Writerly Wednesday – Catalina the Brave (Poem)

I am most certainly not a poet, but during my last semester of college, I was forced to write poems. Although I doubt I’ll ever strive to publish a book of poems, or even count myself as a poet, I do appreciate the art of it. I enjoyed learning to take a story and fit it into stanzas. Poems breathe a little differently than prose, which made them a little tricky. Overall, it was a really nice class and I look forward to writing a few more poems in my future.

Here is one I workshopped back in March:

Weekdays from eight to three she is like everyone else.

Her best friend is Tucker

Sometimes they climb up the slides together

But only when they think

you can’t see them.

 

She can spell her name

But only if you remind her what the first letter is.

C — as in Cat.

That’s actually the first three letters of her name

But you aren’t counting.

 

Monday at lunch she ate the crust

Off the marmalade sandwich her father had forgotten to trim.

You put what snacks she didn’t eat in the filing cabinet.

Storing them like food for winter—

A rainy day drawer of sunshine Sunny D.

 

That way on Wednesday when she turned to you

And told you she wished she had fruit snacks

You could give them to her.

Daddy sent them special for you. Isn’t he the best?

She was pleased. Your heart somehow felt lighter.

 

Days passed and suddenly it was the end of that first week

She brought in a build-a-bear

And stood in front of the class, swaying back and forth

Clutching the animal like a shield.

She is a three year old built of enough kisses to last a lifetime.

 

Together you sat on the bench next to the carpool line.

At your request, she counted how many blue cars drove by.

She kicked her chubby legs back and forth,

Still gripping the teddy bear.

It is pink, like the laces on her light-up Dora sneakers.

 

Now the color stands for

So much more than it ever did before.

It is the emblem of a battle lost,

A tear-stained teddy stuffed with

The fabric muffled words of a warrior.

 

Her daddy arrived red-eyed and unshaven

She was the proud owner of his only smile.

In that moment, you thought of the drawer filled with snacks

Of the lopsided pigtails, crust encircled sandwiches

And the build-a-bear stuffed with mommy’s voice.

     | Catalina the Brave |

 

 

 

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

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Story Time Saturday – Things I don’t want to ever forget

 

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Jonah

My Mema and Papa go to the same Hardee’s every morning and order the same thing.

 

My daddy reading me the Harry Potter books way past when I actually needed to be read to–because we’d started that way and he was going to finish that way.

When I was younger we weren’t really supposed to put the dog on the bed, but whenever we had hard days Mama would let us. When we got the news that daddy would need open heart surgery, Mama and I sat on the bed cuddling with our golden retriever. He’s gone now and I still think of him as “the heart attack” dog. Miss him. 

My grandma used to tell us that if we didn’t clean all our scratches we’d end up with an infection. One time she told me that she once knew someone who’d lost a finger because they hadn’t cleaned a scrape well enough. She used to pour this stuff that burnt and smelt terrible on all of our injuries. To clean it, she said. I hated it, but all I could think about was that person who’d lost their finger. I liked all of mine and figured I’d try to keep them.

My Mema is the only person who calls me Bri and I love it. 

Back when I was Sissy and my little brother was Bubby. I don’t remember when I stopped calling him that, but I remember vaguely whenever he stopped calling me Sissy and started using my name. He’s nineteen now. I don’t really know why, but it still kind of makes me sad when I think about it.

My Papa Crump has always been a story teller, but recently his favorite story is about when he was young and he demanded a raise from his boss. He went to his boss and said that if he didn’t get more money he was gonna have to quit and find something else. His boss said, “Bill, I don’t want you to quit.” and Papa said, “I don’t wanna have to quit.” The man gave him a raise. I don’t know why he keeps telling us this story, but I’ve heard it so many times that I can still hear him saying it in my head. I don’t want to ever forget that. I recorded him telling it on my phone. I have a lot of recordings of him telling stories on my phone. 

When we were kids, my cousins and I used to run barefoot all over our grandparent’s yard climbing trees. I was the oldest and it was always my job to create the game. I’d make up a story and divvy out parts. I always took it very seriously–I think I was a writer even before I knew I was. We used to take my grandma’s old dresses from the fifties and wear them while we played. They were our costumes. Our armor. Our ballgowns. The dresses still hang in the same closet they always have.

