maychorian: (Remy loves spices)
Just started writing the last chapter of Coming Down Book 4. It's going great. There might be an epilogue, as well. It will probably close out the Coming Down story--if I write more in the 'verse, it will be something completely new, possibly getting into canon timelines.

Maybe then I'll work on other unfinished fanfics, though, as well as my original writing.

Of course, I'm sick again, probably because of stress. When I got laid off I told myself I would try to write 2000 words a day, use the time to my advantage, but I haven't made that quota yet. Still, I'm writing every day and having a lot of fun. My sneezes are obnoxious, though. They keep startling my pets.
maychorian: (sleepy mice)
Hey, LJ buddies. My extremely personal memoir thing is free on Amazon today only, 8/12/2013. If you're interested, give it a go. I appreciate any reviews or other feedback. But please read the description before you download it so you know what you're getting into.

Any is Severely: A Story of Healing from Childhood Abuse

If you've been reading this blog for awhile, especially if you read "The Lights of Home," you probably know some of what this is about already. But I go into very deep detail in this book. It's not for everyone. I hope, though, that if any of you have been through something similar or know someone who has (or are just curious about an intensely personal look at someone who has struggled with the effects of abuse for many years), that it might be useful or insightful. Thanks for taking a look, in any case.
maychorian: (Castiel serene smile)
I've been writing a lot lately. Mostly original, because I want to re-form my life into the life I want--one where I can live off my writing. But I miss fanfiction, I miss Dean and Sam and Cas. Funny thing about writing is that once you get going, you don't run out--you just find more inside you.

So while I'm editing some original stuff, taking a break from writing that particular project, I'm trying to keep up the writing streak. So here's what's coming out.

It's not ready. At all. I'm thinking I'd actually like to treat it like a Big Bang, finish it, maybe find someone to do a little artwork, make a soundtrack--but yeah. I've missed fanfiction. So here's what just poured out of me, unedited, and maybe it looks like fun.

Coming Down again )
maychorian: (couldn't do it anymore)

I am writing fanfic again. Of the SPN variety.

And it's been so long. And of course it's spurty and hard. And of course I'm having all the usual writerly awfulness of "omg I suck I'm worst writer ever why am I even trying what is WRONG with me and what is wrong with this what is this everloving crap I am putting on this poor paper digital word document omgwtfbbq".

So yeah, that's awesome. I started writing over Christmas break while on family vacation away from the internet and it was supposed to be this short thing posted by the New Year. I especially wanted to have it done before hiatus was over and it's NOT. It's, like, demanding to be epic, and I'm all frowning at it like, "No, stupid story, you are about the boys gathering Cas's grace in a beer bottle, you are not supposed to be epic, so stop trying to be. Your reach exceeds your grasp and it's not all cool and inspirational, it's just sad and pathetic and sad."

Dash it all.
maychorian: (Cas-Jimmy Rain 'verse 17)
Have written first sentence of Coming Down on a Sunny Day Book 3.

John Winchester had four sons, but when people asked, he said he had three.
maychorian: (Jesus Saves)
I said awhile ago that I might talk some more about the writing I've been doing lately, which has not been fic.

I may have mentioned that I have two RPG groups. One meets on Monday nights, and one meets on alternating Thursdays and Saturdays. Yes, my schedule, so confusing. Well, the folks in my Monday night group recently discovered a site called Obsidian Portal and started posting all the campaign stuff there, and then I spread it to my other group, because it's pretty much perfectly optimized for RPG campaigns, much better than other free wiki sites.

Usually we are kind of haphazard about notes and such when it comes to our campaigns. But now, with incentive to keep it more organized so that the new sites look better, we're trying harder to keep things updated and nice-looking. Which is good, I think. Both of my groups tend to cycle through campaigns a lot. Someone will GM for awhile, and then get tired of GMing because GMing is just draining, and then we'll find a stopping point in the campaign and start another one with a different GM. I've played D&D 3.5 and Fourth Edition, Modern d20, Star Wars RPG, Paranoia, Pathfinder, Darwin's World, Hollow Earth, and probably a couple more that currently escape me. And we rarely finish something, just set it aside and plan to come back later.

