Tag: Writing

Chihuahuas and the Bible

Dog2
So not innocent

So the chihuahuas woke me up at 3:00am this morning. I looked but could find no scipture that would allow me to strangle them. I’m confident its there but its too early and I’ve not had enough coffee to find it yet. So I fired up the coffee pot and decided to start my day.

Robert was fairly silent this morning, I think my battles to get my blog website finalized yesterday drove him completely over the edge. What didn’t happen was I got almost no writing done. I’ll spare you the word count numbers I shoot for vs my miss, as I think a blow by blow of word count is enough to make any loyal readers eyes roll back in their head and cause bodily injury to themselves by falling out of their chair. Just know that yesterday nothing advanced in any positive way.

***a few hours later***

Now that I’ve been awake for a bit this morning, I have went back and completed my research and I can say to a reasonable degree of certainty that no scripture exists to allow for chihuahua murder. If you should find one please send it…. because I promise the little buggers are not done with me….

The blog will advance slowly (think iceberg), but should you conceive of a question let me know. I will write about almost anything. Short of that I have no promises of what might fall out of my deranged mind.

 

I am Legion

My alter ego… lets call him Robert…. sneaks around the edge of my brain when I’m writing. When I’m working on my current project, he likes to slide memos about a zombie books we should be working on under my door. He fidgets and refuses to pay attention when I’m working on my plot and outlines.

He wants to google author salaries and tell me how writing for my chosen genre is a disaster. He agrees with the demons that crawl out from under my bed at night that I’m simply not good enough for anyone to want to read. Robert laughs when I get writers block, and cackles when I slam my IPad shut with frustration. He smiles when I just cant find the words to take the beautiful things I see in my head and convert them to the blinking dot on the page.

He steps up and thumps his chest when somebody asks me what I’ve been working on. Robert likes to tell everyone that we are a “writer”, even tho “we” have never published.

I’m terrified when I think about how much work I have to do, while he is off planning to write four novels a year.

Robert is a jerk, but I cant write without him. He protects me from having to worry about that stuff myself, so I can just write…. everyday…. day after day. He worries about the things of the world, so I dont have too, so I can play in the field of ideas and bleed my ideas onto the page. Always right there over my shoulder, telling me I’m awful but whispering in my ear when I cant find the next word.

When I give up, he takes over and works on his projects. He tells me to rest, that my work for the day is done. He makes me a cup of tea, and finds me a blanket to crawl up under. Then and only then does he put his fingers to the keyboard. I rest in the sound of the keyboard clicking as he writes about things I dont have the heart to face. The demons slide out of his fingertips onto the page, without effort. Then when he puts the last period on the last sentence they stay on the page. I’m jealous of that gift, for he is my demon and not so easily silenced.

It’s a love hate relationship. He intimidates me… but i have to have him. In the morning when I’m drinking my coffee he tells me how many words I have to write that day. He looks over my shoulder and tells me to stop editing and finish something….. anything. He makes it ok for me to create crappy first drafts because he just wants them done. Then when he is distracted with a shinny bobble, I hide off in the corner poking at the squiggly red lines trying to make them go away.

I do not now, nor have I ever feared him. The only fear I have, is not that Robert doesn’t exist, but that at the end of the day, when all the ink drys. I might find that there never was a Jerry.

J.Packard 1.9.18

In response to This Blog

My life, aka The story of Two Chairs

I realized today that my life revolves almost completely around two chairs.

During my life those two chairs have changed. I get a new job and my chair changed or its location changed but I’m still in a chair. I go home, and my chair is there, sure it moves when we change around the room or when I buy a new chair but its always a chair.

From one chair in the past I made my money, from the other chair I lived me life. Granted my life might have been Video games and books, but I spent most of my day in one chair doing those things. When I was not in that chair I was in another chair trying to get to get back to that chair.

Perhaps this comes from being raised by “chair people”, my father has a chair as does my mother. My grandparents had chairs!!! Everyone I know has a chair!!

Is it just me or is the world filled with “chair people”???

I love to hike, but I’m always happy to get back to my chair. I love to travel, but I normally find a temporary chair in my hotel rooms. I even have a chair in my car when I travel, and if I travel with people….. woe to the person who sits in my chair!!

My goal is to get to one chair, and maybe a bed…. unless my chair is really comfortable then just the chair. I want to live and work from the same chair. This is my one chair dream….. as insane as that might sounds.

Them-“Jerry what’s your goal in life?”

Me- “To only need one chair”

So ya….. brothers and sisters of the chair speak up, tell me your chair stories!!!!! Share this with other chair people you love, we must unite!!! Stand up with me (Or sit), and let the world know that we chair people have a voice…. and we just wont stand for anything anymore….

