Tag Archives: writerstype

2014 So Far

Since I completed (and won :D) NaNo 2013, some interesting things have happened that I figure deserved a post of some kind.

My God, look at all that red.

My God, look at all that red.

I let myself have December off, and made myself start editing my NaNo novel in January. I’ve edited things before, of course, whether it be for school or on my own; it’s an essential part of the writing process (unfortunately). But never have I edited something like this before. It’s not even the volume that’s the problem, though it is a bit overwhelming, especially knowing I still have more to write. No, the real problem is what exactly is on the page: most of it is incoherent, repetitive, rambling, crap. And thus I have discovered the one downfall of NaNoWriMo – you’re so concerned with reaching your word count everyday that you pay less attention to the actual words. Sure, they say “you’ll worry about it in the editing phase, just get those words on paper!” I’m sure I even said that in my last post. Well, I’m in that editing phase now, and I am in complete and utter hell.

I’m about half-way through what I like to call the “Extreme Rough Draft” phase. Then comes the “Fill in Missing Plot Holes” phase, followed by “Delete Entire Sections of Horrible Dialogue,” “Remove Flashbacks Because They’re Stupid,” and probably ending with “Jump Off a Cliff Before I Read Another Word of this Shitty Story.” So if you’re editing your novel like I am at the moment, then I wish you luck, and pray you had the sense to keep your novel all in one tense back in November (unlike myself).

On a more positive note, I’m excited to share that I’ve won (and almost won), some literary competitions over at Writerstype.com. I took first place for my flash fiction piece “True Love,” first mentioned here, for December 2013. Not only that, but I received first-runner up in the annual competition. I may not have won, but second place out of twenty-four is pretty good, nonetheless.

So close, and yet....so far....

One place away from $225 to Amazon..my heart hurts.

As far as reading goes, the most notable thing I’ve read so far this year is the Divergent series by Veronica Roth, which I have mixed feelings about. The first book is a pretty good read: the world building is excellent, as is seeing the main character, Tris, grow from being a meek, “selfless” mouse to an independent, strong, risk-taker. Plus, the love interest sounds super hot, (that’s always a plus). Sadly, that’s pretty much the end of the positives. But nevertheless, I finished it quickly and was anxious to pick up the next one.

The second book in the series, Insurgent, was hard to get through, and in my opinion, a little superfluous. Sure, some important things happened in terms of plot, but I was at the point of not caring. In my opinion, the plot was not exciting, overly dramatic, and I really just wanted to get it over with. As far as characterization goes, it was pretty stagnant. Also, I’m tired of every hero/protagonist subscribing to some noble idea that sacrificing themselves is their duty. All it does is make them sound pretentious and annoying, which is sadly what Tris ultimately became.

The third installment, Allegiant, other than having a rather stupid title, is a little controversial, the ending in particular. I’m not going to spoil anything here, but I happened to like it. I will say it was at least different from other books I’ve read, and that uniqueness is hard to come by. Whether it made the book better, I don’t know, but it at least did something original for the genre.

Divergent-series-by-Veronica-Roth

She certainly makes a lot of choices.

Would I recommend this series? Honestly, I’m on the fence. I would say if you’re a fan of young adult fiction, then you should at least read the first one to test the waters. Just don’t think it’s going to be another Hunger Games.

Just read it. Plus, Christian Bale is in the movie. Enough said.

Just read it. Plus, Christian Bale is in the movie. Enough said.

Actually, on that note, if you’re into YA Fiction, (something I never thought I’d enjoy reading, let alone write about, guess now I’m being pretentious), then forget all these books, Hunger Games included, and read Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s much better than all of those previously mentioned, has interesting and dynamic characters, absolutely fantastic and smart dialogue, not to mention a setting and plot that is more evocative than the world of Harry Potter. The movie, directed by Hayao Miyazaki, is just as good as the book, which is rare to do. In fact, I can’t think of any examples of where the movie is as good as it’s companion novel. This is it.

So for the rest of 2014, I’ll attempt to finish editing that damn novel, (hopefully before November omg),  try to write something to get ahead of the guy who beat me for first place, (he won last year, too, damnit), and read a book that doesn’t make me angry. Here’s hoping.

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The Chase: A Short Story

See a name that looks familiar?!

To extend my lazy-ness, here’s another post with something I’ve already written (woohoo!). A story I wrote in college received first runner-up in the http://writerstype.com/ Short Story Category for February. It’s also entered to win their annual contest, and I get to revise the story for it (Thank God).

It didn’t even start out as a story per say. It was a character exercise for class, and I kept revising it and using it for other classes (I really DO do that a lot I’m now realizing), and it’s always been my favorite of my college work.

Since I cleaned it up for the contest, I haven’t been back to revise it. With procrastination on my side, I probably won’t until later this year. So any comments/critiques are welcome.

The Chase

(work in progress)

by Lindsay B. Logan

     I sit at my vanity table every morning without fail. It’s easy to be vain when you look like I do. I half expect to step on shards of shattered glass when I step out of bed, for how could a simple mirror survive after witnessing such perfection? Nevertheless, it is always in pristine condition, perhaps only to have the chance to gaze upon me once again. I am always happy to please.

