Linda Edwards Scribbles











{October 31, 2016}   I made no promises!

But I kind of did.  In my head.  You just didn’t know about it, because I didn’t tell you , because I wasn’t sure of what I could swing.

This year’s been all kinds of bananas!  Whole bowls of fruit!  Personally speaking, it hasn’t been terrible.  It hasn’t been kind, but within the sphere of my little life, nothing major has gone amiss.  It’s just been busy.  I really wasn’t sure I’d be able to do “All Hallow’s Read” this year.  But I did!  I finished things!  (Still a tiny triumph every time.) And I’m pretty happy with them!  They’re not long and I’m not entirely sure you could call them poems or stories or what have you.  I’m calling them little bits.  Now to go collapse.

Little bitty adventures, goooo!  Happy Halloween, folks!  Love!



So it’s been a while. (Apparently, yes, all my blog posts will start this way now.)  The wordpress swears it’s been 9 months.  I could have grown a baby in that time.  I did not.  There is not a baby.  Except I wrote something that is longer than a line for the first time in a while.  After failing miserably to keep chugging along on the last few things, I thought I should share.  I offer it to you.  Because space.

I really shouldn’t say I failed, because that implies that I’ve given up and have zero intention of touching those things again.  I haven’t.  I have all of the intention.  I will touch them firmly, tenderly, with love.  My friend got me thinking about how I’ve never attempted a romance novel.  I’m trying to figure out if I could write one, just to see.  I’ve read a couple of supernatural romance books?  Are those typical romance?  I don’t really know if I can deal with it.  Maybe I’ll just write a story and romance will just kind of happen.  This probably won’t end well.  ONE THING AT A TIME.  Soooo, yes, intentions.  Which amount to very little if I don’t actually, you know, pick up a freaking pen.

Am I scared of pens now?

Two jobs briefly became just the one full-time job at the print shop where once I was a little work-study, by the way.  And now it seems I’m working two jobs again as the Chinese restaurant is ever short handed, so I’m there once a week.  Which I’m okay with, because you can see all kinds of things in how people interact where a meal is involved.  Also, I like having the extra cash.  And exciting lunches that I’m never certain of what they’re made.  I like both jobs, but I should probably push to keep it to the one.  I’m tired a lot.

To be fair, I have picked up pens.  I’ve sat and written snippets of sentences before I got– stuck, for lack of a better word.  It’s not like there isn’t a lot in my head.  It’s more like everything gets kind of muddled, or the thoughts get nervous and confused, like birds that suddenly get disoriented, and then they can’t remember how to get out.  And I can’t do anything except keep poking them with a stick through the slats of their little bird house trying to organize them and direct them toward the door.  They’re not being very cooperative.

I thought about buying really cute stationary in order to motivate myself, but I’d never use it.  I’d want to keep it clean and safe and save it for just the right thoughts, and I’d go find sticky notes that would inevitably get jumbled up or lost or eaten by the cat.  Maybe I’ll buy cute sticky notes.

I was researching getting help, and then there were kidney stones and work and life.  It’s a funny sensation to try to analyze everything going on around you, all the choices you’re making about whether or not and how to engage in those things, to determine if you’re not making excuses to not get help out of fear or stubbornness (what am I even being stubborn about?), and then deciding that, “No, everything here looks like a completely rational decision,” only to then think that of course everything would seem very rational to yourself if you’re the one who rationalized your choices in order to make them in the first place.  Just because they’re rational doesn’t mean they’re not coming from that cave or fear and stubbornness and not actually 100% rational at all.

My mother likes to quote “Lion King” at times like this.  LIE DOWN BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF.

Sounds legit.  Point being, I’m not dead yet.  Adventuring continues.



I’ve been neglecting the blog again. (Are all my blog posts going to start like this from now on?) I’ve been neglecting writing in general. I’ve been neglecting everything, maybe. Being sick (nothing serious, probably just a bug), especially when you’re not sure what did it, apparently makes me disgustingly introspective. James brought me chicken soup I’m not sure I should be eating, but I’m eating it anyway, because love. I refuse to neglect love. Also, chicken soup is nice.

In print that sounds a lot more noble than desperate as it feels in my head and sounds in my mouth. I kind of hate it.

I keep trying to sit down to make words happen with a physical pen and a tangible piece of paper, so I’ll stop interrupting dreams to write down in dream the narration or to describe very precisely what’s happening or the smell or the sound or the sight of some tiny detail. Get on with the story, will you, brain? Lousy jerk. It’s not productive. It’s definitely irritating.

