Salisbury.Fake writing

What It Sounds Like When I Write

I’m not going to upload a video of pen scratching on paper, don’t worry. But what I am going to talk about today is some of the music I tend to listen to when I write. I was going to do a character playlist, but I think instead, I’m going to give a few theme songs and some of the main music I tend to gravitate toward when I work.

I think I should first say I listen to a variety of music, but mostly instrumental because if it’s words I know, I tend to find myself focusing on those instead. I’ll listen to classical, film soundtracks, alt-rock, sometimes Viking metal, and sometimes nothing. Since I do a majority of my writing at work on my lunch break, listening to music helps drown out the sounds of my coworkers so I can zero in my focus. Sometimes it depends on the mood I’m in when I search for something to listen to, and sometimes I’ll just keep listening to what I started the day with.

If I need to have something emotional going? Season 8 of Game of Thrones, the second half of that soundtrack takes me to feelings I can sink into and push into my writing. Specifically these two songs:

Ramin Djawadi has a profound gift for infusing emotion into his work and I try to emulate that in the words I put down on the page. It’s a way to remind myself not to make the words ordinary. That I want to tell the story, yes, but in such a way it sticks in the readers’ minds long after they’ve finished. I love dissonance in music. If it resolves, great, but if it doesn’t? I am tossed into a place of joy. This is a thing Djawadi uses well within his work too. How can I create written dissonance? Something that twinges the brain into wanting the safety of before, not the twisting discomfort of clashing feelings. How do I put it into words?

It’s not just the forlorn which inspires me, but also the music inspiring boldness, the sound that gets under your skin and makes you want to climb mountains and stare at the sky above the clouds. It carries you past the left for broken feeling the previous chapter left with you. There is hope in the ending going where you want it to. Songs like these:

(yes listening to this for this post made me tear up a bit because I love this so much)

The last few songs I’m going to give you today are theme songs for some of my characters. All three of them fit those people in particular, but the one I have for Naim, it hit me within the first few notes of the song who this was for. Right around 0:24 is where it starts truly sounding like Naim, and until 0:49 I had this clear image of him slow shuffle dancing along a riverside, cigarette in his mouth, dreadlocks secured loosely, his leather jacket open and his arms wide to the sky as he tilts his head back and grins at the sunset. And the rest of the song fits him too, but that short range hit me with such an intense image of someone I didn’t quite have a handle on before, and now he’s one of the more developed of the series. Here’s Naim’s theme song:

The next theme is Milton Fogg’s. I don’t want to go too far into why it’s his theme because I feel like that spoils more than I want to put on the internet, but again within the first few moments of the song, I saw Milton stepping into a building, his silver tipped walking stick tapping on the marble floor as peons scatter around to be ready for whatever he needs. He passes off his top hat to a quivering underdog, and he makes his way to the golden elevators where he spins on his heel and gives a infinitesimal smirk before the doors close. He’s a smug bastard, and he knows how to get what he wants. This is his theme:

The last song is a piece of music, and it happens to be one of my very favorites. It’s not got lyrics, and it’s more of a philosophical look at a theme song for a character. This is Frankie’s theme song:

This song is the end for Frankie. I don’t want to go too much deeper into it because that’s hella spoilers, but there is a very specific reason this song is the end song. It represents what could have been, what should have been, and what will never be. (I know, I grossed myself out a bit with that, too, but it’s the truth.)

And so, I leave you with the hope that your own writing is going well. That you don’t smudge your pages too much, that your computer battery life lasts long enough for you to finish your thought, and that the songs you use for inspiration give life to the words you choose.

Until next time, friends. (I’ll have finished the first book by next post)

Salisbury.Fake Life, writing

From My Journal – Language Update

Hey, there friends! Happy New Year! I’m behind my own arbitrary posting schedule already, but that’s because I gave myself the deadline of January 31st to finish the first book of my series. I also decided that I am not writing with the expectation of becoming a best seller, but more for myself because I love telling this story so much. And that is pretty much where I find myself this evening as I scurry around for a post.

