P.G. Shriver's Blog, page 20

Ah, Writing

Ah... finally a chance to sit down and work on my books. I really need to get another novel finished this summer. That's my goal. I could actually get two or three finished, the first drafts, before the next semester begins. There's so much going on with me right now, though. It will be hard to get it all done, but I will endure. That's what writing takes, endurance. Just like a marathon runner, I'm in it until the end. So, on to that novel. I'll be posting another excerpt of a different novel soon, but I really just want to work on them today!

Have a peaceful Sunday filled with rest.

Funerals

Today I make an effort to do something for someone else, and it is a task I never enjoy. One of our coworkers lost her husband to leukemia last week. I don't mind making food for the after funeral crowd, but I have never, and never will be, a fan of funerals. My empathetic nature is always overwhelmed by the sadness of funerals. I always feel so helpless.

Since 2003, when the tragedies in our family began, I have become more of a celebrator or life. I much prefer the 'wake-like' ceremony of our family. In 2003, I lost my eldest niece, at the age of 20, to diabetes, and eleven months later her mother, my sister, to cancer. Three years later, the matriarch of my family, my grandmother, passed. All three funerals were the most difficult of my life. And though all three preferred no funeral, we still celebrated their lives before the funerals, just as they wanted. When my mother passed last year, she got what she wished for, a celebration of life.

Much to the surprise of funeral goers, there is closure in the celebration of life, and to me, it builds the feeling that our loved ones will always be with us.

I come from a long line of very strong women. We don't cry in public. We cry at home.

As a member of the community, both where I live and work, I would do whatever I could to help another being. So, regardless of how I feel about funerals, I must step forward and help in any way I can.

That is who I am.

Choices

While drinking my coffee this morning, I puzzle over which novel to work on next. I have four seriously going, but many started. I vow to myself to finish the first draft of one, then leave it alone while I work on another. No rushing it this time. I want them to be near perfect.

I would like the time to just sit and work on a novel eight hours a day every day, but I don't have that privilege. That mountain cabin in the Rockies I dreamed of in the early 90s is very tempting. Sometimes, it would be so nice to throw this current life away and become a writing hermit. When I was young, that's how I pictured myself, living in the mountains, away from all distraction, sitting at my computer, and writing best seller after best seller. But alas, I don't like to hunt, though fishing is wonderful. I suppose I could have lived off fish...

Real world demands keep me from doing what I love, sometimes. I thought a monetary career teaching writing would help me instead of hinder me, but every day it becomes more difficult to leave my computer for my "real job." When my "job" begins to stifle my creativity, then I suppose that is the time to search for a new living, hopefully in the field of writing. What to do next that will pay my bills yet allow me time to write? Hmm?

Storms and Cell Phones

I love thunder storms. Last night we had a wonderful storm with torrents of rain, lightning and thunder, to which I usually awaken, then return to sleep content. Being a wife, and the mother of a college student, though, sometimes doesn't afford me that pleasure. With this storm, our power went out, and while my husband snored lightly in the darkness, seemingly oblivious to the lack of electricity, I rose from sleep, located my cell phone, and called our rural electric company to let them know, afraid my charges would be late for school and work, never mind the thawing meat in the freezer...

With a cell phone, though, I forget that this action isn't necessary. My daughter sets her phone alarm to awaken. My husband doesn't really have to worry about being late--he has developed an internal alarm clock. And, today is my late day to go to work. So, grumpily, because my alarm clock runs off a battery when the power is out, I yet again rise from slumber to the numbers 6:35, only to find that the real time is 5:59. Ouch. With the battery this old clock jumps time. I could have stayed in bed; I did not have to get up and call the power company just so everyone would be on time. When will I move into the technological times and use my cell for an alarm? This morning the urge to throw out my old clock is very strong. The responsibility that comes with family is lessening, yet I refuse to give them both up. Why?

So, tired, I sit here at my computer, not a dinosaur by any means, and try to work on my newest novel before I head to my paying job, eyes heavy, thoughts muddled, and my bed softly calling me back for a quick nap.
Yes... storms are still beautiful.

