Drawing Art for My Novel Writing

Jun 10, 2017 by

Novel Writing With Pictures

I have 51 days left to finish revising my novel writing for The Voodoo Hill Explorer Club and to turn it in to SMU’s The Writer’s Path program.

I have spent time each of the past few days with iPad Pro and Apple Pencil in Adobe Sketch and in Notes drawing out scenes and characters of my book. Why would I devote time to drawing when I’m in a writing medium?

Creative writing is NOT about putting down emotions on the paper. Not expressly. Creative writing IS about drawing word pictures with words. If you aren’t telling a story with word pictures, you’re locked into telling your readers how you or your character feels. And that’s BORING.

So I have been stepping back from the keyboard and spending more time focusing on what I could see if I was in the scene with my characters. Not how I feel, that I mad that Rose dumped Kirk for Billy Banks, or that Billy Banks is a bully, or Billy’s mom is pretty hot. Those things can be told by drawing word pictures that set the scene. How does a character move his/her face? How are they sitting? Are they biting their lip?

Little Laughing Whitefish Falls

The Little Laughing Whitefish Falls, KI Sawyer AFB. Art done by Donny Claxton for The Voodoo Hill Explorer Club.

A crucial piece of the work is Little Laughing Whitefish Falls. The problem is, there is no place outside the back gate of KI Sawyer AFB in 1977. There is a Laughing Whitefish Falls, which is a beautiful place, but there is no Chimney Rock and a lagoon where kids and alike can jump from four levels into the water. The highest height is called The Devil’s Ledge. It’s 55-feet above the water. But it doesn’t exist.

Now Chimney Rock exists. It’s in Lake Martin, Alabama. The Devil’s Ledge doesn’t exist either, but there’s a piece of rock that sits at the top of Half Dome in Yosemite in California that’s called The Devil’s Diving Board.

Blend all that together and you have a whole new fictional place to build some incredibly important scenes around in The Voodoo Hill Explorer Club. I wind up using the lagoon from behind it, under it, down the face it, and from the four levels to jump.

So I decided if I’m going to write about it, I need to SEE what it looks like. The only real way to do that is to blend elements of each place into a piece of art. And this is where the drawing of the Little Laughing Whitefish Falls came from.

You might try doing this, too, in your own writing. It doesn’t have to look like a Norman Rockwell piece of art. It just needs to have enough visual cues in it that will prompt you in your writing, to help you draw better, more convincing word pictures and leave the emotional dumps and figuring out to the imaginations of your readers. They’ll love you for it. They will.

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The Haley Buggin’ Guitar Riff Ditty

Jun 9, 2017 by

The Haley Buggin’ Guitar Riff Ditty

Guitar riffs. We hear them and they earworm their way into our consciousness and then burrow in for a long stay.

Last night about 8 p.m. I downloaded an app to tune my guitars and one for my mandolin. I never got to the mandolin.

Haley Buggin’, a little ditty I made thanks to The Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron. https://youtu.be/7zgmMeP-coE

I tuned the guitar and then started a progression of the chords E A D, but thumping them and muting them like U2’s Edge would do, and then hammering the neck notes like Eddie Van Halen or Pete Townsend would do.

The result, I thumbed out a progression that I then recorded and sent to my daughter Haley calling it “Haley Buggin’.” You see, over the past couple of years, Haley has from time-to-time sent me tracks she’s recorded seeking input and support. I’ve been encouraging but probably not nearly enough. This was the first time I’ve ever sent her one. I sent her a track about 40 seconds long. Then I recorded a second one. These are the only two times in my life I’ve ever played this progression in this manner and almost 12 hours later, I’m not sure if I picked up the guitar I’d find it again without the aid of the audio recordings. If I’d not taped them, they’d be lost.

After finishing the second version, I liked it at playback and immediately came to the iMac and opened Garageband.

