Guess what?

I'm collaborating with my best friend/boyfriend to develop some kick-ass writing software! Our innovative writing software, Sparkwrite, will pretty much be the coolest thing on the planet for novelists, bloggers, and other folks with a writing project or two, mainly because I designed it.

In all seriousness, I do think Sparkwrite will be capable of some serious awesomeness, although it's not going to be for everyone. I have the mock-up open and I wish I could use it already. Basically, Sparkwrite is a Mac dashboard, pintrest, and Word all rolled into one. You're welcome.

If you'd like to try out Sparkwrite and give feedback, email me at ataviststrilogy [at] gmail [dot] com to get on the list. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, but a useable version of the program should be available for testing in 2-6 months depending on how insanely complicated the programming aspects prove to be.


Kat

I've officially won ScripFrenzy! I first attempted it in 2011 with an adaptation of Darkness Surrounding, but I just wasn't going for it. I'm glad I tried again this year. I stamped out a 73-minute draft of Creation and started a dark comedy script. (It started out as purely comedy, but I have my dark creepy side that's just gotta come out!)

I had a really weird experience the other day that I thought I'd share.

I'm currently working on an untitled comedy screenplay. In the beginning, a guy named Dave bails on his girlfriend Christine and her four-year-old son Joey on Christmas Day because everyone expects him to propose. Five years later, he meets up with his friend and they have the following conversation.

Dave's view matched my own. Christine goes a bit batty in the five years Dave's out of the picture, and I wanted to make some commentary on how unhealthy it is to dwell on past relationships.

Now, I stayed at my Grandmother's house over the weekend, and I swear the downstairs room is haunted. As usual, I ended up having a nightmare.

In this particular nightmare, my boyfriend and I were at a resort with some of his friends. One of them told me my boyfriend was cheating on me with a girl named "Phillipa," which turned out to be true. I totally flipped out and was a screaming, wailing, violent wreck. He ended up dumping me for her without a word. Several "months" went by before I spotted his car, and after I stalked him to the parking lot of some restaurant, I totally flipped my shit and started hitting him and screaming.

As crazy as it sounds, I think "Christine" was trying to tell me something.

Having such an emotionally draining dream was by no means fun, but I feel like I know where Christine's coming from now. My view—Dave's view—is too dismissive. Christine's descent into drugs and sourness could easy come from her depression following Dave's dumping her after five years. It wasn't that she hadn't moved on from Dave eventually—it was the emotional trauma that stuck around. Anyway, I feel that thanks to my character knocking some sense into me, my screenplay will be better and more relatable. She's more than a gone-bad ex girlfriend—she's a woman with real problems and emotions.

Fellow writers: has a character ever pulled these hijinks on you before? Did it creep you out?

See this post about my insane schedule. (It seems like I should have posted all that stuff about my English classes on my writing blog, but that just would have made TOO much sense.)

Since I'm crunched for time, I'm going to write some random crap for one minute. Here we go.

11:37:

"The petunia's are pasty," Mrs. O'Hare said. "Give me something else."
"Ma'am, there's not much left to choose from," the girl behind the counter said. Her hair was lopsided, and it was all Mrs. O'Hare could do to keep from pulling at it with her own two hands. How terribly drab.


Yowza. That's all I got in a minute. I feel like I should have squeezed more out of those sixty seconds. Between Mrs. Dalloway and The Hours, I think I'm shamelessly borrowing Clarissa's flower-buying escapades. Hehe.

Did I mention I can't stand writing in the third person? No? Well, now you know.

Kat