In Dreams

Dudes. I am freaking out. 

Aside: This post veers slightly from our regularly scheduled programming, in that it is more about dreaming and journalling and geeking out over dreaming and journalling, but I will try and bring it all back around so it makes some sense. And in case you were wondering, I have nothing to report on the writing/novelizing because I haven't done squat, but I'm not gonna bitch about it, because it's my own damn fault, and I gotta put on my big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT.

Back to the freak out. I have kept a journal that is exclusively for my dreams. Not my castles in the air, but the actual night-time, eyes closed sort of dreaming. I have incredibly detailed dreams, occasional lucid dreams, and full-on sleep paralysis. (If sleep paralysis has never happened to you, pray that it doesn't. It sucks.) At times, I wake and remember every minute detail. At times, I wake and know I had a dream, that it was incredible, or horrible, or a best-seller, only to forget it. At times, I wake and feel the dream start to melt out of my brain pan, and know the only way to catch it's gossamer threads is to write it down. Sometimes, I just write down words to spark memories so I can write it down later. Sometimes, even that doesn't work, and they melt away like spun sugar on the tongue.

I began the dream journal on 3/24/01 and entered the last dream on 12/28/12. Part of the reason it lasted so long is because of long breaks between writing dreams down. Either I got lazy, had long stretches where I didn't remember any, or decided the notating intensified them and it got where I couldn't handle it anymore. In a space of one spread of pages, I note that I will no longer write my dreams down. Here is one entry, undated, in the middle of the page:

Quit writing these down. I've become too obsessed but now... I feel the need to start "saving" them again. 

I wrote one dream after this, on 7/7/11 (where Nicole Kidman gave me an MTV movie award.) But there are no other dreams written until 1/7/12. I had changed my mind almost immediately after the award thing, and the next entry begins:

Why I stopped writing my dreams. Pretty much because it seemed the more I wrote them down, the more I had them. My dreams are so intense and can be so horrible - the effects can last all day. The dreams become more intense, more real, more disturbing. Now, however, I feel like I'm missing out on something. (meaningless babble redacted) I'm going to try and start writing them down again. We'll see how this goes.

After this, January and February's dreams fill the pages. Only a few are dated March and there is a gap until August. September and October have one entry each. December fills ten pages (front and back). But of course, I was at the end of the journal and felt a push to fill the pages and finish it. More than ten years of dreams. In one place. 

I had already chosen another journal for my next dream journal. It's a velvet covered thing, no lines inside, with an image from my favorite fairy artist Selina Fenech on the cover. (Here is the image ) I am trying to glue it back together, as it had an unfortunate accident and the paper came loose from the binding. Then I wanted to do this post, and thought I'd try and find a picture of the previous journal... It's a green and gold beauty, covered in dreamlike images and quotes about dreams from poems, letters from artists and prose. I had tried before by searching the artist and company and had no luck at all. This time, I searched for Dream Journal and lo and behold, I found it on Amazon. 

Sigh. 

First of all, I have NO money to buy it, and 2nd, I've already written last night's crazy equestrian dream down in the journal, whose binding is, as we speak, covered in glue and drying. Maybe I need to move on. But it's hard, when that journal is so gorgeous. And no, I'm not linking to it in case I decide to buy it when I have monies.

Did I mention there is only 1 left in stock?! 

Sigh.

But I said I would bring this all around. I feel like noting these things, these bits of mind madness, is important. Sometimes, I wake from a dream, and I know it's not random garbage, that my mind trying to tell me something. Sometimes, like yesterday, I wondered why the fuck my mind would tell me something I already know, other than the fact that it is a scumbag brain and wants to hurt me right in the feels. But I wrote it down, got it out, and maybe, just maybe, it helped a little. And writing dreams down is an excercise: It is HARD. They are so random, and things change so drastically. I often start out in a car, and then find myself on horseback instead. Trying to nail down the plot can be impossible, if there even is a plot. Last night was about horses spilling out of a giant truck. That was pretty much the only point to the dream. And what part of the dream is "important" enough to write down. All of it? The "message" of the dream - should that even be pondered? I often don't bother. I just write down what happens or what images I remember, unless I think I know what the dream means or it brings up strong emotions. The last dream in the book is incredibly intense and upsetting. I guess the journal went out with a bang!

Spinster Christmas!