After a few tests, I found some backing drums and maracas to add. I also played with the reverb setting for the guitar track and violla, I had something that sounds like it was recorded in a studio. After moving it over to iTunes, I then fired up Premiere Pro, pulled the audio into Audition to make a .wav file, and then copied the twins’ graduation video. I created a new sequence, called it Haley Buggin, and began to cut individual pics of Reagan out.

Now it’s important to explain that I have nothing against Reagan. It’s just that the first thing that came to mind when I named this piece of music is Haley Buggin’. Since she was born, I’ve called her Haley Bug, and juking on a guitar, well, it just SCREAMED the obvious title. I love Reagan and Chandler, my two other daughters equally.

I then found some video of Haley jukin with her guitar and she starts talking and moving her head in time to the accents of the music. I added a music credit across the black, and then I dropped in the “This is Sick” video clip of her netting potting. Loaded that to YouTube and then on to FB.

Haley says she wants the tune as a ringtone. I can do that.

The amazing part is that in 1.75 hours I took something that didn’t exist before and loaded it to YouTube as a semi-finished, finished product for all the world to use as an earworm.

My guitars haven’t been out of their cases in years. And when they come out, they play a riff I’ve never heard before and in a way I’ve not ever really played, either.

THE ARTIST’S WAY WEEK 7

I am presently in Week 7 of 13 of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. This book is transforming my life in measured and magical ways. Godly ways.

Pulli out the guitar and the first thing my fingers do is knock out a catchy, bouncy riff. That’s magical and wonderful and that’s The Artist’s Way.

God and Julia Cameron helped get my mind to a place where it could free that song into existence. There is no other way to describe it.

So here’s the video of Haley Buggin’. I hope you like it. I hope the tune infects you and you’re stuck walking around with it. Dance in your car with it. Add it to your walking track. (I did 9,000 steps yesterday.) Make it a ringtone.

And if you don’t like it, well, that’s okay, too. I freed it from non-existence to make my soul happy and to release it as an artist seeking to make a contribution to the world of music, sound and video. And I made the piece the way I did out of love for one of my children. That’s the happiest, most healthy part of all of this. This one paragraph.

The point is, share this wonderful creation that God has given us. Serendipity-style.

And then pick up your own copy of The Artist’s Way and see what God does in your world.

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I’m Under A Writing Deadline

Jun 5, 2017 by

I’m Under A Writing Deadline

So what does that mean? Naturally, my mind is trying to find everything it can to NOT write. And I have 56 days to meet a writing deadline.

My kitchen is clean. My sock drawer indexed in a way that would make Sherlock Holmes envious. My Scrivener file is full of sub-folders. And I keep rehashing my Resurrection, Supreme Ordeal and fighting with myself about how to actually re-write my Call to Action.

Why is this?

The Quest for Perfection

In Chapter Seven of The Artist’s Way this week, I’m dealing with PERFECTION. Or my mental quest to put out something that is as close to perfection as humanly, or me-ily possible.

I’m on a writing deadline and doing all I can to NOT do what I should be doing.

“The perfectionist is never satisfied,” says Ms. Cameron. “Midway through the project the perfectionist decides to read it all over, outline it, see where it’s going. And where is it going? Nowhere, very fast.”

I’m trying to break out of this syndrome. In a video on the CREATIVE app today for Apple TV, the screenplay writer teaching the class said to “Imagine your harshest critic sitting here on your shoulder. Most like, if you’re fortunate, it’s your mother. Pick a place she would love to be on a vacation to, and send her there for the time being.” Get her off your shoulder, is what he said.

So yeah, I get that. Mom probably isn’t alone perching on my shoulder. I know I have several critics who I need to send packing.

And not just until I finish this draft.

The Artist’s Way

Julia Cameron’s book, done right, a chapter a week, is altering my creativity. She is healing my heart. She’d argue more so that it is ME who is healing my own heart. And she’s right.

I recommend this book for everyone. In 2014 I bought a copy and gave it to each of my three girls who never did anything with it. That’s not a criticism, because in 2014 I started reading it and thinking, I don’t have time to devote 13 weeks to this.