Mama didn’t really like us watching Cartoon Network when we were really young. When I went to my grandma’s house I used to watch it anyway (I know, I was such a little rebel). Courage the Cowardly Dog used to give me nightmares. Mother knows best. 

I can still remember the exact second I decided that I wanted to be a writer. It was sudden and absolute. I haven’t stopped wanting it since.

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Fenway as a puppy

When we brought my dog, Fenway, home for the first time he fit in the back window of our car. He slept there, it was his favorite spot. He’s the size of a horse now and I have now idea how he ever managed to fit somewhere as small as that. 

I was so scared to show my dad my writing at first. I felt so terribly vulnerable. Now he is the first person to read anything that I write and I would be absolutely nothing without him. 

My mama used to sew me dresses with tags inside that read “Made with love by Mommy.” I have no idea how to sew, but I want to learn for the sole purpose of being able to one day do that for my children.

When my dad had his third heart attack, my mom came into my room and told me what was happening. She was getting daddy ready to go to the emergency room. She told me to take care of my little brother, Josh. I remember making him Easy Mac. I was probably twelve or thirteen at the time. We stayed by ourselves in the house that night. I think that was the first time in my life that I’d ever stayed overnight in the house without an adult there. I slept in my parent’s bedroom and worried all night. I think Jonah was probably on the bed that night too. 

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Papa at the Farm

My family has a farm house in the middle of nowhere. It is about two hours from where I live. It is over two hundred years old. My great grandparents lived there and it is where my papa was raised. My grandfather is such a good storyteller that I can sometimes feel my great grandma Maggie in that house, even though she is long dead and we never met. He describes her so vividly that she feels real. I know she still lives in that house and I hope it always remains standing for her.

 

 

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

Writerly Wednesday – Some of the Random stuff I Know About the Victorian and Edwardian Eras

Did you know that

I recently graduated from college and it would be quite the understatement for me to say that I have a lot of feelings to process–nevertheless, we’ll just go with that. One of these emotions is the wonderful feeling of absolute relief. The nature of senior year is that you rush rush rush and then, by the time you settle in enough to breathe and look up at your surroundings, it is completely over. One of the reasons that senior year is so exhausting is the required senior thesis. As an English major, we are required to write a 20-25 page senior thesis. In hindsight, this doesn’t sound too terribly scary since I have written hundreds upon hundreds of pages worth of academic papers.  But, believe me, it is terrifying.

One of these emotions is the wonderful feeling of absolute relief. The nature of senior year is that you rush rush rush and then, by the time you settle in enough to breathe and look up at your surroundings, it is completely over. One of the reasons that senior year is so exhausting is the required senior thesis. As an English major, we are required to write a 20-25 page senior thesis. In hindsight, this doesn’t sound too terribly scary since I have written hundreds upon hundreds of pages worth of academic papers.  But, believe me, it is terrifying.

For my thesis, I chose to study the Neo-Victorian and Steampunk genres. For my own sake (and yours), I will avoid even discussing what my argument was or what the paper itself entailed. Personally, I don’t want to ever think about it again. What I do want to talk about is it all the random things I learned while researching for my thesis. You see, part of my thesis project was writing a novel wherein I represented and combined the two aforementioned genres. In doing so, I learned so much about the Victorian period. Some of which is really weird.

DID YOU KNOW THAT…

The Victorians had arsenic in their wallpaper. The arsenic was apparently used to keep the wallpaper color bright and unfaded. Victorians used to get sick and take small trips to the seaside for their health. After a few days away they would get well (because they weren’t unintentionally killing themselves anymore) and then they would return back to their arsenic infested homes. In one instance, a baby actually died from chewing on a piece of wallpaper.

 

The Victorians used to think that very white bread was healthiest and freshest. Don’t ask me why. Bakers use to add plaster, and other chemicals, to their dough to make it whiter in color. What is worse, is that the millers, use to add the same chemicals to their grain to make it last longer. They could make their product go further if it had some additives in it. Add to that the fact that the baker would then also add in chemicals and you have a pretty terrible health situation.

