If you’re going to spit nails, I suggest the non-anodized ones. Sure they rust, but they’re totally less poisonous.

I could have spit nails today. (If I’d eaten nails. Then not died.)

The day was going rather well until a meeting met me in the sternum.

The meeting was frustrating, not because the content was unexpected (a project that hasn’t been going well) but because largely the ideas we discussed are ones I’ve been pushing for without any success. (Well that and because the timeline changed and I felt my entire contribution was wasted.) I was frustrated and my negative thought machine went into overdrive.

“Why are you on this project?

What value are you to this team?

Maybe they’re not listening because you’re not saying it right…Maybe you’re talking in pig latin and they’ve been too polite to mention it.”

(You know, normal stuff.)

But the bad parts aren’t what I wanted to mention. (I’m sure it’ll get better tomorrow.) What I wanted to mention is that I for the first time in a long time handled my frustration well.

I came home. I complained for ten minutes then I sat down to write. Often when I’m upset I have trouble separating those emotions from…well…everything. Then I end up doing nothing because everything is upsetting. But today I had a conversation with myself about tomorrow. I asked myself what makes going to work tomorrow worth while. The answer was writing.

I love writing. It makes me happy even when I’m upset. Its why I go to work (where I get to write). Sometimes I forget that. I think I might have to put up a sign.

After my very mature conversation (Is it less crazy to talk to yourself in the context of a personal mental health intervention?) I did several hours of editing that have been on hold. It was satisfying. It was productive. It helped me put a bad day behind me. Yay me. I think I can, I think I can, I knew I could, I knew I could.

We may be in the presence of emotional growth here folks. Someone put up a sign.

Writing Exercise:

At SiWC I took a class on synopsis writing. I’ve been challenged by it in the past but it was largely because I kept thinking of a synopsis as a summary. I was intimidated by having to put the content of a novel into a few short paragraphs. What the course taught me was to think of the synopsis as a teaser, providing an introduction to your main character, a few major beats from the story and a bit of a story tease.

To practice, our instructor had us write a synopsis for a major film. She asked us to start by making notes. We identified the protagonist, antagonist and important secondary characters. Then we listed the setting, the goals of the main character, the conflicts and resolution. We then listed the major beats or story points. From this resource list she asked us to:

• Introduce the protagonist, what they want and what is in their way in no more than two sentences;
• Describe the three most important plot points (not the ending);
• Add the antagonist into the picture, then the secondary characters; and finally
• Re-word each sentence to hint at the emotions the story made us experience.

It was a very powerful process that made synopsis writing vey approachable.

Choose your favourite film and in the next ten minutes write a synopsis. Happy writing.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road.

Example

Dorothy dreams of leaving her dreary homestead in rural Kansas. But when a tornado sweeps her off to the far away and magical land of Oz she finds herself wishing for home. Dorothy joins forces with fantastic creatures to find a Wizard who has the power to send her home. Beset by flying monkeys and kidnapped by a wicked witch Dorothy and her companions struggle to reunite and earn the gratitude and assistance of The Wizard of Oz.

Newly Drafted Synopsis for my novel Riveted

Answering the call of Rosie the Riveter, Samantha (Sam) Tomlin seeks a new life 1000 miles from her restrictive home on the Prairies of Saskatchewan. When Sam’s tomboy tendencies win her a demanding job building bombers for the war effort, she struggles to find acceptance in a workplace forced to welcome women. Faced with a stiff learning curve, industrial accidents and the confusion of young love, Sam’s struggle for acceptance takes a hit when a bomber, destined for a critical mission, fails inspection. Accused of incompetence and even sabotage Sam’s attempts to prove her value and innocence are undermined by Peter, a colleague determined to drive Sam out of Boeing for good.

Fact 1: St. Peter’s Basilica is 138 m tall.
Fact 2: 138 m is approximately 130 m taller than I’m comfortable with.

This is a public service announcement for fellow acrophobics visiting Rome.

St. Peter’s Basilica is tall. It’s really, really tall.

Just for reference, the words you can just barely make out along the rectangular portion of the basilica are eight feet tall.

This was the best I could do when Andre said “Now smile.” I’m fairly sure I was the only one up there crying. Not that I was paying attention to anyone but me, and anything but the exit.

And while signs will tempt you to take the 320 step climb to the top, the view is just like the photos you can buy at the bottom.

Or at least I assume it is. All I saw was stone. Stone floors and stone walls, slightly blurred by tears of terror as I avoided the view and attempted to become one with the wall until I found the staircase down.

(FYI Staircase is a very generous description. More like, bumpy death chute. But any port in a storm.)

About half way up the dome part of the climb I started questioning my own sanity for undertaking the climb. Especially considering this was a uni-directional climb.

There was a tourist on every step behind me and every step in front of me so changing my mind wasn’t really an option, the only way out was up.

(Although I considered taking up residence in the stairwell and living off rainwater and granola bars thrown from other tourists attempting to squeeze past my terror frozen form.

And thought I didn’t stop climbing, my mind continued to present me with reasons to stop. On the way up I wondered if the builders had designed the building well enough to sustain one tourist on every step. Then I wondered how there could possibly be enough air in the tiny curling staircase to sustain all of us. Then I wondered just how much pressure the stone wall (between me and the 300 ft drop to marble) could sustain before collapsing. (I think that was the point where I started crying.)

I still cringe when I see the people at the top. The fearless, ignorant people who’s inner voice is not screaming “we’re all going to die”.

What I wonder now is if the prospect of a new experience (like climbing a basilica or jumping off a cliff) can make me temporarily forget my fear of heights, why can’t I find a way to forget my fear of failure? I only need to forget for a few hours at a time… (I need to send my novel off to some wonderful people I met at SiWC and I’m paralysed.) Maybe I should need to set my computer up on the roof, then make a brochure to convince myself that writing on the roof is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

In good news though, I fought the fear this weekend. I wrote yesterday. (Thank goodness for writing friends.) I’m writing today, and I have plans to write tomorrow.  Yay me!

Writing Exercise:

Do you have a bucket list of things to do? Do any of them scare you? Imagine a character who decides that before they die they need to conquer all of their fears by experiencing them all one after another. Happy writing.