Three years later, that’s exactly what I am doing. I don’t peek into the coming week’s lesson. I review those of the past. I re-read my Basic Principles, and The Affirmations I need to hear. I also read An Artist’s Prayer every couple of days to help keep my mind fresh and healing.

Writing Deadline

I have a third of fourth draft I’m working to revise of my book, The Voodoo Hill Explorer Club. A revision of it must be ready for submission to the head of The Writer’s Path Program at SMU on Aug. 1. The first 15 pages are going to be judged and determined whether or those those of us who submit should be selected to go to New York in November to meet with publishers and agents who work or represent the Big Five.

In the meantime, I’m struggling to not self-sabotage this effort. But it’s hard. I’m finding plenty of excuses to not write. I need to go for a walk. Three miles and an hour’s time. But while I’m walking I’m thinking about the book. And a dozen other things. The garbage needs to be taken out. The floors haven’t been vacuumed in several days. Oh gosh, there’s dust on this computer. Oh my, look, it’s about to thunderstorm. What’s being said that’s dumb on Twitter? How about Facebook? What did Simon Cade or Matt W post in their video feeds about filmmaking today? What’s Hazel Hays up to? What’s in my Mail inbox? Julia Cameron says I need to throw some old clothes out. What can I really do with this closet? Ah, yes, what am I going to eat for….

Chapter Seven

This week Julia Cameron affirms that my story is written. I just need to get it down on paper. Or into Scrivener so I can push it out of Word. I need to think of the writing process as being lowered down via a well into an sub-dermal layer of consciousness. She says writers, creatives, should not be trying to think things up. Then you’re reaching for something that’s out of reach. Visualize being lowered down into that river and the words are floating past. It’s my job to offer them rescue. To gather them into the boat and then put them in the right order onto my pages.

That is a much easier way to see writing. It seems to be working today. Today.

The teacher in the CREATIVE network on Apple TV says that we should schedule time on our calendar for writing and then adhere to the calendar.

I’m going to do a little of both. But it’s not easy. I keep trying to find a way to not sit here. To be elsewhere. And yet to retrain my brain to stay fastened to the chair.

I will say that the extracurricular things I am doing are not all bad. Yes, they are excuses, but they’re also allowing my brain to play. And Cameron also says that a playful mind is the most creative one of all.

I hope she’s right. There are only 56 days left until submission and I have 56 scenes in my work at present…..

And that’s how an extra blog post gets written, too…. 🙂

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The Artist’s Way, Week Four–No Reading

May 20, 2017 by

The Artist’s Way, Week Four–No Reading

Even before I reached Week Four of Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, where she says to stop reading for a week, I had scaled back my time on Social Media sites like Twitter and Facebook because the noise from the Petulant Left–largely haters of President Donald Trump, largely haters of anything that goes against Judeo-Christian principles of the past 2,500 years–has become too shrill to bother with.

One of my true friends sent me this picture of the sun setting in Mariposa, CA this past week. It’s just amazing.

And thanks for Julia Cameron, thanks to Rick Warren and The Daniel Plan, and God and myself, I’m doing a reset of my life regardless.

I am focusing my life on what’s most important–God, me and what I put into my body so that I might continue to serve him.

I just went through the worst year of my life. Surgeries from severe pain, opioids, doctor appoint after doctor appointment, and more and more pain.

To boot, the person I have been most in love with my entire life copped out on me, succumbed to the threats of her daughter and mother–they are the ones who decide who she’s in love with, not her–and a week before Christmas she walked out of my life. Boom, gone. She lied to her kids and mom for four years about me. Treating me like a mistress. Hiding my contact information in her phone under the graduate college she’s attending so in case I called and they were around, they’d see the school calling, not me.

Shame on her for lying to her family. Shame on me for letting her treat me like that. It won’t happen again.

Julia Cameron says in her book during this week of healing that we should stop reading. No books. No online stuff. Just to read the assignments in the book.