Hello, Fearless Readers. I have been sans communique... because I haven't been writing. When not writing, I hardly have a reason to blog. However - I have another 4 day weekend - it's Christmas for most people, but I am going to be staying home, in my apartment on the lee of the little river. Spinster Christmas! I have to work Wednesday, and I don't drive up North by myself, so in order to get back, someone would have to drive me home...on Christmas day... that doesn't exactly work out for anybody.

So I'm going to use this time to WRITE and BLOG.... you will get to enjoy the latter. :) As I pelt you with the minutia of my progress, please enjoy the amusing LOLs and .gifs.

I actually got 2500 words today. The best word count I've achieved this month. And this month has only consisted of 3 days of writing. Which is pathetic. I hope to really knuckle down this weekend and maybe... who knows... I could finish this thing. Or get very very very close to it.

We are supposed to be pelted by rain until Monday and it's rather cold. As a matter of fact, I checked. London, England is going to be warmer by a few degrees than the Bay Area in Northern California. Doesn't seem right. Not at all.

A Dog Of War

I would like to take this moment, and the platform of my blog, to pimp out for a friend with an amazing mid grade historical set in Poland during World War II. I happen to have a thing for biographies of survivors of the holocaust. Heather Gregson, the fabulous author did not know this when she asked me to beta read for her. I warned her that I know nothing about writing for children, but considering the subject matter, I was interested.

It is the story of a farm dog, how he comes to live with his boy, Aaron, and the incredible journey he goes through after they are separated. It is heart wrenching, as all stories of this era are, and unflinchingly honest. The story is fabulous and will have you turning pages. Heather has posted the first chapter on her own blog and said I could post it here. I will add links to her blog below. You can get it on Amazon as well, or the Writers Amuse Me if you would like to go straight to the source.

My Own

1934 Poland

Finally, she was able to have some milk and a little space to herself. It was almost impossible for a puppy to have a quiet meal with her brothers and sisters climbing all over her. She loved them and there was nothing better than all of them sleeping together in a big pile when they were done eating. It was just that sometimes she wished things were different. She was missing something and she finally realized what it was; she needed her own person.

Her Momma had her own lady, Chava, and they loved each other very much. Chava was so kind to Momma. She fed her, brushed her, and bathed her. She even helped Momma care for the puppies. Momma worshiped Chava. Momma loved her just as much as she loved them. It would soon be time for the puppies to leave, but Momma would stay with Chava. She’d never leave her person. The puppy wanted someone she could love and adore like that.

A shadow fell over the box blotting out the sun. A bearded man looked down at her. Next a woman, her hair pulled tightly back, looked them over.

“Hmm, look at all those strange faces. I wonder if I’ll find my person today.” The puppy blinked up at the faces peering at her.

The man smiled as her brothers and sisters clambered over each other to reach the strangers. They yipped, hoping to catch the new people’s attention.

“Aren’t you just the most darling little…” strange hands reached for her.

“No, don’t touch me. I don’t want you to be my person. Don’t you touch me either; you’re not the right one. That’s it; take my brother and you take my sister. They’re perfect for you, but none of you are perfect for me.” She shuffled back to the furthest corner of the box.   While these new people looked friendly and smelled like good people, nothing about them called to her heart.

        

So many people had stopped by the box that day but none had been the right one. She didn’t think she would ever find her person. She would never be happy. Gloom and despair settled heavily in her heart. She sat in her corner and cried, a high-pitched, pitiful, pained whine.

“I want my perfect person.”

“Why are you crying? Come on up here.” A boy reached into the box to pick her up.

“Oh, hello. You have the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, and your voice warms me from the inside. You smell perfect, like love, goodness, and sweet bread. Keep holding me. I could spend forever being held by you.

“I think I love you. No, I know I love you. Yes, I do. Will you be my person? I don’t think I could live another day if you weren’t my boy.” She barked excitedly.

“You have the cutest little bark. I’m going to take you. What do you think? Do you want to come home with me and be my dog?” The boy held her up so they could look into each other’s eyes. His were dancing, filled with happiness, lifting the despair from her heart.

“Yes, I want to be with you forever.”

“Look at that tail wag. I’ve got to think up a name for you. You need a name that is as pretty as you. Hmm, I know. Tierza. You look like a Tierza. Come on, Sweet Girl. Let’s go home.” He pulled her close, tucking her against him.

