E.A. Bowen's Blog: Sample of Writings
January 1, 2014
A New Year Reflection
I shouted, I whined, I complained, I flailed about, I kicked off my snuggie in protest, mumbling incoherently "Three more hours until midnight? But I'm so tired..." and then, a second wind, pushing me until the clock struck midnight. I kissed my husband good night and then immediately, without a second thought, I hit my head against the cat occupied pillow, snoozing away, preparing for my first day 'off' since Christmas.
Of course, as a writer, whenever you jump for joy that after a long work week stretch, when you are finally released from your 'I do love my work, but I'd also rather be home in my PJs writing' job, you're never really off, not in the little bit of the word.
I'll start my first 2014 morning with a look back at my writing accomplishments, feats and challenges as of late, drink more coffee, then refocus on what I want to achieve in the next few months. I rarely look too far ahead, as I will then feel not only overwhelmed, but the characters inside my head will most likely revolt and take over, spinning ridiculously ludicrous plot lines, involving goblins and the sort, and all begging for attention.
In 2013, with two rough manuscripts under my belt, I began submitting my work to agents and publishers. I researched, researched and did more research, locating individuals and companies that would take my type of writings, without an agent. I have my reasons for why self-publishing a novel is not for me and I will go into that in a later blog.
I organized my submissions, with the help of QueryTracker, being the compulsive organizer that I am (my closet is arranged by color, size, type and when I'm feeling wild, I through in a rogue pattern or two). After months of the silent treatment, feeling like a misbehaved four year old being tossed into the naughty corner, I began to enter the vicious self-loathing writer's cycle. In the center is a pile of chocolate, tissues and cats. You crawl into this circle with your head held in your hands, mumbling "no good, awful, terrible, this sucks, why I am doing this, maybe if, no that's a stupid idea, Oh look, more chocolate."
Then, after sharing my work with others, and not receiving life-threatening blows of criticism (and oh, I do appreciate criticism, just not the type that will cripple me), I received my first "send me your full manuscript" request. Someone actually liked my premise? The few chapters I sent them were not as horrible as I thought they might be? Or did they read the wrong manuscript? Oh, that could be it...
Months later, with my full manuscript in a publisher's hand, I waited patiently. Then, finally, another email, indicating they were still interested and was it still available? Well, yes, yes, it is. Take it, please! Now, several more months later, I continue to wait in the ever so nerve racking game of hearing back from publishers, hoping for feedback, for a sign that they care about my manuscript, my world, my characters... Or it's utter crap to them, please just set me free!
As I waited (and continue to wait) to hear back from one of my novel's potential rebirths, I didn't stop writing. It's the number one rule and overly said but true piece of writing advice out there. Keep writing, even when you're sitting in that self-loathing circle, devouring all the sweets you can find. Keep writing. And I did.
I entered a submission into the Dark Crystal writing contest in October, evoking the world of elves and woodland creatures, thrusting them into war and the like. If I were to win, of course a big solid IF, I would then expand upon my world and write a full length YA novel. If I don't win, then at least I can I say kept on writing and had fun doing it. More about the contest here (ended yesterday): http://darkcrystal.com/authorquest/
Last, but certainly not least, I am currently writing a three part e-book series, under the wing of a fairly new science fiction and fantasy focused publisher. As I polish these works and am able to share more about this exciting venture, I will. In the mean time, let's just say my writing life feels more full than ever before.
What will 2014 bring? More projects? More chocolate? Only time, and my waistline, will tell.
Of course, as a writer, whenever you jump for joy that after a long work week stretch, when you are finally released from your 'I do love my work, but I'd also rather be home in my PJs writing' job, you're never really off, not in the little bit of the word.
I'll start my first 2014 morning with a look back at my writing accomplishments, feats and challenges as of late, drink more coffee, then refocus on what I want to achieve in the next few months. I rarely look too far ahead, as I will then feel not only overwhelmed, but the characters inside my head will most likely revolt and take over, spinning ridiculously ludicrous plot lines, involving goblins and the sort, and all begging for attention.
In 2013, with two rough manuscripts under my belt, I began submitting my work to agents and publishers. I researched, researched and did more research, locating individuals and companies that would take my type of writings, without an agent. I have my reasons for why self-publishing a novel is not for me and I will go into that in a later blog.
I organized my submissions, with the help of QueryTracker, being the compulsive organizer that I am (my closet is arranged by color, size, type and when I'm feeling wild, I through in a rogue pattern or two). After months of the silent treatment, feeling like a misbehaved four year old being tossed into the naughty corner, I began to enter the vicious self-loathing writer's cycle. In the center is a pile of chocolate, tissues and cats. You crawl into this circle with your head held in your hands, mumbling "no good, awful, terrible, this sucks, why I am doing this, maybe if, no that's a stupid idea, Oh look, more chocolate."
