Revamping.

Well, there I go, forgetting about this blog for like four months. I'm bad at keeping up with this kind of stuff, also writing about writing makes me feel kind of weird so there will probably be breaks like this often.

   Anyway, now I'm going to tell you guys about something crazy that's happened to me over the course of...oh, about 48 hours.

   I completely changed my novel.

You see, my book has a good storyline. A pretty good plot. Lovable characters. But...well, you see, I had a lot of plot holes, things that didn't make sense that I would "fix later." But when it came time for me to fix them? I realized that they were actually impossible to fix.

   I couldn't fix them without damaging the plot, without giving my main character's love interest a hard exterior that he would never in a million years have. It would just turn disastrous.

   So I changed it. The characters are still there (minus the ones that had no purpose), and the main plot is still there. But all the other details are changed. It's so different, I could probably write them both.

   And it's kind of sad. I love the new version of this novel, but a part of me still misses the other book like crazy.

   *Sigh* The life of a writer, huh?

--Mandy
 

Thankfulness.

My sister and I the day before I went home.

I'm thankful for so many things today, but a big one is that I'm alive.

   Last April, my appendix ruptured. And I got sick. Really, really sick. And some of the nights I spent in the hospital I wondered if I was going to die.

   It all started when I got this killer stomachache. It was one of those stomachaches that you get when you ate too much, or when you have the flu and your body is fighting against you. It hurt, but I would be okay. It would pass.
   A few days later I threw up. And I felt better. Because I just had the flu. I'm the type of person who wants to know why I'm feeling bad. I hate feeling sick, but I feel better knowing why. So I breathed easier that day even though I vomited multiple times.
   A few days later, I had stopped throwing up and started to feel a little better. I was eating a little, and the stomachaches had ceased. I was on the mend. It hurt like crazy to lie down, but I figured my body was just sore from all the vomiting I had done.
   Saturday night, though, the pain of lying down grew so intense that I wanted to die. My ears started buzzing, and for a few seconds, which felt like hours, my vision was nothing but the fuzz you see on a TV screen when you have bad reception. But in a few minutes, I was fine. I felt better. I could breathe. I was okay.
   Several days later, I wasn't doing better. I could barely eat anything. It's not that I wanted to eat, but I was scared. I couldn't eat. It's a feeling you can't explain until you've felt it yourself. So my mom too me to the doctor. And that's when they told us to go to the ER. Now.

   My heart started beating on the ride to the hospital. I had only set foot in a hospital building a few times, and the only time I was admitted in one was when I was born. I was scared. Really scared.

   The next day, I had surgery. The only thing I remember is the taste of the anesthesia, which lingered in my mouth and lungs after I woke up. It tasted plasticky, like a cheap beach ball. I woke up groggy. I wanted to sleep for hours, for the rest of  my life. But they told me to stay awake, so I did.

   When we got back to my room, I wanted out of the hospital. I wanted to go home so bad that it hurt. I'm very much a homebody, and this was the longest I had ever been away from home.

   I got better. My white blood cell count was going down, and they were telling me that I would be able to go home in a few days. I was so dang excited when that day came.

   But the nurse came in and told me that my count had gone back up. I couldn't go home, and I would need another CT scan. I cried the rest of the day.

   A few days later, they found out that I had an abscess on my liver. And those words still make me cringe. I had to have a "procedure" to get rid of it.

   And a few days later, I was allowed to go home. But I wasn't out of the woods yet. Because I wasn't responding well to the oral antibiotics, I had to get them through a PICC line, which, if you don't know, is like a long IV that leads to your heart. I had to have it in for a good six weeks.

   I'm so thankful that that's all behind me. And I'd be lying if I said I don't still get scared when I get a stomachache or start feeling under the weather. But you know what? God will carry me through whatever it is that's coming for me next.

--Mandy

Discouraged

I'm going to be honest: I'm not very good at sticking with things. I'm not the girl who holds her head up and pushes through. I'm very easily discouraged, and I like giving up. Because it's easy, and it's a fast way out of the things I don't want to do.

I really want to give up writing my novel.

You see, giving up my novel is not something that's easily done. It's not like giving up on a half-painted birdhouse, or a scrapbook that I'll make "when I have the time." This book is my life. I breathe it, sleep it, and write it. It consumes me. I'm not Mandy Peacock without writing. And I'm not Mandy Peacock without my book.

My book has been a part of me for almost four years. And I'm so sure that this is the draft that's going to make it. This is the one. It needs editing, and revising, and a much stronger plot. But it's there. The words dance off the page. My characters are real. The book is realistic. I have great descriptions, the perfect amount of witty lines, and the perfect kiss of romance.

