The first part I analyzed was what I’m working on right now which is parts of the werewolf story which are from J.C’s perspective while he’s in wolf mode.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Now, the beginning of the whole werewolf story which is more Jay-centric.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

“Too Deep” story:

I write like
Isaac Asimov

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Condor story:

I write like
Douglas Adams

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Kiddy’s story:

I write like
Margaret Atwood

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Hope Academy:

I write like
J. D. Salinger

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Can’t Cry (one of the first stories I wrote and one that actually completed (sort of) but I was 16 and I re-read it now and I’m going ack-ack-ack-ack!!!)

I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Sanctity story:

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I’ve been looking for tips on ways to become unstuck given my normal things aren’t working at this point; and I ran across this site: Ten Tips for Overcoming Writer’s Block and have been reading through those a few of them aren’t as feasible for me.

For example, the first tip suggests walking away from the keyboard. I’ve got a billion other things I need to do which involve the computer so instead of walking away I just switch tactics and work on those other things, catching up on blogs, reading things that are in my feed reader and the last and most useless one playing games on Facebook. However this morning I also have things to do which do not involve the computer, which is number 2 on the list. I have laundry to sort out, and washed dishes to put away. Later on today I have a massage booked that my Mum bought for me, so if nothing else that should give me a ton of time to clear my head and just be for a while and hopefully enable me to come back refreshed.

So, to cleanse my brain I’m going to write a bit of another story instead and then go back to “Too Deep” ready to slog through the muck and come out the other side. So, this is actually just a random aside with a character I have in another story I haven’t mentioned who is a pilot, who was in an accident, or so she’s being told.

The holo droned and flickered and flickered and woke her up. Holos weren’t supposed to flicker or break up that was part of the point, that and the crisp clear visitation of the events right to you as though you were involved. This was a definite hiccup. The daily deals being offered to contestants on a game show were discorporating the news broadcast that had come on.
She reached for the picture, stumbled and almost fell out of bed. That was when she remembered where she was. This wasn’t her room. Her left hand was completely bandaged which explained why it didn’t move the way she had expected either, as she’d reached for the newscaster. The bed didn’t go the way she expected. There were wheels and beeps and a strange stickiness against her forehead. She reached up with her right hand, the fingers were stiff, and two of them were splinted, but at least she had some motion. A monitoring beacon, well that made sense.
Things were out of place though and not just the rooms’ inability to look like her own room because it wasn’t her own room. The holo shouldn’t flicker, and even if it did she should be able to see why it was, and fix it. Machines had been in her blood before oxygen. Now there was an absence, she felt as though her limbs were lead, things were wrong…
The door opened and a woman in a white uniform walked in. Spying her charge reaching out in quiet desperation towards the hologram she rushed over, “Oh, honey,” she said, “if you need to change it the comm button is right here,” she murmured, “how are you feeling?” she put a hand on her charge’s forehead, despite the fact that all the information was being transmitted to the padd she had at her hip.
“Dry,” she managed, realizing that speech was causing her throat to crack, “it’s wrong…”
The nurse went to the door and picked up a bottle of liquid and brought it in, “Are you one of the cult of Sanqui…I’m sorry I can’t pronounce it, but you know what I mean, right?”
“Yes and no,” she said, then frowned, “I mean, I’m not, but I get it.”
“While we’re at it, what would you like me to call you?” she said, and then realized she was still holding the water, and, “Sorry,” she started to hand it and then stopped, unscrewed the cap and opened it and then offered it.
“Denny’s fine,” she replied after draining half the bottle, and carefully setting it on the table, “I’m sorry though, um, which hospital am I at?”
“It’s Sword Coast,” the nurse replied, “and don’t worry P.D.F. made sure to bring in their own people so they’d fix you up appropriate to, you know,” she wiggled her fingers.
Denny frowned again, “Right,” she said, slowly, “Well, then I’d like to be talking to those people and very soon.”

It’s always interesting when you’re writing a character and suddenly realize they’re racist. Hello Nurse?

I’m trying to skip ahead a little in the hopes of picking things up, perhaps I can talk about one of Kelsey’s alters being interested in carolina designs, something, anything to actually get the words going again. I think part of my problem is that I already know that I’m going to be scrapping half of what’s been written or at least moving it to later in the story to try and salvage it, because the way things are being written right now there’s nothing much in the way of actual action going on compared to what I was hoping for when I originally decided on the plot, some times that’s not a bad thing, but in this case I feel as though things are dragging a lot in certain ways, where I’ve been writing pages about things that aren’t entirely relevant just to keep writing.

