I’m looking at a nest precariously sitting in a tall tree, and the birds look like floating leaves in the clear, blue spaces between the branches. And hear them, even with my windows shut. Spring is coming! And it demands to be noticed. It feels…different. It’s as if your whole body reacts to the change, and something shifts. That heavy winter, the one that made you drag your feet every morning in the dark cold, where coffee wasn’t hot enough, now shifts to hope, like those floating leaves, and something says, deep inside you—Clean up. Get it together. Shake that baggage. Simplify. Become lighter! It makes me want to strap on my Converse and walk and notice and breathe. That’s what spring is. BREATH. It’s the conscious inhaling and exhaling of breath. And that does more for our psyche than any drug or substance. It is a physical and mental warmth. It’s a meditation, if you let it be. You put your head to the sun and let it warm you, and FEEL it, not superficially. You feel less harried. Less stressed. You don’t want to rush the way you do in winter. There is no longer a need to rush from house to car to car to building to car again to get anywhere but the cold, running to get out of the pelts of snow or wind. Instead, you feel your neck removing itself from your ears. You let your arms hang in a natural rhythm by your side. You’re no longer freezing. It’s quite fascinating when you stop and really think about it. That tension of pulling coats close and tucking scarves into necks so they don’t move as you walk is gone. You don’t even mind standing in one place. You feel each muscle unfurling, the tension and aches--gone. You can…think. That blue is brighter than any color you’ve ever seen. So what will you do to stop and breathe? What baggage will you leave behind? Sit for a bit. Watch the birds-- for they are "the secrets of living”—and hear them, even if it’s the first time.
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3/21/2019 Head-Hopping. What Say You? What Is the Difference Between Omniscient POV and Head-Hopping?Read NowI'm having a dang time with my latest novel, which I love, let me tell you! It's my first foray into Third Person, Omniscient (I've done limited before), and I fear the dreaded swear word: "Head-Hopping." How does an author get into the heads of her characters without jarring the reader out of the groove? I've come across two blog articles I share with you here, and there seems to be no definitive answers! I'll share them with you here: WHAT MAKES OMNISCIENT POV DIFFERENT FROM HEAD-HOPPING and THE OFFICIAL RULES ON HEAD-HOPPING. So because this argument runs the gamut, I'd like to ask you to read a short excerpt and provide your opinion. Can I head-hop within the same scene? Or is that a big no-no? Do I need to only switch perspectives from chapter to chapter? (Oh. That will really fuck things up!). Did you even notice? If Nora Roberts can do it, why can't I? (Don't answer that. I realize the obvious answer. LOL!) I welcome your comments. Please! Constructive. Brutal. Honest. Just Feedback PLEASE! I'm so close to finishing this story...Thank you for your help! UNEDITED EXCERPT:
“Okay.” She started to comb her hair and realized how snarled it was, as she hadn’t left the conditioner in long enough, fretting over Colton in her dorm room, alone, doing who knows what. “You can come sit on the bed with me. I don’t bite, Princess,” Colton offered. She was petrified. Petrified that he would see how affected she was by his presence. She had this wet discomforting ache between her thighs just by being in the room with him, so close, and yet she didn’t want to let on. “I know that.” She walked over and sat down. “So…we left off pretty early. I think we have seven questions to go.” He looked for the handout in his book bag as she tried to yank the comb out of her hair, realizing it was stuck. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Colton started laughing. “Need help?” “No. I’m fine.” She pulled the comb in vain. “Come here.” He scooted over to her, leaving little to no room between them. She held her breath as Colton tangled his fingers in her hair, trying to free the rogue comb. His hand accidentally brushed her breast and she gasped, not knowing if he even realized it. She thought she might actually hyperventilate. “Do you have it?” she asked, barely audible. “You have so much hair, Lauren,” he spoke softly back to her, and she felt her body trembling. He was rarely kind to her. Her face was only inches from his. She could smell a mixture of chocolate and something else, something she was dying to taste on his breath. He looked into her eyes, smoldering her, igniting her in such a way that she had to suppress every urge, every instinct, every desire not to beg him to kiss her. She almost just blurted it out. It felt like they were frozen like that, stuck in the moment, both desiring one another and not being able to act or move. He got closer, if that was even possible, trying to remove the tangled hair from the comb. He didn’t let go of her eyes. “Why were you crying today, Lauren?” His voice was husky, low. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to wreck whatever moment they were having. “Tell me,” he whispered. She shut her eyes. Squeezed them tight. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to admit that he had affected her, was affecting her. She didn’t want to tell him her whole, horrible past. His fingers danced in her hair and she stifled a moan. It felt so good. He grabbed her face in his hands. “Look at me.” He spoke so tenderly. She didn’t understand him, what he was doing with her. One minute cold. The next, hot. “Please,” he said. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes as he held her face in place. He wanted to kiss her, desperately. He knew she wanted him to, at least in that moment. He knew she did. Her eyes told him everything. And right then, they were a brilliant blue. “Colton.” Her tone was greedy, begging for something. “I don’t want you to cry.” And what he said next was not what he had planned. “I want to make it better.” She couldn’t breathe. It was all-consuming. He was all consuming. It was a pleasurable suffocation, but it would kill her if he didn’t do something, kiss her, tell her he cared, something, anything. Her whole body pulsed. Her lower belly tightened into something she had never felt as warmth spread out between her thighs. She felt like she'd never be able to catch her breath. “What the…” Beth froze upon opening the door. Colton let go and Lauren pushed herself away from him as quickly as she could, letting all the air escape her lungs that she had been holding in, as he left her there, wobbling, unsure of what had just happened. Lauren tried to find composure, embarrassed, searching Colton’s eyes again, but he was gone, distant, holding the questionnaire, as if they hadn’t just shared a tender, close moment. “What’s going on Masters?” Beth probed. “Are you okay, Lauren?” “Yeah of course…I…we…” “She’s fine, Beth. We were just catching up on some homework. I was just leaving.” “Homework? Really, Colton? You must think I’m stupid or blind or something.” “I got my comb stuck in my hair,” Lauren explained, pointing to the virtual bird’s nest stuck in her hair. “Colton was helping me to get it out.” “Oh shit.” Beth couldn’t help but start laughing. “Let me.” Beth sat next to them on the bed, taking up the space between them that had appeared the moment she opened the door and ruined the moment. Colton stood up. “Later,” he said as he made his way to the door. His white t-shirt was dripping wet from Lauren’s hair. She couldn’t believe how close he had been to her. She didn’t want him to leave. “I’ll walk you out,” Lauren offered and got up as Colton was already exiting the room. “No need, Lauren. I’ve got stuff to do.” Have you ever tried to shut down for just 24 hours? No technology whatsoever? No phone. No internet. Just quietude? Or what about just Social Media? Staying away from Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and the myriad other places you might frequent. How did it make you feel? I want to try to go at least one day without checking into my accounts, just one day of not going onto Messenger. Just one day of not checking book sales. As I sat down to write this, and opened my computer, the screen saver was a universe of blue and purple and teal and bright and light stars. Beautiful really. Like a Van Gogh painting of space. But the longer I sat behind my laptop, the more I saw myself blending into it. The longer I stared, the more I could see myself in its reflection, just a shadow, and the stars became blurred and universe, so pretty when I opened it, faded into the background as I became more prominent in the picture. It was the exact reverse of when I first opened my computer and stared at the screensaver image, full of color and wonder, now it was just me, faceless, a black outline. Sounds like a bad acid trip, doesn’t it? But I’m afraid, it’s who we’re all becoming, extensions of technology. The very first thing I do when I wake in the morning is search for my phone. It lights up in my face like someone with a flashlight, and I draw my legs into a comfortable position, tucking myself on my side, and lounge and search and drift and write, perfectly