That led me to write a perfect iambic pentameter Shakespearean Sonnet Tuesday night expressing in very poignant terms how I feel about what my friend did. For now it’s folded over and put into the book. The temptation is there to record audio, then lace it with video of all the places we went in the past four years so that those who need to know she’s a balled-faced liar will finally know the truth as she parades around as some sort of super Christian. That’s not meant as judgmental. It’s just the truth.

But as importantly, I’ve stopped looking at the news feed on Facebook and the top hits on Twitter. Most of it is rage at the president. Hate.

I have no time or inclination to listen to that bull any longer. President Obama did a lot to wreck this country and Trump is trying to fix some of it. He’s also trying to make America safe and why the Petulant Left is in favor of leaving the country vulnerable to people who like to commit mass shootings or blow things up is beyond me. That’s not us, they say. Well, I’d rather be alive than have been shot or blown up by a terrorist, or have a family member or friend who was.

Such craziness.

I’m focusing on God. My healing. Eating healthier. Walking. Getting my life back on track. If you or your noise is set on being a distraction to that, I really don’t need/want/like you being in my life at all. So, like Julia Cameron talks about in her book, I am putting new, healthier boundaries in place. And walking every day with my Lord. Much closer than ever before.

And I like who I am becoming again.

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My Morning Sign Ministry

May 13, 2017 by

My Morning Sign Ministry

This week I began something new about 2 a.m. Sunday. I typed up a message for my neighbors and then taped it to folded over manilla file folder and taped that to the metal table outside my apartment door.

There are eight units on my end of the apartment building. To get to the parking lot, one must pass by my front door.

Each day this week I put out a new message of encouragement.

Friday morning, I left three boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Friday morning I surprised my neighbors with Krispy Kreme donuts.

I took a break this morning, Saturday, but have big plans for the moms in the building for later tonight.

My church is considering a program called neighboring. I figured I might do some things ahead of time to get to know my own neighbors, not so I can then say “come to church with me,” but so we can all be closer.

One woman on our end of the building is having a hip replacement Monday. She’s going to be disabled and in as much pain as I have been. She needs prayers of support.

We have new neighbors. One this morning was at the laundry mat. Others are youngsters trying to figure out life. There’s a family above me. She’s a nurse. He comes and goes in scrubs. They have a daughter at Mesquite High School. There’s a woman with two grown children across and up the way. Behind me a family. He works in car parts, she’s some sort of nurse and they have a son at MHS, too. Another couple live downstairs and got first place in the Christmas porch decorating contest. I got second. But other than that, it strikes me I don’t know much about them. That’s what I’m trying to change with the morning interactions, though admittedly, from my messed up sleep cycle we’re not engaging in the morning hours. Yet.

One of my neighbors left this note taped to the door Friday morning.

These unique people all live in spaces attached to my own. It just makes sense to reach out and show a little kindness. To be neighborly.

Of course my situation the past 12 months has been a little limiting. It was a year ago yesterday, on Friday the 13th, that a chiropractor in Mesquite screwed up the nerves in my back and legs seemingly for good. After multiple surgeries and procedures, walking is still a chore as is getting about.

But I’m glad to say I’m a month now off the opioids. I’ve not had caffeine in two weeks. I’m beginning to feel a little like my old self.

After the donuts yesterday morning, I awoke to find a thank you sign taped to the front door.

On the table this morning was a card from the neighbors above.

Doors are opening. New friends are being made, and I am loving my neighbors as well as myself.

This morning’s thank you card from my neighbors.

Now, what to do next week?

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A Mile Into The Woods

Apr 27, 2017 by

A Mile Into The Woods

I walked a mile into the woods today to be further away from you and closer to me.
Perhaps I succeeded.
But it was time for another view.

I walked a mile into the woods today.

I hear planes in the distance.
The wind rushing over my ears.
The rustle of the leaves.
Feet padding along the trail.
Cars way off in the distance.
Birds.
Cracks and smacks of branches and sticks.