So keeping all the info in an online site where we can all view it is a good idea.

My Monday group is currently doing a sort of magic realism (with parallel dimensions) Modern d20 campaign called Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas. I've been keeping the adventure log current, which is actually really fun--I just type up a lot of notes on the night of the game, then read over them and post them later. It's nice to have a record of all the stupid things we do and the hilarious in-game conversations we have.

More complicated than that, though, have been my preparations to GM a campaign of my own. This is actually one of the old ones that my non-Monday group set aside like two and a half years ago, and it's set in a fairly well-developed world that me and my Monday group have been creating together for, oh, four years now. This is Wrath & Gunfire: The Barvan Campaign. I've been writing a lot for that, looking at old old notes and rewriting stuff to make it work, and it's a lot of effort but I think it'll be worth it. I'll start GMing that game in a couple of weeks, probably. Still need to put together a "Previouslies" file of everything that happened in the last campaign. It's likely to be a bit sparse, though, since it was two years ago and I didn't take detailed notes. An artist gal in my non-Monday group even made me a gorgeous map for it, which has me all excited. Also, the old campaign was D&D 3.5 and we're switching to Pathfinder now, which is a bit of a change but not a hard one.

So that's what I've been doing. You certainly are not obligated to go read all that, but if you play RPG, it's worth checking out the Obsidian Portal site. You can use just about all of their features with a free account, though I got a paid account (Ascended, they call it), for the sake of having more space and being able to have more campaigns, because I think this is going to be our online archive and I'm gonna need it.

And for you non-RPGers, sorry for making a post that makes no sense to you. ;)


Jul. 13th, 2010 08:49 am
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
I tried that writing analysis thing that's going around and keep getting different results for different stories. But the three that pop up most often are Margaret Atwood, Chuck Palahniuk, and Vladimir Nabokov. I feel like an utter plebe, because I haven't read anything by ANY of those three. (And I read a lot, or at least I used to.) Can my beautiful, smart, highly educated flist tell me something about them and if their writing styles are really similar to mine? Cuz I'm kind of weirded out.
maychorian: (sam dean on phone)
So, I finally finished my big damn tornado fic...

I'm talking, of course, about The Sky Like a Bruise, finally posted after midnight last night. This story has taken me almost a year to write, which is ridiculous. But it's done now and I'm proud of it. So here's some DVD commentary, I guess.

blathering about writing process and Midwest tornado panic, spoilers for the story )
maychorian: (Awesome)
This is less awesome in the contemporary sense and more awesome in the original sense, as in full of awe or awe-inspiring.

Roanoke F4 Tornado Footage

I'm currently working hard on my Sweet Charity fic for [ profile] sparkyjoe. She wanted a story about Dean and Sam facing a tornado from someone who has grown up in the Midwest and understands exactly what it's like to live under the threat of this kind of disaster that can come out of the blue and wreck an entire town.

It's pulling at a lot of deep memories for me. The little town where I live still tests its tornado warning siren every Wednesday at noon during tornado season, and the sound is always so creepy and alarming, even in the middle of a bright, sunny day. I remember one time babysitting a family of little kids. The wind was really high that night, shaking the house, so the kids were scared, and I sat with them up in the loft where they slept and told them stories to keep them calm until their parents came home. Later I learned that there had been a light tornado that night that tore off the tops of some trees a couple streets over from where I was babysitting. I wasn't scared at the time, too busy taking care of the kids, but to hear that later... Well, I know what it's like to feel your heart in your throat.

Another time I was babysitting some toddlers in a trailer park on a nice afternoon in the summer, and the sirens started crying, so I knew it wasn't a test. I stood outside and looked at the sky, just watching, though they said on the news that the tornado was way up north from where I was. All I could think that was if something happened down where I was, at the trailer park, we wouldn't have a basement to hide in, and I had little kids to protect. No damage came from that one, either, but the fear was there, compounded by my need to look after the little ones in my charge. There are other times I can remember herding my siblings down to the basement, dragging a two-liter of orange soda with us, and listening to the radio while they played. And that was only a tornado watch, not even a warning.