 

The Victorians used to put radium on things to make them glow.They would have working women paint the faces of watches and clocks so that they would glow in the dark and would be easily seen. This was a new fad in the era. It was more or less the equivalent of the glow in the dark star stickers people stick on the ceiling as kids–except, of course, those aren’t dangerous. The girls painting these clocks would often lick the paint brushes they used so that they could make the bristles stick together in a way that made painting the numbers a little easier. In doing so, these girls unintentionally hurt themselves. They ended up with radium jaw. This is already absolutely terrible, but what is worse is that the factories knew that this was a risk and did not tell anyone! Ah! Instead, when their workers began getting ill, they spread rumors that the girls had sexually transmitted diseases. Pretty terrible if you ask me. 

It is absolutely terrifying how much stuff these people were using that they shouldn’t have been. It definitely makes you reconsider what we use in our daily lives. Anyway, this isn’t really a typical Writerly Wednesday. I thought it was some interesting things that I learned while researching for my last novel and thought I’d share.

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

Story Time Saturday – My First Road Trip

Okay, so this isn’t really a story about the road trip itself. It’s actually a story about that one time when the car broke down *no less than three times* during a road trip to New York. So, buckle up…

My Junior year of college I went to New York with some friends. At the time, I had a friend who lives there and so it was an easy fall break location. So the four of us loaded into Rachel’s car and we set off. I’d never been on a road trip before and so I didn’t really know what to expect. I have always been the car DJ and this trip was no different. I complied a playlist of everyone’s favorite songs and we headed off. Good times.

It was only a three or four-day trip. I think we left on a Friday morning and we were supposed to be back to school by that Tuesday evening. We accomplished this–but it was far from uneventful. We got about half way and stopped at a Cracker Barrell in West Virginia. Driving through Virginia is sort of the bulk of the trip since we had to cross it diagonally. We drove through the day and only stopped for dinner because we needed a break and because the car had started making a *quiet* noise. We ate dinner and paid. In the dark parking lot of the Cracker Barrell, we used our phone flashlights and checked the oil. All seemed well. We got in the car and started heading back towards the highway. we’d just reached the end of the road that led to the restaurant when the car just quit. Nothing. Luckily we were kind of already on a hill, so we rolled forwards, across an empty road and into a Sheets gas station.

Now came the part–calling moms. We were stuck, a few hours away from home and unable to go anywhere. In the dark. Joy. I called my mom, opened with a, “Okay, so everyone is fine, but…” and proceeded to explain the situation. At this point, we were around four hours from Rachel’s house in New York. We were four hours away from the closest parent who could help us. Mom located the nearest hotel, which was actually positioned directly behind the gas station, and called to see about getting us a room. I was the only person with enough money to get a hotel room, but I wasn’t old enough to rent a room. The lady at the hotel was incredibly sweet and let me do it anyway–since we were stranded.

We pretty much rolled Rachel’s car to the hotel and stayed there until her dad reached us at around two in the morning. He traded cars with us, loaded us into their family van and we were on our way to NY. What ended us being kind of cool about this is that we were actually able to see the sunrise over New York since we arrive right around that time. We got to Rachel’s house and pretty much died until some time later that Saturday morning.

New York was fun, but that isn’t what the story is about–so fast forward to Tuesday morning at like five or six. Since Rachel’s car is still in West Virginia (fixed and waiting for us, mind you) we load into her family van and begin the drive to get her car. The plan was to get to West Virginia and get her car. Her dad would come later to get their van from where we were leaving it at the mechanic. Her dad had taken the van to the shop the day before to have it checked to make sure it was set to take us to West Virginia the following day. We should fine. We leave Rachel’s house without incident. We had just gotten onto the ramp onto the highway when the check engine light came on in the van. It starts acting weird and Rachel calls her mom. We pull off onto the side of the side of the road until we have spoken to her and we feel more confident that the van can actually manage to get us back to Rachel’s house. We head back. If this isn’t the most ridiculous turn of events. Sigh. At this point, we were just really all over it and ready to get back.

We reached Rachel’s house and huddled in the basement watching Elf. We napped and waited to figure out what was going on with the van. We woke up to word that the van was going to need some work and we would need to rent something. Since none of us are old enough to rent a car at this point, Rachel’s dad left work and came back. He rented a van *exactly* like her family van and we finally left  New York. Things were fine and reached West Virginia without too much trouble.

