Author: Sheila McIntrye Good, Author

Screw that Plan

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 1 Comment

To my readers, I apologize for the delay between posts. The truth is, I think there is a conspiracy about. As you know, my grand scheme beginning 2012 included 500 words a day, minimum, short stories bi-weekly, daily writing prompts and a number of pipe dreams.

Well, screw that plan!

For every step forward, I ended up taking three back. I opened my mouth for all the world to read and thought it would help keep me on track. You know, accountability. I’m so naive.  When I stuck a stake in ground,  apparently, I invited the devil himself to challenge me. Every time I sat down to write, something or someone interrupted. Pulling out my computer was like the kiss of death.

Instead of writing this past week, I spent my time entertaining, against my will, a most dreadful guest. Norovirus came to visit, unexpected and unwelcome. So, my husband and I, spent the weekend, twelve plus hours, in the emergency room receiving IV fluids and medication. It has taken us a week to recover, and I can assure you while Norovirus was in town, writing didn’t enter my mind.

So this week, I’m not going to verbalize my plans. Maybe I’ll be able to accomplish something. In the mean time keep in touch, and for the love of God, wash your hands with plenty of soap and water. I hear Norovirus enjoys meeting new people! Norovirus

Returning to the Cow Pasture

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 1 Comment

As a newbie, I’m finding writing to be much more difficult than just putting ‘pen to paper’. Sometimes, I long for the simplicity of writing on ruled notebook paper, in the cow pasture by the stream. No phones, TV’s, dogs, or people to interfere. Just me, my thoughts, and my imagination.

I remember the words flowing easily, no thought of censoring what I was writing. They were my words, my ideas, my stories, and I never gave a moments thought to anything other than would my pencil and paper last or would I have to leave the pasture, and go home for more.

Funny, how when we’re younger our inhibitions are so few. They tell me  as we age, we lose our inhibitions again, or so I hear.  I can’t wait.

I must admit, over the years I’ve had my moments of ‘free thinking’. In fact, I can remember a time, not too long ago,  I very vocally took the stance of “Screw it” to just about everyone and everything. After  they got my hormones straightened out, I returned to being a civil human being, unfortunately inhibitions intact. Damn, I kinda liked being without them.

There is something to be said for being able to say what you mean without fear or hesitation or how others are going to receive it. Kids do it all the time, and we love it. There is nothing we like more, deep down, than unadulterated honesty. At times, truth be known as adults, we probably envy children. “Damn, wish I could have said that, and gotten away with it.”

As a writer, it’s even harder to get a way with it, especially if you’re a newbie. Words spoken can be denied. “I never said that”.  It is your word against theirs, but words on paper are well, they are there for all to read.  Evidence, with your name attached in bold letters.

“What will people think?”; “Are you sure you want to write that?”; “I don’t know…”; That doesn’t speak to me”; “What you write reflects on you”.

And, so it goes.

I still have so much to learn about the skill of writing, I enjoy it, and I will continue on my journey to learn. Whether I achieve the lofty goal of publication, remains to be seen. But, I am quickly, discovering,  there are as many different writers, with many different skills, more helpful websites and blogs than I can keep up with, and a world of critics.

Sometimes, one needs to just go back to the cow pasture, and focus on writing.

Screw Political Correctness

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

For me as a new writer, I love seeing my words in print. The endless learning process of how to structure a sentence properly, and tweak the grammar to near perfection, while annoying at times, nevertheless, has proven to be one the of simplest aspects of writing skills I’ve undertaken this past year.

The most difficult thing for me, about what it takes to be a writer, by far, has been and continues to be, silencing the ‘political correctness critic’ sitting on my shoulder, or perhaps, the ones surrounding me in my daily life.

The well-meaning spouse, sibling, friend, co-worker, employer, clergyman, community leader, or any of the sundry others who may read something I’ve written and react with a word of caution, a raised eye-brow, rhetoric, invoke ‘tolerance’, quilt, or sometimes down right tell you “I don’t think you should…” Think how that sounds… What would people think…say, or react?”

