Zoe’s Journal

This morning I woke at 10am, grabbed my laptop and started writing. I finished around 2:30.

It is a dream that I had a few months ago and wrote an outline. It was a really dark and depressing dream, so I didn’t want to write it out right away (you know how dreams like that make you feel).

Anyway, here it is.

I read about Nathaniel Hawthorne in my American Literature book today. Apparently he ‘practiced his craft’ for 25 years before publishing a single book. Before then, he wrote little scenarios and short stories for publication in various magazines and newspapers. He liked to write about regional customs and habits, and also wrote some gothic fantasy. His writing was never able to support him, and he struggled with his imagination shutting down at times (usually due to working at a boring government job).Then, suddenly, after 25 years, he came out with The Scarlet Letter. The year after, The House of Seven Gables.

This gives me hope. In December, I started writing a book that is currently titled The Dreamer of Loarne. I got about 150 pages in… and then during the middle of January, I started two literature classes. The writing dropped off, and I’m having problems figuring out what to do next! Here I was freaking out about not being able to write, not having time to write, or the impulse… and one of the most successful and famous American authors of all time had the same problems.

I do blame my lack of creativity on my two literature classes - but I accept them as a means of learning more about my ‘craft’; enabling me to do better and become more well-rounded. I also blame it on a really busy spring so far - lots of work, gym, homework, and even some take-home work! Also, I am being social and going out with people. Which is always good, lest one’s tongue and mannerisms rust. I just wish there were more hours in the day, or that sleep was an unnecessary item.

Tell you what though, I am looking forward to this week’s literature lessons - both of them! In English literature, we’re finally through with the Victorian times, and we’re off to the Modern World. In American Literature, we’re studying Hawthorn and Edgar Allen Poe. I love Poe! He was such a rascal. And he’s got this wonderfully cynical face.

Does this have story-potential?

Deep in the forests of the remote island Terrok-har, above the sheer, rugged cliffs which hung over the turbulent sea like an impenetrable fortress wall, there dwelt in that quiet solitude a mystery which was never fully explainable by the mainland villagers. The island was separated from the mainland by a wide channel, nearly a mile across, yet was so large and high as to be clearly visible, even on the foggiest sea morning, when the tops of the gray mountains in the eastern corner of the isle raised their heads through the mists of the early sunrise like victorious conquerors over the night.

Adventure-seeking lads and fool-hardy men sometimes sought out the island, in hopes of finding a means to gain the upper land, but none had yet found a single passable way up the unforgiving sea cliffs.

