The Doubters

Let’s face it people. They’re always going to be there. It’s like the little kid when they’re five saying “Mommy I want to be the president!” or the ten year old who gets cast in his fifth grade play and becomes convinced that he’s going to become the next Hollywood star.

“Awww…. How cute!”

They’re going to be like that until you get a book deal. In fact, they’ll probably be there AFTER you get the book deal simply because of how hard it is to get into the business. In today’s world it’s almost as hard to muscle your way into the writing business as it is to get into the acting business. Not as hard as from the acting to music! *cheesy joke drum roll* You know, like the Disney stars who start singing cause it’d cheaper for Disney to re-contract them then find someone else…

Anyways, my point is that there are going to be doubters. I deal with this problem. Margaret deals with this problem. You deal with the problem or soon will. If you don’t, it’s probably because you’re some closet bunny that knows everyone wants you to be a doctor not a writer.

My Experience

I get really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really mad. And I don’t get really mad very easily. I’m just one of those easy going people that really only wants a computer, books, food, and air conditioning to be happy in life. But when people tell me or make it obvious that they don’t think I have what it takes to make it into the published/writing world I get MAD.

For me it’s a matter of I don’t think they realized how serious I am about it. I can imagine them reacting that way when I was eight and was writing the story mentioned before. Or in third grade when I wrote a story just because my best friend at the time was and it was a COMPLETE rip-off of Harry Potter. But now it makes me very mad that they don’t understand that it’s a serious goal. I am working towards it as we speak. Reading Writer’s Market 2013 (a birthday present from Margaret a few days ago :D THANK YOU!), trying to work on building a platform (which you see the product of here… :)), writing in my free time. I’m passive about a lot of things, but not this.

So, as I’ve said before already, I get mad when people don’t take me seriously.

What I Do/What My Advice About What You Should Do About It

Ignore them.

I would say spit in their faces, but that wouldn't be very nice at all. Nor sanitary. Nor socially acceptable. And It probably wouldn't make them believe you any more that they already were. In fact it might make them believe you less. So don’t spit in their faces.

I usually just ignore them. Or just answer politely. They’ll have to eat they’re words when you do end up making it. You’re probably not going to become the next JK Rowling (Sorry. I probably won’t be either, if that helps.) but you will still be able to shove your autographed copy in their faces which will be well worth it.

The Wrap/Encouragement/Pep Talk

I just want you to know right now that you cannot let them get to you. I will repeat again, DO NOT LET THEM GET TO YOU! If you are really and truly determined to become an author you will become so! Even if your writing sucks, if you really want to write you’ll write and get better. You will go and make the effort of pitching to ever single agent that would ever consider picking up your book.

But if you start to believe the doubters, you won’t. Because it is hard. It’s going to be hard, for you and me. And if you’re not determined with every fiber of your being and scorning the doubters in your head (like I said, no spiting in faces) you’re probably not going to make it.

And you have to make it.

~Amanda Vinshire

P.S. If you have any questions, topics, or doubts yourself please email them in! We'd love to answer them!

vinshire.sisters@gmail.com

The Short Attention Span Prologue

Subtitle: …Which is why I’ve rewritten mine for about the billionth time. *crazy eye twitch*

There many facts of life that one hates.

One of the most brutal and sulk worthy is that people have short attention spans – and are quick to judge whether or not something is worth their time.

The same is true for books.

So, of course, one must have the AWESOMESAUCE GIFT FROM THE STARS first line and/or prologue.

…

Please hold while I scream in pain.

SERIOUSLY. This is what, the fifth or sixth prologue I’ve done now, and it’s slowly beginning to wear on my nerves. Wait, that’s a vast understatement.

IT IS SLOWLY KILLING ME FROM THE INSIDE!

….I can hear you all laughing at me now.

Bahhumbug.

*huffs*

Anyway, I dare you writers out there who are reading my blog to go write a 500 word prologue that captures the essence of your story and has a killer first line.

And when you come back just as depressed about the entire thing as I am, then we can have a gigantic writer’s pity part together.

Anyway, thanks for reading, I’m probably (not) over-exaggerating, and have a great day guys!

(Those last few words don’t sound quite right…. oh well.)

Oh, by the by, glossary word of the day!