I find myself after writing an honest and powerful piece, second guessing myself and going back, tampering with what I’ve written, changing the tone, or the language to be more acceptable. I see their discomfort, a cringe, reaction, an intake of  breath,  or widening of the eyes, and through my inexperience, I let them manipulate me to change my words, to cow-tow to political correctness, to sooth their ruffled feathers.

But, here’s the thing …

I may be new at writing, a neophyte, inexperienced in the craft, but this I know for sure: If I am ever to be successful as a writer, especially in my eyes, my words must be authentic. Writing should evoke emotions. Sometimes the emotions will run the gamut from good, to bad, ecstatic to horror. Real life is much the same way.

There will be times my writing runs the gamut from good to bad to excellent (my prayer), but one thing I promise from this post onward, my words will be authentic, like it or not.

So, screw political correctness.

You Could Have Heard a Feather Drop

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 2 Comments

For those of you who read my 2012 resolutions, you may recall I wanted to expand my writing group experiences. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the group I currently attend, just thought the more feedback, the better. I wanted to push myself. I’m a glutton for punishment  (but then, that’s a whole other blog).

The way I had it figured, two meetings each month, both requiring submissions meant I’d be doing a lot of writing. How could my writing NOT, improve (theoretically, of course)? Sounded reasonable to me.

So, with great anticipation, I attended my first meeting of the new group, Tuesday evening. It was a large crowd, close to twenty participants. After, a round robin of introduction, the facilitator announced we were going to do a five-minute, free-writing exercise before breaking into groups to share and critique our work.

I thought, Okay, this is a different approach from my other group, but so far so good. I pulled out my pen, opened my notebook, and waited.

She said, “Think of the first line of a poem or song and write for five minutes. Don’t worry about punctuation just write. I’ll time you. Go.”

I drew a blank, a complete and utter blank, my brain froze. My muse looked at me, scowling and said, “Is she kidding, a poem? I’m out of here.”

“Sit yourself down this instant! The only thing running through this brain right now is, ‘I’ve Got The Dinosaur Blues’. I don’t think that will cut it!  I can’t share that with the group! Sit down!” I hissed.

Don’t misunderstand I love the song! I sing it out loud and with gusto whenever my two granddaughters are in the car with me. In fact, it is the only music they allow me to listen to. I have a copy for every car (Mothers take note).

I raised my hand, “What if you don’t read poetry or listen to music?” I asked. In other words, I’ve had a brain fart, should I just go ahead and scoot out the door, now? Everyone paused monetarily as they looked up, deciding instantly I must be joking, and returned to writing.

I waited, my pen poised in mid-air for the leader of the group or someone to throw me a crumb, offer words of encouragement, maybe a hint, or suggestion, anything, but nope I was on my own.

And, then I remembered. I had read a poem that morning. In fact, I read it as part of a critique for my regular writer’s group coming up in a few days. In my mind, I saw the first verse:

“I tickled your toes as I pushed you in the swing.”

Now, I realize at first glance it doesn’t sound much better than, ‘I’ve got the dinosaur blues’, but the clock was ticking. I was the only one in the group of 20 people, NOTwriting. I had to do something. A girl’s gotta do what a girls gotta do.

“Time’s up.”

I was so proud of myself, I had written something that made sense, at least to me, and in less than five minutes. There were ooh’s, aha’s, and smiling feedback all around the room for those who chose to share, and then I read mine. You could have heard a feather drop.

I raised my head to find a group of 20 or so participants, staring back at me. Pretty much like a bunch of deer in headlights, not a smile to be found. No one uttered a word, except me.

“O-o-o-kay,” I said, closing my notebook with a pop and grin, “That’s it.” We quickly broke into groups.

I think I made an impression. What do you think?