content to lazily stretch and roll about, making my already messy sheets messier. It relaxes me. It’s much like the days of old, reading a newspaper slowly, pouring coffee, and then sipping it alongside the Arts and Entertainment section. Though I still do that on Sundays (less and less it seems), this is similar. I open my news apps first, then I surf Pinterest, get caught up on some blogs, and then begin the Social Media frenzy. No coffee, just me, my bed, and my pal, my phone. The mere thought of not waking to my phone produces a bit of panic and anxiety in me. Usually waiting for me under my pillow, my hands search blindly for the rectangular handheld gold, and when it’s not there, I feel my heartbeat rise, my eyes pop open, my feet already on the cold floor, searching desperately like the most important part of me has bee stolen, before I realize it’s on the nightstand. And then, I can climb back in, roll about in the wee hours of morning, like a lazy semi-conscious slumber: calm, languid, as long as I can scroll my phone and hold it close like a teddy bear. Its soothing...And it’s dangerous. Because as much as I tell myself it’s bad and I must put it down and I must shut it off and that the time is getting away from me, and I’ll be throwing my hair into another messy bun because I’m late, I’m finding it harder and harder to stop it. And even as I’m telling myself I need to put it down, I can’t. It’s addiction, I’m afraid. Plain and simple. So, next week, I’m going to give it a go. Shut down for at least 24 hours. Like anything else in life, baby steps. I’ll try just one day. But with any addiction, it takes more than one day, and perhaps, that is why I know I can do it. Because I’ll be back, right there with my favorite blanket to comfort me. Will anyone notice? Or miss me? Highly doubtful. And that is the saddest part of addiction. The addiction doesn't need you. It will find its next victim. But you? You'll go into serious withdrawals, because you need IT, and if you don't? Perhaps you don't. Need. It. At. All... I’m becoming
the screen, the glare all I see-- mesmerizing addictive vapid-- a black hole of light, swirling with impermanent nothingness. I fade Into the background of its rectangle. Everything blurs. Everything’s lukewarm. Everything’s grey. I’m bored to tears, the plop of them, hard and heavy, echoing in my ears of sleep and wake, my thumb, my brain, the click click tap tap of another digital number turning its red face. And I am a constant blue. R.B. O'Brien Author Some things are meant to be messy. Hair. Chocolate. Watercolors. But life? It shouldn't be a complete mess. I realized recently that my closet was a bit of a metaphor for my life. I needed to streamline some things; lose things that were weighing me down; get organized; prioritize in what order things should be; in short, I needed to pay attention to my mental health. So…I got myself a new closet, quite literally, and slowly, I’m finding my frenetic, rat-race kind of existence beginning to change. I’m learning those changes are not just about where I can find my favorite shoes or t-shirt or jeans, but it’s about finding what makes me thrive and happy and what people I want to keep around me in order to do that (and what people I don’t.) My closet woes were really just a manifestation of my real-life woes. And I don’t need to be loyal to a pair of shoes, who frankly, are too expensive. Holding onto “people” who no longer belong, who take me granted, or trying to fit too many things into such a small window of time, is taking a toll; they’re too expensive. And I don’t have to pay for them. Or feel guilty about it. I can get a new closet. Rearrange a few things. Finally get rid of the things that no longer work. And so I did. And so, I am. Friends laugh and say: “First-world problems,” and yes, it does seem a bit trite to spend money on a closet. But everything is relative, isn't it? The mess, the chaos, the last-minute searches for things was spilling over into everything else. Always late as it is, it only further agitated me, furthered my anxieties, furthered everything into a panic. I don’t need to live that way. The closet is the first step. I’ve decluttered, created a new work space, put on a new coat of paint, eliminated furniture, sorted boxes of junk, bought new artwork…and that’s just the outside. Next? The inside.
So if you don’t see me around as much, well..it’s because I’m cleaning out my closet. Not everything deserves to stay. Not everything belongs. Some things just simply don’t match anymore. |
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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