So why do I want to quit so badly?

The short answer is that I'm sick of it. When you've been working on something this long, you just want it gone. I want to be able to stop working on this book. I want to be free of it. I love it to death and I'm so proud of it, but I'm ready for the novel to no longer be mine. I want it to be someone else's now. I want it to sit on a shelf at a library. I want someone to pick it up and say, "Huh, this looks pretty good." I want someone to read it. I need to share this story.

I have three thousand more words before I reach my rough draft goal. That's three more days. And those 72 hours seem like the longest time of my life. I'm discouraged, and I desperately want to quit. I want to ditch this book and start a new one. New novels are always fun. But this book is so old to me that it doesn't even feel like my idea anymore. I don't feel like I'm the writer. I feel like the characters are telling me what to do, and I provide the typing and wording for it. That's all. I want this book to be done. But I do know that when it is done? Everything I feel right now will be very much worth it.

--Mandy

I Have The Fire

I can be quite a stubborn person when I want to be. I like things to go my way. Doesn't everyone? It's so dang easy to slip into the I want's. I want a lot of things. I want to stop world hunger. I want to be able to do a cartwheel.
And I want to get my writing published.
Two out of three of these things won't happen without a lot of help, time, and research. (Oh, and probably some gymnastics lessons would help, too.)
But I can slip into discouragement so fast. One minute I can be typing away, and the next I wonder why I'm even writing this book in the first place. Those teeny, tiny voices in my head whisper, "Why are you trying? It's not like anyone's going to care what you have to say. Who would want to read this? A two-year-old could write better than you." Those voices make me hang my head and lose hope. Sometimes for a little while, sometimes for hours.
But those voices can't put out the fire in my heart.
I'm 76.9% sure I was born with that writing fire. I wrote stories and stories, loving how these characters were in my control. Or the control of my barely-sharpened glitter pencil. One of the two. That fire's never left me long. Sometimes it leaves for a few days. Sometimes for a few weeks. But it always comes back. Some moments I'm itching to get to the keyboard and pour myself into this story. And sometimes I dread going into Willow's world. But in the end, I still have that fire. Sometimes I throw some water on that fire by looking at my old works. Those rough drafts put a frown on my face. But then it sparks up again, and a steady flame is burning again.

I don't suspect that fire will ever leave me.

--Mandy

Sometimes I Give Up

   I'm a very talented excuse-maker. I can make excuses for not eating a cupcake at a party. I can make excuses for holing up in my room like a bear. Oh, and I can make excuses for writing.
"I just don't feel like it."
"I don't have time."
"I don't feel very good."
"If I write now, it won't be anything good. I should just wait until I have more inspiration."
Okay, so this is what goes through my mind every. stinkin. day. I go to the document and blankly stare. I start a timer and then go on Facebook and then the timer beeps and I've got nothing. I start it again and then decide I don't want to do it and close it. I give up all the time, even if only for a little while. But sometimes I give up for good. The dozens of unfinished stories from when I was little proves that. I'm not good at sticking with things. And sometimes I want to quit this story. Because it's probably not good enough anyway. It's not like anyone is going to like it.

   But then I realize that I respect myself enough to finish this story. And yes, sometimes I get discouraged and I want to quit. But this is not going to be one of those unfinished documents that I look at and think, "I threw in the towel. I quit." Because I am going to finish this book.

What self-doubts have you guys had while writing?

--Mandy

Hello and Welcome!

   Hi! Welcome to my blog! Well, here it is. The ever-awkward first post. I suppose I'll introduce myself. My name is Mandy Peacock. I'm a writer, it's been my dream ever since I was little. To learn more about me, check out my pages! I love sharing my story.

   I've been through a lot in my life. I almost died in April when my appendix ruptured. They almost had to transfer me to the ICU. They wasn't sure I was going to make it, but I did. When I got out of the hospital, I knew I had to get on the bandwagon with my writing dreams.

   And so, here I am! Whoever you are, I'm so happy you checked out my blog! Thanks for coming, and I hope you get comfortable, because I have a lot to say. I hope you'll join me as I broadcast my crazy rants. And, if anyone is reading this, please leave a comment or follow so I know that I'm not just talking to myself! 

Well, I guess this first post wasn't terrible. I promise my other ones will be a lot better! Well, no, I'm not going to promise that, but I promise I will do my very, very best.

Cheers to writing!

--Mandy