The video I linked there is footage compiled from two folks of an F4 tornado that hit my parents' hometown in Roanoke, Illinois in 2004. We have many friends and family there and visit several times a year. Soon after that tornado hit, I visited my grandparents, and my grandma gave me a guided tour of the damage. We drove in a car from where the tornado first touched down all the way to where it lifted. It was frightening and awe-inspiring. The cornfields were already recovering, mostly, but I could see places where the corn wasn't going to grow back, because it was just gone. I saw houses missing roofs, others torn to rubble.

The worst damage that tornado did was to a manufacturing plant. The tornado reached its height there, F4 strength (the highest the scale goes is F5). It hit the plant dead on. The 137 people inside only had a couple minutes of warning. But the owner of the plant had had a previous experience with a tornado and vowed that his employees would always be safe, so he had built secure shelters on the property, almost like concrete bunkers. They practiced tornado drills twice a year and trained workers to keep a watch out. Everyone got to the shelters on time.

The tornado ripped through, tossed every car in the parking lot into the cornfields, and reduced every building to tumbled concrete and twisted steel. When the rescuers arrived, they were sure that they would find bodies and many injuries. But the workers emerged from their shelters, whole and unharmed. No one was killed or seriously injured by this tornado, and that can only be attributed to Midwestern hardiness and preparation, as well as the grace of God. Roanoke was without power for three days, and everyone was only thankful that it lifted before it hit the town itself.

It's a long video--thirty-eight minutes--and you might not have time for it. But I find it completely riveting. My grandparents know the folks who took the footage and told me stories about them while we watched it, but I can't remember them now. Listen, though, for the little kid who keeps declaring "That's the biggest tornado I ever seen!" as if he had seen many tornadoes before, lol. Also, the guy who keeps saying, "This is insane, I should not be doing this, I should turn around," while he completely fails to follow his own advice. I believe the two folks taking videos crossed paths toward the end of it, too.

And the church you see toward the middle of the footage? That's my grandparents' church, the one I visit several times a year. That's the one my parents grew up in, where they met and fell in love and were married. Seeing a tornado behind that grand building, whipping the sky into a frenzy and filling the air with debris, is a chilling sight indeed.
maychorian: (big bang '10)
This is probably a bad idea.

Post a sentence (or two or a paragraph) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached.

1) John halted one step outside the motel door, and the keys fell from his hand and splashed down on the wet concrete.

The boy stood straight and pale, directly across from John in the aisle between the Impala and the car next to it. His arms hung at his sides and his face was blank and white where it wasn't bruised and bloodied. John stood there numbly, watching the rain bounce off him and sluice down his flesh.

"John Winchester," the boy said again, solemn and ringing. He spoke like someone who was used to being heard, a voice of command completely at odds with his pitiful, waif-like appearance. "Will you speak to me now?"

This time John was ready. He pulled his gun, pointed it, held it steady, and took one step forward.

2) Every Midwest town had a tornado warning siren, and most of them were tested at a certain time every week--Wednesday at noon, say, or Friday at five o'clock. When that mournful, two-tone wail began to rise Dean and Sam couldn't help but look up from whatever they were doing, interviewing a witness or eating at a diner or digging through musty books and worn newsleaf at a library. That high, mournful cry dug right down to the bone, sending a shudder through each, a crackle of old memories rising to the surface.

This siren wasn't rising on an hour of a half-hour. This siren was crying on a dusky evening at 8:17 PM, and Sam and Dean were in the middle of a hunt. Even as they ran up the stairs of the abandoned house, amped-up taser and fire axe in hand, they glanced up and tilted their heads to listen to the wail.

3) "Dean Dean Dean," John chanted softly, inching his hand closer to his son at a snail's pace, trying to get within reaching distance without the boy noticing. "Here, Deano Deano Deano. It's gonna be okay, I promise."

Dean flattened his now-tiny ears against his head and pressed even further back, squeezing Sammy between himself and the bottom of the counter. Then he hissed at his father.

"Dean!" John snapped, startled into reacting the way he would at any other time his eldest dared to give him a snotty attitude.

Bad move. Dean reared back and swiped his claws across John's hand, leaving a series of deep red grooves. John never would have thought that a kitten's claws could possibly wound him that deeply. It fucking hurt.

