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Artist, Writer and  Accidental Religious Hermit. When I was 20, I wrote and sold 9 story treatments to Aaron Spelling for a popular television series in the 1970's. I loathed the business and was far too young to handle the tawdry, misogynistic aspects of it, so I left Hollywood and abandoned the writing entirely (or so I thought.) At the time, I considered myself more of an artist but if truth be told, I write better than I paint and, in all these ensuing years, have been unable to shake the habit. It followed me to Arizona and to New Mexico, where I currently live. Now that I am disabled and mostly home-bound, I can't outrun it. It has me backed into a corner and the only way to save myself from my literary stalker is to write myself out of this corner where I have been forced to turn and face the beast, fangs bared and ready to rip into it. Clearly, I need Jericho Writers' help. So here I am.


I never could figure out how this worked. I understand toggle buttons, USUALLY, but in this case I can't tell what is "on" and what is "off." It isn't self-explanatory. When I click a toggle button, it looks like I am turning it off, but  I haven't been getting any notifications at all, and all the comments are from last year, so I think it is possible that this site has been abandoned but, again, I can't tell. 

I was surprised to see this topic spring up in this post as it is something with which I have been struggling for YEARS and is the source of my massive writer's block. My life is like a dish of spotted dick: studded with dark little traumatic events and yes, there is one major one, but they are all fairly extreme, so I have an enormous case of PTSD and YES, I am sick - disabled, actually - AND I have had an eating disorder since I was about 6, when my mother began to focus on my weight in a way that was cruel and added to the other traumas.

I'd never heard of that study, but the results don't surprise me, however I will echo what another commenter has said, and that is that if you are like me and have a serious case of PTSD, it is recommended that you NOT discuss or write about "the worst thing that ever happened to you" because it majorly triggers the PTSD and can cause some serious problems on top of whatever you're already dealing with.

However, there is a nugget of HOPE for me in Harry's post, and I believe that it has helped me find a way to get my personal story to move out of the way so that I can write something that others will want to read, and that's a tremendous gift to me today - so THANK YOU, HARRY! Let's see if it works for me. I think it might.

God bless,

Silver Rose

It helps me to have a blog post to write - especially since it is a completely different genre and they tend to be short. I get the satisfaction of actually finishing something when the weight of the work of writing a novel begins to get to me. I wrote one today about an obscure Cornish saint and was tickled to learn something new in the research I did before writing the post. Now, I feel ready to tackle the novel again.

The more inspired I feel about my current writing project, the more that OTHER, previously undreamed of stories come pressing in upon me. They're brilliant! Captivating! But like the practice of taming the monkeys during meditation, I studiously ignore them - at first - but then the fear arises that if I don't do something to pin down these unbidden intruders, they won't leave me be. So I keep some note paper off to the side, and now I find myself writing the original novel and 2 screenplays, as well as a chapbook worth of really bad haiku. Does anyone else have this problem?

I've gone a lifetime with terrible writer's block, and nary a word put on paper. Dry as the Sahara. And now I groan under the weight of it all.

I don't drink at all now, due to multiple daily doses of oxy and morphine, but I have some lovely medical cannabis in a kitchen drawer, and I think I will resort to it rather earlier than is typical for me. Computer stuff stresses me, even though I have been using the darn things ever since they first appeared on people's desks.

Thanks, Kate. I'm blind in one eye, so this will be a challenge - especially since much of the signifying information is in light blue, which is hard to see, but I'll experiment with it all and see what I can do about making it more readable for me.

...and the bwbach thinks he is ever so grand because he has a terrible case of bi-polar disorder, with a healthy complement of narcissism - but he is SUCH a lush (self-medicating), he is always belching, farting, spilling beer and generally being an oaf.

Thank you! I need the comedic relief to balance out all the tragedy of Alice's life and also to provide an answer, of sorts, to why some people just have the worst "luck" imaginable, even when they technically do all the right things. Let's blame it on the bwbach, shall we?

Oh yes! of course. It was a diaphragm. I dashed off my comment, on the fly, as it were - not as a professional synopsis, though I should have one done up and ready.