Rachel got her car from the mechanic in WV and we were told it was good to go. We moved all of our bags from the van to her car and settled in for the ride back to North Carolina. Rachel’s dad said that he was going to follow us for an exit or two just to make sure we were going right, and then he would take the rental back to NY. We said goodbye to him and headed off. We were tired but in good spirits. Then the third breakdown happened. The check engine light came on in Rachel’s car and she called her dad. We left her car at a gas station and put all of our stuff back in the van. Rachel’s dad drove us all the way back to Gardner-Webb and we arrived really late Tuesday night.

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And that is the story of how we were broke down three times during a road trip.

The struggle is so very real.

 

 

 

 

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

Writerly Wednesday – The Writer’s Notebook

A writer’s notebook is STEP ONE of my writing process.

Throughout my college writing career, I was encouraged (forced really) to use a writer’s notebook. I seriously hated the cheap composition notebooks we were supposed to use for the class. They never held up for me. I tend to be a bit heavy handed, a trait I get completely from my dad, and so I quickly found that the seventy-five cent notebooks weren’t lasting the way a good writer’s notebook should. I tried using them but quickly found that I wouldn’t use it if it didn’t feel right, which they never did. The pages were too thin, too large, to standard student for me to feel creative when using it. I needed something that sang to my writer soul. So I did what every good writer does–

I went to Target.

I’m almost certain that I went to the store toIMG_5484 buy something completely different, but, as tends to happen in Target, I left with more than I came for. I bought my first every designated writer’s notebook. It was last July and I was about to start a new project. Every time I start a new book I decide on one new thing to focus on about my writing. Description. Characterization. Dialogue. Scene shifts. Writing action. — All of these are things I’ve focused on in the past for certain projects. For this book, Not Enough Soul, I wanted to work on novel planning and teach myself to work on both a deadline and a mapped plot. I started with a notebook and I have never looked back. 

In the past my writing professor, Dr. Davis, always had us keep a notebook per writing class. In this notebook, we compiled all of our notes, drafts, and thoughts about whatever it was we were writing. For instance, our poetry notebook contained our ten required poems, as well as drafts and notes on the creative process.

I always struggled with genuinely doing that because I felt like my best work was done electronically, not on the page. I liked the crisp, clean Word Document. I could backspace and quickly fix mistakes without needing to mess up a page or rewrite the work completely.

The downside to this is that you can’t really see the process of getting to the end piece. You can “track your changes” using computer technology, but it still isn’t quite the same as seeing your mistakes and progressively how you fixed them–or learned to avoid them altogether. There is just something nice about being able to see your growth as a writer visually, which is definitely one of the main pros of a writer’s notebook.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I really needed a notebook. Sometimes your don’t realize how much you were missing something until you have it. I wrote seven of my IMG_5485almost ten novels without using a notebook. Five of those books are The Kayla Chronicles. The difference in how I handled writing the last of The Kayla Chronicles books, Throne Over, and how I wrote Not Enough Soul, is ridiculous.  It is honestly a little embarrassing how little planning and organization I had for those five books, especially when it is considered that they are fantasy and required quite a bit of world-building (a lot of which I didn’t even bother to do because I just didn’t know how).

Oh man, was I inexperienced and stupid! But, it is okay. Let me help you.

I write everything in my notebook. It goes where I go. I have a small purple bag of pens and pencils and it goes with me everywhere as well. I take notes constantly. The notebook usually starts out with a list of known characters, their ages and perhaps a description. I then work out the relationship between each character on that list. Are there nicknames that only certain characters can call each other? For instance, in

For instance, in Not Enough Soul, one of my characters, Charlie, is the only person who calls his sister by the pet name, Haddie. Everyone else calls her by her actual name, which is Hadley. This is in the notes, which in turn assists me in remaining consistent. It also can help with smaller details such as spelling. In the first Kayla Chronicles book, Astridia, there is a character named, Aiden. I wasn’t using a notebook when I wrote this novel and there are numerous places where I spelled his name “Aidan” or “Aedin” because I couldn’t remember and didn’t have it written down. He was a minor character and I just didn’t think to keep up with it. Things like that go away when it is written down for future reference. Details like who is tallest in a group, what color eyes someone has, and whether or not a side character has siblings is important, even if it doesn’t seem that way.

