Author Archives: lozziirawr

Don’t compare yourself

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Since beginning university I have been looking at the work of other future writers in my course and comparing myself to their writing. Often it’s a – damn why didn’t I think of that? or, I wish I could write like that? But when you really think about… You shouldn’t ever compare yourself. Take a look at this poem for example:

As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, “Don’t put it there,
a head’s no place for underwear!”
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred’s underwear remains.

At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, “Good night! Good night!”
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred’s underwear goes on his toes.

This is a children’s poem that has a lot of humour in it! I wish that I could be funny, but writing humour doesn’t come naturally to me. What does come naturally to me though is emotion and who’s to say that Jack can grab your heart in the same way that I can? So yes, Jack has strong points that I don’t have in my writing, but instead of comparing myself I need to look at what I’m good at!

First drafts are allowed to be shit

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Take mine for example:

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I had an amazing idea for a short story in my head so I grabbed my pen and paper and began to write. Needless to say I have not done whatever was in my head justice at all – what I wrote is shit.
I started doing edits to it as you can see but it just wasn’t working out so I’ve ripped this page out and started again.
Your first draft is allowed to be shit. It is extremely uncommon to write a story and think ‘this is perfect.’ There’s always mistakes whether it just be spellings or a character that doesn’t work. For me I know that my first draft does nothing to grip the reader. But that’s okay because it’s not finished yet! My second draft will be much better and maybe it will take me ten rewrites to get it perfect but I will get there!

Hilarious story!

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This is not my story (nor my experience) but I just read this and thought it was one of the most hilarious stories I’ve ever seen, so just had to share it with you!

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways – uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized …
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
“Seriously, you need to hurry – I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you …” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.
“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.
“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
“I’m fine, Rob – just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re …”
“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this … “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.

5 Tips for Writing Multiple POVs

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...and then there was Sarah

h1DE1B460I’m a shameless fan of writing in multiple POVs. My series has a large, diverse cast of characters and I’m all about giving each of them a voice, where possible. I also believe that telling the story through the eyes of varied characters gives a well-rounded perspective on the tale that you would not get otherwise.

Of course, this is not always a popular narrative choice. Some readers are very vocal about their dislike of this style. Does that deter me? Not even a little. But it does evoke a stubborn desire to want to do it right.

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Writing Prompt

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Here is a writing prompt from me. If you decide to go ahead and use it, I would love to see what you come up with:
Your Grandparents have died and you are going through their house, sorting out their personal belongings. What item do you find hidden that means a lot to you? It may be an item of clothing, book, ornament etc. Write a little story or poem about this item.

Here is mine:

Book of Passed

My fingertips trace the outline of the old, leather-bound cover, leaving dusty smears. The pages are yellowed with age, though the cellophane wrapped photos are still looking crisp. Faces of family that are all long forgotten, their memories remaining in this one precious book. Captures of irreplaceable moments and people I will never meet, yet they are somehow all a part of me. The old woman sat unsmiling at the fireplace mirrors my oval face and the young boy, laughing and playing golf has handed me down his thin lips.

It’s all too much.

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Over Christmas I had two portfolios of writing to complete along with two essays for university. Now, I don’t mind writing a story here and there but I ended up having to write about seven stories and six poems. Over a short space of time that is a lot of writing. Needless to say, I really struggled. I ended up handing in this as one of my poems:

Writer’s block

Creatively drained – I’ve written and written and written and now my head is sore and empty. The blank page before me is craving doodles and words, but I have none left to give. Past pieces of paper have stolen them all away like burglars of ideas. Oh Facebook, calling out to me, I so wish to play your games, why are you trying to distract me? But the assignment’s due are glaring down at me like I’m a prisoner left with only one choice and that one choice is: to write.

And the lecturer hated it!

Use Writers block to your advantage

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I have an essay and two portfolios to hand in next week and due to this my brain is completely empty. I have never had to come up with so many concepts to write about before. For one of my portfolios I am focusing on prose poems which are quite simply a cross between poetry and stories and are meant to evoke feelings rather than characterisation. I was sat here for hours completely stuck on what to write, so guess what I did? I wrote a prose poem about writers block!

No matter what your state of mind is, remember that there is always something to write about!

Write a poem about…

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So I found these great poem starters on a site called Creative Writing Now which are ideas you can write poems about and some of them I can’t wait to try out such as the one about being underwater. Here they are:

  1. Night-time
  2. A particular color
  3. Being underwater
  4. A person whose life you’re curious about
  5. Your mother’s perfume
  6. Falling asleep or waking up
  7. Growing older
  8. The feeling of getting lost in a book
  9. How to know if you’re in love
  10. A bad dream
  11. A ghost
  12. Your city, town, or neighborhood
  13. An important life choice you’ve made
  14. Spring, summer, fall, or winter
  15. Something most people see as ugly but which you see as beautiful
  16. Jealousy
  17. Becoming a parent
  18. An event that changed you
  19. A place you visited — how you imagined it beforehand, and what it was actually like
  20. The ocean
  21. Forgetting
  22. The speed of light
  23. A voodoo doll
  24. Reflections on a window
  25. A newspaper headline
  26. Your greatest fear
  27. Your grandmother’s hands
  28. A particular toy you had as a child
  29. Being invisible
  30. A time you felt homesick
  31. Having an affair, or discovering your partner is having one
  32. Birthdays
  33. A favorite food and a specific memory of eating it
  34. An imaginary city
  35. Driving with the radio on
  36. Life in an aquarium
  37. Dancing
  38. Walking with your eyes closed
  39. What a computer might daydream about
  40. Time travel
  41. Brothers or sisters
  42. Your job, or a job you’ve had
  43. Weddings
  44. Leaving home
  45. Camping
  46. A zoo
  47. A historical event from the perspective of someone who saw it firsthand (You will have to do some research for this).
  48. Holding your breath
  49. Intimacy and privacy
  50. A time you were tempted to do something you feel is wrong
  51. Physical attraction to someone
  52. A superstition you have
  53. Someone you admire

 

Stop calling me lazy!!!

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So I guess as anyone would realise a massive part of taking a writing based university course is a heck of a lot of reading. Sat in bed this morning with a story I have to read up on my laptop and my mum comes into my room shouting about how I’m lazy and disgusting and spend all day lounging around. Shouting about how I’m just sat watching TV shows… Well I’m definitely reading a book and not listening to an audio book so there is no sound at all and I definitely watch TV shows with the volume ON. 

I told her, no, I’m reading for university and next I get a massive rant about how she bets I have the perfect life just sat on my ass all day, yet since I’ve been born I have never once seen a book in her hand and she always tells me she doesn’t enjoy reading, so how she thinks it’s the ‘perfect life’ I have no idea. 

I tell her maybe she should try it sometime if she thinks sitting down and reading set books for hours on end is any kind of fun at all. Thought that would shut her up but instead she tells me that I should quit university and get a ‘real job’ and stop complaining. Well, I wasn’t complaining until she came into my room and made it perfectly clear she had a problem!

I have now stopped doing any form of reading and tidied my whole room. I bet she still won’t be happy though. Next she will have a go at me for not focusing on my university course!