“I’ve never felt as safe as I do wrapped in your arms, nestled against your chest. I can feel your heartbeat, just like I used to feel Momma’s. Don’t tell her, but I like your heartbeat better. Yes, I do.

“Goodbye, Momma, I’m going home with my boy. I have a boy of my own.”

“Our cart is over here. This is Big Horse. He pulls the cart and the plow when it’s time to work the fields. He’s a good boy.” He patted the horse’s nose, placing a small kiss on it.

“I hope my boy will pat and kiss me like that.”

“Big Horse was born on our farm six years ago. He’s a draft horse. I like his hooves; they’re huge. See?” The boy tilted her down towards the ground.

“Wow, those are huge. I hope he doesn’t step on me.” A tremor of fear rippled through the puppy.

The boy continued stroking Big Horse’s nose. The horse made strange wuffling sounds as he pressed his nose into the boy’s hand.

“Big Horse must be very happy being my boy’s horse.”

“His mama was a nice old girl. She used to be our plow horse. She died two years ago. I miss her.” He sighed, giving Big Horse one last pat then stepping back. “Tierza, Big Horse. Big Horse, Tierza,” the boy said, holding the two nose to nose.

Alarmed at being too close, she cringed deeper into the boy’s cupped hands. “Why are you holding me so close to this thing? Big Horse is awfully big, my boy. I don’t… he won’t hurt me, will he? He’s still making those strange wuffling sounds. His warm breath is blowing over me. Well, if you like him, I’ll try to like him. He does have very soft gentle eyes and the more he makes those strange sounds, the more I like them.

“You’re very pretty, Big Horse. Your name fits you perfectly. I bet my boy picked your name. He picked mine. We’re going to be such good friends. I can just tell.” Tierza’s tail wagged.

Giving a quick glance and seeing no one around, the boy slipped his hand into his pocket then handed something to Big Horse. “Shh, sugar cubes – don’t tell anyone I give them to him,” he whispered to Tierza. “Up we go.” He climbed on the cart seat with one hand, holding Tierza tight with the other. With his puppy settled on his lap, the boy idly scratched her ears.

“You can see so much more from the cart. Oh, this is going to be fun. This is the greatest day of my life. I like how you scratch behind my ears. You could do that forever and I’d be so happy.”

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted a dog of my own. Since it’s my birthday, my parents said I could get one. Now I have you. I’m Aaron and that’s my father.” The boy pointed to the large man sitting next to him.

“Aaron! What a perfect name for my boy. His father seems like a nice man, too.”

“So, you’re the family dog? Little bit of thing, aren’t you. Still, if you can keep the hares out of the garden and Aaron out of trouble, you’ll be fine.” Father smiled as he reached his huge hand out. Tierza stiffened, waiting to feel if Father’s hands would be rough or heavy.

“Tickling! You’re tickling my belly, Father. Stop. Hee hee hee. No fair. Aaron, you’re holding me so I can’t wiggle away. Father, that tickles.” Finally, he stopped. She could hardly catch her breath. Tongue lolling to the side, Tierza happily wagged her tail. “Your hands are strong, Father. I was a bit worried for a moment there, I was, but your hands are as gentle as my Aaron’s. Oh, now you’re giving me a soft pat on the head. What a perfect way to end a ticklefest. Thank you, Father. I like you.”

“We’re going to be best friends, Tierza, and we’ll be together forever.” Aaron gave her ears a playful squeeze.

With a snap of the reins, Father urged Big Horse into a trot.

“I can look all around. I’m going to sit on your lap… or stand… standing is better. I see another horse. Aaron, there is a horse over there! There is something else… I don’t know what they are, but they are different animals than Big Horse. There are so many birds are flying by. I know what birds are!”

An old beat-up truck backfired, spewing black smoke as it barreled past them. Terrified, Tierza cowered against her boy, whining. “What’s that, Aaron? It’s loud and so fast. There’s no horse pulling that thing. I don’t like it. It’s too fast and gives off a bad smell.”

“Don’t cry, Tierza. Did that truck scare you? Don’t worry. I won’t let it near you. I’ve got you. What a stupid truck, scaring my sweet little girl.” He pulled her closer to him, rubbing his chin on her head. Her fear melted away.

Big Horse turned into a wide area then stopped. There was a small building in front, another long building further to the back. Large tracts of land stretched to the side and behind the buildings. Different animals were eating grass in one of the fenced area.

