F IS FOR FICTION

When I chose Fiction as my "F" word, I really wasn't sure what direction I wanted to take this post.  Was it that I always dreamed of writing fiction?  That I grew up reading fiction?  Well, that is kind of a Duh, no?  Most anyone who dreams of writing fiction grows up reading it.  Then I realized that this was another Circle Story.  What's that, you ask?  Seinfeld did it all the time.  The story started off here, and ended there, and it was actually One Big Ole Circle.  Hilarious.  I look at my life and see a lot of Circle Stories.  Yeah, not as funny as Seinfeld.  Moving on...

When I was in high school, and Oh-So-Certain of where I was going in my life, and my "Career Path," yada yada yada, I heard the story for the first time of my mother quitting college because... wait for it... she couldn't decide on a major.  At the time, I thought this was Hilarious (as in actually Laugh Out Loud Funny), and I told the story to anyone who would listen, and then doubled over, and practically rolled on the floor.  Sooooo funny.  How could someone quit because they were Undecided????  What in the name of Jesus was she thinking?  Bwahahahaha.

After one miserable Freshman year, I came to a very sad and unfortunate conclusion: I was wrong.  I was not going to major in Music.  That was not going to be my Career Path.  My Career Path was now this Blank Slate.  I was void.  So, I took a year of Core Classes, certain that something would come to me; I would find my answer.   I did not.  I finished up my Sophomore year with a whimper.  I distinctly recall sitting in my Guidance Counselor's office, and having The Conversation about "What are we going to do now," since Music was off the table, and I had to declare SOMETHING in order to choose my classes for the Fall.  Egads.  It was happening already;  I had turned into my mother.  Karma is a terrible thing.  It was taking it's revenge.  I wasn't laughing now.  I would never even be able to tell The Story again.  "Don't ask for whom the bell tolls.  It tolls for thee."  Well played, John Dunne.  Well played.

I chose English.  I chose my Major based on the fact that I liked to read. I had nothing else.  All I knew was that I wasn't quitting.  You can bet your sweet (fill in the blank) that I read a lot.  I packed that entire major into two years.  I read and read and read some more.  And when I wasn't reading, I was writing.  Good times.

Since then, I have tried my hand at writing fiction.  If you have read this blog for a LONG TIME you will remember the elation of when that process was going well, followed by the crushing angst of the crash and burn.  What happened?  I discovered that I did it wrong.  Turns out writing fiction is like booking a trip.  You absolutely must know where you are going.  Like a bonehead, I had a story fairly well plotted out, but I didn't have my ending all sewn up.  Now I feel like a moron saying it out loud because it seems... well, obvious.  So, I quit writing where I was and jumped to the end.  But, I could never make the two meet.  I don't think the constant migraine did anything to shore up this problem.  Eventually, my excitement for the project was outweighed by my annoyance.  That was when it got shelved. 

Of course, that isn't the first book I have started.  Or the first Idea For An Excellent Novel that has ever burned across my brain.  That is just the one with actual chapters and word count.  That said, I don't fancy myself a Great American Novelist.  I don't have this gift for weaving words together so lyrically that you will cry, though that would be lovely.  I just like to tell a rollicking  fun ride of a story.  Barring that, if you aren't bored out of your mind, I would say it is a win.

Until I muster the will to start again on The Book, this blog is my writing outlet... and I just don't see myself quitting.   Why?  Because it just isn't in me.  Now, that is truth and not fiction.

Fiction Rating: Passion, Phase, and Life Lesson (this one gets the Trifecta)

image found at www.weheartit.com

Are you a fiction or non-fiction reader?  When did the read you become an avid reader?  Have you tried your hand at writing?  If you are a published writer, did you publish the first thing you wrote or did you have several discarded novels lying around before you finally got it "right?"

IT WAS THE DRUGS AND MISERY

Okay, I lied. It wasn't the drugs. I was just looking for a catchy blog title in the style of Misery.

It looks like I am going to blog in the style of all of you before this is said and done. Look out. You could be next. Today, I am going to blog a la Misery minus the fashion and the models. Actually, that really makes it look NOT like her blog at all. Well, I will tackle lots of different subjects.

Here is a video I posted on writing a novel quite a while ago. I have quite a few new followers, so it may be new to you. It blew my mind when I watched it. I was in the process of writing a novel (not my first) and I finally understood why I never actually completed one. The video is short but enlightening. Remember to turn off the idiot box music player at the bottom of the page.



To update you on my own novel writing: I finally hunkered down and wrote The End. It was sad news people when I watched that video and understood that I had written about 18 chapters and had yet to write The End. I immediately stopped writing and started thinking about The End. Big Trouble in Robin Land. I had written myself into corners I didn't like. I tried several times to work within these restrictions. Finally, I said screw it and wrote The End that I wanted. Yeah, that meant major rewriting all through the novel. I am almost done connecting the middle to The End. However, I have hit a stage of "not wanting to write for the last few days." Not good.

I have backdoored my way through blogger all the way down the line. People: I don't understand how to use this site and I pretty much luck up every time I find anything. That is no lie. Well, I backed into a writer's site. A published writer. Did you know that published writer's follow other writers? They also follow literary agents and sites that tell you how to write a good query letter? It felt like hitting the mother lode. Or is that mother load? I think I was right the first time. Who cares? You know what I mean. The downside of this was TMI (too much information). As in brain overload. I think I short circuited myself. And that might be the cause of the blockage.

Yesterday, I read this blog. It is short and worth reading. Derek Molata, out of the goodness of his heart, gives three tips he has found that work in overcoming the dreaded writer's block. (Yeah, he is someone worth following.)