Anyway, the writing obviously still isn’t going well. I get anxious about characters I don’t even have yet. I get anxious that I’ll get bored and forget my characters and their lives and leave them– just leave them!– hanging there in a sort of halted world, stuck and neglected and frustrated and confused. They’re not real. But my brain gets attached and wants to take care of them. It’s highly problematic. It’s highly illogical. It’s not even a little bit reasonable. It scares me. Nothing new. I guess this is the point where once again I attempt to seek help. Maybe the writing was my therapy and I’ve done this to myself. Does it count as self destructive if you didn’t realize it would happen, but then couldn’t stop when you did? This is the kind of thing I normally probably would have dropped onto my tumblr if at all, but it’s sort of a writing related thing, and this space needed some attention, so here it is. Hello. I hope you’re all doing well. Nobody panic.

I’ve made it my new goal to finish one thing for All Hallow’s Read, even if it’s just another installment of Beasts— I refuse to believe I’ve abandoned it. The scenes still exist. My characters are shifting from foot to foot in different costumes at different times. I just have to make it happen. Anxious about the fate of characters? Logically, then, sort out their fate and be done with it. Nonsensical gut-twisting jitteriness gone. A+B=C. Easy. Right, wish me luck. Hesitant adventure, go!

Update:  My “bug” is a 5mm kidney stone.  Oh, goody!  Eeesh.



{January 3, 2014}   A pulse! Evidence of life!

I’m not!  I’m not ignoring my blog again!  Not for another year!  Things have simply been a bit unorganized with my husband and me taking turns to be sick and then holidays and so on.  I have a bit more of Beasts, but I don’t have it quite to a point where I feel alright hitting pause to put at least something up.  The end is only in sight in that I know it exists.  It will happen.

Ah, so I have a New Year’s resolution for the first time in years!  To finish things.  That’s it.  I’m starting with “Beasts”.  I’m not picking a second thing to finish ’til I’m finished with that.  And then I’ll pick something else.  One thing at a time, so I don’t overwhelm myself.

This post was actually going to be a video blog!  But after starting and stopping and starting and deleting and arranging a space in which to record repeatedly, then rearranging the space, I came to the conclusion that, no–  yes, I really am still shy.  I have a sock puppet I had seriously considered using in place of– myself.  Me.  The sock puppet was going to be me.  Anyone who has met me in the last six or seven years would look at me funny were I to describe myself as shy.  I’ve mostly managed to find ways around it.  (I’m still very proud of myself that I can order at fast food places all by myself now without the urge to dive under the nearest table to pretend I don’t exist!).  I thought maybe I was done being shy, then; that I’d grown out of it.  Nope.  I then think about you handful of folks out there who follow this blog, my twitter, my tumblr– you’re all out there.  Actual people.  You’re all probably terribly interesting and wonderful.  I’d rather you not know I’m out here, too.  It’s not the anonymity thing.  Obviously you know my name, you’ve seen my face (I think I posted a pic here once without thinking), you’ve read some of my stuff, and yet a video blog feels like meeting new people somehow.  It’s a strange mix of being intimidated and afraid you won’t actually like me after all and excited that maybe we’ll be friends, which then makes me anxious for no definable reason except– people.  In reality (that place my mind refuses to believe exists), you’ll probably watch the video, or not bother, and then go on and do other things.  You might just say, “Huh, it speaks,” and then watch a video of dogs with boxes on their heads or check your email.  That’s cool.  I’m absolutely alright with that.  In the end, I’m ridiculous.  I’ll do a video blog.  Okay, I have resolution number two.  

#1:  Finish “Beasts”.

#2:  Video.

So there.  There’s that.  Carry on with your lives, citizens.  Hope the New Year is treating you all well thus far.  We’re only three days in, you know.  Good luck!  Much love!  Happy adventuring!

Oh!  Ah!  Okay, so my grandmother died some time back.  I had this tape she’d given me of her practicing guitar and singing (she played at church).  I’d been trying for a really long time to sit down and get it recorded off the tape into mp3’s for the family, but it just– I couldn’t bring myself to finish it.  I finally did thanks to my wonderful husband keeping me company.  He’s a good man.  Best of all, he’s good at hugs.  It really helped that I could share my grandmother with him the way I remember her best, one of the ways I miss her most.  Anyway, it’s on soundcloud.  I put it up there for easy access for my relatives, but if you’re into Spanish sung church music, there’s that for you.