Headdesk:  When the head meets the desk as an expression of frustration, disappointment, or exasperation. Sometimes in reference to when something is stupid.

Just in case you all didn’t know that.

~Margaret Vinshire, July 2012, about thirty pages and a lot of revisions away from the end of her book

Skeletons in the Closet (or maybe just a month's worth of laundry)

From my experience, author's are not the cleanest people. 

Maybe there's one or two authors out there that stay organized in their daily lives, but for the most part most authors are not organized in anything other then their writing. And even then, not always. 

Teenagers are also not very well known for their... cleanliness.

The combination of these two factors cause a buildup of a lot of mess.

Sometimes said mess gets so bad you can't even see the floor, literally. Or, for another example, your bathroom sink.

I got to that point a few weeks ago. If not months.

Another thing about me is that sometimes, completely randomly and out of the blue, I'll just start cleaning. Obsessively. 

I think that's enough background for now...

Yes. That's right. It was background info to the illustrious POINT. Which always seems to disappear from these things...

Anyways. One of the things I was cleaning up as I worked was my bedside table which is full of a bunch of old papers. Some are old pictures I tried (and failed) to draw, old pamphlets that I thought were important, and more importantly, old pieces of writing. I also have the habit of writing on the backs of scraps of paper, typing them up, and throwing them in a draw to gather dust until something like this happens.

Guys, I beg of you, on my hands and knees, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE save all of your writing. It's so important I'm going to say it again bolded and underlined.PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE save all of your writing. I'm serious. I know that the story you wrote in the fifth grade makes you bow your head in shame. Trust me, I know. What's worse is remembering how proud you used to feel about it.

But when you go back and read it?

It is just an experience to itself. It's a trip back in time. Call me a pack-rat, but I'm serious. I was reading a story I tried to write when I was eight that was an obvious and blatant rip-off of Guerdo  thieves from Zelda: Ocarina of Time and I couldn't stop laughing. It was so adorable! Oh my goodness. And my old fan fiction from Yugioh of all things? Oh my gosh. 

You just can't replicate that feeling.

If you don't have old things saved, start saving them now. It will cause you no end of pleasure later. And think about when you're a big name and all the little Middle-School children are talking about your book for their English book reports and you let loose one of these pieces on the internet to prove just how much you've improved. Cause there's going to be a difference. There'd better be. If I hadn't improved from my seventh's grade stories? I think I would go and die in shame...

Anyways, I would really really like to see what types of things you used to write when you were younger. Please send them vinshire.sisters@gmail.com if you're brave enough. Yup. That's a CHALLENGE.

And just to give me the right to issue said challenge, I'll participate myself.

This is a story I've tried to rewrite... a lot. I don't even want to try to go back and count how many times I've come up with something new for it. Maybe I'll try again sometime... Without further ado...

Prologue

          At the time of midnight, in the Terian woods, a woman wearing a long cloak that covered her face and carrying a small bundle ran through the forest.  She was careful to avoid any rocks or roots as to not jostle the little bundle in her arms.  Over a thin stream, around a boulder, and off a ledge.  After a few more yards her pointed ears picked up faint traces of pursuit.  She guessed that they were humans, ten to fifteen of them, coming in her direction, about 100 yards behind.

          Hurrying her pace, she ran through the slowly thinning trees.  Coming to a clearing she stopped, and looked around.  As she was searching, a dark shape watched her, not daring to approach yet.

          Finding what she was looking for, a marking in the rock in the shape of an eye, she laid the small bundle of blankets on the ground beneath the rocks.  She knelt down and whispered a few quiet words. 

          Hearing the sounds of pursuit again she got up and turned.  The dark shape tensed, but the mother turned around again.

          “Good bye Areena, I’m sorry, sleep well,” and without another word she was gone.

          A quite fell on the clearing and the only sound was of the dark shape steeping into the dim light from the full moon.  It walked around sniffing and searching for any hints that the mother might come back.  Apparently finding none, it walked over to the child that had the most piercing green eyes and started inspecting her.              

          Through out all of this the child slept, thinking not of danger, or fear, only sweet dreams of a castle on the horizon.

                                                Hunter

          A deer ran through the woods at noon, watching for any hints of danger.  It bent it’s head down low to drink from the shallow pond beside it.                 What it didn’t notice was a hunter, pulling back an arrow with a inhumanly grace.  The arrow flew hitting the mark exactly, the deer was deed in seconds. 

