another adventure with Angela, and Cole in Sable book three in the Silvermoon Series-- I can't wait to start.

Reviewers Wanted

If you think you'll like my book and can offer some unbiased, useful feedback on Moonfire then let me know. I'm looking for a few more reviewers who can critique my plot, characters, and the overall story and concepts-- having a good grasp on grammar would help too-- before I start writing my final draft.

I'm not in a huge hurry, but I need reviewers who will commit to reading over the manuscript (and not take months, ha ha) and answering some questions.

Thanks in advance.

-Daundra

Moonfire

Here is a summary of my first ever novel, which I hope to send out to an agent by the end of the year as soon as I finish the other books in the Silvermoon Series.

Angela Moonfire is at war.

Descending from a long line of werewolf bounty hunters known as the Luparii, the bar is set and she must follow in the footsteps of her ancestors taking her place among the legends and heroes, and despite her critical, secretive father, she knows she is well on her way.

It was a routine wolf hunt complete with a ruthless murder and Angela's strong will set on bringing the monster to justice. Until the worst happens... the very wolf she was sent to eradicate abducts her.

The vengeful wolf takes her to its den, nestled in the remote woods of Hale, Wisconsin, and throws her at the foot of its Alpha to punish her for an unknown crime, but just when death snakes its cold hands around her throat the Alpha spares her.

As everything she believed is torn away from her, Angela's relationship with her enemies grow, along with an unconventional attraction to Cole Silvermane, a young Alpha from a mysterious family, with a legacy that make the Luparii tremble.

Amidst pack rivalries, generation old feuds, her father's evil plot, and a budding romance with her mortal enemy, Angela Moonfire has to get out of Hale, where everyone wants her dead and the only ones standing in their way are the wolves who should hate her the most.

Once Upon a Silver Moon

I have a book on my bookshelf.

If you picked it up and started thumbing through the pages I would get sick to my stomach and snatch it away from you before you could read a word.

When it was empty, I found it stowed with the unwanteds in a thrift store once, and it changed my life. It's red, and has stained my clothes and hands several times from toting it everywhere, hunching over the pages and scrawling in thousands of words. The binding is duct-taped and it's a horrible ugly thing to look at, but I love it. I poured my heart into it for at least a year, I laughed over it, screamed at it, and the tears of not just me, but my sisters and mother wrinkle the pages from crying in it. It was the book that holds the words of the first story I ever wrote that latched on to me and wouldn't let go; not even now.

It started as a dream that refused to be ignored so I wrote it down in that red book, then it kept going and going, pouring out of my mind so fast my pen couldn't keep up. I was writing! I knew that I belonged there, I wasn't looking for my future, but God brought it to me all at once and I couldn't say no.

It was a simple story. I saw a girl and a guy who should have hated each other in each other's arms waiting out a storm, prepared to face the danger together, and his family standing behind, her, their enemy when they could have ran and saved themselves.

Then I realized something was different about this couple-- Angela Moonfire and Cole Silvermane, he was a wolf and she was a Luparii, born and raised to kill the monsters.

I didn't want to write it (sometimes I still don't.) Normal people don't write stories about Luparii and werewolves...

You ask me in person what my book is about and I'll squirm and dance around the subject. What would you think of me? I really am a coward, always have been. It took me years to sing the songs I wrote, I didn't show anyone my drawings of dragons, gryphons, and strange, and sometimes just plain ugly creatures that I created. It took me nearly a year to share my red book with my mom.

I play chicken with my stories, songs, and even my faith, telling myself I'll share them, but pull away at the last minute, retreating to my safe place in my head where I say what's on my mind, fearless and bold. I really like that Daundra.

My relatives used confident, brave, creative to describe me, everyone, and I wondered who they were talking about, I'd give them creative, but confident... no, I most definitely am not, yes I have bleached blonde and black dyed hair, I wear dark eyeliner and bold eye makeup, and my outfits are, I will admit, completely and utterly crazy (but I still love them.) But no matter how confident I look, inside I'm constantly worrying about what other people think of me, if they'll still love me if I write a song about my horse, and write books about werewolves, doodling them in notebooks when nobody is looking.

I heard something on the radio station Air 1 once that struck a chord as the singer (I forget his name) talked about creativity. He said that creative people also have a insecurity that goes along with that creativity, and I understood. An author that has impacted my life by her writing articles, Holly Lisle said something like this: when you write a novel it's like stripping your mind naked and parading it through the streets for the whole world to see. It strips you down to your bare bones and once it's out there you can't hide.

I like to hide, just like I hid the pages of my red book from everyone, especially the ones I loved the most. I don't let people see the real me because they might not like it, they might condemn me and call me names. Moving to Texas has helped that a lot, even though I'm terrified of going back to Arkansas with my strange hair and clothes, I've lost sleep over what our old preacher would think; I really looked up to him.

Now as I'm reflecting on how far the story in that red book has come, now a first draft sitting in my hard drive and in three other's of people who I look up to and respect-- publishing Moonfire will be a huge hurdle for me to clear. I won't be able to hide, and I won't be able to dance around the subject.

It started with an ugly red book, just seven days before I turned sixteen, and now as I prepare my Silvermoon Series based off that dream I had when I was fifteen I realize how far I've come as a writer and as a person and where I still need work.

This post is so hard to write, even with a computer screen distancing the people I know, it's hard to write about what my books are about because it's what I'm about, it's what motivates me to get up at four in the morning to work on for five hours straight, it's what I dream about even when I'm awake, you can disagree if you want but I believe God gave them to me to grow me and teach me about Him. I can't not write them, if I wrote 'normal' stories my heart wouldn't be in them. It's not me.

This is so hard, but I want to be brave for once, last time I took a risk and let my mom open up my red book, she fell in love with my story and our relationship grew, I dyed my hair black and white and my parents still loved me, I spiked my hair down the middle of my head and wore yellow skinny jeans in church and they didn't throw me out. So here I am.

Hello world, my name is Daundra Park and I like to write novels about ruthless Luparii with silver swords and misunderstood werewolves-- there I wrote it-- now let's see how brave I'll be when I'm face to face with the people I look up to...

We'll see.