“We’re home. Here’s our farm. I hope you like it.” Aaron climbed down from the cart, holding Tierza tight and safe.

Father took off the gear Big Horse was wearing then opened the fence to one of the fields. Big Horse trotted out to the field and rolled in the grass. He wuffled and snorted as his huge hooves flailed in the air. Father called to him and clapped his hands. Big Horse returned and pressed his nose into Father’s waiting hands.

“It’s not a big farm but we’re very proud of it.” Her boy’s voice drew Tierza’s attention back to him. “My family has owned this farm for four generations, each son inheriting it from his father. Someday I’ll inherit it, but that won’t happen for a long time.”

Aaron walked to the fence and held Tierza up so she could see her new home.

“There is so much to see and smell here. Everywhere I look, there is something new. Well, everything is new to me. This amazing farm is my new home. It’s the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I’ll grow up here with my boy. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. This is the most perfect farm ever.”

“I love this farm. By the way your tail is wagging, I think you love it as much as I do. See the house? My great-great-grandfather built that house with his own hands.” Aaron pointed toward the small building.

“He did! My new house was built by someone in your family. Just when I thought I couldn’t be happier here, you tell me that. It’s the most perfect house ever. Yes, it is.” Tierza’s whole body wiggled in time with her tail.

“Over here are the fields where we plant potatoes. Our cows are in this field over here.” Aaron waved his arm toward the well kept fields.

They stretched as far as Tierza could see. “Everything belongs to us? Look at how big the potato fields are. They have so much growing in them. Father must be a great farmer. Aaron, what’s a potato?”

The big animals Aaron called cows intrigued Tierza. They were wider than Big Horse but not as tall. They were still big though, a lot bigger than she was and they made nice sounds.

“This is the chicken coop. Ever meet a chicken?” A mischievous twinkle shined in his eyes.

“No, I never have. What’s a chicken?”

“Go get them.” He opened the pen door and placed her inside.

Enthusiastically, Tierza ran after the big fat birds. They ran, making funny sounds as she followed close behind, yipping. “I’m going to get you. You can’t run from me. I’m faster, I’m… hey, what are you doing? Don’t chase me! No, stop! Ouch! You’re jabbing me. Stop!” Tail between her legs, she scuttled away.

“Come up here, you.” Aaron snatched her away from the chicken.

“Oh, Aaron, you saved me. That chicken is horrible. Horrible!”

“Did that mean old chicken peck at you, Little Girl? We’ll just have to wait until you’re bigger, then you can chase them.” He nuzzled her head with his chin, humming against her.

“Yes, it did. It was awful. I’m just going to snuggle under your chin and forget the whole thing. I could stay snuggled up with you forever and ever. Yes, I could.” A deep contented sigh escaped her.

“Well, have you learned your lesson about chasing chickens?” Aaron’s father asked, reaching out to scratch the puppy again. Knowing those large hands could never be anything but gentle, she happily leaned into his touch. His fingers grazed lightly over her ears.

“Yes, Father. Thank you.”

“So, you’re the new bundle of trouble?” A woman ap-proached them.

“I am?” Tierza’s ears perked up as she titled her head.

“Tierza, this is Mother.” Aaron turned the puppy to face her.

She looked like Aaron and wasn’t much taller than him. Her eyes were filled with laughter and happiness, as Aaron’s were. “Oh, you are a cute thing. You’re going to be full of mischief and with that sweet face, I think you’ll get away with most of it.”

Aaron’s mother reached for the little bundle. He didn’t hesitate to hand the puppy over.

“I always wanted a dog when I was Aaron’s age. My parents didn’t like dogs. Can you imagine anyone not liking dogs?” Mother rubbed her back, kissing the puppy.

“No, I can’t imagine anyone not liking dogs. You have very soft hands, Mother. You’re a wonderful woman, so gentle and kind. How lucky Aaron is to have you both for parents.” Tierza’s tail wagged as her eyes drooped.

“Aaron’s been talking about a dog for the longest time. When I heard that Chava’s dog had puppies, we knew we had to get one. You are the perfect birthday present. By the looks of you, we got the best of the bunch. I have waited so long for you, but you are worth the wait. Welcome home…” Mother turned to Aaron.

“Tierza. Her name is Tierza.” There was such pride in his voice as he said her name.

