Exercise for Better Writing Ideas

By Lori Moritz This is not about a writing exercise… this is a writing about exercise… the physical kind. I have read it countless times by a countless number of successful writers: You should exercise your body if you want to exercise your mind. Now, I used to shrug this stuff off with an, “ of course!” But that was because I always maintained a strict exercise schedule consisting of running, biking, and weight-lifting… that is, until I had a baby. That sort of threw a wrench in the whole “I’m the healthiest writer in the Universe!!!” mantra. It wasn’t that I had no time to get the sweat on. Instead, I had absolutely no motivation to find out that I had gotten VERY out of shape. So, many months pass with absolutely NO exercise, and guess what… the same amount of months pass with NO writing or fresh writing ideas, either. Why was that? Well, I wasn’t exercising. So, how does exercise help the writing mind? For me, exercise forces me to get deep in thought… it is the only way I can avoid the pain of exertion. While deep in thought, the ideas flow. I can concentrate on character, plot line, dialogue… I find solutions to logical inconsistencies in my storyline… it’s amazing! Recently, I have had a dearth of ideas. Running cured that. It happened this weekend, when I decided to start back on the old routine. I took a four-mile loop around the neighborhood and ran into a patch of bees. In short, I got stung in the chest, back, and the upper left arm. I have an aunt that is deathly allergic to bees. I asked myself the question, “What if I were deathly allergic to bees?” I really could be. It runs in the family. I wondered if I should stop running and...

Sacrilege

I can’t help but post this. I’ll probably burn for it… and for a long time, too, considering how much I enjoy looking at...

Writing Challenge

Time for a new challenge… it’s been awhile. Parameters: Write a short response to the prompt. Read and respond to other responses. Vote for your favorites by clicking the thumbs up. (Note, it will only let you vote once per user or per IP address) After enough responses and votes come in, a winner will be chosen. Prizes: At this time, the winning entry will receive a custom illustration for their story, and a featured post on my website. (For you to bedazzle everyone with!) Prompt: . It is said that a ghost roams this shanty farm. Who (Or What) is it? How long has it been there? Why does it lurk here? What does it see? Tell us its...

Eavesdropping and BananaFish….

. J.D. Salinger, God rest his soul, wrote more than just the incredible coming to age novel, The Catcher in the Rye. He wrote many short stories, and many related to a central group of characters. I’m taking a UCLA Extension class called Putting Dialogue to Work. The first assignment requires that we read the Salinger story, “A Perfect Day for Bananafish.” Although the story is in the American Realism genre, I LOVED it. I think it is because my grandfather was a WWII veteran, and from him, I came closer to understanding what a veteran might feel while trying to reinstitute himself into society. Here was my assessment of the story: * Muriel comes across as shallow and indifferent. She hadn’t been able to get her call through for 2.5 hours, but when the phone finally rings, she doesn’t bother to rush for it. Her call seems habitual rather than motivated by any sort of conscious desire or need to communicate. She paints her nails while she talks. I inferred that she probably spent more attention on that than the actual conversation. She takes her rings off, probably including her wedding ring, to hang around the hotel room. Despite her mother’s concern, Muriel behaves like any teenage girl. I can envision her rolling her eyes to look at her brain as her mother voices her concerns. Muriel is so far removed from reality that she feel invincible. She has, “It can’t happen to me syndrome.” I was taken by the following dialogue between Muriel and her mother: “When I think of how you waited for that boy all through the war-I mean when you think of all those crazy little wives who–” “Mother,” said the girl, “we’d better hang up. Seymour may come in any minute.” The fact that Muriel cuts her mother off in mid thought here...