Excerpt From My Upcoming Paranormal Romance

I fell in love with her at Hog Island Cemetery. I wasn't looking for love. As it happens, my favorite pastime is genealogy. In my spare time, I locate old cemeteries, visit them, and research the names. Of course, I'm most interested in the unmarked graves. Who was that person? How old was he or she? Did he or she have any family? Or, was that person laid to rest there, like me, John Doe or Jane Doe, without immediate family?I suppose that is how I became interested in old cemeteries. That's how I found my maternal great, great, great grandparents. I have yet to find any relations born later. A cemetery is a strange place to fall in love. Only a solemn soul could seek solitude in the love of a woman met at a cemetery. I am solemn.A time existed when I couldn't have been happier, though. I had everything my heart desired. An incredible overnight success in my .com business afforded me a home much larger than I needed, three cars too many for one man, and money in banks of various countries.Now, that rather large house, a mansion really, houses the homeless, those cars long since donated to Auto Angels, and the money… well, I really don't care what happens to it. The one thing missing in my life that entire time was love. I never seemed to find a woman that wanted me for who I was.Now I have.I think.I just don't know who she is.
2     Thunder rumbled me from sleep; it did not keep me awake. The figure standing at the foot of my bed, invisible reflection before my nineteenth century walnut burl dresser mirror in the next flash of light, did, however. As the harsh light outside cleansed the sultry air, I worked to focus my eyes on the words scribbled upon the glass.Hog Island Cemetery.

Research and Travel

I'm at the point in my newest paranormal novel where I will have to take a trip to the location in order to get the details correct. The location in question is an old cemetery... Creepy? Maybe, but it's a paranormal novel, so what needs done will be done. Thinking about the cemetery trip takes me back to my teen years and my sister. My first boyfriend, who just recently passed away, and I took my little sister to a scary movie. She wouldn't quit pestering us, so we drove her out to the old cemetery where she proceeded to brag, "I'm not scared!" and promptly volunteered to get out and go sit on an old tombstone. She didn't get that far. As a matter of fact, she walked about halfway between the car and headstone before a light reflection caught her eye and she turned around and ran back to the car, practically diving in the barely opened door. My sister is gone, now, too and how I miss our time together. Many of these little stories with her will make it into books one day. Love you, sis!

I have recently signed up with Book Blogs and hope to be ...

I have recently signed up with Book Blogs and hope to be taking my YA book, Dead Perfect, on a virtual tour as soon as I figure out how... I love technology, but it is so time consuming when you are trying to figure it out. I hope I can manage blogging and writing and working a full time job and... Ah, well, sleep is overrated, right?

I would also like to connect with a writer's critique group online. Any suggestions?

Back to my newest novel in waiting.

Nearer My Love

Three more days before I take that six hour drive to reunite with the salt laden air of the coast. I hear the waves gently blanketing the already dampened sand. The warmth of the tiny grains roll and grind beneath my toes and below my feet, their glass like state a touch unequaled by any masseuse. I'm ready, receptive to the calming spirituality that only the ocean can offer. Already, just with the thought, my muscles relax and my mind flows with creativity. What a great weekend this will be!

Vacations

This morning I'm really looking forward to my next working vacation. It's been quite a while since I've been to the beach. I spent part of my life close to the beach, in California. Many fond memories surface when I think of family cookouts there, like the time the wind blew so hard off the Pacific that my full paper plate, hot dog and chips, sailed from my fingertips right into the sand about six feet away... I wonder how much sand I actually ate before I turned old enough to realize how gritty it is? Being born under a water sign, Cancer, I crave the ocean sometimes until my heart aches for its soothing rhythm and fresh, salty smell. I will be close the first week of May. I will return to my natural habitat, walk sideways in the warm sand, let the water rush over my bare feet while the wind lifts my hair. It occurs to me that I should visit the ocean at least once a year, as now I am constricted by the responsibilities of the inland farms of Texas and miss its alluring scent. I don't take enough vacations; what with a regular job, writing books, and a farm, I feel as though I work nonstop sometimes. That's why my blogs are so far apart. I just don't have enough time. I'm almost certain, though, that those few days I spend in May, down by the Gulf, will bring me home rested, that I will sleep like a baby and leave at peace with myself, for I will have returned home, if only for a few days...

Scattered Thoughts

Unfortunately, working on books in the morning doesn't allow me the time I need to blog and discuss and meet people everyday. I guess that's the benefit for those who have made it to a big publishing house. You don't have to market your work. There's also a benefit to not having a full time job and being a writer. Oh well, I'm not Superwoman, so I'll just have to do what I can and write when I can. It is time for me to work on that next novel, though. I also have some schools to visit and send books to. If I could just figure out which character I want to get into today, it would help. There are so many to choose from in my files, and I am just not feeling what any of them would feel right now. Maybe I've just had so many disappointments fall in March that it stifles my creative abilities, the anniversary of the death of Mom, cancelled plans for a summer trip, just a lot of downs. I need some ups to get back on track. I think my ADD is showing up in this blog post. It's really scattered. Anyway, that's how I feel this morning, kind of scattered. Afraid to write, because my writing will probably be that way, too.