Then, after sharing my work with others, and not receiving life-threatening blows of criticism (and oh, I do appreciate criticism, just not the type that will cripple me), I received my first "send me your full manuscript" request. Someone actually liked my premise? The few chapters I sent them were not as horrible as I thought they might be? Or did they read the wrong manuscript? Oh, that could be it...
Months later, with my full manuscript in a publisher's hand, I waited patiently. Then, finally, another email, indicating they were still interested and was it still available? Well, yes, yes, it is. Take it, please! Now, several more months later, I continue to wait in the ever so nerve racking game of hearing back from publishers, hoping for feedback, for a sign that they care about my manuscript, my world, my characters... Or it's utter crap to them, please just set me free!
As I waited (and continue to wait) to hear back from one of my novel's potential rebirths, I didn't stop writing. It's the number one rule and overly said but true piece of writing advice out there. Keep writing, even when you're sitting in that self-loathing circle, devouring all the sweets you can find. Keep writing. And I did.
I entered a submission into the Dark Crystal writing contest in October, evoking the world of elves and woodland creatures, thrusting them into war and the like. If I were to win, of course a big solid IF, I would then expand upon my world and write a full length YA novel. If I don't win, then at least I can I say kept on writing and had fun doing it. More about the contest here (ended yesterday): http://darkcrystal.com/authorquest/
Last, but certainly not least, I am currently writing a three part e-book series, under the wing of a fairly new science fiction and fantasy focused publisher. As I polish these works and am able to share more about this exciting venture, I will. In the mean time, let's just say my writing life feels more full than ever before.
What will 2014 bring? More projects? More chocolate? Only time, and my waistline, will tell.
December 29, 2013
An Unbalanced Balancing Act: Writing while Working
How many hats do you wear every day? Not counting the knit beanie you have on right now, inside, 'cause you are always cold, even with the thermostat cranked up to 76.
4 hats, 6 hats, 10 hats, or more?
As a writer, unless you've hit the jackpot (and if you did, would you like to share?), you probably work full time to pay the bills, buy your weekly coffee gallon or two or three, & ensure you have a roof over your head so you don't have to write in the snow. Frozen hands make poor writing tools.
Full time work, a home to keep clean & warm, a spouse, possibly children, pets, parents and all the activities that come with the above... You feel exhausted, don't you? More than likely, you've left your writing to suffer, ignoring the small opportunities you might have to write because, well, LIFE has given you other priorities.
In 2011, I challenged myself to finish my first novel. No more excuses. No matter how truthful the excuses seemed to be & no matter how tired I was at the end of my day, I had to write. I wrote over 50,000 words during NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, held each November. Was my first draft perfect, exactly how I imagined it? Of course not. Did I find myself smacking my head against the wall trying to complete it? Of course I did. But most importantly, I finished what I started out to do. I wrote my first novel. And it felt great.
In 2012, I wrote my second novel. In 2013, I wrote several short stories. I was writing again. Every day, even if only a paragraph hit the page, I still made time to write. Sometimes over lunch, sometimes just in my head, forming the next big idea for tomorrow, wherever I made time, I did. Did my friends and spouse resent me for this, for taking time to write rather than socialize (as I feared they might)? No. Did my head explode from so many stories stirring inside my head, waiting to fall to the page? Not yet.
Balancing a writing life with the rest of your life is anything but balanced. I sometimes neglected my basic needs, preparing healthy food or sticking to a normal fitness routine, in order to write.
But I've come to realize, as 2013 comes to close, that with practice, I can stay sane while wearing the many hats of my life. Sometimes this means taking up yoga, sitting aside five minutes to drink some tea & collect my thoughts, or taking that extra long shower just to have a few quiet minutes to yourself & maybe cry just a little...
In the end, despite the challenges that life throws at us, from illness to family issues, we have to be good to ourselves. As a writer, being good to yourself means allowing yourself time each day to write, whether 5 minutes or 5 hours. Your mind, body and soul will thank you for it.
Please comment below. How have you managed to balance your writing life with the rest of your life? What resolutions will you set in 2014 to get back on your writing path?
4 hats, 6 hats, 10 hats, or more?
As a writer, unless you've hit the jackpot (and if you did, would you like to share?), you probably work full time to pay the bills, buy your weekly coffee gallon or two or three, & ensure you have a roof over your head so you don't have to write in the snow. Frozen hands make poor writing tools.
Full time work, a home to keep clean & warm, a spouse, possibly children, pets, parents and all the activities that come with the above... You feel exhausted, don't you? More than likely, you've left your writing to suffer, ignoring the small opportunities you might have to write because, well, LIFE has given you other priorities.