I’m doing a few challenges this January that I’ll talk about in February, but one of the things I’ve challenged myself for the entire year of 2022 is to read more. As with many writers, I find when I read more, I write more. And better. Obviously not on this blog because of the run ons, the inconsistent punctuation, etc, etc. The beauty of this blog is again, I’m writing for myself. I was going to start this year with a book dump of some books I recently finished reading, but I decided to go for a journal update. The last spreads I have to get done before I start the dictionary for the language I’m creating are the plot outlines of each book.

So, the photo for today is a look at the beginning of the dictionary for Moartean. I got the A section for English done last week, and that felt pretty cool. My strategy is to go through a “learner’s” dictionary and pick words that I think the Moarteans would use. The biggest thing for me is trying to figure out which ones could be used multiple ways. Moarteans are interesting people in that they are simple when it comes to words, but complicated when it comes to expressing themselves. Some words can be used interchangeably, while others are kind of “what is this person trying to say to me?” It’s an fascinating thing where I look at words like, “alert,’ and “alarm.” They mean similar things, but have different applications that require context. So, do I make them interchangeable? Or do I apply context to them?

I know it’s extra to create a language. I know not many people would want to do such a thing. But it makes too much sense to me, and incorporating some of it into each book, with the third book having the most in it, feels ridiculously satisfying. I created a prophecy using the language and reading it out loud makes the nerdy part of my brain tingle in a way that it rarely does unless I’ve spent an entire day writing or working on writing things.

I know I post a lot of things motivating people to believe in their goodness and their worth, and that will still be a thing, but this year I’m going to try and incorporate more of what I love into this blog. It’s still a lifestyle blog, but writing is what makes me feel the most real. I know that sounds so pretentious and cliche, but I don’t do a lot of appreciation of myself. Seeing the world I’ve created in my head over the last decade come to life on the page is a feeling I don’t think I have the words to give you. If I could pass the brightness to you, so you could get a glimpse of effulgence I feel after wearing my neck out from being hunched over a notebook for a day, I would give it to you. I would love to share that joy with you.

And that’s a small look into my last few weeks, creativity wise. I hope your year has started well, and I hope you are being kind to yourself because you deserve kindness. I’ll see you soon with a look at some of the books I finished already this month.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Merry and Bright

I’m going to just come right out and say this, I’ve been struggling. This blog isn’t going to be about how or why, because I’ve already talked about those things. But it’s going to be a promise to myself that next year will be different. It’s going to be different because I won’t let this year continue into that one.

I got sick and had to stop running for a bit, and since the winters are cold in Indiana, I’ll be running in the gym more, but I’m going to keep up with that. The good news is one day I’ll be okay. And that’s what I want to give people at the end of this year, something to look forward to. There’s that quote I’ve said a few times about everything is okay in the end, and if it’s not okay, it’s not the end. But there’s always a moment where we want it to be the end, when we’re definitely not okay, and we desperately want to be.

And that is my firm belief, that we will be okay. We will find a way to maintain contentment, and every now and then feel that pinch of happiness that makes us wonder why we don’t feel that way all the time.

It’s going to be okay. I wish you and yours a happy holiday season, and if the holidays are especially difficult for you, know that you are seen and known and loved. I don’t need to know a thing about you to know you are worth loving. Be safe, keep holding on, and remember that the sun will always rise tomorrow.

Until next time, friends.

******salisbury.fake will return in January 2022*******

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

33

If I appear to have lost my zeal for posting on here, I haven’t. I’ve decided to approach this blog as more a tool for myself and less a desire for validation from strangers on the internet. It’s always been for me anyway, but to those of you who’ve been reading my nonsense, thank you. I do appreciate you being here. Cliche as it may be, it’s nice to know someone out there sees the things I say.

So that brings us to today. Today is my birthday. I turn 33. Holy frickin’ cow, dudes. It always catches me off guard and it always hits me in the face at the same time. Never one to appreciate attention on myself (which is where my need for validation on the internet becomes an internal eternal struggle), I’ve never been a fan of my birthday. I’d much rather spend it doing things with others and helping them. So I took some vacation time, hahaha. I am a firm believer in the idea that no one should work on their birthday. I realize that comes from a place of privilege and I wish it didn’t.

