Walking...

I know this isn’t strictly about writing, but... I’ve forgotten how lovely it is, how peaceful, how liberating.

I’ve been... super-lazy in the exercise/keeping fit department. Shockingly lazy. Well, not quite that lazy, maybe. I had been sick too, so I was getting over that. And once, just once, I have ridden around the block after work.

But today, at lunch time, I got changed, put my joggers on, plugged my ears with my iPod and power-walked for 30 minutes. And it was amazing!!! I’ve truly forgotten the idyllic scenery around the place, the nice soft breeze that prevented me from being cooked in the sun. And one more bonus, it did clear my mind, unblock all the haziness, and give me just that bit more inspiration to write tonight!

Paper vs Computer

I have been asked, and wondered about this myself, as to how I am unable to write what I thought of directly into the computer, saving double-handling of writing and then transposing what I've written into word processor.

It got me stumped for a long while, too. I've been able to create professional letters and flyers out of thin air, but when it comes to my novels... staring at the white screen would only block, or worse, empty my mind rather than fill it with words. Even if I had thought in my head exactly what I wanted to write, by the time I reached the computer and opened a blank word document, the string of sentences have completely deserted me.

Today, I think, I finally find the answer. I think it has something to do with the static form of the screen. To me, paper is more organic, but that's not all; there is something more than just... the composition of these two mediums. With paper, and pen, I am 'forced' to look down, I guess... look away from every other distractions, save music. When I struggle for words, that's when I put my head up, like inhaling breath after immersing under water, and around me are... sceneries, I guess; whether it is the sight of my husband, with headphones attached to his ears, bopping along to his own music he's listening on his computer, or my little doggie snoring peacefully by my feet, or, if I'm outside, the swaying of overgrown grass by the wind; they are all more organic stuff I can draw inspirations from.

I don't think I can do that with computer; the sheer point of staring at something, white and unmoving, for a long time; the confine of my fingers to the keyboard; the disruptions of... icons and colours; the additional glare from the light that after a while hurts my eyes; and, most of the time, the moving images of whatever it is currently on TV (more static, you see?).

Having said that, here comes the dilemma. I have, from time to time, whilst devoting all my thoughts to the Lizzy & Michael novels, had bouts of inspirations about Eleanor I; how to make it better, how to make sentences flow easily; how to describe particular objects, feelings and reasonings better (for a lack of a better word).

I *really* (perhaps I should really bold and underline that), REALLY, don't want to handwrite the whole Eleanor I; not when I already have version 13 of the rough draft. I tried this, yesterday, in fact, to just start amending the word document. I managed to do about 4 pages, all of which I ended up tossing this morning into the bin because... you guessed it... it's not the same with how I've pictured it in my head, and not the same with how I would have done it had I handwritten these improvements.

So I'm at a loss as to what to do...

Another Excerpt.

Granted, the harmonious stuff of any novel I'm working on, or those involving the main characters of the novel, are the ones I like to write better than the conflict.

Not that I don't like conflict - I think they form a necessary part of any novel, but the flow of those sections don't come as easily as the pleasant, non-conflict sections.

So... without further ado, this is another section I've written very early on in the creation of Lizzy & Michael saga, even though this appears very late in book III. It is one of the sections I am very proud of 'producing' because I had written this when the inspiration in my mind was at the strongest, when everything in my head was cleared, when I could devote my whole being to this section.