          Many times had this huntress shot a dear, but never had she killed any thing this large.  Arenaa was the name of the huntress, with the lightest brown hair found bouncing slightly as she walked over to the body of the now dead deer, sharp green eyes searching for threats.

          Pulling the arrow out of the carcass and beginning to clean it, Arenaa yelled,    

          “Rinca!”

          Almost immediately a blue and purple fairy was hovering by her side. It had gossamer transparent purple wings and blue skin that looked good with her sharp pointy face. She was about six inches tall.

          “Wow” the colorful dot remarked rather quickly “That’s a big one Arenaa, how big would you say?”

          “Two to three days worth for all of us, two maybe three years old, four and a half feet long.” Areena replied dully as she eyed the beast.

          “Like I said, Wow!  You know what this means? Paco owes me 3 coins.”  Arenaa gave her a Oh-come-on-I-told-you-to-stop look.

          “What?” Rinca asked in a false innocent voice “Ok, I know you don’t like me betting on you, but it was necessary. Paco said that you couldn’t get anything bigger than an fawn.”  Arenaa frowned but inside she was happy that Rinca had stood up for her like that, but than of course she should have expected it. Rinca had supported her in everything she had done since before she could remember.

          “And she can’t” a stuck up sounding voice said from the trees. Rinca rolled her eyes and whispered,

          “Wait till you see the look on his face when he sees this.” And she was right.  As the small red, green fairy flew out of the trees and caught sight of the beast on the ground, the look on it’s face was hilarious. They both had to hold back tears of laughter.

          “Um … how much do I owe you Rinca?” he asked hesitantly. Rinca smirked.

          “Three coins”

          “What!” he looked outraged “There is no way I would have agreed to that!”

          “Maybe, but you still did!” She was holding back on her laughter “Pay  up” Grumpily he pulled out three gold coins the size of a baby’s fist out of the leather pouch he wore on his shoulder.

          “Rinca, come on lets go. All our admirers will be waiting” by that Areena meant all the people waiting to laugh at her small catch, which didn’t often. Areena was actually despised by a lot of the kids that grew up around her. To them she was too perfect and Blake liked her too much, so they were always trying to find ways to somehow “get back at her”.

          “OK, I’m coming. Yeshh don’t be such a bossy,” was the only reply she got. As she turned away she heard a quiet whisper that sounded a lot like

          “Yeah, like she really shot it.”

          A smile played on her lips as she started imagining what Rinca was doing to Paco right know. Carried on by this thought, she walked away slowly so Rinca could get back and tell her a cover up story to tell everyone else.

          “So what’s the story for Paco getting beat up this time?” she asked as Rinca flew into sight.

          “Oh I was thinking about flying into a tree.”

           “And you think Mariesh will buy it?” there was a pause.

          “No.” they said in synchronized voices.

          Every person on the land of Mari had a partner, fairy, nymph, or sprit, except the mysterious thieves to the north west. Rinca was Areena’s and Paco was Mariesh’s. Partners are free to leave if they wish, but most would rather stay with each other for life.

          Out of all the people who hated her, Mariesh hated her the most, no, she loathed her. No one knew why and some people even felt sorry for Areena because she loathed her so much. Mariesh would do just about anything to hurt her, insult her, or embarrass her on a daily basis. It didn’t help that Mariesh is what some would call “a gang leader”. Of course Areena was always to fast to catch, to good to get in trouble, and to strong to be embarrassed.

          “Well I guess it is time to find out” Said Areena as she walked out from the thick, green underbrush that was a hidden entrance to her “home”, otherwise known as Blake’s clearing.

          There was already someone waiting for her. Mariesh was standing there tall as ever, with her shoulder length jet back black hair hanging over her shoulder her blue eyes looking as if to kill. Areena had to admit that she looked intimidating with her “gang” standing there backing her up.

          “What did you do to him?” she close to yelled at her.

          “What do you mean, Mariesh?” Areena said putting on her innocent voice.

          “I know you did something to him, you monster!” she, again, yelled at her. Already almost every one was staring now except for a group of four and five year-olds playing skip rope (jump rope).