“Tierza.” She handed the pup to Aaron. “Dinner will be in a little while. You two stay out of trouble.” Mother turned toward the house. Father walked up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She leaned into him. He said something and she laughed.

There were so many wonderful sights, sounds, so many amazing new scents for her to learn. Wait! She knew that scent. It was food. Mother must be cooking something and it smelled delicious. Tierza hoped she’d get to eat some of it. Along with her sibling, she had been eating food as well as Momma’s milk before her boy chose her. Chava was a good cook, but nothing she made ever smelled this good.

“I know I am the luckiest dog ever. Yes, I am.”

“My Tierza. My sweet little girl.” Aaron sighed happily, rubbing his cheek on her head. He snuggled Tierza close to his chest again, and gave her kisses.

“That’s it, my beloved Aaron. Rest your head on mine.”

“We’re going to be best friends forever.”

“Yes, we are. You are my boy, my perfect, beautiful, beloved boy. Yes, you are.”

It's such a great read. I recommend this for parents to read along with 

their kids.

And here is Heather's blog. 

A Very Spinster Thanksgiving

Greetings, Fearless Readers. I am reporting to you from Day 2 of the 4 Day Weekend of Madness, also known as Spinster Thanksgiving. I wonder if I can trademark that? I did not go up North to see my family, as the family decided not to have Thanksgiving, and instead I'm spending it at home, writing my metaphorical ass off. My actual ass isn't going anywhere without a lot of aerobics. The reason for the non-family Thanksgiving is that my dad had to have some minor eye surgery and really would not have been able to do anything or go anywhere. The surgery went well. We had a long conversation on Thursday, so that was good.

Yesterday didn't go as well as it could have. I spent my first writing session of the two I had planned reading over my stuff instead of actually writing. This is a bad habit, and one I used to indulge in. A lot. Along with staring at an unfixed point and thinking. About stuff that has nothing to do with anything. So I only got half the words written during that two hours that I could have.

Bad writer.

The second session I got my 3k, and this morning I got my 3k...so I've somewhat redeemed myself. Of course, I can never get back those unwritten words, can I? Something to think about.

Just another word before I go: listening to AC/DC might make you feel like Iron Man, but it does not actually make you Iron Man. It is also not a good background choice when writing a Victorian gothic romance. But sweet, milky tea is a fabulous resource when your musical choice is working against you. Words from the experienced, people. I give this stuff away for free.

You're welcome.

ANOTHER Weekend of Madness?

It would seem I have got ANOTHER 4 day weekend! What others will be calling "Thanksgiving", I will be calling the Weekend of Madness. Due to various family technicalities, which I won't go into (does this sound like the post before last? Maybe) but I am not going up North for Thanksgiving - I am staying in the little apartment backed up to the pond with the fountain and the swaying willow....and man, that Thor gif is getting irritating as I sit here and type this. Anyways. I am going to have the same goals as last time. Write like crazy on the NaNoWriMo! Two - 2 hour writing sessions a day, aiming for 3k a writing session. I only missed one goal last weekend - and I got almost 21k written.

These chunks of writing time are great. I have been thinking a lot about time this year. I've been really "serious" about writing for 3-4 years. Serious as in researching the industry, trying to keep up with the blogs and tweets and such of movers and shakers, both of published writers and the agents/editors and the small pubs who will dispense advice. Sometimes, keeping a finger on the pulse of the industry feels like a second job. The industry changes - it is always in flux. What worked a year ago might not "work" now. We've gone from "Don't even think trilogy - write a stand alone" - to suggestions that maybe you should be ready to pitch two more books in your fairy-werewolf world. I remember back in the day, everyone said "You have written a fantasy or a romance or an adventure, don't cram a lot of adjectives in your genre!" Now "Steampunk paranormal romance" is a thing.

But for all this work, I feel like I haven't accomplished anything. I've written several books that I have only gotten around to editing this year. That's because my productivity comes in spurts, and when I am productive, I want to write, not edit. However, since NaNo of last year, I have been writing/editing at a consistent pace. I've tried to treat it like a job. I really hoped this was the year where I got somewhere with my career ... and I'm still not ready to query agents yet. It's this resting period I need between editing passes... the words start to blur and what sounded awesome last week sounds like shit this week. 

I hate when that happens.

The Weekend of Madness UPDATE

So, due to various technical things about my job that I won't go into, I managed to snag another 4 day weekend. And I spent it writing!! How very original of me, you cry!