Every month in my bullet journal, I pick a quote to kind of guide my thoughts, and this month I chose something out of one of my very favorite books, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

“If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that’s enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself, ‘My flower’s up there somewhere . . .’ But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it’s as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn’t important?”

I chose this quote because while the obvious reminder is that the little things matter and what’s important for someone else may not necessarily be important to you, it’s more a reminder of going back to the things that matter. I love this book enthusiastically. It’s a classic, and it’s such a lovely little tale about learning the way the world is, and it reminds me to think about what truly makes a difference in my life.

So, what’s been different this past year? I think the thing that startles me the most is the change in fitness. I began running, something I talked more about last blog post, and I stopped eating so much and I lost about 40 pounds. I’m not to my goal yet, but hey. I lost 40 pounds. It’s easier for me to keep up with Caboose, and it’s easier to jog after a piece of paper I dropped in the parking lot. I have a new way of controlling my thoughts, which is probably the most important thing about running for me. I’ve set a goal with one of my best friends to run a 5k next year. For the fall, though, because running in summer sounds like a fresh hell, or maybe a hot hell. Either way, a pass for me. But last year I wouldn’t have even considered such a thing. I would have thought it impossible.

Finding balance has been tough. Finding a way to shut out the bastard that lives in my brain and coax the small child forward who wants to be everything and anything is difficult as all get out. I hear a lot that I’m strong, and while I appreciate that, I don’t think people really know how exhausting that is. Mentally, I’ve not been well. The month leading up to my birthday is one of the hardest of the year for me because quite honestly, I’m always surprised I’m here. Kind of a “well shit, now what?” moment. And every year, I remember “oh yeah, keep breathing.”

I was going to go camping this year, but I decided not to because the idea of the effort took so much energy. Just the thought of it. I’m still going to go to my favorite park and hike, because that’s the thing I look forward to the most every year. The picture for this post is from a few years ago, but it’s the only one that I like of myself. It reminds me that I’m insignificant in the best way. That the world is so, so vast and I am so, so small in it, but that doesn’t negate my importance. I am necessary. I am a vital part of the system I created around myself, and I did that without even knowing I had.

So, the point of this post really is to just mark another notch on the bedpost of life. I survived another round, and I’ll survive until the next one, the sun willing. But it’s going to be more than survival. It’s going to be living. It is such a cliche to say there’s a difference between survival and living, and while yes, I know, it’s obvious, it is another thing entirely to fully realize that.

Paint your sunset. Read that book you’ve read fourteen times before and it still makes you weep at the end. Watch the entire season of a bad show in one day. Smile at babies. Give flowers to your mom, or your dad! I’m sure he’d like it. Tell someone you haven’t spoken to for years that you remember something specific about them. The world is so full of life and you have the right to have it.

Let yourself have it.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Keep Breathing, That’s The Key

Inhale: two steps

Exhale: two steps

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Footsteps pounding on the pavement. It hurts a bit on the fourth minute, but the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth are easier. By the end of it all, my lungs are full, yet empty. I breathe in and out, feeling the air expand in my chest, and the life within is foreign. The accomplishment is odd. And yet I’ve done it. I’ve finished a running goal. Now on to the next one.

I turn thirty-three at the end of this month. We’ve discussed how I struggle with enjoyment of my birthday before, but this year it’s a little harder to approach it. My brother told me a few weeks ago about the death of a young man we grew up with. This young man was my brother at one point, although we weren’t close after middle school. I have so many memories of playing, running through the neighborhood, causing chaos that only ten year olds can. His birthday is October 8th. He never made it to thirty-three.

While sometimes I feel a bit like an imposter, like it’s not fair that I get to see thirty-three but he doesn’t, it doesn’t feel right. But that doesn’t make sense, because I should see thirty-three. Ten years ago I tried to end my life. You always hear those people who come out afterward and say, “oh, think of all you’d have missed!” like that’s supposed to help you feel better. I’ve said many times on here that it doesn’t get better, it gets easier to carry. I have the mental strength of a bodybuilder on steroids, but the days when I’ve stepped on a metaphorical Lego are almost debilitating.

I would have missed graduating college. I would have missed seeing my family grow, with my sister-in-law, and then the birth of my niece. I don’t know that Caboose will ever know just how much she saves me. How she puts me back in my place. That I am important and necessary.