Latest Challenge Winner – Tantra Bensko

Tantra Bensko wins! . Write about the Witching Hour -by Tantra Bensko . . Midnight came and went many times today. I have never experienced this before. I knew no one was looking when I started turning my head around like an owl to see all the midnights lining up around me. One started speaking to me. Come. Come this way. Another started speaking. Come this way! It was like when my husband and I would spin our son around on a swivel chair and then both call him to run to us in different directions, and watch him fall over. Midnight was playing. And so it was time. Time for something. A little test of what different possibilities could be like in different repeating times. I gave myself a kiss. On the arm. I petted my ankle. I caressed my face. All in different midnights. I was trying to learn to remember what it was like to feel adored, touched because of being beautiful. My only option was myself. If I did something nice for my skin in many midnights at once, would there come a point at which all of them would hit me simultaneously? I liked the linearity of the repetition, but am a big fan of the non linear. And being touched sweetly all at once in many places by myself was sounding really fun. I ran my hand through my hair. I pulled my toes. I felt along the line of my hip, with my hand cupped, feeling the tautness of the shape. I traced the edges of my lips. I felt so loved, and had been so lonely for long, longing for touch, I was ecstatic when suddenly, all the midnights I had just participated in collapsed in on themselves from the weight, and I became like a Picasso painting. All directions at...

Zombie Dreams (with a Werewolf Cameo)

. Zombies are ruining my sleep…. . For the past few weeks, I can’t seem to escape a night without  having multiple dreams populated with horrific zombies in pursuit of my flesh. Last night, the dreams were extra memorable: I found myself in my childhood house. I stood outside at the very edge of the driveway and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see three zombies by the swing set, taking note of my presence and coming for me. These zombies had some interesting features (zombie 3.0 Beta version, I think). They sported the usual rotten bodies… half face/half skull, shreds of flesh dangling with shreds of muddied clothing. They generally lumbered along, but they had ‘burst of speed.’ . Burst of speed! . Can you imagine a zombie creeping up on you from behind with burst of speed? It happened to me in the stairwell. (God knows why I decided to escape the zombie by going upstairs into a confined room. Maybe I was attempting to get up on the roof and throw the zombie off… I’m not necessarily the most intelligent person in my dreams, evidently.) I ascended the stairs, and a zombie came upon me with burst of speed. I had to kick it off. Thank god it didn’t bite me. Now get this, I grab a PENCIL to protect myself (thinking I could puncture its skull, har har). At this point the zombie starts singing. SINGING? Yes. Not the typical nasty moan you might expect. No, this was a siren’s call. It sounded so alluringly beautiful… haunting and pleasant… I had to turn around. I gaze upon this putrified thing at the bottom of the steps with brimming eyes. It sang at me again (Sang at me, ha!). I felt sorry for it. The sound made me long to...

On Remembering a Past Death

. Why Our God is a Vengeful God . – by Lori Moritz . Layer One – The First Fragments . The imminence of death gave me superpowers. They found me guilty. I was guilty. So was she. Had they found me innocent, I would be innocent. And so would she. This choice held interesting consequences. Then I died. . Layer Two – Love . After pronouncing my sentence, I could taste her emotion infiltrating the air of the judgment chamber. Her guilt altered the resonant frequency of the molecules that bounced off her skin. They transferred her message to me, collision by collision, a carrier-wave tuned to my soul. It whispered her inaudible scream of sorrow and fear. But no one caught her. The stupid fools have yet to learn how to read matter by influence. It’s so obvious, I guess it can’t be seen. So, she was innocent and I was guilty, and that’s the way it would forever be. I loved her. That didn’t stop me from hating her for letting me face death alone. For not admitting the crime, and thus willingly joining me in death. Let’s be more precise. I did hate her. For seconds only, but the emotion existed enough to make an indelible mark, a fine etch in the crystalline-perfect nature of our resonant souls. I feel it now when her thoughts land on me from light years away. They are the cold obligatory caress from a disinterested lover’s hand. I lost her. Then I died. . Layer Three – The Betrayal . “Guilty!” the judge spat out, and with it, a thousand unsaid crimes of her own. This decision, this label of guilt, drew me inside the boundary of all things dangerous. Danger seized my consciousness, and I became what was known as evil in their eyes. I disagreed with this....