You see, I for one, welcome our green-caped overlord.

But I was saying: I wrote at least twice a day, for two hours a day, or until 3k was reached. In most cases, I met my goals, except Sunday, which is a bitch of a day anyway. I mean, no one likes Sunday. It's Monday's little brother with a snotty nose.

So, I ended up with 20,899 words written in four days. And, including this, 3 blog posts.

And yeah, this post is about crowing and posting Avengers gifs. Like you don't like that? 

Loki and Tony Stark are not appreciative of your lack of enthusiasm for such things. My life is filled with so few gifs of Tom Hiddleston and Robert Downey, jr. You gotta give me something, people.

I am a winner!

I'm not exactly putting the icing on the cake yet, but I have passed the required number of words needed to claim NaNoWriMo success. My own goal is to write a whole novel, which for me is more in the 90-100k range, but I do not take reaching 50k in 17 days lightly. It is the single greatest word count I have ever achieved. And I am so pleased with the story. That's better than just achieving a word count.

Along with my 50k achievement comes the rain! And the return of the ducks to the pond in the apartment complex! They've both been gone these many months. I don't know why ducks wouldn't want to hang out in California during the summer. It hasn't been too hot, and heaven knows, our winters are freezing cold and rainy. I even caught a little duck-love going on. Poor little female was so small, the mallard nearly drowned her gettin' his groove on.

Birds and bees aside, I really think my new environs have helped my writing. I have a large window and a huge sliding screen door. The back of my apartment faces the pond, a willow tree, and general beautifulness. I keep the blinds open ALL THE TIME! I think the sunshine is a big part of my increased productivity and the disappearance of my insomnia. In the other apartment, I had to keep the blinds shut at all times, or I felt too exposed. I lived in a dark box. I never saw sunshine. I certainly never saw ducks. Or sleepily swaying willow fronds. 

So I'm about halfway done, and things are going downhill from here! Not personally or creatively, but for the poor characters. Things are just going to be so uncomfortable.... good times. Good times.

Bloggery

Greetings all. I have had a very bad word count week. Week 2 blahs, you are a travesty! But ahead of me is a 4 day weekend of wackiness... I have Friday and Monday off, and a writing I shall go. I will try and blog every day, thus preserving for all mankind the goals and achievements, or failures and ennui I encounter. I woke today at 8:15 am, cleaned all the dishes in the kitchen, made coffee and then wrote 3000 words, to bring my NaNoWriMo WIP to 44,998 words.

With that paragraph written, I warn you: this post is about blogging. The point of this whole thing is to follow my journey as an unpublished writer with a full time job. Sometimes I fear it's just a waste of cyberspace - considering the posts can be "This is how I feel about my work in progress, which you may never read." I don't do "This is how you should do it" posts, because I'm unpublished, and what the hell do I know, anyway? I don't even have the added consideration of children or a husband to work around - I've just got a cat with a bad attitude.

I guess I hope I'm of use to other people like me, who are just out here, doing their thing, bouncing around the fringes of the online writer-sphere (Not to brag, but the QueryShark and Chuck Wendig replied to my tweets this week.) I haven't gotten anywhere, not so much as a story sold, and though I lack experience with publishing, I do have a lot of experience writing. I think I have something to say about creativity and its joys... as well as the occasional horrors. It's frustrations I know inside and out. And I thank those of you who have come along for the ride. Please keep your arms and legs inside the unicorn, and I promise that clicking on my blog will never lead you to pop ups with Russian girls that want to do dirty things to you. If you're into that kind of thing, I apologize, but this is the internet. I'm sure you know how to Google.

I been tagged for a blog hop, ya'll!

I have been tagged to be in a blog hot! @Kitiandra and @CobraMisfit tagged me! And there are rules! You have to answer these questions: so I will...Here are the rules: Answer these ten questions about your current WIP (Work In Progress) on your blog. Tag five other writers/bloggers and add their links so we can hop over and meet them.

1. What is the working title of your book?

Nocturnelle. I stole it from a Paperblanks Journal. It's a reproduction of a very old poetry book from the early 1800's - the Poetical Works of Thomas Moore. It's gorgeous. 

2. What genre does the book fall under?

Gothic Romance.