And I am. I am important and necessary. Not just to Caboose. Not just to my family, or my friends (more people I would have missed out on had I been successful ten years ago). I am important and necessary to myself.

Breathe in, fill your lungs. Hold the breath there until it leaves you in a rush.

Do that several more times. Do you feel it? Do you feel the life?

This is why I love running. I was terrified of it for a long time. I know that sounds so ridiculous because it’s fitness and it’s movement and good for you. But when you’ve spent so much of your life telling yourself you’re not worth the effort, all exercise feels impossible. Terrifying. Daunting. Like you’ll fail before you even start. So I gave in to that. I stopped myself before I could see what I can do.

Back in May, I couldn’t even jog a full minute. Now, I can run the full first week on the Couch to 5K program, and not be winded afterward. Do you know how utterly earth shattering that is for me?

Breathing in. Breathing out. Watching my chest rise and expand. There is life inside.

I don’t know how to be the person who can run 8 minutes. I don’t know how to like myself. I’m trying to learn, but it’s painful. It’s absolutely gut wrenching. Because now I’m seeing the bullshit. Now I see where the thought patterns begin and the ease with which they settle into my lungs. The place I freed.

Breathe in breathe out hold it don’t let go you’re okay keep breathing.

The place I will be okay. Feeling every muscle in my body, my feet on the earth through the soles of my shoes. My arms as I move, are they swinging too much? Am I too rigid? The control. I have control. I will be free. I can be free.

I just have to keep breathing.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Bolt Madly Toward Yourself

While I wish I could claim credit for that phrase in the title, it comes from an article written by Chuck Wendig (I’ll link it below, should you be so inclined to read it). It’s been on my mind recently, just that phrase, because I always hear people saying to chase dreams, and while I agree we should go after worthwhile endeavors (you decide what’s worthwhile, I guess), I think we should instead chase after ourselves.

Not in an “oh-shit-there-I-go-again-better-stop-me,” kind of way, but more of an “I’m-actuallly-kind-of-cool-what-else-have-I-missed-by-hating-myself?” kind of way. I’m not saying it will get rid of the insecurities we plague ourselves with, but once you get past all the reasons you’re terrible, maybe you’ll see you aren’t actually terrible.

I’m not an art success by any stretch of the imagination, but I want to become a watercolor artist of sorts. I want to do tiny paintings, and so I’ve taken steps to start practicing. As well as practicing hand-lettering because I think it’s cool when people do that kind of thing. It takes practice and sometimes I’m so much of a defeatist that when I don’t get something on the first try, it’s suddenly garbage and I don’t want to do it.

Bolting madly at ourselves is a way of saying enough is enough. It’s a way of grabbing hold of your own shoulders, metaphorically, and staring yourself in the eyes and seeing that you aren’t the bile pile you somehow convinced yourself you were.

It’s a challenge. To the things that keep you up at night. To the people who planted the seeds of discord in your heart. It’s a direct refusal to be anything less than who you are and while that sounds so damn simple and stupid out loud, let it sink in. Because we are more than what we let ourselves tell us we are. I believe it wholeheartedly. It’s why I’m still kicking. Literally fighting for myself because I never have and I’m tired of seeing the same disappointment every time I have a set back in my progress.

This is a month I’m focusing on my goals a bit harder. I want to prove to myself that I am capable of changing my habits, changing the things about me that keep me from being who I want to be. I write in my journal about it so often, and I get irritated that I keep slipping back into the “comfort” of who I am right now. Not bad, but not what I want.

I challenge you to do better for yourself. Start doing something that makes you feel real. Hopefully that’s nothing harmful to you or others, but I’m not your mom, so I can’t tell you what to do, really. But you owe it to no one but yourself to start seeing yourself as real, as important. As worth the time. I promise I’m working on it more.

Until next time, friends.

The link to Chuck Wendig’s article is here:

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/17/25-things-writers-should-start-doing/

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized, writing

Poem I Wrote for a Boy, But Now Give to a Man

I never told you,
but when the sky is blue–
the kind you find on marshmallows
in Lucky Charms–
I have to take a picture with my eyes
and imagine you can see me.

