Inspiration on the Loose

So, my friend and I have a theory.

You see, she's an artist, and when I say artist, I mean art-school-candidate-oil-painting-pastel-using artist.  Yes. (Also, she is insane, but that's beside the point).  And the two of us realized that when one of us is working like mad on a particular project, be it a drawing, painting, story, or whatever; the other has no inspiration whatsoever.

So we have kind of created this anthropomorphic 'Inspiration' that is prone to running away from home.  We fight over it.  We insist that 'it likes me better.'  We sometimes lose it.

And for about two months, she's had it locked up in her basement.  She's been drawing pastel pieces with tons of deep meaning and men in gas masks, and I haven't done anything since finishing Naomi.  However, I do believe that it's on its way back to me, or at least it should be, because I'll need it for November.

If anyone sees it, let me know.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

It's Banner Thursday!

Woooo!

Ahem

So, here we have a revamped Ordinary Enough banner.  I made about twenty of these, using royals and other historical figures as models for my characters, which seems kind of weird when I say it.

This is the only one that's in black and white and not recolored by an insanely awesome person on deviantArt, so it's the one that gets uploaded.

Yes, that is Anastasia.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler   

Paris Pt. 4

Oh look, some more Paris essay-eque things:

The Paris Relapse

So you go on with your life like you never saw Paris; like you never ran your hands over the spines of ancient books in those green boxes along the Seine, like you never ran out of a café and left your hot chocolate waiting to catch a glimpse of the Republican Guard, like you never went weak in the knees when you laid eyes on la Notre Dame at night, all lit up and glowing.

And then you open that folder on your computer of the pictures that you took while you were there.

And it's the heat wave all over again.

You close your eyes as tight as you can and it still doesn't conjure up those priceless hours of pure inspiration that you experienced, so you dig out that coat you wore when you saw the l'Arc de Triomphe and even though the coat is long and black and all wool felt and it's August, you slide it over your shoulders and you can smell the cigarettes and the coffee and the bakeries that smell like home, although you can't quite tell why.

And you wrap the scarf that you bought in a little boutique around your neck just the way you wore it there and then something in your mind clicks.

And you declare that you have to go back to Paris; that you have to see the Eiffel Tower one more time and drink little strong coffees out of pretty little mugs; that you will absolutely die if you don't see the golden gates of Versailles again.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

P.S. I am trying to conjure up interesting things to write on here, but as far as I can tell, I should focus on the fact that I'm having trouble meeting my word count for Camp NaNoWriMo.  Later, okay?

Paris Pt. 3

I wrote two follow ups to those strange Paris essays that I wrote when I got back to the States.  Here is the third chunk:

The Paris Cure

You go home after Paris, feeling exhausted, like someone has kept you up at a party far past your bedtime, but your mind is still trying to process all that you've seen.  In any case, you drag yourself home, falling out of bed in your room above the discotheque that never seems to close, and you get in the car and you take the connection to Amsterdam and stumble through the Amsterdam airport that is really like a city, but all you can think about is Paris.

You think about Paris as you hand your ticket to the attendant, and you think about Paris as you find your seat and you think about Paris like you're some sort of character in a romantic tragedy, and you've just remembered that childhood sweetheart that you swore you'd go back to someday.  And you remember Paris like that childhood sweetheart but before you can do anything, the plane takes off and all you can do is read the Dutch airline magazine about some new line of men's watches.

You think about Paris for about a week after you get back from France, before falling blindly back into normalcy and nearly forgetting your love.  It's like you've gone through a very effective, very painless stint in rehab.

And you speak French in class, and you read that book you picked up from that store in France, and you try your very best to remember that annoying discotheque and that mother and her two sons on the train and how beautiful some people look with smoke swirling out of their mouths like little deadly ghosts.

But it's no use, and you've been cured; cured of your sickness, cured of your addiction, and cured of your love.  And you should feel a huge hole in your chest, but you don't.  It's like it never happened.

Later.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

Finishing and Starting

Finishing novels is really hard on me.  I'm not sure if I've only just discovered the pain that all authors go through or if it's just me and I'm irrationally attached to my books.

But when I finish a novel or indeed any project, I suddenly find myself feeling very empty.  I believe it's because I basically put all of my eggs into one basket and try to power through a book, only to have nothing to do at the end.

If anyone would like to answer this poll, it would be greatly appreciated.  You can see it over there, to the left.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

Notebooks

I literally just noticed Miss Juliet Horror's comment on my post.  Honestly.  No one ever comments so it caught me off guard.

In case you are periodically checking back, Juliet Horror, here is a post about notebooks.

I have about fifty of the things; lined up according to height on two shelves in my bedroom.  Most of them are empty.  Some of them are full.  The rest have about three sentences to a page in them and are then abandoned.  I adore notebooks so much that I have trouble writing in them; this is because my friends give me tons of notebooks for my birthday, notebooks that are simply too gorgeous to write in.

However, I have just acquainted myself with the novel idea of a scrapbook for my stories.

I have a large spiral notebook that I decoupaged myself with things that I found laying around my house.  It is this notebook that holds pictures, ideas, newspaper clippings, and story snippets.  I find that it is the best supplement to my writing and would highly recommend it to anyone out there who is having trouble either keeping track of things like which color a character's eyes are or needs a good place to write down ideas that don't necessarily present themselves in chronological order.

TTFN

M.K. Wissler

NaNoWriMo Will Be the Death of Me

Honestly, Nano, one month was enough, wasn't it?  One month of painfully delicious writing was enough for us.  One month of tough love from the forums and pep talks from you lovely folk was enough.

But then there was Screnzy, right?  And of course even us novelists jumped right on it.  One more month; what harm could it do?

And now CampNaNoWriMo?  Two more months?  Of course, I know we can choose which month, but still.

All I can say is:

You rock.

Thank you for transporting the idea of NaNo to the summer when I have more time. (Not that I do).

TTFN

M.K. Wissler