Excuse me, but what the hell is this? I see a title but there doesn't seem to be any text...or have I missed something crucial on how to manipulate this website? Where is the post? I see some comments, but I am also having a TERRIBLE time trying to read them, as they don't appear to be linearly arranged. I TRY to start at the beginning, but just when I think I've found the first comment, the timeline whips around on me. It's exhausting. Of course it doesn't help that I am blind in one eye. Can someone please assist?

I am writing a novel called Alice Doesn't -  Ive fictionalized my life story, narrated (and variously interfered with) by a boozy bi-polar Bwbach (Welsh house sprite) who has been with the family for centuries and was unwillingly trundled off to America when Alice's great grandfather emigrated to the U.S. to chase the second gold rush in California.

The Bwbach eventually realizes that he is dwindling, being cut off from his ancestral lands, and he has to get back to Wales or he will dwindle and dwindle until he is nothing more than a wraith. [The local gentle folk don't speak the same language and think that he is weird and reject him because he does not play well with others and he is always stealing from them. Plus, he smells funny]

He needs Alice to help him because he can't just spirit himself back across the sea ("What do you think I am, some kind of magician?") but this operates at cross-purposes with what Alice needs. 

Alice is a baby boomer raised by narcissists on television and movie sets.  Her father is a TV writer who leaves the family when she is 5. Her mother is a small town girl filled with resentment that her husband leaves her just when the glamour train comes to town. She torments Alice because of her weight and favors the little brother whose existence is owed to the mother having pricked her diaphragm with dozens of holes to accomplish the deed, since her husband is insistent they have no more children and always makes sure she wears the damn thing.

Alice spends her whole life searching for familial love (an impossible thing, for her.) Her natal family is hopeless and traumatic, and she can't seem to make her own. She has NO luck with men. At first, she thinks it is because she is fat, but she loses all the weight and STILL cannot make any relationship work. 

The problem is that she carries an odd aura about her, thanks to the Bwbach who she's dragging around with her but does not realize. He also has the bad habit of farting at the most inconvenient times. ("It's not my fault! The food here is wretched.") In the end, he sacrifices himself for her, out of love for his dear Alice. It's two parallel stories that intersect.

Alice goes from participating in hippie peace marches, to a stint on the Scientology flagship, to writing for episodic television in the late 70's to apprenticing with a German Zen roshi, to 8 years in a Hindu convent in Hollywood...and more.

God only knows what is this genre. Is it a fantasy? A generational saga? A literary novel? Maybe it's two genre's at once.  Hell if I know. But I'm having fun and enjoying it.

I read your original comment and I am mystified why anyone would find fault with what you said. It seemed very balanced to me.

If you pay a substantial sum of money for a service, and the service disappoints, you have every right to express yourself about it, and I believe that it helps others to do so. Please don't let anyone bully you into submission and silence.

I may soon be in the market for someone to edit my novel. In order to make a properly informed decision about whether or not to engage a service, and what the pitfalls might be, I rely upon positive AND negative recommendations, and I hate to think that the feedback about any of the services here has been truncated because someone has bullied into silence anyone who doesn't act like a cheerleader.

You KNOW that this kind of thing happens a lot on the internet. I see it all the time on Facebook, where some woman who doesn't know me from Adam will make assertions about what I am thinking or feeling or what my motivations are and will slam me because I didn't say something "nice." It comes in various forms. One type will tell me, "don't you have any GOOD news to share?" Another will say, "if you were grateful for the good things, this other thing wouldn't bother you." It makes me feel as if I am back in high school, at times, and I do my best to not let them occupy any of my head space after I have corrected the record into which they've inserted some slander.

Fortunately, it looks like 99% of the participants on this platform are well-meaning, mature, and intellectually authentic. I know it's painful to have someone treat you unfairly and impugn your character, but I hope you stand your ground and don't let it throw you. There is ALWAYS one person like this in ANY group. We can't seem to get away from it.  Don't let it throttle your voice. I'd miss hearing it.

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