P.S. Yes I’m ashamed of that last line… but I might have set a record for the most times “chair” was used in a blog post….

J.Packard 1.8.18

Writing For Me

I know a lot of people who write, and I’m just one of them. I’m currently working on 3 diffrent project (More on this coming soon). I have however noticed a trend. People write with the end goals in mind instead of the process itself.

Do I want to be a bestselling novel writer…. Sure. Is that my goal… no. I write because it helps me understand what I’m working through in my head. Words on paper, and the research that goes into my projects helps me to organize my thoughts better about things in my own life. This is true while writing fiction or when I’m working on my nonfiction projects.

I have been amazed how my fictional characters come up with answers to questions that I have been searching for. Here is an excerpt from a current project I’m working on. I was amazed by the answer my fictional character gave, I had no idea what I was going to write until it was written. (NOTE: This is from my 1st draft, it might be altered or changed before final publication.)

Book excerpt………“Well, gravitational force changes, and so does free will the closer you are to God. Or in other words, the strongest gravity attracts the object with the lesser gravity. Not because one gravity deminishes but because the others pull is so strong. This is how God’s will works. His will is higher then our will, so the closer we are to him it causes our will to be pulled toward his will”, Ryan said and started walking again.

This cleared a few things up for me, both answering a question asked inside of the story and answered a question I had personally. This is the very act of creation, and if this book is never published this answer made an impact on me.

If you write, do it for yourself, not for anyone else. Do it to answer your questions and find peace in creation.

When it’s Right It’s Easy

I have tried to many things in my life, and the ones that where successful where easy.

I dont mean the day to day parts were easy, to the contrary, all my successes where difficult in their individual parts, but those parts all fell into place easily. Each step I struggled with, but there was no struggle seeing where I needed to go. It’s like trying to climb a mountain, if you can see the mountain in the distance and know how many hills you have to climb to get there, it makes the hike much easier.

If you are walking through fog and have no idea where the mountain is or what lays on the path in front of you the hike becomes difficult. Each hill presents its own problems and struggles but knowing how many hills and how steep they are between you and your destination makes all the difference.

Then in the points in my life where there was so much fog I could not even see the path to start, I knew standing still was not an option. I picked a direction and started walking in faith, and knew God would direct my path.

A Strange Art Form

Writing is the strangest thing I’ve ever done. I have an odd history with it, as a young boy, its what I wanted to do… well that and be a Ghostbuster. I remember setting up my study desk an home with pencils and paper and writing long hand. I even remember my first attempt at a novel, and for a young man in his pre teens it still surprises me what I decided to write about.

My first attempt at writing was a murder mystery, but not like the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew. The pages now long gone, I still remember the detective and the murder scene. I recall how the murderer was eventually caught and how my secondary characters supported my great and amazing detective. In a lot of way it was my pre pubescent idea of a film noire detective. I even remember the scene I had written where the young attractive blond walks into the room of the run down detective agency. Perhaps I had seen this on TV, or perhaps I had pieced it together watching shows with my parents, I’ll never know.

What I do remember was shortly after that, my school decided to label me as “learning disabled”, or LD for short. They told me that I had no aptitude for the written word, and that my spelling and grammar was four years behind my classmates. While I agree with them that I could not spell then, and for sure still cant now, the written word is my passion. God gave me a desire for it, and the ability to understand it. I remember sneaking around reading John Grissom and Stephen King, I would sneak through the double doors into the high school to find out what the English lit class was reading. While kids where looking for bikini clad photos or naked women in National Geographic magazines- Edger Allen Poe, Ray Bradbury, and Hemingway where my drug of choice.

This stigma destroyed my desire to write. If you walk into a room everyday and a person looks at you with pity because you have issues with figuring out difference between ‘there’ and ‘their’ your interest disappears. Not because of the lessons but because of the pity for how stupid you are. To be fair I still write things in the wrong places, put punctuation where it has no business being and butcher words. I adore the process of writing however, and reading is better then any TV or Movie anyone has ever produced.

When I start the writing process from an outline, I start with a vague idea of what I will write. Then I watch it unfold on the page. I’m shocked to see what happens and how my characters progress, how things that I outlined fall aside to the power of creation and the shocking moment when what I think should happen, just doesn’t.

Yes it’s s strange art form, and its a labor of love. I encourage each of you if you know a kid who likes to write, read his writing. Read it and help them get better, but whatever you do, don’t discourage them. Help, don’t pity or judge them. God put in their hearts a gift, and that gift can go dormant if its not feed, and it can easily die if its smothered.