Off the horse

Did not write much at all this week, and therefore I'm having a bit of trouble hitting my stride today. Never fear - I will be making my goal, and that's that.

Right now I'm thinking about what is truly scary, in case this turns out to be a suspense/thriller - which it is shaping up to be. What do you think is the most terrifying thing evah?

Have made my chocolate fudge and my nuts-n-bolts snack mix, and I'm debating going back to do a white chocolate fudge as well. Butter tarts and shortbreads are in the freezer.

Pebbles is up, must run.

Thoughts in passing

I'm managing to keep my promises to myself, so far this month - at least as far as writing goes. (There MAY be other things that are slipping, but this is not about that. (G)) Pebbles is teaching me to get up at 5 am, at which point she drinks her bottle and goes back to sleep, and I don't. It's good for writing, bad for my mood - I'm an eight-hours sort of girl.

Lindsay posted a bit about being brutal to one's characters, and this is something I've been thinking about lately. I think there is a bit in Robert McKee's STORY, where he talks about not letting up. In really good stories, the worst happens, the biggest mistakes get made, and we must really believe that it's going to end badly.

It's something to think about. So much fiction - dare I say women's fiction in particular? (hides under desk) - is very...what's the word? Bland. I'm thinking of writers I do like and read often - Mary Balough, Karen Marie Moning, that sort of book. It's not that the story isn't captivating, but it isn't exactly edge-of-your-seat. There is a demand for this kind of story, and we all like to climb in one occasionally. But I think I'd rather challenge the reader more, emotionally. Raise the stakes. Like Vicki Pettersson, and Diana Gabaldon. Barbara Kingsolver comes to mind, and there are many others.

I could list some more, but I really should be writing.

Cheers, and pop on over to The Food Whore's blog for a recipe for Hot Buttered Rum batter!

And winter sets in

Came a sleepy little-girl voice in the dead of night:
"hud."
And a sleepy mother-voice:
"Wha?"
"hud."

This is why I love having her in the Big Bed. It's these moments. On their own they're meaningless, just another moment in the life of a family. But there is such peace in my heart as I snuggle close to my littlest. And give her a hud. And a kiss.

BamBam's Christmas concert is today. I took Pebbles and attended the daytime showing this morning, Most Precious Man will go after work - and thus shall the famdamily be representin'.

The car did not want to come all the way up the driveway because the driveway is steep and snowy. I tried to put it back down at the bottom and now the car is in a snowbank. I'm glad the snowbank is there, because if it wasn't the car would be in the ditch. Oh well, MPM will fix that. It's...it's what he does. He can fix anything. (Tell your daughters: marry a man who can fix stuff. They will grow to love him later.)

So, Pebbles is napping. I'm getting the jitters from too much coffee, or maybe it's from my breakfast of white-chocolate covered Oreos and Jalapeno Pepper Havarti.

In any case, this is not writing. Not really.
Hud your loved ones.

More boring progress stuff

Work pressures have kept me from my keyboard this week - yes, again. It's all right, it only means I need to average 300 words a day from now until the end of the month in order to make my goal. It's supposed to be a challenge.

I'm like meany writers, I suppose, in that I find it hard to let go of my stresses in order to relax and be creative. It's not impossible, in fact, I'm almost positive that this is the reason they make Bailey's. For my coffee. Or my ice cubes, if it's later in the day. (G) Poor, lonely ice cubes.

The Christmas shopping has begun, we're making an effort not to be stupid with the amount of toys and crap we buy this year. Pebbles prefers the Wishbook to her actual toys (except her books - we read every blessed one four times a day), and BamBam has so many things that if I wrapped half of his stuff I'm betting he wouldn't recognize it. I'm not going to do that, I'm just sayin'.

So cheers to all you hard-working mother writers. May your shopping be easy, and your baths be long.

December

I did not make my revised goal for November, and even though I was busy, I still know that the reason is that I didn't try hard enough. Have been a bit of a slacker this week.

So, now it's December - this most hellish, most wonderful month. I sat down to pick a "reasonable" goal, and bumped that up a notch. Now I'm aiming at reaching 22K by the end of the month, which is just under 300 words a day, which is perfect.

I have been restricting my words - not allowing all the imperfect flow of story to make it onto the page. My henpicking internal editor has been drinking too much coffee again, I think. She's very bossy, that one. I've sent her on an errand to buy some Lindt chocolates, so at least when she comes back, I'll be glad to see her.

Anyhew, the kids are abed, and I'm off to find out what Carrie is up to.