3. Which actors would you choose to play your characters for the movie rendition?

OH! I love this kind of thing. Tom Hiddleston, yes that is my current man crush, to play the male lead, and I have no shame. I have a girl picked out for lead character, but I don't think I can post the picture. I found a gorgeous wallpaper with a very pretty blond girl, and she was also the cover model for another author's book. She's stunningly pretty. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Perky nose. Everything I hated about my sister.

4. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

I don't believe in one sentence synopsisisis. I hate you for this question. But here goes.

After her uncle speculates away her fortune, Tallulah Winwood is sent to try and inherit the estate of Nocturnelle by staying there for six consecutive months, unless the shades of the past and the curse hanging over the house drive her from it.

*gasp* *pant* *gasp*

5. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I do hope to find an agent. But I hope by the time this one is in the bag, I will have found one with my other gothic romance.

6. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Wait. I'm not done yet. It's mah NaNo - I am 33k into it and project it will be 90k. I hope to be done this month.

7. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

uhh... uhh... all of them... Pretty heiress. Scheming uncle/guardian. Remote house with a ghost. BUT it's the way you mix them in the blender!! Also, I add a dash of the paranormal, what with a vampire as the hero. Ok, seriously, this is sort of like Udolpho or mindful of Mary Stewart. I hope. 

8. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My love of old houses with rambling scenery. And all things English and Victorian. And good ol' fashioned horror. And how much Bela Lugosi made me go all shivery with just a look and Robert Pattinson makes me wanna barf... I apologize to the RPatz fans.

9. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I think this is the kind of thing you like to read if you like the ol' gothic romance of yore, or if you wish your paranormal romance had carriages and horses. And Tom Hiddleston. And a plucky heroine that you might have to learn to love just a little bit.

Question #10: Tag, you’re it!

And, you know what? It is really late in the day, and everyone has been tagged already. I mean, I was tagged twice. And so were others. So I'm logging to the twitter posts, and you can just follow the links to the blogs, mmmkay? also, it's been a long week and I am super tired. Leave your hate in teh comments.

Tag one

Tag Two

Week One of NaNoWriMo

Week one of NaNoWriMo has been most victorious. I only took one day off. I've met 99.9 percent of my own personal goals. I am at 31,328 words. That's 1/3 of the projected 90k. I'm really enjoying my story. I do worry the hero is coming in too late, but there's enough going on that I think it's ok. I feel bad for my completely clueless character, who has no idea she is living in a murder-death-kill house. Shhhh! Don't tell her.

I'm starting to stress myself because I still haven't written queries for the 3 novels I am hoping to start subbing come first of the year. So yeah. There's that.

Now - to keep the fire stoked and the course plotted! This next week has its challenges as I have some romance to sprinkle in. And I haven't tied in how the romance dips and valleys while the haunting and the shenaniganry heat up. Romance is always a tricky thing. But one thing is for sure. It doesn't write itself.

Onward.

Status Update

...or trying to! I have not been blogging as much, but man am I writing. I've cracked 25K on the NaNoWriMo. It's going really well. I think the secret is to have an idea where I'm going each day. I have the roughest of outlines. I really find that I come up with my best stuff when I'm in the act of writing. But I do have an idea of what the high points of the story are going to be and I'm aiming at them. I think tomorrow I introduce my hero.

I meant to do an update every Sunday, but I have missed the last few. It's like my brain is all wore out with plottin and so on! I have no words. I have just random things to say. I'm watching the BBC Sherlock with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. Really enjoying it. I am waiting for some tea made of mint, black tea and dark chocolate chips. I had a crazy dream about Loki from Thor/Avengers living in a senior citizens trailer park and hanging out in their society - he had a score of scams he was running, between keeping several mistresses going, living off their generosity, and robbing senior citizens blind at the casino, he was keeping his mind very nimble. And he was dressed like Johnny Depp in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. There were other younger men there sort of doing the same thing - Chris Angel types, low grade magicians.

I'd like to apologize for this blog post, but at last, it is made. Thank you for reading.

Day One And A Half

Day One of NaNoWriMo started for me at 12 am November 1st. I had come home from work and took a nap so I could stay up! Even so, I got pretty tired by the time 2 am came. But I got my first 3000 words - make that THIRTY-FIVE-HUNDRED! :) And they were good! Then I had two more writing sessions (during the daylight hours) and brought my total up to 9,353 words total for the first day. As of this time, I've had one writing session today and I'm at 12,393. I am quite pleased.