In 2011, I challenged myself to finish my first novel. No more excuses. No matter how truthful the excuses seemed to be & no matter how tired I was at the end of my day, I had to write. I wrote over 50,000 words during NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, held each November. Was my first draft perfect, exactly how I imagined it? Of course not. Did I find myself smacking my head against the wall trying to complete it? Of course I did. But most importantly, I finished what I started out to do. I wrote my first novel. And it felt great.
In 2012, I wrote my second novel. In 2013, I wrote several short stories. I was writing again. Every day, even if only a paragraph hit the page, I still made time to write. Sometimes over lunch, sometimes just in my head, forming the next big idea for tomorrow, wherever I made time, I did. Did my friends and spouse resent me for this, for taking time to write rather than socialize (as I feared they might)? No. Did my head explode from so many stories stirring inside my head, waiting to fall to the page? Not yet.
Balancing a writing life with the rest of your life is anything but balanced. I sometimes neglected my basic needs, preparing healthy food or sticking to a normal fitness routine, in order to write.
But I've come to realize, as 2013 comes to close, that with practice, I can stay sane while wearing the many hats of my life. Sometimes this means taking up yoga, sitting aside five minutes to drink some tea & collect my thoughts, or taking that extra long shower just to have a few quiet minutes to yourself & maybe cry just a little...
In the end, despite the challenges that life throws at us, from illness to family issues, we have to be good to ourselves. As a writer, being good to yourself means allowing yourself time each day to write, whether 5 minutes or 5 hours. Your mind, body and soul will thank you for it.
Please comment below. How have you managed to balance your writing life with the rest of your life? What resolutions will you set in 2014 to get back on your writing path?
May 7, 2013
Prologue, The Grander Lilie
The house was old, built in days long ago when men killed beasts, smoked them and hung them on hooks in the basement cellar. Ms. Plumley told Lilie these were olden days when the land was full of life, and men took that life away to make them stronger, but then there wasn’t enough land left to sow, and so man built the land upward, adding room upon room until man nearly touched the stars. And then mankind disappeared or so Lilie was told.
Lilie could not understand was why did these ancient people desert these wonders? Where did they go and why didn’t they come back? As she now stood at this strange door with odd markings, she caressed her tiny palm along the carvings and senses that they meant something more. Now pulling the iron handle, Lilie unlatched the door and pushed her way into a rather large room.
A stove sat in the middle with five plates, dark in color with a sixth side open to the air. The little cave inside the stove was full of wood slices, some burning with a red glow. Surrounding the edges of the room were the sleeping quarters, three beds high with short step ladders leaning against the posts. Ropes webbed underneath thin sheets and strips of discarded fabrics.
Sitting next to the stove was a small bowl of water. Lilie grabbed a piece of fabric from a nearby rope bed and dipped the edges into the bowl as she proceeded to clean the muck off her face. She then stripped away her long ruffled dress and undergarments, tossing them into a wooden barrel near a tower of beds.
Lilie reached down underneath the lowest one to find a very flat trunk, full of linen, rags and tiny trinkets.
She dressed herself in a thin white gown, which upon closer inspection was made of small discarded knots of fabric, more like a poorly woven basket than a fine sewn garment. Adjusting the waist, Lilie strung a bow that sat on her lower back.
“Le le, le le, do it again, do it again!” a small voice squeaked.
A shorter, younger girl entered through the door, her hair dirt red and curly, and a nose as round as an old coat button. Lilie spun around and held her arms wide to the meet the little girl’s warm embrace. She smiled as the small childl played with the bow, pulling the ends of fabric to make the center too tight.
“Claire, where are the others?” Lilie asked, suddenly noticing how the quiet the home suddenly seemed.
The little girl smiled back. “Miz Plum made them scrub the ‘tatoes.”
“Potato stew again?” Lilie snarled, her nostrils flaring at the very smell of it. “I’d rather wait ‘til morning.”
Claire began to sway back and forth, her little legs tapping on the floorboards.
“Need to go. Need to go now.”
Lilie rolled her eyes. “You go ahead and eat, Claire. I’m not very hungry.”
The little girl began to protest, stomping replaced tapping, and her cheeks flared and puffed out. She lips pursed and began to frown along the corners.
“No! No! Need to go,” she cried and pointed at the chiseled door. She began to hover now, pacing between the door and Lilie and twirling here and there.
“Stop playing, Claire. I played enough today. Ms. Plumley’s a bit angry with me I think,” Lilie said, pointing at the barrel of muddy clothes.
