5: what are the most frustrating parts of being an author in your opinion?
This is just going to be my rant time lol, but the amount of competitions I can't compete in because I don't live in the USA is a big one.
I'm a dual citizen of the Dominican Republic and the USA (Dominican on my father's side) and reside in the Caribbean, but SOOOO many writing competitions require you to reside in the USA, and even really specific parts of the USA, or to have a U.S. drivers license as I.D., which I find pretty crazy since not even all U.S. citizens drive.
I understand that there are different laws to follow in different jurisdictions, but it's still pretty frustrating IMO. I spent basically all of May up to this point preparing for this publishing company's romance novel writing competition, only to learn that I can't compete because I'm not currently in the U.S.A.
This has been my rant. low bow.
Also just the amount of competitions that want you to be affiliated with a publishing company.
It's pretty frustrating to feel like my stress has basically been for nothing grinding away for thirty days (which may not seem like a lot, but it's been stressful, so bear with me.)
But whatever. In the end, I guess I'll just be posting the story on tapas. I told @skidiggy I'd be doing that anyway if I failed, but now I don't even get an opportunity to lose the competition.
6: what is the most fun part of the writing process for you?
well, i think my favorite part and the most fun part are slightly different for me so I'll mention both.
Crafting the emotional conversations I think is my favorite part. I'm a sucker for drama I guess, so anytime there are strong emotions to be felt, developing the character's reactions, ways of expressing themselves, and such is my favorite part of basically every story I work on.
That and writing character dynamics, be they conversations, playing, or anything else, I love writing the way my characters interact with others.
So I think I would consider character dynamics the most fun part. I also really enjoy writing narration though, because that's when my poet brain gets to come up with fun metaphors and ways of describing things to make the worlds more vivid.
Strong Emotions
I wake up drenched with sweat that feels like ice - coursing down my spine in tortured torrents-
And something in me is so shattered-
So fed up with the torment that I lose my mind- like fire through my blood and the bed-
I tear my sheets off the mattress and throw them to the floor, hearing threads fracture and fabric tear - I throw the pillows at the wall and my words after them, shrieking at the tops of my lungs.
âI DONâT CARE! I DONâT CARE! I DONâT MISS YOU! I DON'T WANT TO!â
And itâs not the first time Iâm glad the house is empty! Glad everyone who cares about me is millions of miles away! That I have no one close enough to hold me after the nightmares and Iâm completely and entirely alone! So I can scream like a demoniac until the howling on the inside of my head calms to that mellow, roaring melancholy Iâm so used to that itâs almost comforting - almost mothering - and I can lay down on the bare mattress, weeping like a raving maniac with anger and agony-!
Not because I miss her.
I donât miss her.
Kat is lying propped up against the couch pillows playing on his Gameboy in a state of absolute zombification when I open the front door.
It takes a second for his eyes to unglue themselves from the screen, his gaze seeming to move through water as he glances up at me. Then his eyebrows knit together, his expression a canvas of mingled horror and disgust in mild shades of disbelief.
âNu-uhâŚâ
I canât help but start laughing.
âIs that a plaid tee-shirt dress? Where do you even find this stuff? Why did you change out of the black dress?â
âJust wanted to,â I say teasingly, pushing my hair back. âWhy? Why are you so stuck on the black one anyway?â
He manages to keep his expression impassive and disinterested, as he says flatly, âWhen you only have two tolerable dresses in your entire wardrobe, I think itâs only natural for me to try to mitigate the suffering you inflict on my eyes.â
Hmm.
Not even the faintest vestige of embarrassment, color, or discomfiture shows on his face, and for some strange reason that bugs me - like an insistent light drizzle drumming on my psyche at 100 bpm.
What is with you, you little creep?
Taking the scrunchie off my wrist, I pile my hair up onto the top of my head and adjust the sleeve of the dress.
âThatâs better.â I smirk, âMy hair got in the way of the embroidery. Check it out, there are these little flowers around the sleeves.â
His mouth opens with an expression that reminds me of a muppet, if a muppet could be gorgeous, looking up at the ceiling like heâs searching for divine intervention.
âI know youâre doing this on purpose,â he raises his eyebrows, pressing against his temples with both fingers, âI know youâre doing this just because you KNOW itâll make me angry.â
âWhy on earth would it make you angry?â I laugh, shoving his shoulder as I plop down on the couch beside him. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head simultaneously.
âOkay, the dress itself doesnât make me angry. You IN that dress sends me into a blind rage.â
Character interactions