          “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!” even the group of skip ropers were staring now. The looks on their faces are so cute, Areena randomly thought.

          “I did absolutely NOTHING to your little monster of a partner.”

          “Don’t even try to lie to me I know he got hurt!”

          “Did you ever think that maybe we didn’t hurt him, just because he’s hurt doesn’t mean we did it.”

          Rinca piped in “Beside he flew into a tree”

          Mariesh‘s stare could kill “You already tried that on me don’t think of me as a fool!” almost every one went back to what they were doing, same old fight.

          “Look Mariesh, I’m tired, I’ve just caught about the biggest catch of my life and I would just like to go about my day without any fights.”

          “Oh really” Mariesh said her voice dipped in sarcasm and handed to Areena on a plate “How big is it? A fawn.” They were staring again, listening carefully, some to hear her admit it, in small hopes, the others to hear Mariesh’s reaction to what ever Areena was going to say. It was different every time.

          “No actually that was your catch last week.” This remark was greeted by a bunch of you-got-served ohs “My catch happens to be dinner for all of us for a good three days.” She could hear a good few cheers in the back of the crowd.

          “What’s going on around here?” a deep throated, but gentle voice called out of the crowd.

          Every one went back to what they were doing the second this happened. This was Blake.

So yeah.... 

I've posted my shame. Send me yours. Please and thank you and thanks for reading,

~Amanda Vinshire

P.S. If you also live a similar lifestyle to mine (messy) now's as good a time as any as trying to clean up a little. Going back to the bathroom sink theme at the beginning, I discovered that they're actually white! It's that so cool?

Writer's Disease

I want to introduce all of you to a particular disease of mine.

It is a horrible, gruesome, slightly contagious, and in some cases fatal disease.

I and my ‘sister’ like to call it “Writers Disease”.

Horrible, gruesome, slightly contagious, and in some cases fatal.

Don’t you agree?

Likely, some of you have caught it or susceptible to it.

Isn’t that the reason we’re all here? This should be a blog about young writers, it should be some sort of copping blog.

“Hi, my name’s Amanda and I have Writers Disease.”

“Hi, Amanda.” Complete with monotone chorusing voices. Except for the one person who has a squeaky voice because they don’t actually speak to people, only write all day long, with stooped shoulder, pale face and long crooked fingers that aren’t good for anything except hitting keys on the keyboards.

“I’ve felt the symptoms since I was about seven, I was first diagnosed with it when I was twelve and have since had to work my entire life around it.”

You know why that’s so funny?

Because it’s true.

Or maybe you didn’t find it funny… it’s still true. And you cannot deny it. You can try, but your attempt will be proven false by the thousands of human beings who have had their lives ripped away by this disease.

It is real. One day it will be dictionary. That’s right. Oxford dictionary. It will be treated by doctors world-wide and we can all be officially considered tortured artists because of the deadly disease we carry within our bodies.

Wait for it. Believe it. Support it. Tweet it. Facebook it. Tumblr it if you must. SPREAD THE WORD!

Writers Disease: (n) the sickness contracted by those with aspirations to write novels. Symptoms include obsessions with fictional characters, word choices, and plot. Insomnia, paleness, lack of communication with the outside world, flimsy and or lack of muscles, and incessant chanting of “one more page” or “She’s gonna die!” are also common indicators.

(Sorry for the shortness of the post- it's almost midnight and I don't get enough sleep on the weekdays so I really should be getting more on the weekends. Failing at that.)

How to Lasso Your Story and Avoid The Brick Wall from Hell

To all readers out there – Hello! I’m Margaret of the Vinshire Sisters. And I’ve finally got off my lazy butt to go forth and write a post!

I can hear the non-existent cheers now.

Also, so you guys can’t kill me…

DISLCAIMER/WARNING: Those who read Margaret’s posts are in danger of sudden temper tantrums, desires to beat yourself unconscious, becoming a grammar nazi in desperation, and slight possible patronization. Thank you, have a nice day.

School and How It Relates to Writing

Amanda here again. 

If you've checked out the About Us section which you may or may not have done, you would know that I go to public school and my dear "sister", Margaret, is home schooled.

Let's just get this out of the way right now.

Public school sucks.

Majorly.