4) He knew that to outsiders his life would look shitty and small, living out of trunks and sketchy motel rooms, not much he could call his own beyond the clothes on his back and the brother at his side. People who had houses and cable and paintings on the wall, to them he would be an object of pity or ridicule, if they knew the particulars of his life. Missing out on so much. No safety cushion, nothing to fall back on. Just barely scraping by.

Dean knew abstractly that they didn't have much, but it didn't matter to him. He had enough. He had a purpose and a mission, a gun and a knife, a brother and a father. He liked free ice and Magic Fingers and the smooth rumbling roar of the Impala and pizza delivery on special occasions. It was enough. He had never looked beyond that. There were more important things: the next hunt, Sammy, surviving November every time it came back around like a wolf howling at the door.

Damn that girl, anyway, for making him feel like he was less, that his life wasn't enough, that he wasn't enough. That he was pathetic and neglected. With her big eyes and her questions, all "Don't you miss your dad?", and her utter lack of enthusiasm about what Dean found good in life. Maybe it was sort of his fault--he never should have hooked up with her to begin with, should have known better than to get in thick with a nice girl like that. Skanks and hos, those were the girls for Dean Winchester. He would never make that mistake again.

(There's also a Rain snippet with only two words in the doc ::facepalm::, and a secret thingy I'm not telling you about.)
maychorian: (NaNoWriMo)
It's Big Bang season! So many fandoms are having them, and so many of my flisties are going for it, which is very awesome. I decide to dust this off as a belated Valentine's Day gift for you guys. ♥

In 2006, I graduated from college with a degree in Professional Writing. In the same year, I made this "mix CD" for some of the writer friends I had met in that college, who I loved dearly (and still do). It's amazing to think that even that recently, downloading large files over the internet was mostly impractical, at least as far as I knew. Did broadband even exist then? But yeah. I burned these to CDs, and made my own artwork, and printed out "liner sheets" with the lyrics.


Track List:
My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors by Moxy Fruvous
The Engine Driver by The Decemberists
I'll Be a Writer by Soltero
Paperback Writer by The Beatles
Seize the Day by Carolyn Arends
Open Book by CAKE
Novel-Writing (Live from Wessex) by Monty Python
Song for Myla Goldberg by The Decemberists
Shadow Stabbing by CAKE
Breathe (2 AM) by Anna Nalick
There She Goes, My Beautiful World by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
See the Flames Begin to Crawl by Five Iron Frenzy
That's How the Story Ends by Five Iron Frenzy
Escape (The Pina Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes

Included in the liner sheets was this little story. I've added a few parenthetical phrases and a PS to make it more applicable for my current readership.

A Musical, Writerly Journey

This album is a gift to some of my very favorite writers ever. However, note that the songs on this album are very eclectic. Therefore, you may not like one or two or ten. That's okay. While you're deciding whether you like them, enjoy the story they tell about the writer's journey.

First of all, I figure that pretty much every writer starts out by liking books. Having a spouse who shares that inclination would just compound the problem, of course. "My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors," you may have noted to yourself. But that was okay, because you did too.

So there you were just living your life, as a cafe worker or librarian or student or perhaps even an Engine Driver, when you had an epiphany. "I'll Be a Writer," you declared one day. "It can't be that hard."

But deciding to be a writer was not enough. Then you had to decide what kind of writer you would be, a poet or a columnist or a critic or one of those people who write illogical letters to the editor (or comments on the internet). "I want to be a Paperback Writer," you declared further.

That was it, then. It was time to Seize the Day. Your life would be an Open Book, prepared for the perusal of strangers. You were ready to share all of your insights and wisdom, humor and love. It would be eloquent, moving, and entertaining, an instant best-seller.

And you began to write. It might have been more exciting with a commentator on some sports-like show, perhaps called Novel-Writing (Live from Wessex) or something like that. But no matter. You pressed on. Already you were thinking about an interesting, attention-grabbing title for you book. Song for Myla Goldberg, maybe. Or perhaps something a bit more ambiguous and poetic, like Shadow Stabbing. You had lists of ideas, but hadn't hit on the perfect title yet. It would come, you were sure. Well, pretty sure.

