Music is written

My take-away from my writing class today is that detail is more than the descriptive elements in a story. Such as the colors and the things your senses can feel. What is great about details is descriptions like that, aren't necessary. Sometimes it is equally necessary to get into someone's head or to overhear a conversation. When an author uses details, it is not meant to add color or add vivacious words but to add a depthness to a character that otherwise wouldn't be known. This way the character is an individual.

In some ways, music is taking the opposite approach lately. They try to make songs that relate to everyone. In stories, you want to make that person and give them their own identity. (Though I suppose as a musical artist you want to give your song its own identity.)

Where works

Best and worst place to write:

She sat there on the couch curled up with a glass of tea next to her and nobody was home. Her internet had gone out an hour ago as she sat in the silence completely undisturbed. She pulled out her notebook from next to the crackling fireplace and wrote. She wrote about another world similar to ours but yet so different. Then she wrote for hours as the thoughts flowed out of her inner mind and grasped at the truth within her own heart.

It seemed like everywhere she turned added on another job for her day. The laundry never ended, the dishes had piled up and her toddler, Nick, had another sleepless night. As he cried in his crib, as she placed him down for a nap, she grabbed for her notebook. The pages had been ripped out by grimy, sauce-drenched fingers. She tried to drowned out the shrills as she got transformed into a world full of palm trees, fruity drinks and a handsome man with perfect, auburn hair.

Follow the echoes

I need to start carrying a notebook with me so when I have a few minutes I can write. For instance during my lunch break at school or in my car.

I also have been delving into music a bit more lately. I notice that some lyrics can spur me to write so I am hoping some of the new bands I am listening to can do the same for me.

"When it's all said and done I'll follow the echoes"

There she was walking down the same alley she did every night her bar closed. She found peace in the middle of the night when the animals lerked and the people slept. She could listen to her own thoughts and get some variation of memories and fantasy that would play out in her head like a movie.
As she walked under the ghostly yellow lights, she searched for her keys in her purse. That's when she heard the Earth shattering scream. No lights turned on, no animals screeched back. It was as if it didn't happen at all. But Allison knew better. She could still hear the echo in her mind and she followed her thoughts like breadcrumbs trying to recognize what happened and find a way to help.

But the streets remained empty and the sound disappeared into the dark. The light ahead of her went out and a giant of a man walked out from the darkness.

That's when she realized that the scream was hers all along and no one would follow the breadcrumbs of forgotten thoughts.

Sox Fans Vs. Cub fans: We are one in the same.

You know what I love about postseason baseball. The entire season is a waste of space. Nothing goes how it is predicted and yet everyone's true colors came out.

This was the first year that Chicago has been in the playoffs since Facebook became mainstream and I think a lot of friendships are broken and a lot more are teetering.

I noticed a few other things this post season about both groups of fans.

We both have a group of fans that wouldn't dream rooting the others on and a group that roots for Chicago. Personally, I am of the former. But I enjoy the fact that even in this we are alike.

We both were silenced this post-season. I was a mess; I will admit that. And I stayed nice and silent while my insides were in turmoil and as the Mets started winning, I started speaking up. The opposite is true for the Cubbies. Oh! They thought they won the whole postseason after they won the Wild Card game. And game after game after that, they just kept the hype going. Until they couldn't and the whole city fell silent.

Watch out! The Bandwagoners are coming! For some reason both fanbases hate the bandwagoners. I think its cool that you can pool people from other teams after their team has fallen and watch as they root your team on.

But really they are already here! My mom hates baseball. She doesn't know how many innings are in a game, how many balls are in a walk, she is lucky if she can even point out the White Sox. Yet I know when baseball gets exciting in Chicago because even she starts talking about it. There are fans like this that creep in because the city is electrified. If you asked my mom who she was rooting for, she'd hesitate but probably would have said the Cubs. If you don't pay attention, how could you vote anything else? For many, baseball is not exciting... but when it is... its joltingly so.

We both think we are the underdog. Who doesn't love a good underdog story. "It has been over 100 years since the Cubs have been in the World Series but LOOK at them now?" "The Sox are under-represented, have less fans and basically forgotten in this city but LOOK how they won." We both want to prove something. (Some of us are just better at it.)

The point of the matter is that despite which side of the city you root for. Your heart gets into it during the post season. Some friendships may be lost, some may be gained and some habits never grow old.

Developing a character.

Turning ordinary people you see into characters fit for a story.

As I walked into the cafe, I saw the mounds of paper and notebooks spread over the table and tumbling out of the briefcase before I even saw the man: Oscar Franklin. Most people only dream of speaking his name and here I was ready to introduce myself.

As my eyes glanced to his stature, I froze near the door. Mr. Franklin looked older than his pictures. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished look. One you would expect from such a significant man. He was busy scribbling away. For every breath he took, he tapped his pencil on the mountains of paper. Each tap seemed determined, animated and as if Mr. Franklin was in a world of thought that no mere man could enter.

As I took my final breath, I walked up and introduced myself through a rapid heartbeat and a shaking voice. His crystal eyes were as unwavering as a lion staring down his prey. I gulped and pulled a chair out, not knowing what to expect.

"Let's look through this one more time." He said, "I have some questions." And just like that, I was transported to his world.

perceived faction

So in my writing class, we were asked to write 2 paragraphs. One with 3 lies and 1 truth and one with 3 truths and 1 lie. I found that writing truths and slipping a lie in was easy. But making up a story and slipping a truth in was challenging. This is something I should work on a bit.

Someone else's comment: "I believe the exercise demonstrates that the line between fact and fiction is often a matter of perception. We each have our own version of the truth and writing fiction is about sharing your version of the truth with the reader hoping to secure their investment in your perceived reality."

Which matters more

You know, in a lot of ways I think teaching is the reason I have given up writing. My brain gets so overwhelmed by what I do at school that I don't have time to dive into writing. And I kind of hate that. I love the high I get from writing. I feel at peace with the universe when I write something that couldn't make more sense. I don't want to have to give up writing to teach. But given the option I will because I'd rather help the children I can see, than attempt to help those that might never read the pages.