The whisper of the wind across my ear drums.
The pulse of God’s breath moving across my arms.
The bursts of sunlight breaking through the crown of the trees above.
The dancing shadows across the ground.
The to and fro of branches wafting in the wind.
The colors, greens, darker; brown, black, bright green and gray.

I hold out my hand and the sun catches it, throwing a shadow across the ground.
But it’s not crisp, it weaves in and out of light.
There, it’s solid.
No, now it’s not.
There are patterns from shoes that have been here before me.
V-shapes, circles, squares.
At deeper depths.
Tire tracks, from bikes.

A broken branch lies a few feet away.
The light above illuminates the top, worn from who knows what.
The rest of the bark is intact.

A tiny yellow flower, no bigger than a diamond clings to nature’s floor, protected by fronds of green petals.

A yellow star of a flower.

It’s a miniature star, yellow, with a darker yellow center.
And it was waiting for me to come along and sit here today, for me alone to capture.
Or maybe, just maybe it’s my metaphorical reflection, a quantum physics of sorts I do not yet comprehend.
But I’m trying.
My eyes are open.
Again.

A bird chirps overhead. Now it’s gone.

Divergent travelers surround me.
Another over-crowded airliner moans eastward overhead.
I hear a truck far off, backing up, backing up, backing up.
Both are in a race.
While I sit here.
Still.
Forgetting to breathe.
Or think about anything but the moment.

The sky above is blue.
The leaves above reflect the white light of the sun—not greenness at all.
While others are shades far darker in the shade.
And then there are the branches where from many feet below I can see the chloroplastered canals of leaf after leaf after leaf.
Like a playground bully, the wind pushes the leaves.
Like me in my inner frights of seeing too many parental fights, they never push back.
So many forces working against them and they continue a dance in the wind as if none of their opposition matters.
These are Spring leaves.
Deep inside I must resemble a crumbling one in Fall.

I see bees buzzing past me.
Clumps of white spores float along in the air.
A blue butterfly.
Then a Monarch.
A bird is somewhere off in the distance.
This snack he’s missing.
I’m glad.
There go two more now, chasing each other into the leaves like lovers in a Hollywood musical.

A water fall of sorts is no more than forty yards from where I sit.
The water rushes.
Like the mass of human drama beyond, it doesn’t relent.
A constant wash of white noise blending in with all the other orchestral parts employed around me.

The wind is blowing the branches above my head making the leaves look like a million pinwheels as they sway two and fro.
A kaleidoscope of light and shadow and mystery.

I want to lie down on the path in front of me.
On my back and flatten against the earth, staring up into the azure blue, and then just close my eyes and take it all in all the more.
But my inner parent voice says that’s not allowed.
Or maybe it’s an echo of an actual parent voice.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring a blanket or a towel.
Or maybe I should just try it.
Who will know?
Those damned inner parent voices.
What do they really know?

Now a dog behind me somewhere has joined his bit part in the symphony of outdoor sounds I am awash in.
At home, if it were my dog, this would bug me, but in the distance, the sound is different.
Not annoying.
Not troublesome.
Now it’s stopped.
No, it hasn’t.

To my distant right I see one lone purple flower at the seam where the grass is no longer edged and bushes, Mother Nature, takes over.

The pink/purple flower. I took a picture anyway.

Just a lone purple and pinkish dot on the horizon.
And it, too, dances in and out of the bright light overhead.
Maybe I should go take a picture.
Maybe I should let the one in my mind’s eye be enough.
Click.

There goes a wasp.
Keep going.
Arms dropping.
Pincers ready.
I’ve been stung by you and life too many times already.
Keep going.

Maybe it’s time to load up the pack and head back.
Or maybe I should close the computer and open my mind more.
There went a shadow of a plane from overhead, racing on its way.
Why do I want to follow in pursuit?
A yellow butterfly just swooshed off to my left.
It doesn’t need clearance to fly.
No flight plan required.
Without a set destination.
Gate to gate time is of no concern.
Pushback.
Just the will to be.
It’s gone now.
I’ll go now, too.
There is so much more to see.

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