I have 55 minutes if I’m going to keep my “write at least something a day” rule; because I’m hoping not to get into that spiral where it goes several days without writing anything and makes it all the harder to actually connect with the story the longer it stretches out…but I’m not sure. I’m in brain-mush at the moment which makes it even harder.

So she lay still and tried not to say anything, because that was playing along with the game and then the game would be over because she had been good and played along, and Maddie, Maddie was really good at the game now, she wasn’t saying anything at all. She was just staring straight ahead, like Snow White when she ate the apple, so Maddie, Maddie would get to go home first, she knew that, but maybe if she kept just as quiet they would both get to go home.
Maddie was the one here trapped here. She could never leave.
It didn’t matter how cold it got, or how much it rained, or if the ground shook. She was still here. She liked to paint, pictures could be distracting, and she wanted to sing, but that would be too much noise and that would make him angry. When he was angry that was going to be bad. He would know if she was telling, or if she was bad. He would know and then she would be in trouble from him and from her family. So she knew that she wasn’t going to be talking about it, maybe she just shouldn’t talk at all, that would make things a lot safer.
But that would make her family angry. Her mother didn’t like when she didn’t say anything, it made her angry and it made her cry and Mom and Dad would fight with each other then and shout about her, and Des would be unhappy too.
Des was always unhappy. She could see him sitting in his room. He didn’t play football or soccer any more. He stayed inside and tried to get her to play Snakes & Ladders with him or Ludo.
Dad would drive her to a special lady who kept telling her that she would listen whenever she wanted to talk, and that was something to not tell Mom either, wasn’t it? Mom would get mad about that. She thought the lady was a waste of time.
Still he had to be there. He was watching, always watching. It wasn’t going to matter where she went. Sometimes she saw him looking through her window, so she would sleep in her closet, curled up in blankets underneath her clothes, everyone would always think to look under the bed, so that wasn’t a safe place to go.
So, she would sleep in the closet, it was warm and snug, and one day he would stop watching and it might be safe to talk again.

I decided that should be the end of the chapter, and I need to decide where to pick up for the next chapter — but that’s tricky. I need a Garmin GPS to navigate my way out of this one. I’ve been trying not to keep pressure on myself…because I know that doesn’t help getting out of a writer’s block but it’s hard with my perfectionist nature to not get hung up on these things.

I think it’s because a lot of the topic is very familiar to me in a haunting sort of way. It touches very close to real fears and issues that I have, as well as being surreal and fantastic, so when one of those “close to home” scenes is coming up I find myself hesitating to write and having to really zone out and just type in order to get those things out.

Still each day I’m managing to write at least a couple of hundred words, today I’ve written a thousand. These aren’t the average NaNo goals which is just over 1600 words per day, but it’s still writing and I’ve only had one day where I didn’t officially up my word count at all, so these are good things.

At about midnight one night this past week I got a flash of inspiration for a place to start the piece and jotted about three pages worth of notes. Things are still a bit clunky but there is a much greater starting point than I previously had which will hopefully mean that I can start first thing on November 1st without staring at a blank page for several hours and demotivating myself.

Kelsey sat on her bed flipping through the photos in the digital frame and trying to remember when they were taken. There were a couple of pictures that she felt she should be able to place, and a couple of them she recognized the place but not the situation. One of them was taken near the second classroom building but she wasn’t sure she knew who it was who was with her, and a lot of them she couldn’t place at all which disturbed her given it was a frame in her side of the dorm, which meant that it was hers, especially as she was in several of them, but it was as though she was looking at a stranger.

She sighed, and set the frame down. The mood Dionne was in she wasn’t going to ask her to help clear up the matter. They’d had another blazing row just before her room mate had gone to class, this one involving Kelsey’s purported change of heart about hosting a party that weekend. She had a test the following Monday so she didn’t want to have a huge crowd of people over and she’d thought Dionne would understand, but to Dionne this was the final straw and she’d had enough. They seemed to be doing nothing but argue lately, about stupid things like dishes, and other chore rotas. A ton of little things that were just mounting up. She found herself more and more seriously considering Isaac’s offer, but she didn’t want to move in with him purely to get away from Dionne, that wasn’t a good reason to move in with someone, and with all the things which were happening with Dionne she wasn’t sure she should subject Isaac to them. She didn’t want to risk the relationship that way. She didn’t want to put him through whatever was going on with her memory. She wasn’t stupid, so why was everything slipping through her mind like this, or was it? Still, this seemed an inordinate length to go to for a practical joke and Dionne wouldn’t have the patience for it.

I like a few elements of this but not the majority. For a free-writing exercise it served it’s purpose, but I think it’s too confusing. I need to get a bit better grounding in the situation.