There is no such thing as an unimportant character otherwise they would not be in the book at all. Every person that is added to a story serves some sort of purpose, even if that purpose is small. Readers want to feel connected to every single character you mention. If they are meant to remember them, give them reasons why they should. If you can’t even remember their hometown then why would anyone else bother to? I’m preaching to the choir here (Listen to yourself, Brianna. You hear this? Pay attention). Every character needs something that makes them real.

I was taught that vague details make for vague stories. Be specific about who your characters are. What do they want? What will happen if they don’t get it? Who do they love most? Why? Who is their best friend? What do they typically eat for breakfast?Breathe air into their paper lungs and turn them into people with lives.

My best friend, Kayleigh, was living her own life before we met and she didn’t stop living it when I showed up. We became friends and our individual lives intertwined and overlapped, but she didn’t story being herself. Everyone is the star of their own story. Side characters don’t realize that they are side-characters. They are really just living their lives alongside your protagonist.

A writer’s notebook makes this possible. It gives a writer the space to create more than just 200 pages worth of story. I treasure the notebooks that I have because they are the deleted scenes of my story. They contain everything that did happen, should have happened, might have happened and perhaps will happen, in the story. It contains all the details that I am far too scattered brained to remember.

So much of my writing journey thus far has been me teaching myself. I watch youtube videos, read self-help books, follow blogs, spend every free second writing and trying to improve my writing. I am constantly learning. I am nowhere near the writer I want to one day be, but I take a step closer to it every time I write.

In general, having a writer’s notebook has taught me that my first seven books are good, but could have been great with a notebook. I could have gotten to my destination faster if I’d been wise enough to bring along a map. This time around I plan to.

I’m currently in the planning process to rewrite the first book in The Kayla Chronicles, Astridia. I intend to blog quite a bit about the process since I’ll be doing things differently and I’ve learned so much about myself as a writer since I wrote that book in 2014.

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

Story Time Saturday – That One Time We Played Hide & Go Seek: A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a very large group of college students.

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The college students in question.

It was Friday night and they were incredibly bored. Their university, although fair of campus,  possessed only one stoplight and lacked sufficient entertainment. Everything closed at 10 pm, save for the Walmart and the Cookout, both of which were at least a twenty-minute journey from their place of residence. And so it was decided that they should busy themselves in some other form of merriment. Since Netflix had long ago lost is luster, they turned their fickle attentions to a new wonder–the convocation center.

 

Since the gym was used for serious athletic prowess, they knew better than to be seen sullying such a place with their own meager skills. They decided instead to explore this new territory in an invigorating game of hide-and-go-seek. They waited until late at night after all had left, then they set out.

Since the gym was used for serious athletic prowess, they knew better than to be seen sullying such a place with their own meager skills. They decided instead to explore this new territory in an invigorating game of hide-and-go-seek. They waited until late at night after all had left, then they set out.

After a few rousing games, it was decided that they should play sardines. For those of you who have lived this life and yet never experienced such a game as this, let me explain. Sardines is a game in which one player hides away and must be found by every other player. Once found, the finder must then hide alongside the original player until all, save one, are hidden. The name originates from the cramped conditions of the hiders, resulting in an experience similar to that of canned sardines.

Rules were set out. It was said that the players should avoid hiding in offices, places shut tight behind already closed doors, and all bathrooms. The hider was chosen and the game began.

The convocation center is a maze of circles, one on the main floor and one on the basement level. The Gymnasium sits directly in the center of the circle and can be entered from many different entrances set along the path of the outer circles. Although seemingly simple, this structure can become confusing to a newcomer. There are many hallways branching off of the main circle these often lead to many smaller wings of the gym. These hallways are often begun by swinging doors set within alcoves of the greater walkway. It was one such alcove which our initial hider chose this night.

Slowly the players gathered. In order to remain unseen from the walkway, they needed to press against the door for which the alcove was created. This gathering continued for some time, as sardines is not a particularly fast game and the gym is not a particularly small place.

Some stood, some sat. Nearly half a dozen players had gathered when they heard it, the sound of footsteps. A somber hush fell over those hiding–for the object of this game is to remain completely out of sight.

Without warning, the inside door of the alcove was hauled open and the hiders were laid bare, not by one of their friends–but by a complete stranger. Much to their surprise, it was a boy–clearly just trying to exit the men’s basketball locker room. He laughed and the group of embarrassed girls scrambled away, hastily trying to explain themselves. ‘Twas quite mortifying. Needless to say, from that moment onward, they were quite careful about when they played games in the convocation center–lest they be caught once more.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading my incredibly anticlimactic story. 🙂

Also, that’s a picture of Ellen perched on a vending machine like a bird. You are welcome.