And now you were down in the real nitty-gritty of your novel. It was beginning to come a bit harder. You realized that you were sharing some rather personal things, and didn't know if you could write anymore. Either that or you realized that you were writing utter crud, and weren't sure what do about it. You kept trying, though, until one day you found yourself awake at 2 AM in the morning, clutching a pencil in one fist (or pounding on your keyboard with that fist), the other pressed to your burning temple as you blinked your gritty bloodshot eyes and struggled to Breathe.

It was that most dreaded of maladies: writer's block. It hit you hard. You could not get around it. "There She Goes, My Beautiful World!" you cried in despair. (Writer's block stinks a lot. It also inspires melodramatic cries of anguish.)

For days upon days, you fought your writer's block. You wrote pages of drivel, crumpled them, then smoothed them out to see if you had been wrong, then decided that they were definitely drivel and crumpled them again. At last you had piles of them, enough for a bonfire. So you set one, just to See the Flames Begin to Crawl. It was very satisfying, in a morbid way. So you decided that That's How the Story Ends. Rather easy decision, it was, in the end.

And now you just really, really needed to Escape. So you wrote your last creative effort, a personal ad sent to the newspaper, and you found someone who liked pina coladas as much as you did. Good for you! That's really the best final destination for your journey that you could have reached.

After all, this writing stuff, with its sweat and blood and many, many tears, is for chumps of the first degree.

The End

PS: Or you could always come to the dark side and write fanfic. IT'S SO MUCH FUN YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

Download from mediafire 100 MB, 54 minutes

Single tracks uploaded on request.
maychorian: (i will consider)
[Poll #1514354]
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
I wrote a lot of fanfic this year. It kept me sane in a lot of ways. Sixty-one posts marked fanfic on this journal, and I have at least a couple of commentfics that I never reposted here, plus some collaborations from the [ profile] spnwriterlounge Writer Olympics thing that I'm not sure how to quantify. I'm also not counting the bits of fic in my google documents that I wrote but never posted--have at least three partially finished stories in there.


And now the fic meme, amalgamated from several sources because I'm self-indulgent like that.

This gets long )

I'm in a very introspective and thinky mood right now, so I'll open this up for questions. If you've ever wondered something about my writing process, ask away. Or if you have questions about specific fics and 'verses, where they came from, where I think they're going, what changed along the way... Anything like that. Be prepared for a lot of vague mumbling and meandering explanations, though. I love writing and I can go on for a really, really long time if you get me started.

Like I said. Self-indulgent.
maychorian: (-pwns grammar-)
[ profile] spnroundtable has a workshop on writing like a US citizen as a non-native, and I commented with the raw information in this. [ profile] benitle asked me if I had these under a tag, because apparently they're kinda useful? So that sounds like a good idea. I was trying to save up enough to have a reasonable-sized blog post instead of just random mutterings, but putting this up now and then posting more under an "americanisms" tag makes sense. I hope this is helpful to someone, somewhere.

This is going to be sooooo picky. OMG, don't read this if you're non-American and sensitive, please. I don't want to step on anyone's toes. (Haha, I typed "toys" at first and then went back and fixed it. Anyway. ::clears throat::) I don't want to harsh anyone's squee or make anyone stop writing or interrupt their creative flow. These are just WEE LITTLE BITTY things that can leap out of a fic and hit me between the eyes with their non-Americanness. But then, I've been a professional editor and proofreader for far too long. IGNORE THIS POST IF IT WILL BOTHER YOU.

But if you're non-American and curious about what WEE TINY ITSY things in your otherwise wonderful fic might jump out as subtle Britishisms, and you wish to improve your Yank-speak, please do read on.

(Keep in mind also that there are lots of regional dialects in America. OUR COUNTRY IS SO HOOOOJJJJ OMG THAT WAS SCARY. I've lived all my life in the Midwest, Indiana to be precise, and it could very well be that some of these things are as American as apple pie down in some weird place like, I dunno, Florida or something.)