She finds the light to her open plan living room in her apartment has been dimmed, a mug of hot chocolate waiting on the coffee table, freshly made that the steam is still wafting through, the TV turned on with the sound mute and Michael is sitting on one end of the couch, holding his own mug.
She hands him one of the fluffy pillows, going straight to the back of his head as she sits down on the other end of the couch, propping the pillow on her lap before reaching for her cup, blowing the hot liquid inside softly before slurping the content carefully, relieved that it hasn’t burnt her tongue.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” she begins, showing her genuine gratitude to him; a trademark that is Elizabeth Hartley, part of her strict Asian upbringing, to always show respect and gratitude, never taking anything for granted.
“I would have come sooner, Liz.” She turns her attention away from him, watching the TV absent-mindedly as Michael turns up the volume little by little, listening half-heartedly to David Letterman interviewing someone from Ohio about his ability to hum through his nose.
“Liz, he doesn’t deserve it,” Michael comforts her as he sees two glistening clear jewels drop from her eyes, rolling down her cheek, one after another. She turns around and wipes the tears away, smiling sheepishly at him. Gingerly, she leans forward and pushes the mug away from the edge of the table, puffs up the pillow and slides herself further down the couch until her head hits the soft cushion. She watches Michael getting up, grabbing both her feet and stretching her legs to the spot he’s been sitting on, reaching for the wool-knitted blanket that has been carelessly slung across the back of the sofa, wrapping it delicately around her. Lowering himself on the floor, he rests one arm on her back, stroking her spine gently whilst she stretches a hand and captures his other free hand, cupping it in both hers, bringing it close to her chest.
“I thought… he might have been… we might have been…”
“I know, Liz… I know.” Michael has heard, more than once, her high hopes of settling down with Jason Chang; all met with a mask of indifference and a forced smile on his lips. His hand travels from her back to her cheek, stroking it tenderly as she blinks away the fresh tears welling up in her eyes.
He watches her slowly getting drowsy, her eyelids drooping heavily until she finally closes her eyes, his hand still tightly wrapped around both of hers, the other mechanically stroking her back. He tries to remember how many times he has seen her like this, asleep on the couch, from the day she was recovering at her parents’ house after the swimming pool incident to the night following the Downtown robbery. It moves him now as it always has been; a delicate, fragile thing he has always wanted to protect; a gesture that was always rejected by her, persistent to spare him from all the discrimination she has received on herself and also out of fear should their relationship fail and end up ruining their friendship.
“Goddamn it, Liz…” he sighs exasperatedly, though his voice also holds a tinge of tenderness, “why don’t you ever give me a chance?”

Ta-Da! First Excerpt.

“How was your trip?” Lizzy asked after they had given Michael and Aileen a quick, courteous farewell and walked towards the subway in the opposite direction. “Jase?” She called, one hand wriggling his arm lightly.

“Fine,” he replied shortly, still harbouring so much resentment in his voice; a fact that hadn’t escaped Lizzy’s radar.

She folded her arms in front of her and sighed, feeling wary and defeated even though the battle hadn’t technically begun.

‘Technically’ being the operative word, she thought sardonically.

Jason hadn’t had the grace to even attempt to conceal his crabbiness of finding Michael and Lizzy reaching across the square table, believing the gesture a bit too close for comfort that to her, he had been nothing but short and snappy, answering her questions with minimum amount of words, all her calming touches and pleading gestures remaining unreciprocated; to Michael, the guy had ignored him completely Lizzy had to dart repeated quick, apologetic smiles, all the while wanting to club her boyfriend’s head, drag him by the ear, and shake him real hard, hoping that she could also rattle off the five-year-old child that had taken over Jason’s twenty-five-year-old body.

“Did they feed you well on the way back?” Lizzy prodded; or rather, repeated, for she had asked the question sometime during their spur-of-the-moment double-date, receiving only a half-begrudging nod in response.

“They put me in business class. Of course they fed me well,” Jason snapped, using that patronising tone he knew damn well Lizzy loathed.

Unable to withstand his crabby mood any longer, Lizzy picked up her pace, hopping up the set of stairs leading to her apartment building’s main entrance and walked straight into the gaping elevator, pressing the white round button with bold black number ‘3’, her fingers tapping the side of her thigh impatiently.

The hell with waiting for you, Lizzy thought bitterly, not caring that wishing for the elevator door to close before Jason had a chance to catch up to her was utterly childish.

Still, she felt somewhat obliged to leave the door to their shared apartment ajar, purposely avoiding from taking another step, or even fixing her glance at the main bedroom.

“What… the hell… is the matter… with you?” Lizzy growled, hands settled on her hips, rounding him up as soon as Jason emerged through the door he involuntarily reared back before challenging her glare with a look that indicated he could ask the same thing from her.

“How could you be so rude to Michael?” She badgered him, voice raised it was getting dangerously close to being a high-pitched, supersonic screech. “Didn’t your Mother ever tell you about manners? About replying to someone when you were being spoken to, especially when you were in the company of others?”