World War Z

I’m reading this book called World War Z by Max Brooks. I’ll confess, I have a pretty horrific mind. So, I was pleasantly surprised to get genuinely creeped out by the first few pages. It gets gnarly on about page 5. Bravo! I also have managed to have dreams about my baby trying to gum me to death during a breastfeeding session, all as a result of this book, but that’s just me. No really, folks… That’s the kind of reading that sets me on fire. I love it. It’s like virtual crack. I don’t need to smoke it to feel paranoid and otherwise jacked-up. Brooks tells the tale through a series of reports from various characters all over the globe who have personally encountered the zombies and lived to speak of it. The people come from all walks of life, which is where things get interesting. You hear the motivations of politicians, the view points of the common citizen, army infantry, doctors, swindlers… He’s included virtually every identifiable group, however, I am not quite finished yet. He may have missed a few. I whole-heartedly recommend this novel to anyone who loves a good freak-out novel. Better yet, It goes beyond the gross. Brooks makes social commentary on many different levels. It covers the economics of a cover-up that evolves into a world war of a second nature. I can’t help but immerse myself in the thought experiment: What if it actually happened? May god grant us all the strength to write something that can put others in as gripping an emotional vice-grip as Brooks’ World War Z. Great stuff! And may the force be with...

The MUSE Project

In keeping with their namesake, I am using the band MUSE as my muse to write a chapbook of stories. I have already completed one story. My idea is to write stories inspired by some of their songs. MUSE happens to be my favorite band. They have managed to combine enough grit with classical elements to get my creativity going. They also remind me a little bit of QUEEN, my favorite band of yore… If you haven’t already, please check them out. They rock, and I feel they are under-appreciated in the US. If you register on their website, you can play all their songs and see all their videos for free....

Weekly Challenge! May 21-28

Alright, ready for another challenge? Write your response to the following with at max 600 words. Read the prompt and write the first thing that comes to mind, or think about it for a few days and submit a more polished piece. Winners announced and featured on my website Friday May 28! Make sure to vote on others’ works so a winner can be chosen! Here’s the Prompt: Write about the Witching Hour -subnote- I am waiting for enough responses to actually post a winner. So perhaps I should call this the ‘monthly’ contest! The famous designer, Hans Moritz (same guy who designed Cyclops’ eyepiece in the movie X-Men), will illustrate the winner’s entry… so PLEASE WRITE AN ENTRY, READ, AND VOTE!...

May 20th Winner!

Congratulations PhilosopherKingES, for such a well-written poem on last week’s prompt, “The day has just begun…” The day has just begun, reminding me of all the other days that began, then ended, meager sandwiches of bread on bread. No meat between the daily routine of tearing oneself from dozy dreams and returning to bed, somnolent again. Naught but sand, in fact. Humanity persists in a directionless line, voyaging, voyaging toward… The generations cycle idly like annual flowers. I travel on a plane in one direction on a line segment of indeterminable length, yet I too live in cycles. In one, eating, another, driving, a third, wanting The fourth consists of turbulent seas. Upon these I sail irrationally, master of my intent and nothing more. Here consciousness monsters cease their torments as I anchor in the shallows off mind’s luminescent shore. Realm where existence is a distant memory, and cares are but paranoid shadows, the polarized sweets and sours of life rain down in confused, fantastic showers. In this blended up hash of horror and delight— but the light cycle’s turning, the end’s come to night. The day’s just beginning, and streaming through my window the bright morning extends its daily invitation to...

Using Tarot Cards for Writing Inspiration – A writing exercise that’s worth it!