LOL, pomes

Nov. 18th, 2009 06:13 pm
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
Went through some stuff today and found some VERY old poems I wrote. I don't know when, but it must have been a long time ago, because I kinda like football now. I must have been in my mid-teens.

WARNING: They are bad.


Lakes are nice.
In winter they are ice.
In summer they're fun,
And sparkle in the sun.
In spring they are blue,
But icy and cool.
But in the chilly fall
No one sees them at all,
Cuz everyone is playing football.

two more along that vein... )

LOL, you

Nov. 2nd, 2009 10:20 pm
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
Have I mentioned lately that I'm kind of a big dork? If not, here is evidence.

I always have lots of tabs open in my firefox at any given time--email, MouseHunt, LJ, as well as a bunch of fics I'm half-through reading and generally one or two google docs with stories I'm working on. And I'll be browsing around and think, "Oh, I wonder what happens next in that story," and go read one of the fanfics I have open.

And every once in a while I'll think, "I wonder what happens next in..." and realize that it's one of the fics I'm currently WRITING. ::facepalm::

So yeah, I should get on that.
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
The fog was so thick this morning, wow. Schools are on delay and I don't blame them at all. Stuff is dangerous.

On my way back home from my early-morning client I missed the turn I usually take and ended up driving by the St. Joe river for awhile. I felt that I was looking into a story, a painting in shades of dark, deep blue-gray with the black of trees standing stark and cold. Like some gothic novel.

And, oh, wouldn't that be a wonderful book? The Moors of Indiana. A lonely farmhouse stands in the center of miles and miles of rustling corn, the scene of Amish angst and romance. Will Amos and Rebecca ever find each other again? Why are the cows so restless? Will the harvest EVER get in? These are the questions that must be asked.

If any of you guys were still trying to come up with an idea for NaNo, I totally just gave you the awesomest one ever. I demand ten percent of the royalties.

In other news, I had a donut, and it was delicious. Mmmmmm, donut.
maychorian: (Wee Sam)
Hahaha, okay, so now I know which way the wind is blowing. I feel like I write some form of Weechesters all the time, but apparently you guys are okay with that.

Halfway through writing it, though you guys won't see it for a few days. The competition starts Sunday, though, so maybe I'll be first. Depends on what my team wants.

Second idea will definitely have its moment in the sun, as well.
maychorian: (when did my writing style contract the d)
I mentioned awhile ago that I was thinking of a taking a table from [ profile] spn_30snapshots for Rain Falling Down. Well, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna do it, but I just CAN'T DECIDE whether to go with the Elemental or the Paranormal State table. You can look at them here.

So help me out? Mah brane, she is teh frozen.

[Poll #1458071]

In relatively good news, I may very well have a short for you either today or tomorrow. ♥


Aug. 8th, 2009 01:17 pm
maychorian: (angsty poetry)
Hi! Long time no post, eh? It was mostly because of the lack of computer, but also when I was on the internet, at the library or begging time from my parents, I put most of my effort into [ profile] spngenlove. Oh, and also writing that AU thing. Writing in notebooks is so frustrating. It's much slower than typing, and I'm always three or four sentences ahead of myself, trying to catch up. Missing words GALORE. But hopefully this dark, dark period is behind me now, because my new power supply came in the mail this morning!

Good timing, since I'll be gone next week. Monday through Friday I'll be on vacation with my family, down in the southern part of the state. I have no idea if I'll be able to hook up to wireless down there, and if I do it'll probably be for brief periods only. So probably no blogging then, either. But I intend to keep writing. I hope to come back with several projects done for immediate posting. ::crosses fingers::

In the meantime, I've been twittering more lately, because it's faster than writing a blog post. I sometimes post interesting sentences from whatever writing thing I'm working on with the tag #ptiw (proof that I'm writing). Here I am. I'm maychorian over there, too.

Also, in case NO ONE else has informed you, [ profile] spn_summergen has started to posting. \o/ I'm way excited to see what prompt my gifter decided to use, and also nervous about how my recipient will receive what I made. And hey, if you can guess which one is mine, maybe I'll write you a ficlet! That would be fun, right?

Well, time to go back to coding recs. There were a ton of them this week.

August 2015

232425 26272829


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 11:06 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios