3...2...1...winter

November.  I'm wearing socks today, for the first time in a long while.  I guess it's time - on the way in to work this morning I saw people breathing steamy white clouds of breath.  Like it or not, something chilly this way comes.

On the weekend I managed just about 2000 words, putting me at nearly halfway to my skinny first draft year-end goal.  Looking at the overall word count and comparing it to to the events I've already written, I am thinking about pacing.  I am trying NOT to think about pacing.  Or structure.  At all. 

What I want to do this time is JUST WRITE the story - front to back, start to finish.  This is an exercise in trusting myself, letting my subconscious guide me in an effort not to get all caught up in the things that are not writing.  Index cards. Outlines. That stuff.  I hang myself with that stuff.

However, I catch myself holding a few events back.  There are some juicy bits waiting to be revealed, and I am hoarding them, hiding them.  I think I need to release them into the story, so they can become a part of the fabric of the thing.  That's what I love about writing this way - I'm never stuck.  What happens now grows into what happens next, instead of me already knowing what's next, and twisting my plot into a mobius strip trying to get x y z in order.

So I hope you had a Happy Halloween.  Put your pen on the paper and follow your heart!

Just Jabbering

It's a beautiful Indian summer day, 15 degrees (celcius) with a breeze that smells fresh and clean.  That's probably because it really rained here yesterday - all day pouring rain that had some of the major thoroughfares closed due to being under water.  On the eastern shore they measured just over 104mm of the stuff - more than twice the record for that day.  New high score!

Climate change?  What climate change???

In other news, Jennifer Hendren's book dropped this week!  BY THE PALE MOONLIGHT is an edgy YA novel about a murder, a sexy werewolf named Ty, and a race for the truth - a race against the full moon. (Love that line!)  You can find Jen here.

I can't wait to read it.  It's the very next thing on my list! 

So as for my other word-count foolishness and hijinks, I am leaving my goal as it stands.  This is because I reviewed what I have, and my draft is very lean.  It's skinny.  I think I'll get to the end of the plot (as I know it right now) at about 40K, and that might be something I can accomplish before year's end.  After that I need to flesh it out, fill it in.  Feed it a few cheeseburgers, add some foreshadowing, extra description and slow down the pace because Iwritetoofast.

So thaaaaaat's what I'll do!

 Kait wrote a good post about YA relationships today.  So if you read my YA, don't be expecting anything steamy.  At all.  I MIGHT let them kiss (glares suspiciously at underaged characters.)  MAYBE.  If it's important.

Reality Check

So I'm being stupid.  Anyone surprised?
Shut up, you in the back!

If a typical YA is 60,000 words and there are 11 weeks left until the end of the year and I write (as I have these past few weeks) roughly 1500 words per week and a train leaves Cleveland, Ohio travelling at 145 km/h, there is no possible way for me to finish this book this year.  The truth would be closer to 29 weeks, which is more like...the spring.

In order to finish this book this year I would have to suck at everything else.  I say that like it's even an option, which of course it isn't.  So I'm going to have to change my goal. 
The thing is, if I take that long - 5 or 6 more month - to write it I'm almost certain to lose interest.  This is what happens to me every time.  Real life is first.  My kids, my husband, my job - these are my First Things.  Writing is after, and I wouldn't change that.  I just need to sort out how to get more words written.

So, while I make a plan to make a plan, Trixie (my MC) has just been poisoned.  I should go see how she's doing.

In which I try not to be creepy.

Def Leppard!  The answer is Def Leppard.  :o)

So anyway.  The word count is coming along well, I've progressed about 1500 words this week.  My next challenge is to present Trixie's older brother Henry, who has been missing for four years.  He's a murder suspect, wanted by the police.  Trixie used to think he was innocent, but these days she's starting to see that there's more to her broken, messed-up family than meets the eye.

I have to figure out how to make him "hot," when Trixie certainly doesn't think so and I'm not supposed to think so, since he's like 21 years old and that would be a little creepy.  I don't know.  I'm new to this YA thing.  And to tell you the truth, lately I'm a little startled to find out that some of these really good-looking guys in the movies are barely grown up at all.  Hmmm.  Disconcerting.

Spring Cleaning

Dust motes drifting in a shaft of sunlight made me sneeze,  and I swiped a grimy wrist over my forehead and scowled.  Spring cleaning always makes me wonder how I ever let things go so far awry - an uncomfortable parallel for my life in general. It was then I spotted it, on a high shelf at the back, under a silk paisley scarf: a battered wooden jewelry box.  I lifted it down reverently, remembering with a rush of longing and affection what I'd put inside.  It was so long ago.  I lifted the lid carefully, slowly, and there it was, just as I'd left it.  My blog.

:o) 
Sorry. 

So, how have you been???  We're pretty soggy; it's been raining about a month now and there's more coming, from what I hear.  But someone told me we're expecting a warm, dry summer, so I should be able to get the mildew out from between my toes by the first of July.  I would so love a warm sunny day.

Writing-wise, A HAND TO HOLD is in the final stages of the first draft.  It's about 57K right now, with big sections still to be imagined.  I haven't quite connected with my antagonist yet.  She won't look me in the eye.  She's elusive.  Demanding.  Unreasonable.  Dangerous.  So you can see why I've been leaving her alone.  She'll come to me when it's time, I think.  And if she doesn't, there's always the delete key.  There are lots of bad little ghosts out there who would love to be in my story, after all. 

In the meantime, I decided to play with an idea that I've had for a while now, up on that same shelf I told you about.  It's different for me.  It's YA.  It's fantasy.  That makes me a little nervous, since I don't read fantasy. It might never be anything - no, that's not quite true.  It is, even now, good exercise.  This story lets my imagination out to play, like a puppy in the backyard of my brain.  And I really need that right now.

I wonder if that is why so many people write fantasy.  (Is that even true, stats-wise?  I am scientifically uncertain of my remark. Forgive me, I'm an artsy type.)  Anyway, there are really very few restrictions for settings, characters, or crazy shiz that can happen.  It's very fun.

Speaking of fun, I must go and reconcile my bank statement.  Ha.  Good times.

Let's talk goals

Spent the better part of yesterday's work day (I'm self-employed - it's allowed) going through the first 30K of A HAND TO HOLD. It's been about a year since I put any serious effort in, and I needed to get a feel for where the story is. I had questions: is it as good as I thought? (Yes, in parts) Is it as bad as I thought? (Oh, definitely first draft, Baby!)

The foundation that I had wanted to lay is there. It needs pieces added, but it's workable. I need to look at the pacing, and I have things to figure out, but I know what scenes I will write next. And that is all I need.

Today I am planning some new words, and this is a Good Thing, because here we are nearly halfway through the year, and I have another 60K or so to go. This would have been the death-rattle for my goal of a completed first draft if this were last year, but the kids are bigger now, a little more self-sufficient. I can still do this. I will do this.

Whoa, Nelly!

I've got my love interest right, now...and how! Scenes are opening up faster than I can get notes down.

Yahoo!

Thinking, and thinking too much

These...God, is it really weeks?...away from my WIP have brought a few things to the front of my mind. Some are flaws in my Master Plan, some are niggling doubts that I'm tempted to ascribe to inactivity. The profession that I have chosen for my Handsome Fella is wrong, I think. And the way they meet sets up a permanent conflict that I'm not sure can be resolved the way I would ask my readers to believe. So I have a new plan for him, and I'm going to try that out a bit and see how it feels.

I got a few hundred words yesterday, and I'm at home today, so I'm planning a few hundred more. Still have my sights set on that 30% mark!!

A Hand to Hold

Today is about my writing, come what may.

Except for, yanno, customers and high-priority Work Stuff. (G)

But I'm in a chair in front of my computer and I have scenes stirring behind my eyes, and that feels awfully good.

I'm aiming to cross the 30% mark today.

UPDATE, 4:30 pm

Have so far written the word "My."
Have sold two kick-ass gaming boxes, received, checked, labelled and put away three shipments, and taken about 20 phone calls. Listened to complaints from a technician about the new line of computer cases that (apparently) are hateful and inadequate. I have left nine messages, I have collected some money and I have eaten almost a whole box of swiss cheese crackers. I've browbeaten one RMA department into returning some software I did not order even though the invoice clearly states that there are no returns on software. (I didn't ORDER it, for chrissakes!) I have rearranged half the store - DID NOT mean to get into that but we were fast running out of shelf space. Oh, and DH stopped by with Pebbles, so I stopped to kiss her neck a dozen times.

I still need to place five hardware orders, pay my Visa, and clear off co-worker's desk before she comes back tomorrow and finds all kinds of crap tossed there for lack of a tidier destination.

And so I have written one. word.

And such is the road to hell.

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!

Progress

A mini-progress report for my mini-progress. I have crossed the 10K mark!

Against all odds, in this house. The other morning I got up at 6 and turned on my notebook, put some water on to boil, and wrote:

"I dreamed of a hawk, soaring like an angel of death over the valley."

BamBam appeared, and turned on the TV. I reminded him to feed the cats, and he asked me for some breakfast. I toasted a bagel, and sat back down, hands poised over the keyboard. Pebbles called out from the bedroom. I got her up and convinced her to play with toys, then I made my coffee. I sat back down, and read what I'd written. I added:

"Its shadow"

and there was a tug on my leg, accompanied by the word "MumMUM!" and a rather strong, unpleasant odor. Diaper change. Then I made lunches, woke DH, and it was time to take BamBam to the bus stop. Word count for the day: 16.

However, I have added words every day this week. Not many, but my spreadsheet has an entry for every day, and that feels good.

Some much-needed encouragement

My husband noticed that I haven't been writing much lately. I was a little surprised that he brought it up, my writing is a part of our life that is relegated to the place where we put things that are seldom acknowledged. Tricky things, you know. Potential minefields of conflict.

He told me once that he doesn't bring it up because he doesn't want to put pressure on me. You see, we're facing a period of uncertainty just now, and to be honest, a book deal would be Just the Thing. But you know, that's not something to keep in your pocket when you're trying to be creative. (S)

So anyway, he noticed, and he asked me about it. "It's what you want to do," he reminded me, "you just need to keep doing it."

"I know," I said, "it's just that I'm failing at it and I'm frustrated."

"You're not failing," he replied, as he scrubbed around the kitchen tap, "you're doing it. You're a writer already. You just need to finish something, so you can either get it published or go on to the next one. Keep trying. I'm going to read your friend's book (Vicki's) and I'm going to read something of yours."

Dontcha love him?

So last night I sat down and I wrote. About 500 words. And I've decided that I'm going to keep up with Susan.

Things I'm grateful for today:
My husband
I don't have to work today
Baby's asleep, and the words are coming.

For supper:
Mediterranean Chicken and Sausage stew

This is one pureeeetty dull blog. Sorry about that. I have lots of ideas for craft posts, idea posts, but the trick is in finding the time to articulate those in an intelligent manner.

I've not managed many words lately, I'll do a count later and update the progress meter. Some, not many.

You know, I really think too much. There are separate facets to writing, I know you'll agree. There's the marketing end (Is this a commercially viable novel?) The craft end (Does this scene do more than one thing? How can this dialogue be improved? etc etc etc!) and then there are the endless plot considerations. This is what I'm thinking about today.

Did you read those books when you were a kid, the ones with multiple endings and you chose the responses to various prompts in the story and sort of created your own destiny? I see that when I'm writing, the endless web of possibilities, a to b to c, or else e to f. Which is better? Which is the most interesting, or realistic, or imaginative? Which choices lead me forward to the best book I can write, which choices showcase my characters' strengths and weaknesses the best?

Obviously I can't write like this. Some consideration will be necessary - critical, in fact - but I'm trying to trust in my subconscious to untangle the threads and give me a whole story. The story I am meant to write. I don't know if I believe the notion that the stories already exist, whole and perfect, and we only need to channel them onto the page, but I am certain that I cannot browbeat one onto my hard drive. I've tried bullying already, and it didn't work. This time, I want only to listen, at least until I find my stride.

I've made my peace with Viggo, it's true he was a surprise, but I'm inclined to view him as a gift and not an obstacle. More of the same, really, learning to trust my own creative instincts and stay open.

So, BamBam wants me to play Lego.

Today will be my third consecutive day of work - that's work at work, not at home. Employee's siblings are visiting from AB, so in order for her to actually see them, she needs some time off. I like being at work, it's peaceful and fulfilling in a way that stay-at-home-motherhood isn't, but by the time the week is up I'll be glad. It's a lot of time away from Pebbles and BamBam, and the laundry, well, it's like Damomma says. I get it washed and dried fine, it's the folding and putting away that never seems to be finished.

Wrapping up another week of sick around here, we're down to a mild case of pinkeye in Pebbles, probably from rubbing snot into her eyes. (eeeeeew!) I had a fever for a few days, I just couldn't get warm unless I was in the tub. Thank heavens for my Most Wonderful Husband.

Valentines' Day with kids is much like any other day, at least for us, but we had some small presents and there were some roses and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. It's crazy sinful, that stuff.

Writing? I've been avoiding it in my mind, cautious that I don't get bored with it in my non-writing time. There has been quite a bit of non-writing time, what with everything. I'm getting flashes and ideas, and I'm looking forward to sitting down with my characters and getting some words done. I'm still around 3K, how sad is that? My progress meter just doesn't move like Sara's.

Writing the SFD

You know, I've never actually finished an SFD. I've written 50K - actually much more - of written/rewritten/polished-to-the-best-of-my-ability words, but I have yet to produce a whole WIP. That's what I'm learning to do now.

I might spend fifteen minutes on a sentence like:
"Stubborn." He said, and placed a trencher of food near me on the floor.
There was a soft thud as he placed a trencher of food near me on the floor.
...a trencher of roasted hare...
...he remarked...
My cheeks puckered with longing as he...
WHATEVER! He gave me food. Move on.

Some of this is process, I know. SFD doesn't actually mean the first words that I typed, but I stumble in these potholes every half hour or so. For five years! I want to get the story down, and if it's studded with bright gems of clever phrase and glowing description, terrific. But I think I use it as a place to hide from those moments when the words aren't flowing, when I don't actually know what my characters do next. After struggling with JUNIPER for so long I've developed a deep fear of that impotence, so I learned the fiddling habit in order not to feel like I'm stuck.

This go, a new approach. Fingers poised featherlight over the keys, listening with an open mind for clues. And typing with no regard for where I'm going. Just get the words flowing, that's all, and enjoy the process. No white knuckles!

New goals

So, now that I'm up and running, it's time to set some new goals.

February - 3000 words a week, which puts me at 12K by month's end. Sounds steep, but that's what I'm going to aim at. It's under 500 words per day. As of today, the 3rd, I have 1700. So far, so good!

These words, by the way, are unabashedly SFD. I'm not going to stress about nasty sentences, stuff that may not belong, I'm just going to hack it all out there and clean up later on.

Life returns to that which we call normal.

Hokay. BamBam is back at school (touch wood) after a false start yesterday. He's ok, really more ok than I thought he could be sent home for, but whatever. I was only having brunch with my mother after two solid weeks housebound. I got it to go, and ate it with my fingers in the car en route.

So here I am with some time to think, and it's a strange sensation after the upheaval of the holidays. I'm cleaning out the house, filling bags for Value Village and whoever has a baby next. I think I need to do this in my mental space, as well.

THE WITCH OF BADENOCH is still alive, after six years of rewrites and bashing my forehead on the keyboard. I've learned a lot and changed even more, so I'm ready for a fresh start. I have a white-knuckle sort of approach sometimes, I try so hard it's like I'm holding my breath. I'm determined, and that's good, but you can't force this stuff. So maybe less thinking, more listening. I have the outline in my mind, and I'm not going to try to wrestle its flailing subplots and howling characters onto paper. For now, with so little time available, I'm going to put it all into the writing. And except for a bit of blogging, anything to do with writing that is not writing will have to go.

Do catch up with Damomma, if you haven't.

And life goes on

DH came upstairs at around 11:30 last night, to find me wearing a few weary tears and a seven-month-old baby on my shoulder.

"It'd be nice if you could sleep during the day," he commented, taking the baby from me. It would be nice, but I've always found that idea to be just that - a nice idea. In practical terms it doesn't work.

"It's not about sleep," I told him, "it's about free time. That fifteen-minute bath is the only time I've had to myself all day."

So he's gone out to run some errands today - and get groceries! - and little boy is with him. Baby girl is asleep. And later, he's taking them both to Karate, so another hour alone for me. Yay!

I'm engrossed in Robert McKee just at present, so I'll I think I'll spend a precious half-hour on that. Then I'll write a bit. Why am I blogging? Greasing the joints, I think. Cheers!

Things I'm grateful for today:

• It's sunny.
• I have time alone. Wahoooo!
• I chose well, and we made some beautiful kids.
• Christmas is coming!
• Last night, while Baby had her bath, little boy sat beside me on a heap of dirty laundry and looked at a book about the solar system. It was one of those moments that I know I'll remember, even though it wasn't important, exactly.

Spent the morning nap so far futzing with my blog, and yes, I know it looks the same as it did. I'm going to make my own header, though, and I want to change the background, too. I'll figger it out, just you watch.

No writing. None. I've now got a contemporary paranormal and a historical paranormal in the works, and I'm feeling a little excited about the historical. That's the one I've been slogging for five years. And yes, I'm supposed to have given it up, but it won't go away. It keeps talking to me. I woke up the other day and realized that the MC is a trifle, well, dull. Too nice. So I'm going to give her red hair and a temper, change her backstory, her name, and her attitude. It ain't about the nice girl who learns to stand up for herself any more. Now it's about a spirited lass (named Copper, of all things, who names their kid Copper, anyway???) who flies in the face of peoples' expectations - and she won't say sorry, either. She still needs to learn to control the powers she was born with. She still has to make peace with her mother's rejection of her. Was her parents' death really an accident? She still thinks Kieran is hot. And hey, can't blame her. He is.

So, I'm feeling good. Will I fall on my face again? Probably. Do I think I'm an idiot going back to this WIP again? Yep. Just following my nose. See where it goes...

Things I'm grateful for today:
I'm alive, I get another chance.
Somewhere in this house there's a hot cup of tea, if I could just remember where I put it.
It's room temperature. Outside!