For my first post, I will perform magic tricks....or go back in time...or something

I thought it would be appropriate for me to do this on my first post. I made this blog to keep track of my writing, and my goals in that arena. And I guess, maybe, to connect with other writers, agents, publishers and stuff.

So last October, I wrote a blog on MySpace. I want to repost it here.

October 5, 2009 - Monday

Lost: Hopes and Dreams If found, please return to: Jade Winters http://www.jadewinters34.blogspot.com Today I realized something that's been missing in me for awhile. My hopes and dreams. Like anybody, I had some. I had some big ones, that I've had since I was a little kid. Mainly writing a book and getting it published. I had other ones that developed over the years, with my photography and drawing. Not such big dreams, but goals that I was working towards, at least. But what happens when your life stops being about pursuing hopes and dreams, and becomes about survival? Because that's all my life is about anymore. On November 6th, the house me and the kids are living in is going to be auctioned. Which means we'll be homeless. So my quest to find a job just became so much more important and my time is quickly running out. I feel like I'm slowly suffocating and there's nobody around to give me some oxygen. If it were just me, really, I know I'd manage just fine. After all, I have 2 vehicles (that both run like shit) that I could sleep in if I had to, and plenty of friends who have offered up places to stay until I can find a job and get us a place. But I can't put the kids through the uncertainty of not knowing if they're going to end up on the streets or if we're going to be split up again. And I can't inflict my hoard on any of my friends. lol I'm afraid they wouldn't BE my friends anymore after that. But that's my stress that I'm dealing with on a daily basis. I guess in all of that, I forgot that I once HAD dreams. So what happens to those dreams when your life becomes about survival? I've been told that the dreams are still there, and once I get past this hurdle, I'll find them. I'm not quite so sure about that. I can't seem to see beyond November 6th, and honestly, I've lost any will I had to ACHIEVE any goals right now. I just don't care about them. So I wonder....do you think once my survival isn't an issue anymore, those dreams will come back? And if so, will they come back untarnished? Or will they forever be stained with the stench of stress and worry and "it's never gonna happen" that goes through my head any time I try to focus on those dreams right now?

And the other day, I wrote a follow up to that blog.

January 14, 2010 - Thursday

Found: Hopes and Dreams Life is still about survival. I'm not sure when the day will come that it doesn't feel that way to me. Perhaps never. But I've realized that somewhere in this fight to survive, I have to find a way to keep my dreams from dissipating. Over the last week, I have breathed new life into them, and watched them blossom before my eyes. I started a book last spring. The story wasn't clear in my head, though, so I had no idea where it would go. I ended up only writing three chapters of it, then put it aside with the excuse of needing to formulate it better first. I don't expect that anybody who doesn't write will truly understand this, but I do believe that the story itself hadn't grown yet. It needed to figure itself out. Last Wednesday, I pulled out the small amount of notes that I had and it all just started coming to me. So I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. And today I wrote the epilogue. Many times over the last week, I didn't feel like I was writing a book. I felt like the book was writing itself. Other times, I struggled through the chapter, paying way too much attention to word counts. I tried to tell myself to just forget about how short the book was going to be and let it be written. And so I did. And now, of course, it's a bit short like I knew it would be. I'm at a little over 77,000 words and it really needs to be a minimum of 85,000. But I'm not worried about it. I'll go back over it this weekend and add in the descriptions of things that were very clear in my own head as I wrote it, so I skimmed over them. I have confidence that I can fairly easily get this book up to the word count I need it to be at, but I can't begin to tell you how frustrating it is to have those numbers in my head when all I want in there are words. I'm getting this book polished. I'm determined to. And then I'll write a query and get it polished to match. And then I'll start contacting agents. And while I'm doing that, I'll work on the next book. I understand the frustrating life of an aspiring author. I've been living it for awhile. I also understand that most authors don't earn enough money to support them. And you know what? I don't care. It's never been about money for me. It's about having stories in my head and allowing them to come out. And it's about putting them on paper for other people to read. I honestly hate all of the concern about word count, queries, agents, editors, publishers, contracts, royalty checks, blah, blah, blah. Somehow in all of that, I think the story itself gets lost. I just want to write. But what's the point of writing something if nobody will read it? My main dream, the one I've had since I was about 8 years old, is to see my book on the shelf when I walk into Hastings. Or Barnes and Noble. Or our Spokane Public Library. That's all I care about. So if I manage to get a book sold, and the first advance they send me is pennies? I don't care. That's not why I write. But I do know this much: When I finally get that first book published, it will be dedicated to my dad. And when I finally get that first advance check or royalty check, I'll be using some of that money to print and bind my dad's poems. They're right here in a file folder next to me, a file folder that is so full, it's overflowing with words that were typed by his hand. It's my honor to re-type those for him, and put together a book that my kids can pick up and read whenever they miss their grandpa, or want to know more about him. Because writing was his dream too. And he followed that dream in a lot of ways, because he WROTE. He just never got to that point where he made money off of his writing. I'd love to achieve that dream for the both of us.

And that's it for now since nobody is reading this but me. And it's almost 5:00 in the morning. And I haven't slept yet. And I should probably get some sleep. Probably.