I recently decided to update my driver’s license. After all, it still said ‘Under 21’ and has my maiden name stamped across the top of it, even though I just turned 23, and have been married for very nearly a year. A good fellow at work sent me a link so that I could get this dirty work done online, without venturing to the continually crowded DMV. Once on the website, I found the Q&A. Ah ha! There was the question “How do I change my name on my driver’s license?” Perfect! I began to read. Woe is upon me! For it decreed that I must go in person to the DMV and take along a copy of official identification records with both my old name and my new one! *sigh* Well, it was evening, and I had only a half-day of work planned for the following day, and so decided to go after work.
The next afternoon was bright and Arizona sun-shiny. I parked my sturdy blue Kia into one of the few remaining spots and clambered out, locking my doors. Once inside, I stood in line to fill out the necessary paperwork, and then sat in one of the chairs until my number was called.
“Number 488,chair 5,” the loudspeaker droned. I plucked up my purse, gathered the papers, and walked over to the counter. The clerk was rather large, with a bushy brown mullet. Crusty pink nails curled over her fingertips as she skimmed my documents. Finally, she looked up.
“Ye gotcher old license?” she asked.
“Sure.” I pushed it across the plastic tiled desk. She picked it up.
“Gotcher old social security card?”
“No, but I have a certified copy of my marriage certificate.” I gave that to her as well, watching as she defiled that pure parchment with the dirt from her nails. I winced. She perused the certificate.
“Says here ye got married on April 26th last year?”
“That’s right,” I said, sitting straight.
“Don’cha know yer required by law to notify the DMV within 10 days of your name change?”
“Really?” I asked. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“Yep.” She turned back to my papers, then slapped them down on the countertop and swiveled her cracker-crumbed bulk toward the ancient computer that sat to her right. Her nails made clicking sounds as she began typing in my information.
“Uh, is it still possible to get it changed?” I asked, as she was volunteering nothing further than that short “Yep”. She glared at me, her small eyes boring holes in me from their resting place between pudgy cheeks and plucked eyebrow. She said nothing, but turned back to her computer. The nails typed more furiously now.
I sat silently, waiting for her to finish.
Finally she grunted. “That’ll be $1,365.78.” She sat smugly back in her chair.
“What?! That can’t be right,” I objected.
“There’s a late fee for every month you delay in notifying the DMV of your name change,” she smirked.
“Is there, well, some sort of payment plan for this? Because I sure don’t have that kind of money on me right now.”
“Nope.”
“Okay…” I eyed her warily. “I’ll have to write a check then. But I’ll want a copy of that invoice.”
“We don’t take checks,” she said.
“Credit card?”
“Are you trying to be difficult, young lady?” She leaned threateningly over the desk. “Because I don’t take that kind of attitude at my counter!”
“Umm… Ma’am. No. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m simply asking if you take credit cards.”
“NO!” A dimpled hand slapped down on the counter between us. “We DON’T take credit cards!”
My eyes widened and I surreptitiously backed my chair away.
“Okay… then how I should pay for this?”
“Cash,” she said.
Somehow this didn’t seem right to me.
“Can I talk to a manager about this?” I asked. “This seems a little strange.”
“Ye want a manager?” She actually swaggered in her chair. “Ye ain’t gettin’ one.”
“Ma’am, look. All I’m trying to do is pay my bill, get my name changed and get out of here. You are not helping me. I want to talk to a manager.”
Her mullet shook indignantly. “If you’re going to be difficult than I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Just then, I spied a meandering lady in the background. A thin lady, with straight, mouse-brown hair in a baggy shirt, but her nametag said “Manager”. I raised my voice as she turned our way.
“Ma’am! Manager!” The fat clerk jumped to her feet as patiently waiting clients turned to watch curiously. The mousy brown manager turned to me. Ouch. Her face was rather sharp, and not that nice. But she came over and asked what the problem was. I told my predicament, and added that I hadn’t the “slightest idea what was wrong with this clerk, but she doesn’t seem to want to help me.”
The mouse turned to face the elephant, but this elephant wasn’t afraid. Her cheeks grew ruddy pink and the slab of fat under her chin wobbled in indignation as she vehemently wove a completely different version of the story. Apparently I had bullied my way into her counter, demanded that she process my paperwork, and then refused to pay a dime.
The mouse eyed me. “You don’t know what’s wrong with her then?”
“What she says isn’t true…”
That mouse had teeth. And she bit. “I suggest you leave before I call the authorities.”
I huffed up and a bit of blue flame rose into my eyes.
“You’re going to believe what she’s telling you?”
“Cindy has been working for this DMV for fourteen years. I have absolute faith in her. Now I suggest you leave.”
“I suggest that you think very carefully about what you are doing, ma’am. If I leave this place I will file a formal complaint against you with every applicable business I know of.”
“You do that,” snapped the mouse. The pink mullet-haired elephant lady sank back into her groaning chair with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
I, my face and chest flushed with anger, grabbed up my papers, glared the ladies, and turned to go.
“That’ll be $25 for the appointment.”
I turned and faced the two.
“Fuck you,” I politely replied, and left.

(HAHA! None of this really happened… but I enjoyed writing it

What a good start to the year!

Even though my desk is a total disaster area, I feel fulfilled, and still have the urge to give more. Writing, that is. A-hem. I added two chapters to The Dreamer of Loarne, and two chapters (which, to be totally honest, were already written out) to Pauly of Boston.

But that’s not even the best part. Talking about The Dreamer of Loarne - I have been cranking out a chapter or so per day, as befits my goal, but I was running out of known storyline. So today I sat down in a warm, comfy, vibrating chair and wrote out an analysis for each main character of my story. In the process, I figured out the rest of the story! Really, the characters create the story, and I just have to make it all fit together, but… I think I’ve got it! Now it will be easier than ever to reach my goal of finishing 300 pages by my birthday in March! I will probably actually get done early, since I already have over 70 novel pages completed. Eh, I can always go back and edit, right?

Sorry for going on and on about this - I’m just ever-so-excited!

The LotR and I walked today. We walked a long way. All the way to Wal-Mart, and we never go there. But, since we got a gift card, we found a nice coat hook thing and some other little necessities. We also stopped by PetSmart, where to my glad eyes, there were NO CATS. Hurray! They’re all adopted!

Or dead, as the LotR said, but the shelter that PetSmart works with is a no-kill shelter. So there.

Now I think I’m going to go clean the kitchen before my busy fingers start typing away more of my story!