It sucks so badly it could be a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Especially when you're taking two AP classes and all honors. Not to mention the Spanish class taught by the 5 year army vet who makes people cry and the PE teacher that actually makes you exercise turning class! I mean, who hires a PE teacher like that? That's the whole point of PE. So you don't actually have to do any physical work.

I don't know, maybe you guy's don't have that problem. Maybe you actually LIKE to exercise (though in my experience, most writers don't), but in that case you'd probably join an actual sport. Kinda wish I had taken dance but don't want to risk messing up my schedule...

But I've gone off on a tangent (something you'll learn I do... a lot... both of us do actually... should be fun, eh?).

School sucks. And while learning is an amazing thing that in this generation we are very very blessed and lucky to have for free (hence PUBLIC school), I just wish it didn't come with, you know, everything else. 

Read: homework.

I promise this is not just complaining about how much homework I have and "Oh woe is me", there is going to be a lesson and even a question out of all of this. I'm just gonna do a bit of complaining first because I really want to/need to vent. Venting is good for the soul, you know. Releases tension.

Did you know that homework was first invented so that kids would have something to do at home after school so they wouldn't be bored all the time?

I think it's gone overboard. Seriously. There's homework and there's "Hey guys, let's give them enough homework to keep them up until 12:00 every single night! And then we'll give them a project and we can all have our tests on the same exact day so they have to stay up even later studying for both tests and they'll fail both because they were afraid of failing on and studied poorly on both! Muahahahahahaha!"

The reason for this blog post:

Tomorrow's Monday and I don't want to go back to school :(

But the purpose I promised you!

It was slightly touched upon on the last blog post, about finding time to write when there's a lot of things going on in your life. This isn't just for teenagers in high school, either. Everyone has trouble finding the time or the inspiration to do things these days, whether it's school or work or sports or homework... I wish I was able to give you a magical antidote, because trust me, if I could, I would sell it an make a fortune.

It all really boils down to one thing. 

You will not find time. 

You will never find time. 

So make it. Write late into the night (though I wouldn't suggest doing it the night before a test, trust me on that one), write in the car, do your homework in the car so that you can write later. Learn to write in multiple places at one time (working on that, betting better) so that when you have the opportunity you can work on it. Obviously you're not going to have time to pull out a computer during the last five minutes of a class period that you got because your teacher finished a few minutes early, but you do have enough time to flip over your math homework and scribble a hundred words on the back of it.

It works. A lot of the time you don't even have to have the paper ever again because the physical act of writing it down helped you five billion times over. Exact wording makes it stick in your brain and makes everything make more sense.

If you have a nice phone, type it out on said nice phone and email it to yourself. 

Just make sure you're writing.

Make the time. Do today's math homework at lunch so you don't have to worry about it when you get home. If you can do it right, it works well.

If not... um... well... leave a comment or send and email yelling at me and telling me how stupid I am! Haha... or you could leave a comment/send an email about how awesome my advice is... Or just not say anything at all. That works too.

I hate Mondays.

~ Amanda Vinshire

When?

I’m guess I get to be the lucky fella (feminine form, thank you very much: fell-a)that gets to make the first post. Don’t be fooled. That’s because Margaret’s too lazy to be the first one. Not that I’m not lazy it just… I’m less lazy than her. Except when it comes to being the first to write a book because she beat me in that by about a year. Well, she started SERIOUSLY working on her book a year before I did. I think.

(this time I actually am kidding. We're both pretty busy) 

But that brings me to my point of this particular blog entry:

When?

When is one of the, in my opinion, most underestimated and downplayed of the interrogative words (I would say pronouns but why isn’t technically a interrogative pronoun apparently). ‘Why’ and ‘What’ are used for their particular beauty and versatility. Why do you write? Why did you choose that word? Why do you not like Famous Person X’s newest album? Why would Ricardo kill Jonathan when he knew that Rachel’s baby was his?

What is this?

Why are these two interrogative words used so much more?

Which idiot decided for it to be so?

Who is this man and how long would it take me to get to him?

How does any of this have to do with writing?

Good question.

When. It’s not commonly used during writing or talking about writing except in one or two particular and notable instances. “When did you know you wanted to be an author,” and “How do you know when the right time to write your book is?”. Obviously both of these questions have been rephrased and re-asked to thousands of authors all over the globe and almost all of them have similar answers which do not, I repeat DO NOT, get any less true with each retelling.