“And didn’t his Mother ever tell him not to touch or be too frickin’ chummy with the girl who was already spoken for?” Jason hissed, body shaking with fury he clenched his teeth and hands lest he hurt the girl in front of him by reflex. “Did you ever stop and think how you two looked like from across the room? From across the street?” He said fiercely.

Perhaps, under any other circumstance, Lizzy would have backed away, a little; would have made more of an effort to diffuse the lit dynamite that was about to explode inside Jason. But tonight, after the night she had had previously…

She made a short gasping sound and rubbed her damp eyes with the back of one hand roughly, hating the fact that she was always so emotional when it came to an all-out argument; hating herself more that she seemed to be unable to keep the tears from streaming down.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jason said irritably, brows knitted close together as if he had reached his wit’s end dealing with her, a problemed child. “Using tears as a weapon won’t work on me!”

“I am not using tears as a weapon!” Lizzy roared so loudly her voice travelled straight through the still-opened door, reverberating throughout the dimmed hallway.

She whirled around so quickly and stomped her way across the open-plan living room, the hand that was about to push open the bedroom door halted as she turned to face him once more.

“Did you ever stop and think, for once, Jason, why I was so hell-bent in wanting to have company tonight? Did you ever wonder why your girlfriend, who has always cooked you a special dinner after each and every one of your overseas trip, this time wanted to dine out?” Lizzy prompted, and without waiting for his answer, took one step and disappeared into the bedroom.

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

No, I don't like writing fighting scenes. And precisely for this reason, my novel is going through a bit of a slow-pace movement.

But in every novel, a little conflict must happen to keep the readers interested (yes, that's my saying!), especially in a relationship when one or both parties *try* to mould one another to their perceptions, and at the moment, my inspiration is coming on so strong about the frictions of not-so-ideal relationships.

So let the growling begin, let the not-so-nice words (I try, as much as I can, to avoid using expletives) fly around the room, and hopefully these two people can play nicely afterwards.

Is There Anything Better?

Than having a free Saturday morning, with husband deciding that he has to study he will ignore me for the better part of the day, sitting on my designated couch, pen and paper in hand, music playing in the background, and so many inspirations swirling inside my mind they're coming out of my ears??

Perhaps the answer is yes, there is - having every morning as a free morning, when I can write to my content twenty-four seven.

But this opportunity is so hard to come by lately that I will savour every minute of it.

I'd better get back to it... I have lots of writing to do!

A Brief Synopsis (Part III)

Lizzy & Michael III: Title in Progress
From the moment he leaned forward, his nose and lips mere inches from her glowing, rosy cheek, re-enacting Romeo & Juliet’s death scene back in high school, Michael Bradford had wanted to date Elizabeth Hartley. Badly.

But, more than that, he wished for the somewhat melancholy, nothing-short-than-remarkable, intelligent, beautiful girl to be happy; to be at peace, both with herself and with the past that still haunted her. And if that meant that he needed to gracefully back away, giving up his own feelings than adding to her worries, so be it.

In the third instalment of the Lizzy & Michael’s saga, both of them quickly discovered the meaning of growing up, including finding their own feet to stand strong and tall against the tide of the intimidating world. They learnt that they might not like or enjoy their work, but still had to get up every day and 'do their time' simply to make up rent money. And most importantly, they struggled to balance the bond of friendship they have weaved through with the relationships they had to nurture with their respective partners; people who might not understand their special bond.

Lizzy & Michael IV: Title in Progress
Ten years have past since their first encounter on that fateful day in high school, and Michael Bradford, the son of the multi-billionaire, has finally gotten his one and fervent wish.

Now pursuing a relationship with the one girl he has always wanted to, Michael believes that he has achieved all that he has set out in life. And he will do everything in his power to keep Lizzy from ever having to frown. That is, until the ghost from Lizzy’s past threatens to claim her away from him once more.

In the fourth, and last instalment of this unique story of friendship and love, Lizzy and Michael can finally divide and conquer their greatest fear together; experience first-hand the testament of the phrase 'a problem shared is a problem halved'; that happiness can be found in the last place they look.

A Brief Synopsis (Part II)

If any of you have ideas as to what the titles of these novels might be, please leave a comment.

