Waking Up

My creative side is slowly coming out of hibernation. It is taking much longer than I had thought it would. I haven't really figured out a system yet for writing. I'm not sure if I prefer typing on my laptop, or my iPad, or if I should go back to longhand on a good old piece of dead tree. The latter sounds a bit ridiculous to me just for the sake of then having to go back and type it into one of the other two devices.

There is a lesbian zombie story currently running around in my head, which would be great, but it's competing with a lesbian nun Inquisition story. Makes for a tired creative when there are competing stories running amok in your head. I am having trouble picking between the two, because I can't have both stories vying for my attention. My world doesn't work that way.

I suppose at the end of the day, I should just pick one, start writing and see where it leads me. Surely, nothing bad will come of either, and I must say, the world needs more LGBT fiction. We are making headway in that area, but me from 15 years ago would have been better off had there been more. More stories. More protagonists. More love stories that didn't make me feel uncomfortable because I was wired totally differently.

I want to be a role model for kids like I was once upon a time. I want to create characters who will be loved and who are flawed, but who are authentic and real and not straight, or white. I want my characters to be exactly like regular people, but who just happen to be LGBT. Because I am a lesbian, and I am a regular, flawed, mostly good person.

I love stories. I just hope I can write the stories I want to read.

 

A Birthday 46 Days from Christmas

Today, my youngest brother turns 21, that final stepping stone to adulthood. I remember when I turned 21. My birthday was on a Saturday, and I spent the whole weekend drunk. Drunk with my friends. Drunk in casinos with my family. I can't say that I don't have fond memories of that weekend.

Unfortunately, for my brother, his birthday falls on a Tuesday. He has class, and responsibilities. However, he is that one person in my life for whom I have no problem buying presents. He and I, as much as I hate to admit it, are practically the same person as far as tastes go. This birthday, he's getting apple pie flavored vodka that features a pinup girl on the label, and a book. Also, as much booze as he can drink. This is a right of passage, remember?

But, better yet, I've already started shopping for his Christmas present. I think the boy is getting a pair of wooden training swords for Christmas. I've already gotten him the real deal, but I refuse to spar with them. I value my life. Now, like for his 21st birthday, the most important part is the doing of the thing. That means I'm going to be required to spar with the boy with the two wooden swords. I've already started planning. I have a full set of catchers gear (Thank you, high school softball.), and I need to get some sort of hand guards.

I'm thirty, he's 21. This cannot possibly go well. That said, I'm still going to do it. Maybe I'll just get him drunk first.

Happy birthday, little brother.

P.S. Internet, don't let the Christmas present cat out of the bag.

on a lack of writing...

Somewhere along the line, I stopped writing. I love writing. I always have loved writing. I have notebooks filled with thoughts and hopes I wrote in college. I wrote stories and blogs, and I wanted a doctorate in history so I could write for a living. What happened? I still carry a journal around with me where ever it is my life takes me. I'm not sure the last time I wrote in it. Maybe 6 months ago. Maybe longer. I just finished reading my 102nd book last night. In my brain, I want to write. I think I've forgotten how. I can't seem to make my ideas turn into anything and the words no longer flow onto the page (or iPad screen, as the case may be). Next year, I want to write a book. I have ideas. Lots of ideas. The problem is the execution. That's why I'm starting now. Working on blog posts should get the creative juices flowing. That's the idea anyway. Blog posts lead to stories. And stories, hopefully, lead to something in the 80k range. That's my idea. I'm going to try my best to make it work. I've always wanted to be a writer. I can still be one. I am one. Just a rusty one. Besides, if I don't write stories, my lady is going to be disappointed. We can't have that.