You know,
I never said this when you were here,
but you made life breathable again.
It’s gotten hard to breathe
and I don’t know what to do.

I read recently that nostalgia lies to us about the people who’ve died. How we spend so much time remembering the good about them, and not really thinking about all the ways they’re awful. And it made me wonder, well what’s wrong with that? Why do I need to remember the ways a person hurt me when I want to be happy with the memories of them that bring me joy? I’m not offering them sainthoods in their next life, I’m offering myself respite from the grief of loss.

I’m fine, really. This week’s post is a poem I wrote back in 2013 and it was originally for my friend Robbie, but as I read it, I thought of Henry. It’s almost unfair how much of my creative processes get devoted to him, but if he’s been the reason I still write, or paint, or give light to the world, I don’t think that’s wrong.

Salisbury.Fake writing

From My Journal: Character Sketch

Serena Shorn

  • Naturally brunette, dyes her hair platinum blonde
  • 5’6”
  • Blue eyes
  • 132 lbs, very fit and toned
  • Usually wears “preppy” clothes, pastel colors (rose colors make her very happy)
  • Loves high heels

Serena is Zelda’s oldest daughter, and Frankie’s half-sister. She’s a tragic character. She has spent most of her life trying to be something everyone wants. She has no idea who she is. Feels inadequate next to Frankie. Even though she got married to Logan (will be posted another time), she sees how her sister is successful with her job, her house, etc. Frankie is happy even though she has less than Serena in terms of material possessions. Serena’s discomfort with how little she likes herself is something she doesn’t talk about because she sees it as weakness. She believes she should be silent about her struggles so no one knows she feels so aggressively to herself.

Her relationship with Logan is difficult. He’s verbally and psychologically abusive. She does her things to keep some form of control over her life, but comes off as high strung, high maintenance. Again, though, it’s her way of maintaining how people see her. If she is the one with the attention, controlling what people see, she makes sure no one can tell she’s lonely. She overheard the wives of the country club calling her a trophy and she cried for a long time about it.

Serena and Zelda have a rough relationship, too. Serena thinks her mother only cares about Frankie. This isn’t true, but the “evidence” she uses to prove it usually ends up being things she’s blown out of proportion or twisted out of context. She tries to bend events so they fit her narrative, and when they don’t, those events are like they didn’t exist to begin with. She doesn’t have any true friends. There is one wife at the club who feels sorry for her and tries to help her, but she takes her kindness as judgment, so she pushes her away.

Serena doesn’t want to believe Logan would ever be anything other than loyal. If she ever suspected the opposite, she worked harder to be what he thinks she wants. She suffers quietly for what she believes is love. When she is murdered, she dies knowing Frankie is on her way to help her, that even after all the years of fighting, the verbal abuse she threw at her sister, Frankie still loves her and is coming to save her.

It is truly a massive loss for Frankie, one she attempts to avoid dwelling upon. While she still has her mother, until the end of Fulcrum, she loses the chance to rebuild her relationship with her sister, a loss that begins Frankie’s emotional growth.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Acceptance

A small backstory for this is I lost a friend of mine a few years ago when he took his own life. For the longest time it crushed me because I was worried I didn’t do enough to help him, to keep him. His birthday is today, and in the past I’d become a useless mess because I didn’t want to face the overwhelming sadness. I miss him most especially today. The piece below is something I wrote last year for him. There’s sadness today, but also joy because I got to know him even if it was for a short time.

Acceptance

It takes a lot of effort sometimes to remember the good moments when you’ve lost someone really close. Sometimes the grief is more than a wave. It’s a vacuum and you can’t feel anything but the pressure of that loss, the pressure of the absence of the person you loved. They can’t make jokes about how innocent you were. They can’t send you twenty-five YouTube videos of their favorite metal songs for you to wake up to. They can’t stay up until all hours of the night just because they love the sound of your voice.

You romanticize these moments. Look back on them with a fondness you never felt while they were here. Because they were here. You didn’t need to remember them fondly yet. You could keep talking even though your throat was sore and the birds were chirping and oh shit, man, I gotta work in four hours. I’ll talk to you later.