The best stories I ever wrote as a kid– and then later on, too– were all about death or murder or scary things. That’s what I was drawn to when I picked books to read, so that’s what I wrote. Naturally, I’m a bit crap at writing much else. I mean, you can see it in the one attempt at a “happy ending” that is sitting there in the fiction section of my blog. It got a bit slapdash at the end because I was on a deadline for a class that demanded that I turn in something finished. As it is with most of my stories that get forced endings, I can’t go back to it. I want to. I had a concept I wanted to run with and I fell in love with the tea shop and bakery I’d written. (On a separate note, that shop is an idea I’ve been kicking around since high school that I’d love to bring into being, but I’m not sure how to go about it and I don’t feel I know enough about tea yet for what I’d want to do.) But the story itself, having been cut short, feels wrong. It feels like I’d be trying to resurrect the dead and it would come back like the son in the “Monkey’s Paw”as a thing that is no longer what it once was and could never be what it might have been. I keep that story posted there as a reminder to try harder. I don’t want to only write scary, dismal, morbid stories, as much as I love them. There’s a whole 360 degree scope of human experience, most of which I know nothing about even in the periphery, and it can all exist together. It all frequently exists at once as a little emotional cosmos inside each person. That’s what makes the stories of other people’s lives– fictional or non-fictional– so compelling. I want to write all those stories. I want to write compelling stories. I want to be compelling.

I feel limited in my imagination by my lack of knowledge. I once wanted to study history. I wanted to be an archaeologist or an anthropologist because I wanted to know the stories as they stood from every point of view. I wanted to explore every facet of the lives that no one thought about anymore, but that had been a part of what shaped the here’s and now’s all over the world. And then I realized I just wanted to be a story teller. Maybe a travelling one. But there was that “lack of knowledge” thing, and I felt– I feel that I need to see and do more to be able to fully grasps a lot of things that drive people. I want to understand the internal states and the external possible circumstances that affect even the least considered factors of day to day existence. That’s why I’m happy as a waitress. That’s why I’ve done a lot of things the way I have. It’s hard to explain, and I think harder for a lot of people who worry about what I’m doing with my life to understand, that I’m deliberately not aiming for the structure that is supposed to lead to “success” as it is mostly understood to be (i.e. the safe job with the steady income, carefully managed for a wealthy old age, etc.). I want to be content. Not perpetually happy. Happy happens in between everything else. Happy happens when you strive for who and what you love, which may or may not be always exciting. I want to simply be content with where my life is, okay with where I’ve been, and eager to take on what’s coming my way as much by my own hand as possible. It really is an adventure, and that’s exactly what I’m aiming for. Structures are stationary. I want to keep moving.

I’ve had a number of bits of information shared with me recently about the lives of people I love that take my little heart and twist and makes it shiver from the strain of caring. A lot of it isn’t really anything to get too worked up about, but that there’s the potential for those things to become so much more, so much worse terrifies me. So I write. Except then I have that problem where, like in dreams, the doors start appearing that seem to require opening, and that I can feel I really don’t want to open. The stories start trying to go in directions I didn’t initially have in mind almost of their own volition. And so it’s that problem again. The one that goes like this:

“My characters keep trying to jump off bridges. Perhaps I should make a cup of tea and then try writing again.”

And so I make some tea, maybe a nice chamomile, and try again. And sometimes that means I manage to make the story move past the door. And sometimes it means the words stop playing nice and I have to go sit somewhere to sulk with my tea and watch episodes of “Supernatural” or watch “Lilo & Stitch”, feeling rejected until the words get lonely and want to play again.

Anyway, all of this is really to say that I’m having trouble carrying on with “Beasts” right now. It’s happening. I know where I want it to go. I have scenes playing out in my head. But I’m having trouble forcing it from my hand down the funnel that is my pen. It’s frustrating and it’s making me think about a whole lot of other things that are frustrating, which, of course, just makes things worse. Bother, indeed.

Well, I suppose it’s not an adventure without falling into a few holes and walking into a bit of mental poison ivy. Scrapes and bruises are to be expected. Right, more tea, then off to work.



I’m trying desperately not to be a liar yet again, but as midnight is swiftly approaching much like a booted foot to an unsuspecting (though assuredly deserving) butt, I will post what I have thus far.  I fully intend to continue updating through out the night until either the story finishes or I pass out at the keyboard and my poor, wonderful husband has to drag my lifeless (snoring) body off to bed, or at the very least over to the couch.  Oh, also posting the excerpt from my current –and currently unnamed– word baby.  Happy All Hallow’s Read, folks!

Beasts

Bit of Baby (possible a spleen, but it’s hard to tell at this stage)

Speaking of babies– My friend had one today!  Just in case you were disappointed by this small, shabby gift that I didn’t even bother to even try to wrap in newspaper, at least you can know that someone got something good today.  Let’s all be happy for the proud new mama and papa!  Happy adventuring, guys!

Update:  So about an hour after I got to work adding more to “Beasts” I crashed hard. I don’t even remember going to bed, really, but that’s where I woke up.  I will continue writing the story all the same.  Husband says to think of it as a serialized piece.  I’m grumpy about it, but it is what it is.  Bah.  Anyway, happy reading and much love, guys! (There are suddenly more of you!  Hello!)



{November 15, 2012}   Really should update more often.