I’m going to do the first question common courtesy, even though it’s the second that it actually the focus of this post. Keep in mind that I am in my teens, and not even late-teens, so obviously my answer is going to be different from an author who spent years trying out different jobs before deciding they loved to write. I grew up in a house where books are the most common decorations. My dad probably could furnish his own library if he wanted to. I really started loving books when I was about seven and read the entire Harry Potter series up to book six all in the course of about five months. Pretty impressive for a seven year old.

That was when the bug bit and I couldn’t get enough of books. Somewhere along the way I decided that if there was anything I wanted to do when I was big and grown up, it was that I wanted to be able to create worlds and mysteries for other people to enjoy as much as I did.

Pretty cute and heartwarming, right? I think I “daaawww’d” just writing it. And probably the best/most pathetic/cutest things about it is that the same holds true for now.

But now I’m talking about “why”s and not “when” so let’s continued with the second question.

This blog is for teen writers. If there are adult writers out there reading this as well, gee, thanks! I’m glad you think I have something to say for you too and please do try to get anything out of it that you can! But most of the teens here that have aspirations to be writers have exactly that. Aspirations.

When is it finally time to actually write one?

When do you know you’re ready to do it?

When do you know you’re good enough to write a book and try to get it published in the big evil world with publishers and editors who are going to tear your book and characters apart until they bleed inky tears.

There are different answers for every person but I maintain that it all comes down to one huge, important, pen-ultimate word.

Now.

If not now, never.

I mean that.

81% of people who walked into a Barnes and Noble during a study (stats found on Rick Riordan’s blog in his AMAZING post ‘Why Write Novels’ found here: http://rickriordan.blogspot.com/2012/08/why-write-novels-redux.html) said that they thought they had a story that they wanted to write. Why haven’t they? Well some of them probably have. But most of them have said “Maybe Later.”

DO NOT SAY THESE WORDS.

EVER.

They are evil words designed to trap you in a cycle and long life of loneliness and regret. And I’m not talking about in just writing. Maybe I’ll do my homework later…

Oh… I should probably be doing that…

Maybe later.

*pause for laughter*

You may think that I’m being unreasonable or overly dramatic, but I’m not. If you want to be a writer there’s one important thing that you have to do. Write. If you’re not, you can’t even call yourself that. My advice is very simple and there is no doubt in my mind that Margaret will back me up on this one hundred present considering she was the one who first gave me this exact pep talk before I dove headlong into my own novel. 

Well, not exactly. I’m adding my own flair J.

Just write it. Write it now. It’s not going to get any easier. You are NOT going to get more time. In fact I would say it’s better to write as a teenager because you’re not going to work for half the day (or maybe you are if you’re homework pile is REALLY huge).

The greatest thing is it doesn’t even have to be good.

Just write it.

Once you’ve written it, the whole thing, stop. Look back. Pat yourself on the back because you’ve already done something that most people can’t do. Just finishing that book, making it past the first five chapters even, puts you in a special place above a lot of other people in the world.

Now that you’ve done that, maybe resting on these self-given-laurels for a few weeks, months, even possibly years, look back at it. Remember how I said it doesn’t have to be good? Look at it and decide whether you think it is good. If it isn’t, that’s fine! Hopefully you already have another idea waiting in the wings, maybe even half written from you reprieve, and work on that. Don’t delete your little project, at the very least keep it to add to your blog when you are a famous author and people want to see what you wrote like when you were a teen/a few years ago.

If you do think it’s good, great! Make it better. I can GUARANTEE it will not be good enough. But that doesn't mean it won’t be. Make it that way. Cry bitter tears of frustration. Buy four red pens. Find someone to read it for you and give you advice. Rewrite chapters five, eight, and twenty-two through thirty. Rewrite the entire book if you feel like it. Just keep working.

Do it now.

Don’t put it off.

I will use one of my favorite adages.

“I don’t find time to write. I make the time.” ~ Amanda Vinshire

What a wise saying from a wise person.

Make the time. Wake up early. Finish your homework in the car so that you can use those twenty minutes to write a two hundred word scene.

When?

How do you know when the right time to write your book is?

You don’t. So why not now?

~Amanda Vinshire