Now, about my Music Theory class. I did really well in the written part of the class. It is somewhat mathematical and you can study for that. If I remember this right (it was a long time ago, folks), most of the time you were given the note that the sopranos would sing (top note in the treble clef) and the bass note (the low note in the bass clef) and given the key you were working with, you had to fill in the rest of the chord (the alto and tenor notes). That wasn't so bad. Now, for those poor souls that I mentioned that didn't read music but could play anything, all of it was torture. It had to be. I didn't hear the complaining, but there were four guys in a band and they were good. I think one of them could read music. I honestly don't know how they got through that class without throwing things.

For me, it was the listening portion of that class that had me crying in my room every Wednesday and Friday. The teacher was actually very cool ~ the best one of the bunch, but that part of the class was torture. He would give you the key. Play a note on the piano and try to get you to hear the next note. Somebody shoot me. That turned into starting with one note and him playing bars of music. You had to get the notes right and the values of the notes right. You got the key and the starting note and then three bars of notes. So, if you miss the first note played after the given note.... well, you're screwed.

I graduated high school with a 4.0 GPA. I made As. I expected to make As. Anything less than As was unacceptable. Not to my parents. To me. The first three months on those listening tests I made straight Fs. Thus, the crying. Every week. I don't remember when the Fs turned into Ds, but it didn't stop the crying. Ds are not that much better than Fs. My attitude about that class turned into, "I hate Music Theory." Once you cross that line, you are destined to fail. I promise you that. Once you hate it, it hates you right back. I took voice lessons. I stopped practicing. That did nothing to improve my voice. I didn't care.

The guy that taught rhythm first semester worked with us on the piano the second semester. By then, I was already more than halfway out the door. I remember a specific day when we were all plugged in to our pianos. We all had headphones on so that we could hear him, and he wore headphones so that he could tune in specifically to hear our "electric" piano and/or our voices. I can't remember what he asked me to play, but I had not practiced whatever it was. I laughed at him. Yes, I did. I laughed at my professor. I believe I followed it up with a "You're kidding, right?" He wasn't kidding. After listening to me hatchet my way through whatever scale it was he wanted me to play, he stopped me mid-way and agreed that I was not competent at that. I think I smirked and nodded. We had to have been close to the end of second semester. I had to have known that Music Theory and I were about to part ways. It is amazing how free you are to be an asshat when you know you are about to kiss something goodbye.

As for me and the listening portion of Music Theory, I finished with test scores of Cs. Fs to Cs. I think that I got a B in the class overall. I could have done worse because my Listening grade should have brought my average lower than that. I talked to my professor after the grades came out and asked how I did so well considering that I really averaged a "D" in his portion of the class. He said that he graded on improvement. He thought that moving from straight Fs to Cs showed a great deal of improvement. It was Fs for a long time. He respected the fact that I didn't give up.



We spend so much time looking for truth. So much time traveling up and down the emotional scale. Some people actually don't travel that far at all. Depression to anger and back. Depression to anger and back. We wonder why there isn't a book or books to explain things. Something to help us get on track. Well, there are. We just don't read them. Or, if we do read them, we don't utilize the knowledge that we have. We are somewhat perverse like that. Our world operates on The Law of Attraction. It isn't unfair. It treats everyone the same. You get what you think about. No exceptions. You can only attract to you that which vibrates in harmony with you. If you are depressed, you will attract other depressed people. Like attracts like. If you say, "Well, I think about money all of the time and I still don't have any. What's up with that?" Well, you're thinking about the lack of money. And you are still getting it. The lack, that is. You will have to turn off the idiot box music player again if you checked out Derek Molata's blog and my idiot box music is back on.



I can't say that I have managed to take this law and use it for my full benefit. I haven't. However, I believe in its truth, so I keep shooting at it. It's not like Music Theory where I can just opt out and change majors. It's life. I know from experience that I get better with practice. I had a professor that taught me that even that is about more than just a grade. It's about not giving up.

MOMENTS OF KNOWING

It was the first day. The first day of class in Music Theory. My eyes wandered the room and saw many empty desks. There weren't very many students tackling this first step towards becoming a Music Major. There were possibly fifteen nervous looking faces glancing around the room. None of us knew precisely what Music Theory was, but we were about to find out. The professor introduced himself and said that he was only one of three who would be teaching that course. Music Theory is written, listening, and rhythmic. He would be teaching the written portion of the class. There was scuffling of shoes as several students shifted in their seats.

I later learned that there were several people in that class who were far more talented musically than I, but they could not read music. This class was going to be very painful. It was a shame for them. They could listen to any song on the radio and play it on their given instrument, but to read the music off of the page... Ah, but that is their story.

That day, that first day, I experienced what I call a time of knowing. The professor stood in front of us, a ragtag group (at best), and asked if anyone could sing/hum a "G" for him. In my head, I could hear middle "C" and just worked up from there to "G." And I knew that it was "G." Was I scared to sing/hum my "G" and have it be wrong? Of course. The thing is that I was in my time of knowing. I couldn't stop myself and it came out. He was standing beside the piano and he hit the actual "G" while I was singing my "G" and I was dead on. It wasn't flat, sharp, or the wrong note. I nailed it. It was "G."

Looking back, I know he must have been delighted. He thought he had a student with perfect pitch. Not so. He had a student that every now and then has moments of knowing. It turned out that Music Theory was the hardest class that I have ever taken, and nearly stole every last ounce of love and joy music radiates from my soul. I dropped music as my major at the end of my freshman year and didn't look back.


This is me as a freshman in college.

I recently wrote another post where a moment of knowing saved a life. If you missed that one, you can click here. The more I think about it, the more moments of knowing I recall.


Is this just a Robin thing, or have you ever had moments of knowing? Do you feel like sharing? Were they like mine in that they lasted only seconds? Do you have them frequently? Or was it a one time occurrence? How do moments of knowing make you feel?