Claire stomped louder, her tiny feet like cannon balls. “I’m not playing,” she yelled slowly, each word spat out with a thud.
Annoyed with her little sister’s games, Lilie reached out and grabs Claire’s shoulders, making her scramble around like a beheaded chicken.
“Stop it!”
But Claire continued to kick and wiggle, finally escaping her elder sister’s grasp and finding her way to the door once again. As she pointed at the lower right panel, Claire seemed confident that something was going to happen.
“Time out. Need to go,” she cried.
Lilie shook her head.
“Go where? Where do you want to go? Dinner’s not ready yet, and…”
Sparkle. Twinkle. Something glistening and bright caught her eye. She couldn’t tell if it came from Claire’s fingertip or from the spot that she was pointing frantically at. Lilie blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of faint pulsating light that mesmerized her eyes.
“Claire, what are you doing?” Lilie shouted, although she did not know why.
Her sister was quiet now, her index finger barely touching the door’s intricate artwork. A bright light then filled the room, swarming around each object, blinding Lilie and causing her to stumble backwards into the five plate stove.
The last thing Lilie heard was a thud and the door shutting close, even though it was not open.
Lilie could not understand was why did these ancient people desert these wonders? Where did they go and why didn’t they come back? As she now stood at this strange door with odd markings, she caressed her tiny palm along the carvings and senses that they meant something more. Now pulling the iron handle, Lilie unlatched the door and pushed her way into a rather large room.
A stove sat in the middle with five plates, dark in color with a sixth side open to the air. The little cave inside the stove was full of wood slices, some burning with a red glow. Surrounding the edges of the room were the sleeping quarters, three beds high with short step ladders leaning against the posts. Ropes webbed underneath thin sheets and strips of discarded fabrics.
Sitting next to the stove was a small bowl of water. Lilie grabbed a piece of fabric from a nearby rope bed and dipped the edges into the bowl as she proceeded to clean the muck off her face. She then stripped away her long ruffled dress and undergarments, tossing them into a wooden barrel near a tower of beds.
Lilie reached down underneath the lowest one to find a very flat trunk, full of linen, rags and tiny trinkets.
She dressed herself in a thin white gown, which upon closer inspection was made of small discarded knots of fabric, more like a poorly woven basket than a fine sewn garment. Adjusting the waist, Lilie strung a bow that sat on her lower back.
“Le le, le le, do it again, do it again!” a small voice squeaked.
A shorter, younger girl entered through the door, her hair dirt red and curly, and a nose as round as an old coat button. Lilie spun around and held her arms wide to the meet the little girl’s warm embrace. She smiled as the small childl played with the bow, pulling the ends of fabric to make the center too tight.
“Claire, where are the others?” Lilie asked, suddenly noticing how the quiet the home suddenly seemed.
The little girl smiled back. “Miz Plum made them scrub the ‘tatoes.”
“Potato stew again?” Lilie snarled, her nostrils flaring at the very smell of it. “I’d rather wait ‘til morning.”
Claire began to sway back and forth, her little legs tapping on the floorboards.
“Need to go. Need to go now.”
Lilie rolled her eyes. “You go ahead and eat, Claire. I’m not very hungry.”
The little girl began to protest, stomping replaced tapping, and her cheeks flared and puffed out. She lips pursed and began to frown along the corners.
“No! No! Need to go,” she cried and pointed at the chiseled door. She began to hover now, pacing between the door and Lilie and twirling here and there.
“Stop playing, Claire. I played enough today. Ms. Plumley’s a bit angry with me I think,” Lilie said, pointing at the barrel of muddy clothes.
Claire stomped louder, her tiny feet like cannon balls. “I’m not playing,” she yelled slowly, each word spat out with a thud.
Annoyed with her little sister’s games, Lilie reached out and grabs Claire’s shoulders, making her scramble around like a beheaded chicken.
“Stop it!”
But Claire continued to kick and wiggle, finally escaping her elder sister’s grasp and finding her way to the door once again. As she pointed at the lower right panel, Claire seemed confident that something was going to happen.
“Time out. Need to go,” she cried.
Lilie shook her head.
“Go where? Where do you want to go? Dinner’s not ready yet, and…”
Sparkle. Twinkle. Something glistening and bright caught her eye. She couldn’t tell if it came from Claire’s fingertip or from the spot that she was pointing frantically at. Lilie blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of faint pulsating light that mesmerized her eyes.
“Claire, what are you doing?” Lilie shouted, although she did not know why.
Her sister was quiet now, her index finger barely touching the door’s intricate artwork. A bright light then filled the room, swarming around each object, blinding Lilie and causing her to stumble backwards into the five plate stove.
The last thing Lilie heard was a thud and the door shutting close, even though it was not open.