This is my second time writing a gothic romance. And yes, the second time there will be a vampire. It's not exactly a sequel, but the imaginary Vampire land of the other book exists in this one as well, but it takes place in England. There will be romance, but again, the gothic part of the story is more evident and important than the "romance" part. Even so, the romance should be pretty delicious. ;) It's a haunted house story at its core. I'm basing it on a real place again this time, but I found an actual plan of the lower portion of the house, so I am using that. It will be a more realistic portrayal. 

I'm not exactly pantsing and not exactly outlining. I do know a lot of the story, I know the great-big-main-turning point scene wherein the villain is revealed. I know a little more about the past than what happens in this particular story but I think that will help. Before I sit down to right, I try and now exactly what I'm going to be writing about, so that I sit there and WRITE, not stare at the walls. 

It's good to be writing again. It feels a little weird, and not as comfortable as it could, since I've spent 9 months editing. And I still haven't written queries. I need to do that. Like, soon....

ERHMAGERD! MERCHEANDERS!

In less than 24 hours.... NaNoWriMo begins.

I have a few things to update ya'll on. First: I did indeed achieve my personal goal of editing all the books I intended to edit this year: acknowledging that I did not finish Endways of the Gods in it's entire... it did get at least 2 editing passes done on it, but I ended up dumping the idea of finishing it. The three books I have edited are books that I believe I can sell. Two I hope are agent-worthy, one could find a home at a quality small press, in my humble little opinion. I have no idea how to "sell" Endways at this time. 

Second: I will be doing NaNoWriMo, 30 days and 50k of writing madness, but here at the casa, we are going hardcore. I want to really-and-for-true write a whole novel this month, not half of one. That means 3k a day so I get 90k written this month. It is a glorious goal. It is a do-able goal. But for now, it is a goal. The proof will be in the pudding, as they say. We will see how it goes.

Third: I have finally purchased a piece of NaNoWriMo merch! Every year, I say I'm going to buy something, and this year, I did. I got a wrist bracelet that includes a handy dandy 2gig usb flash drive! And the fabulous people of The Office of Letters and Light got me that bad boy a day after I ordered it. 

Fourth: The people of the East coast are in my thoughts, as Sandy continues to pound the seashore. I hope all my friends are safe and well. It's gonna be a hell of a clean up. But America is always at her best in times of crisis. For all the scumbags tragi-crafting on Etsy, there will be many more good people donating time, money, and supplies. Prayers are probably needed as well. 

Finally, have a Happy Halloween, stay safe, and Merry NaNoWriMo. 

God bless Iron Man. God bless America.

OMG! BADGES!

It's almost time! The most magical time of the year! NaNoWriMo time! You don't know what this is? Are you kidding me? Are you the new kid on the writing block? Has no one yet pulled down your sweat pants, paddled your bottom and thrown you in the wastebasket?! 

Well, I'm not going to do any of that, because I'm not down with the bullying. Instead, let me tell you about it. It's a month of madness! The time: November. The length of time: 30 days. The goal: To write at least 50 thousand words (that's only 1667 words a day) and drink as much coffee and Diet Coke as humanly possible without winding up in the hospital. Well, those last two are optional. 

This will be my third NaNoWriMo. I won in 2009 and 2011, and to my shame, bailed after about a week in 2010. I don't know what it is about this time of the year... the nip in the air.. the patter of the dripping brew in the Mr. Coffee coffee machine... It's magical. It's not just starting any other book at any other time of the year. This is NaNo! Putting your shoulder to the wheel with (NaNoWriMo.org estimates) 300,000 other writers! There are funny videos on the NaNo site. There are emails from other famous and not-so famous writers for encouragement. Peptalks from the staff. There are regional people who try to lure you out of your cave of safety and protection and make you write in a coffee house or library, or some other place equally horrible and public... but you can ignore that if you wish, and just stay home with your cat and your dreams.... No one will judge you. And if you haven't showered or brushed your teeth in a few days because you've been sitting at your computer and pounding out your magical novel, no one probably wants to see you anyway. It's ok.

Your mom and dad still love you.

Unless you are Batman and they are dead.

So join us! Be one with the ravening hoard. Come to the Write Side! We have cookies! Delicious cookies. And you don't have to kill a bunch of younglings or get Natalie Portman pregnant.