Alright. Sure. Maybe it sounds strange… of course it does. But Tarot DOES have its uses outside of predicting the future and personal insight. If you find yourself stuck, with no inspiration, in the dreaded state of Writer’s Block, get yourself a tarot deck. Here’s the exercise: If you want, you can light some candles and dim the lights. (LOL) No really. You can. Then… Shuffle the deck. Pick a card. If you are a tarot expert already you can skip the next step. Read the tarot book or look up the meaning of the card on the internet. (You can find the meaning of the cards for free on many websites, but most decks come with explanations.) Apply the aspect of this card to any aspect of your writing you are having troubles with… Character… plot… story idea… you name it… This is rich. Let me illustrate the process with my own experience: I did this tonight (YES TONIGHT!). No candles, but the light was dim. I shuffled my perfectly ordered deck (which my friend Jennifer informed me was a no-no in regards to Tarot. I was embarrassed about it and blamed it on my German blood. No really. I ordered my cards because I was worried I was missing a few. And because I am a little obsessive compulsive, but I digress…) I pulled the Queen of Cups. It turns out that the Queen of Cups is a mother figure. A nurturer. A great wife, a great mother, someone in balance with feminine home structure…. it goes on, and gets deeper, but this is not a Tarot lesson. I sat back and thought about it. An idea formed. What if there was a mother who loved so much, and was so nurturing and full of love, that she smothered all those she cared for. I mean literally...

Gravatars

Well, if you haven’t noticed, many bloggers and responders out there have a personal icon next to their names when they post a comment on anyone’s blog. How do YOU get one? Simple. Go to Gravatar and sign up for an account. Most bloggers use WordPress for their blogs. If you post on a WordPress blog (like mine!) your Gravatar image will show up next to your name. You only have to provide in the comment the same email you used when you signed up for your Gravatar account. Gravatars are easy to change! And you can upload multiple images to represent yourself. Change them whenever you’re in the mood. It’s the spice of life. Have...

Online Writing Courses (that are worth it!)

Hey folks! I’m a home school teacher and after school tutor by profession… so good courses mean a lot to me. I’ve been scrounging around the internet for three years trying to find good online courses and forums. So far, I would say only two programs were worth it. Here’s my 2¢: UCLA Extension Writers’ Program There’s not enough good I can say about these courses. UCLA offers live courses on their campus that generally meet once a week. I’ve never been to one of these. But what I love most about UCLA is their extensive online catalog of courses. They cover all genres of writing, including TV and movie scripts. They have accomplished authors on their team of instructors. The online format consists of Blackboard, a user friendly course and bulletin board system. They also have a very friendly team of counselors that will promptly reply to any questions or concerns you may have. Trust me, I’ve emailed them… A LOT. They offer a Certificate Program in Writing, which I have signed up for, and have almost completed. It will help me in my application for a Masters degree in Fine Arts when I apply in 2011. Sign up early! Enrollment is limited to about 14 or 15 students. I will leave it up to you to check out the catalog for a list of courses they offer (not only in writing, BTW!). For now, I’ll give a little summary of the courses I’m currently taking and have taken in the past. Past Courses Creative Writing: Short Story (Online) (Fall 2007) This course can be taken for UCLA college credit (a nice plus!). This class introduced me to one of my favorite books on writing fiction: Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft. Each week, we read a chapter of the book, a story that illustrated...

Blood Rain

Blood Rain – by Adam Wilby I hated the rain. I hadn’t always felt this way. I vividly remember the day that I did. It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed. I looked into the face of the man I had just punched. Blood was dripping from his nose, for his own part he was staring with an expression of disbelief at the claret puddle in the palm of his hand. The people stood closest to us had fallen silent, out of the corner of my eye I could see most of them were biting their lips; the odd few of course were clearly amused at what they saw at some impromptu entertainment. “Do I look like some cheap tart to you?” I asked the man rhetorically. If I hadn’t been so angry I might have been incredulous that he appeared so surprised. I had been sat at a table near the bar with one eye on the door while I waited for Stella to arrive. That evening the two of us had planned to meet here for a couple of drinks before moving on to a nightclub just down the road. Consequently I had gone out that morning and bought myself the red dress I had seen earlier that week when using the shopping centre as a shortcut to work. He’d walked over and asked if I wanted to dance. If Stella hadn’t once again kept me waiting I would probably have declined his offer with a smile and the false promise to catch him later. As it was I had grown bored of sitting by myself. In any case I didn’t see the harm, as the pub was less than a mile from my flat, while I wasn’t exactly one of the regulars, I was confident that if anything untoward happened someone who knew me would...

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