You gave so much of your love without knowing you had and now there’s nowhere to put it. So it bubbles over and leaves you with a displaced mess of smiles for boys with an Irish lilt to their voice, for those friends of yours now who ask if you want to talk about history, or go into why you’re slacking on your writing. You no longer hear that beautiful voice, but you remember the way it filled your heart with a hello, hey, I missed you.

It’ll be all right, you tell yourself. And it is. It’s absolutely okay. But sometimes it’s okay to miss them and accept you’re still sad about it.

written july 27, 2020

I watched Bo Burnham’s “Inside” last night and it’s kind of stuck with me in a big way. It rendered me speechless, but it was 2 A.M. and I was lost in remembering Robbie, lost in the sound and art of “Inside,” lost in wanting to just create forever. The world can often feel too large and yet still too close all at once and it’s so easy to get stuck in a loop of existing. Letting the world slide over you while you try to come back to what you’ve worked so hard to become. It ends up feeling like nothing.

But there’s a moment. A last ditch effort, that sniff of “not yet, I can’t give up yet,” and it propels you forward for a moment and lets you feel real. Like you’re invincible and everything is yours.

On my drive home at the end of summer, when the days start getting shorter, and the sun hangs lower in the sky at 7 p.m. The gold covers the earth and for a half hour I am okay. I see the world as I love to, without the filter of what keeps me up at night. It is striking and stunning and it is mine. That is the world I exist in with Robbie. With Henry. With all the ones I love. It’s the rush of air coming in through my windows, in the breath of sweet grass baked in the sun all day. I am the realest I’ll ever be and it is enough.

Salisbury.Fake writing

From My Journal: Character Sketch

Zelda Frankovitch

  • Born in Lexington, but parents moved to Lowell when she was five
  • black hair to her waist, curly
  • brown eyes
  • 5’7”
  • 141 lbs
  • glides when she walks
  • angles instead of curves, sharp features, but still soft

Zelda is a sunrise. She is vibrant and brings a room together simply by being in it. She is Frankie and Serena’s mother. She loved Milton Fogg at one point, but he erased her memories of him. He claimed for her safety, but it was really so he didn’t have to be a father or husband. This removal leaves scar tissue which Dr. Rodrigo Ark then removes at the end of Fulcrum. Zelda is killed in front of Frankie.

She is an only child. Instead of this spoiling her, she learns independence fairly quickly. This is what her first husband, Ed Shorn, admired about her. Until he thought she should spend less time on her career and more time being a wife. When Zelda instead turns her focus further on work, Ed begins a relationship with the nanny. While this hurts her, by this time, there is no love left for Ed. She lives for taking care of Serena after she fires the nanny. Still manages to make partner at her law firm.

When Ed dies, she moves on with Milton. By the time Frankie is born, however, Zelda is alone to raise her two girls. She doesn’t actively search for dates. She spends less time worrying what others think once she understands the basics of how people work.

Zelda is gracious and graceful. She is often found in long, flowing dresses. She loves gardening and food preservation. She wears a ring on her left middle finger, but is unsure why. It’s her wedding ring from Milton. She was deeply in love with him. She would have been devastated by his loss. Part of the depth of her love for Milton comes from the arrangement of the Thrice Unbound. With how she felt about him, the lingering love kept her from finding someone else.

She loves her children, but her relationship with Serena is not what she wants it to be. Frankie is her favorite by no reason other than she spends more time with her. She’s worried about her because of how little emotion she exhibits. She thinks there is something wrong, but can’t say anything because they don’t have serious conversations anymore after Frankie leaves home. Serena gives Zelda grief over her lifestyle–alone, in a big house, no desire to be anything other than what she is. Zelda sees a lot of herself in Frankie, while Serena is very much like Ed.

Zelda is driven. She throws herself into each project she’s assigned at work. She has a determination to prove she has what it takes. Her biggest fear is letting her daughters down. She doesn’t believe in God. She likes candied pecans. Her favorite color is dark green. Her favorite board game is Clue. She puts her keys in a bowl by the door. Frankie made it in elementary school, but lost interest halfway through, so it’s more of a plate than a bowl, and only painted in blobs and splotches.