What should I look like today, mirror? What hue should my divine locks possess this day? I’ve been a lustrous crimson for a week now; perhaps a sultry cerulean would suit me. This time I choose flaxen hair down to my hips. I like my hips, and they like attention, so this hair suits us both. Now to decide what face to wear. The haughty law student? The roguish actress? I tilt my head, blinking. I select the wanton call-girl this time. I haven’t been her in ages and she wants room to breath. I paint her favorite pouty red lips extending to my ears and dust on rosy blush down to my chin. She tells me she wants plum eye-shadow up to the hairline, and I oblige. I finish with midnight black eyeliner across the width of my face and I study the mirror. “I’ve done it again,” I say to my reflection, and the call-girl smiles.

Crossing my cluttered bedroom, I throw open the closet doors. I imagine a gust of wind escapes, and doves descend from above. I can almost hear angels singing as I rifle through the hangers. I put on a red rhinestone blouse paired with a neon bubble skirt that desperately tries to caress my knee, but has to be content with the middle of my thigh.  She tells me she wants boots, big sexy boots, and I frown a little when I have to tell her I’m not blessed with such an item. I know how annoyed I get with her constant nagging, so I assure her that today we’ll find exactly what she wants. She quiets down enough so I can pick out some purple pumps with straps that snake up my legs. They remind me of what a mummy’s legs might look like if it was possessed with a life such as mine. Call-girl angrily reminds me of my promise. My hair performs pirouettes as I try to shut her up, but she is persistent. I let out an exasperated sigh as I stroll out the door.

I like the way it feels when I saunter down the street and not one eye notices the flashy hot dog stand or the vulgar street performer. I can feel the gazes like warm water dripping down my skin. My eyes close in pleasure when I hear the soft mumbles from the onlookers. It’s at these moments I wish I had microphones at every corner. Then I could listen to the sweet declarations from my loyal fans anytime and every time I wanted.

But I must be content with just the casual overheard statement. I tell myself that it’s better than nothing, though I know I deserve more. Today I overhear things like, “My God, look at her!” and “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone like that.” It’s like water in a vast desert, and I soak it all up. I feel as if each word seeps into me, giving me more and more sustenance. Call-girl likes it too, and tells me to flash my admirers a smile, and when I do, they gasp. I find myself wishing I could be them at times; they’re so lucky to be able to look upon me without the help of a mirror.

Call-girl tells me to forget about the boots, she’s found something better. He’s walking toward us in slow motion. His black suit is pressed to his body, his hair attached to his eyes. He walks toward us with a newspaper in one hand and coffee perched in another. I think he’s nothing but ordinary, but she won’t let me tear my eyes away. He can feel our syrupy stare, and he raises his eyes to see us. His newspaper floats to the sidewalk and the coffee almost nuzzles his Armani tie, but he recovers in time to save it. He likes us, she thinks. Of course he does, I tell her. I decided the direct approach is beneath us, so I let him pass by. I wait as long as she’ll let me, and I spin around in a whirl of blonde tresses, whipping out like a cat o’ nine tails. I easily spot him, his polished jacket and meticulous hair making him an easy target. His strides are sure and steady, and she tells me I should shake my butt more while I walk. She’s getting excited; the thrill of the chase is her favorite aphrodisiac. I tell her to be patient, and he glimmers into a building made of glass.

We walk to the back of it, and close by is a small park; this is where I stop the chase. What are you doing? She’s almost yelling now. If I was a violent person, I’d hit her. I sit on the most ornate bench I can find, and stare into the glass building. We can see him perfectly from here. I think God must be rewarding me. He’s leaning back in a cushioned chair and chatting excitedly on a phone. Who is he talking to, we wonder. We decide to hate whoever is on the other line. With every moment that passes, call-girl is getting more anxious. I tell her it’s almost time, but she’s not convinced. He’s getting up, and what’s that in his hand? He moves his finger and I can just make out the pack of Marlboro’s he’s holding. We smile.

He’s outside now, and he can see us. As is the norm, his eyes are frozen on us. We smile seductively at him, and he seems taken aback. I stand up, extending my mummified leg, and move away from him, my eyes beckoning. He follows, dropping his cigarette. Call-girl is squealing now, and I tell her to be quiet; I don’t want her to ruin it. We lead him into a bundle of trees and as all the others, he pursues. I stop and turn around, and he’s in front of me, a big, sweltering thing. He can’t take his eyes off what I’m sure he finds to be flawless features. I just sigh with almost boredom and move closer, and his eyes widen.

Later, I’m back at my vanity table, brushing my yellow hair into perfect sleekness. Call-girl is content at last, as happy as a cat after catching a mouse. She curls up and bothers me no longer. I glance one last time at my reflection, still not convinced I’m real, and crawl into bed, a smooth Armani tie wrapped loosely around my fingers.