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.

Writerly Wednesday – Stop and think before you write

I have always been a fly by the seat of my pants writer. I often dream the story, map the scene, faster than my fingers can type it. This leads to typos and unemotional scene work (in my own opinion). I recognized this weakness in myself before anyone could point it out to me, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I always told myself that it was fine – I was writing. All of my professors just wanted me to keep writing. I didn’t know how to stop and no one seemed incredibly worried about the fact that I wasn’t stopping – until this past Spring when I was forced, for the first time in my writing career to stop and think before I wrote. You see, I use to write novels the way some people talk – before even thinking. Sometimes I would realize what was happening in a scene just as I was writing it. As a writer, I felt like I had very little control. Sometimes I still feel this way… but I realized fairly quickly that this was a problem.

You see, I use to write novels the way some people talk – before even thinking. Sometimes I would realize what was happening in a scene just as I was writing it. As a writer, I felt like I had very little control. Sometimes I still feel this way… but I realized fairly quickly that this was a problem. You see, unplanned writing is often ineffective writing–or at least it is not nearly as effective as if could be. I use to set a scene to accomplish one thing and end up accomplishing something else. I always thought that this was good, it meant that I knew my characters well enough that I could let them run the story–WRONG. For me, because I can only speak for myself, this means that I’ve lost control of the story. Pause. Think. Breathe. Then Write.

Pause. Think. Breathe. Then Write.

Think. Breathe. Then Write.

Breathe. Then Write.

Then Write.

I’m the writer, I should know best. Giving my character’s control in the story can be nice, but it should never be the only way the story is written. At some point, the writer must take the pen, or keyboard, into their own hands and control where the story goes.

My last semester of college was stressful, but it was exactly what I wanted it to be. The English professors at Gardner-Webb may never truly understand what they did for me when they allowed me to study genre and write a novel for my thesis. Four years of writing on my own led up to that moment of writer realization.

I hadn’t been doing it wrong the entire time, but I could most certainly be doing it better.

To keep things very simple, for my thesis project I studied the Victorian period and wrote a novel that reflected a lot of the things I’d learned. It was while working on this project that I began to realize what I’d been doing wrong and how I could correct it through research. I could be a better writer, make my scenes stronger and my characters more realistic, by preparing for scenes.

Typically I write fantasy so I assumed that research didn’t really make a lot of sense. It should be my ideas, why taint them with the vastness of the internet? Of, but I was missing the point!

When you are planning to go camping what do you do? You pack. You make a list. You bring a tent, blankets, food, water– the basics. If you don’t consider what the weather will be, the type of terrain, the amount of people going, or the location, you will forget things and end up in a mess. You might dress for summer and end up with snow. You may need bug spray. You may experience the horror of having forgotten to bring toilet paper. There are so many moving parts in planning a trip — writing is literally the exact same.

ODNS meme FTWA

Scenes need to be planned and packed for; otherwise, you may end up killing a character who is more beneficial alive. You might miss a really incredible plot point because you didn’t bring a map. I know, believe me, I’ve done both of those things. My writing became so much stronger when I started consistently living with a writer’s notebook and when I started planning before I wrote. Do I still listen to every bullet point or follow everything on an outline? No. Sometimes my character’s say that the story should be one way and I let them because otherwise I will get bored and quit. Follow your heart…but maybe also your plan? 🙂

I typically use a writer’s notebook as a guide. I’ll be writing about my own planning process next Wednesday.  Tell me about your writing process. Do you wing it or do you plan it?  How much control do your characters have?

 

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0cf4b5_f96085ede92143278d8874b405bce387~mv2Hello! My name is Brianna Joy Crump and I am a twenty-two-year-old writer from Raleigh. North Carolina. I am a recent graduate from Gardner-Webb University where I received my BA in English with an emphasis in creative writing. While in college, I wrote nine and a half novels, as well as multiple short stories and a handful of poems. I am currently rewriting one of my novels and hoping to pursue agents and publishing come the fall. For more information, feel free to contact me on social media or check out my website.