Finding My Space

I write in a little cubby that holds my computer and the printer. To my right, the hall opens up into the living room and kitchen. To my left, the bathroom and kids’ bedrooms punctuate the long space.

Most late afternoons, you can find me sitting cross legged on a folding chair, tapping at the keyboard while in the company of Lego mini figures and balancing a baby doll across my lap. The TV blares, the dog nudges my chair every time she passes and the kids race up and down the hall throwing Nerf darts.

My writing is interrupted after almost every sentence. More water, I’m hungry, I need to go potty, what’s for dinner, she hit me. I meet every demand. I referee the arguments. I soothe the hurts. And then I keep writing.

In my dream world, I’d have a writing space filled with light. There would be a large window looking out over an even larger garden to encourage daydreaming and plot planning. My desk would be white with splashes of color for inspiration. I would sit in a cozy chair that leaned back as I stared at a chain of paper cranes tumbling from the ceiling. The worlds in my head would spin out of my fingers. The stories would weave across the page in an uninterrupted line.

There would be a lock on the door.

But that dream isn’t my reality. The reality is I write. I need to write. I must write. To do so, I have to find a writing space inside - an internal room that mimics my dream and allows me to escape into my stories at a moment’s notice.

Sometimes I get frustrated with hallway desk. But, lately, I’ve decided to give it a positive spin. If I can write while my daughter climbs up my lap and my son “tattoos” my legs with permanent markers, I can write anywhere.

Where do you write? How do you find the space you need to expand and grow as a writer?

Today's Guest Host is Mandy from Mandyland. She also tweets.

Weekend linkup

It's time to link up a favorite post you've written. It's a great way to meet new bloggers and find amazing writers.

Try to visit as many as you can, or at least the one in front and behind you.

RemembeRED

This week's RemembeRED prompt is from Jennifer Dillon of Whispatory.

School trips. We all go on them. What trip do you remember the most? Where did you go? Who was with you? How did you get there? Have you ever been back?

Write a memoir post about a memorable school trip. Word limit is 600.

Come back to The Red Dress Club on Tuesday, June 28th, to link up.

Red Writing Hood - Life

This week, Carrie asked you to write flash fiction - 300 words maximum - inspired by the word "Life."

Katie writes about the moment when she was sure she wanted to be a mother in her flash NONfiction piece, untitled.

Cheryl continues the story of a widow's way in Hot pizza.

Let's see how you did! Link up - but only if you've done the prompt, please..

Inspiration - where do you get it?

Today's post is from Jennifer of Whispatory.

When I was younger and pictured myself as a writer, it went something like this:

I sit at a café table tapping my pen against my lower lip, stopping to take sips of the perfectly brewed espresso. I pull a cigarette from my pack and light it, inhaling deeply as I watch people stroll by, pulling inspiration easily from the air. I land on the great idea and hastily pack up my things and rush to my apartment, small but beautiful (of course!). Cut to scenes of typing, stacks of paper, lots of pacing and glasses of red wine as I mull over the fate of characters, ending with the inevitable book tour.

Yeah. Right. Some would say delusional. I prefer romantic.

I admit, I was lucky for a time, and spun out ideas quickly.

Then, without warning, it all went silent. My writing became muddy, confused and painfully bad.

I panicked and did what so many of the Dillons before me have done. Drank.

I drank for five years, numbing the terror of not being able to define myself as a writer, of not being me any more.

Eventually, I reconfigured my life. I got a career (restaurant management) and the steep learning curve kept me busy for a couple of years.

Still, the tips of my fingers itched as I plugged numbers into excel spreadsheets searching for profit margins.

Then a funny thing happened. I decided to try a free trial of World of Warcraft. I logged on and I was hooked. I was 32.

I went all the way. I joined a guild. I had online gaming dates with other players so that we could attack dungeons together, yes, as in meet me at 7 p.m. and we’ll take down the dragon. I even had a headset. Online my name was Scitenia, and best of all no one could see the disappointment in my eyes.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to wonder about the narrative structure of World of Warcraft, and started to ask myself questions like: Why are there frost and fire mages? Why would there be different kinds of magic? Where do they study and is it a natural aptitude or something you can learn?

Then my sister came into my life with news that was profoundly foundation-rattling. My instinct was to write - and finally, I did.

For better or worse, those two fundamentally disparate things brought me home.

I never thought I’d get inspiration from an online video game, or familial heartbreak. But I did and moreover I’m grateful.

Now? I’m lucky. When I’m stalling out, I read all of you.

Inspiration came for me from the unlikeliest of sources. Where are all of the wonderfully strange, quirky and unlikely places you all have found some of yours?

The Inner Voice

I am a writer.

Sort of.

Who am I to call myself a writer?

I have zero training. What do I know about writing?

Why would anyone want to read this?

I really suck.

I have no business posting this.

I certainly can’t link up and put it out there for these people to read.

They are actually good.

I should delete everything I typed.

It’s boring.

I’m a failure.

I should quit.

* * * *

Does any of this sound familiar?

I hear it.

Every day I write.

My inner voice.

Sometimes it’s a simple whisper in my head. I ignore it. Mostly.

Other times it resembles the taunting child, singing “Yooooou suuuuuu-uck!” The doubts begin.

But the worst are the bullhorn cries, sounding oddly like R. Lee Ermey (the drill Sergeant in Full Metal Jacket - or the plastic army leader in the Toy Story movies). Hopelessness takes over as my inner voice screams at me.

“What is your major malfunction?! You think you can write? My little pinky knows more about writing than you! No one will read this cesspool of cow dung and if they do, they’ll want to be paid back for the precious minutes of their life you flushed down the toilet!”

The words ricochet in my head and my index finger hovers over the delete key, ready to erase hours of work based on the ranted self doubts.

But I stop.

What if the voice is wrong? What will I learn if I don’t take a leap and hit publish?

Absolutely nothing. Except how to quit.

It shouts the loudest when I am tired, as the clock advances into the next day.

Especially for writing prompts. They give me a chance to stretch, explore, probe, grow, learn, and dabble.

The unknown is terrifying, but exhilarating.

I welcome the constructive criticism, taking the words to heart. I give concrit in return -unsure of the reception it will receive.

And I hear it.

The inner voice.

“Why are you giving concrit? You don’t know anything about writing! Who are you to be telling a superior writer what they should change? You didn’t even know memoir had to be nonfiction!”

Embarrassment. Tears.

PMS.

I want to leave and never show my face again. And yet.

Progress.

My writing has changed. It’s improved. Tighter. Cleaner.

So I suck it up, adding it to the growing pile of Never Going to Do This Again.

I write. Whether I want to or not.

I hear it. The inner voice.

Only now when it shrieks? I tweet for reinforcements: my writing partners. I trust them. They come prepared with rolls of duct tape to shut up the inner voice.

And so far? They haven’t told me to delete everything.

I’m starting to think my inner voice is only a bully blowing hot air. All because I refused to let Delete This Crap win in the early battles over Click Publish.

And if I’d listened? If had caved to my own peer pressure? I wouldn’t be here today, writing a post about writing on a writing site run by real writers who actually know what they’re doing.

As opposed to me. Ahem.

Because my inner voice wonders how my name even ended up in the hat.

Time to dig out the duct tape again.

Kelly K writes at Dances with Chaos, Writing with Chaos, and founded I survived the Mean Girls.

Red Writing Hood

This week's Red Writing Hood prompt comes from Carrie of Views from Nature.

Flash Fiction can be fun and a real challenge. This week focus on the words and the strength of each to contribute to your story. Write a 300 word piece using the following word for inspiration: LIFE.

Come back to The Red Dress Club and link up Friday.