Lizzy & Michael I: Title in Progress
To Elizabeth Hartley, she believed that she looked like everyone else; she has two eyes, one nose, one set of lips.
To everyone around her, she looked downright strange. A product from a bi-racial marriage, she had inherited her Mother's squinty, cat-like Asian eyes and prominent high cheekbones; her Father's towering height and thin Caucasian lips; and a blend of her Mother's olive skin and her Father's fair complexion.
She was used to being stared at; to have fingers pointing at her peculiar appearance; to hear whispers behind her back. What she wasn't used to, was being the sole target of the high school bully, his sense of prejudice and discrimination run so deep within his vein he was determined to do anything and everything in his power to make her life downright miserable.
But Elizabeth, or Lizzy as those who were closest to her call her, wouldn't give up. Out of the shreds of strengths she had left, she rose above everything that had been thrown against her, finding her own solace, opportunities to shine, uncovering friends and comfort in the last places she thought she'd find them.

Lizzy & Michael II: Title in Progress
Having graduated from high school, eager to leave the traumatic past behind, both Lizzy and Michael enrolled in the prestigious NYU, at once captivated and mesmerised by the lure and blitz of the Big Apple.
Once two conscientious high school students, these two best friends will have to make some life-altering choices with their new-found freedom; whether they will continue to work their butts off to receive top marks in College; what Major they would take; whether taking another sip of that alcoholic beverage was a good idea; whether casual sex with your friend is acceptable...
Set interchangably between Boston, their home town, and New York city, span across continent to China and Europe, both Lizzy and Michael are on their roads to self-discovery, separately and together, united always by the bond of friendship they have forged, strengthened by that one unexpected event that changed the fate of America... forever.

A Brief Synopsis

Well, I guess it's time to just give a brief overview as to all the novels I've been/currently writing about. I am trying to use this also as a platform for what I should write in my future query letters when I'm ready to look for an agent/publisher, hence the formality.

Eleanor I
Eleanor Belford is content to lead a simple, quiet life. That is, until she accidentally stumbles upon Your Highness Prince Patrick - a dashing young man who would turn her world upside down.
She is drawn at once by his charm and compassion, as he is to her by her wit and intelligence. Against their sweet, budding romance is King Theodore II, Patrick's Father, who perhaps would rather be skinned alive rather than see his one and only son, the heir to his kingdom, marry a simple peasant; and the King's malevolent, most trusted advisor, Lord Jonathan Batthersby, who has lusted over her since the first time he laid eyes on her.
It is a story about love and betrayal; about discovering one's own strength; and about how one picks oneself's up and faces one's adversity, making the best of the life one has been given.

Eleanor II: The Queen
Rid of all the threats hanging over her head, finally allowed to marry King Patrick, Eleanor believes that the worst is over; that her most challenging task ahead of her is how to create and uphold a more just law for the Kingdom she now co-rules with her husband; how to appreciate the luxuries she has found surrounding her without ever forgetting her roots; how she could care better for the poor, the roots and backbones of the Kingdom.
But danger lurks from the darkness, unbeknownst to her, unnoticed to all; and he will strike at the most unexpected moment, jeopardising not only Eleanor, but those whom she holds dear to her heart.

A (Brief) History... Continuation

I was planning to take a long hiatus after I finished Eleanor II. I really thought that two novels were going to be it.

But... another dream visited me. And even though it wasn't as pivotal a dream as the one I had of Eleanor I (which really was, the turning point of the story), I decided to pursue it nonetheless.

The dream was quite simple. There was a girl (I think my story would always revolve around 'a girl') approaching a double floor-to-ceiling mahogany door, about to exit the house when a guy, standing on the third step of the spiraling marbled staircase, called her and casually asked her out.

Granted, when I actually wrote this scene, it turned out to be completely different from the dream. Whilst the guy did casually ask the girl out, they were actually sitting on one of the many benches at Central Park, sipping Starbucks coffee, enjoying the fall breeze against their skins.

It was the birth of two new characters. Elizabeth Hartley - a child from cross-racial marriage, whose appearance somehow, doesn't quite match her name. She has squinty Asian eyes, beige complexion (not quite as fair as many Caucasians but not as dark as many Asians). She's tall (I've made her to be five-foot-nine), inheriting her Father's Caucasian gene. And Michael Bradford, the sole heir of the multi-billionaire, totally infatuated by Elizabeth precisely because she was very peculiar.