I’m very bad about updating lately.  It’s a little more difficult to find ways to update on writing projects than it is on video and other projects.  At least when I’m working on a video project I can say things about the production process like, “I’ve checked out my location and found people to be in my video!  Hooray!” or “Jeez, editing takes so loooong!”  And then you can visualize these processes and see the work going into it.  What does one say about a writing project without giving too much away?

“I wrote a lot today!”

“The words weren’t playing nice today.  Bother.”

“My characters keep trying to jump off bridges.  Perhaps I should make a cup of tea and then try writing again.”

These things aren’t very engaging for a casual reader, I think.  Talking about the mechanics of writing can be interesting for those interested, and those interested tend to just be other writers, but even then the talk gets more than a little vague and there’s only so interested anyone can be without knowing the story to which the mechanics pieces belong.  Which brings me right back to giving too much away.  And I really, really don’t want to share things that aren’t complete, at the very least complete.  It’s irksome to everyone involved; for the writer who will then likely get feedback to a story that may not yet have a direction, and for the reader who doesn’t get any kind of closure.  I don’t want to do that.  Or maybe I’m just afraid?  It could go both ways, really.

And that’s the other thing!  The other thing that prevents me from updating lately is that so many story projects get started and not finished.  I thought I’d overcome this horrible habit of mine that I’ve had for as long as I can recall (ask my mother, she’ll confirm it) thanks to the journalism department.  For a while there, I probably had.  I started and finished things, anyway.  I seem to have slipped backwards a little, though, since graduating.  I’m not entirely sure what to do about it except to keep pushing myself forward.

But that’s what I’ve been doing all my life!  So maybe I have to approach this from another direction?

It occurs to me that maybe I simply need a focus.  I need a character or an idea to push around instead of just charging forward on nothing.  Kind of like the difference between walking round and round on a track or just forward forever on a treadmill, and walking with a destination in mind or walking with the purpose of seeing things.  Anyone who knows me personally will tell you I physically can’t focus on one thing at a time, so this will be a bit of a trick for me.  I’ll see how well it works with one just to get me started.  I’ll let you know how that goes, I suppose.

More immediately, I have to figure out how to get around work to write.  I’m not unfamiliar with physically demanding work, but the bakery is absolutely draining physically, mentally and, unexpectedly, emotionally.  I’m finding the more exhausted I am after work (or even the next morning still), the less I can think straight and more prone I am to saying–shouting–“Bugger it!” to everything and everyone.  And then there’s the crying and the fits of fetal-position-muttering that goes along with being tired and pitiful– Well, yes, you get the picture.  Tired duck = disinclined-to-do-much-more-than-loaf duck  Go figure.  There needs to be a writing / story / word-fiddling slow cooker.  Slow cookers are wonderful and terribly useful, especially when you keep them handy for use.  They make dinner so much easier and convenient.  Someone needs to invent one for writing.

So perhaps there was quite a bit to say after all.  I will keep experimenting and trying to keep the words happening and hopefully I can offer something more another day.  Seriously, guys, it’s all one long frikin’ adventure.  We can do this.



{October 31, 2012}   Stories and good news!

Good news, everyone!  I found work!  I am now a bakery clerk at a local grocery store.  It’s busier there than I ever really realized it would be.  Not that I didn’t think it would be hectic, but, really, it’s a bit overwhelming.  It’s more adventure than I was really expecting.  Of course, if I’d been expecting it, that’s not much of an adventure.  Bah.

Also!  I have stories for you folk!  My gift to you for All Hallow’s Read.  Two stories and one tiny poem, “Last Wish”, “It looked like a spook.” and “Skeptical”, sit in the All Hallow’s Read 2012 section for your reading pleasure.  Hope you like them!  Happy Halloween!  Happy All Hallow’s Read!

Dont’ forget there’s still the All Hallow’s Read 2011 stories, too.



{October 11, 2012}   All Hallow’s Read is back!

And, you know, that Halloween thing, too.  (I’ve been doodling costume ideas for months.)  I’ve also been tinkering with stories for months.  New ones as my gift to all of you for All Hallow’s Read and as an apology for being radio silent for the past several months.  I’ll have the stories posted up soon.  For those new to All Hallow’s Read and or not new, but perplexed as to why I’m talking about writing stories, here’s my blog post from last year.  I love the books I have and can’t spend the money to give books away, so I’m writing stories for the sharing.  I hope you’ll write stories, too!  We could all go on a story telling rampage!  Like Christmas caroling, but on Halloween!  It’ll be awesome.  Also, don’t forget to give candy with your stories.  It is still Halloween after all.

Anyway, not much else going on.  Still looking for work.  Still writing.  No one ever said adventures were going to be exciting all the time.  Oh well.  Wish me luck!



et cetera
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