The novel spanned over ten years of their lives (and a bit more), following from their first meeting on the first day of high school, the 'trials and tribulations' of surviving high school, with both trying to self-discover and build their characters against issues such as bullying, teenage rowdy parties, and (ahem!) sex; to college, where they agonised over specialisations they wanted to take, the joy of being twenty-one and discovering alcoholic drinks; to beyond, standing on their own two feet in the world, finding their passion in work and otherwise, balancing their relationships with respective partners and keeping their friendships alive.

At first, this started as one huge novel, with the word count mounting up to 433,000 and the pages reaching 1200! And then, on the 1289th page, the word document kept crashing I had to dissect this into 4 huge sections, and so began Elizabeth & Michael: Titles still in progress, I-IV.
Apart from the fourth and last novel, which is pretty much completed, the other three still have quite a few holes in it. And because my inspirations come in bouts, and in no particular order, I am working on the other three novels simultaneously (insert a big, long sigh here)...

I have (wishful thinking) set a deadline of end of this year, but I don't think I am going to meet that. For now, I am satisfied that in a span of 2 years, I have managed to complete about 2/3 of each novels.

A (Brief) History... Part 1

I put 'brief' in brackets because even though I won't dwell too much, I am going back about 2 years now, when it all started...

Believe it or not, it all started with a dream. One night I dreamt about this common, peasant girl who was brought to the Palace, doused with cold water for whatever reasons (that part wasn't disclosed in my dream), and was saved by the Prince just before she passed out.

Unlike other dreams that stayed with me and gone a few days later, this dream stayed with me for the course of a week. What made it even more vivid was the fact that I was able, not only to remember it so well, but also to add more to the plot.

And so, one Thursday, it began. I thought I'd better stick with this plot, see where it'd take me. I also knew that if I didn't put it down somewhere, I'd start forgetting about what I'd like to happen. So off I went in search of pen and paper, sat in front of TV with my husband, and started scribbling away.... and by Sunday of that week, I had somehow managed to transfer 15,000 of my scribbles to the word document. It was the birth of 'Eleanor'.

I worked on this religiously for about 8 months. I have a little confession here - I worked on this pretty much twenty-four seven... the work I was doing at that time wasn't generating as much tasks as I would like, with the project 'stalling', and those who knows me well know that there was only so much of 'twiddling my thumbs' I could take before I go stir-crazy. So in a way, I had work to thank for paying me to go to work eight hours a day and write my novel... *ssshhhhh*

Initially, there was only going to be 1 book of Eleanor. When I finished the first draft, I started reading section by section to my husband each night before we sleep. At the end of the book, he casually mentioned to me: "You could make a sequel out of that, you know."

I stared blankly at him, silently asking 'How?' when the villain was already dead. His response: "He could have a son, wanting revenge."

I adamantly refused the concept of a sequel... for about a week! After that, I found myself back where I started 8 months prior - with a pen and paper, writing the beginning of the sequel, where the villain had an illegitimate son trying to weave his way into the close-knit family-like members of Eleanor in hope to avenge his Father's death.

Whilst I begrudgingly pointed out this fact to my husband plenty of times, of robbing me of another... 6-7 months of 'free' time, I also had him to thank for. The birth of Eleanor II: The Queen, also marked the discovery of my writing style. So much so that I have had to go back to Eleanor I to make several adjustments, to make each sentence flows more fluently from the one before, and I still plan to go back and polish it, add a few more 'thrilling' verbs and scenes here and there just to create more of an impact.

Let's hope this one sticks...

Ok so this is literally the fifth blog/journal-type thing I've created throughout my entire life (now when I re-read that I make it sound like I'm so ancient, but really I'm not) and haven't been able to keep at it.

So let's hope this one is it... I think I'll keep this one strictly about my writing - how I love it when the inspirations are coming out of my ears, how I hate it when I can't find enough time during the day to madly scribble down, how frustrating it is when I get writer's block...

But at the end of the day, this has become such a big part of my identity I don't know how I've ever lived without writing prior....