Vatican Cameos

Hello again. It's been a momentous few days.

I have had thoughts in those days, and nearly come to the end of another gothic romance. It is all written except for the epilogue, where the story is wound up, love declared, satisfaction guaranteed. I am feeling all sorts of feelings. I will try to rein them in enough to make a semi-meaningful blog post.

The fabulous Lara Pulver (Irene Adler on Sherlock) linked to this fabulous thing, either written or answered by John C. Reilly at The Guardian. In it, he says this:

Every person is the star of their life story. No one goes through the world thinking: "Well, I'm just a cameo." So even if a character has just one scene, I have to do it right. I've got to come up with their whole world view.

I know that Stephen King has said something very similar about characters in stories, but I've never been able to find the exact words. But it is something that he is amazing at, and something I appreciated even as a kid, before I knew I would want to be a writer, before I even knew what it was to be a discriminating reader. He introduces you to someone and you are there. Even when he breaks away from the people you've come to know and love (I'm thinking The Stand or Needful Things -which are filled with vignettes of random people living their lives, being affected by the plot, but not part of the larger story) and he grounds it in reality. You go down the paths he clears for you without question.

Because he treats them all like the stars of the story.

I think the same goes for villains, and it's something I struggled with in my writing when I began. My villains didn't have meat on their bones. They were just the bad guys. But that doesn't work. They have to be people. They can't think of themselves as the bad guys. They have to think their goal is either the right one, or the more righteous. 

These are just the things I've been thinking about. That, and the end of the book. It's been too long. I will be glad to be done with it and then I have to figure out which book I go on to edit. I have two really good things, one questionable, and one viable, but not agent or big house worthy. It's a genre problem. 

Onward my friends. Hate to drop science on you and run, but I have a full docket today. And an epilogue to contemplate. Happy writing and reading.

Post Valentine's Report

For those of you just emerging from their chocolate-induced comas, I welcome you back to the slick horror of reality! And to my Four-Day-Write-A-Thon. Or something like it. I'm hoping to finish this damn thing in less than four days, actually, but regardless, I do have four days off from work and need to spend them wisely.

The book I thought would take about 90k to complete is now at 114k and in need of a few more scenes. The main character and her cousin are currently partially incapacitated by drugs, in a flaming dining room, with a cracked beam immediately over their heads. In other words, not quite done, but we are at the ... flaming dining room scene I always knew would be there, so we are very, very, tantalizingly near the end. The smokey, charry, charyou tree*, end.

*link

It can't come too soon.

Even though I hate coming to the end. I'm not tired of the book, I don't hate it or the characters. That's why I don't want to write. Why I write maybe a day a week and then go days and days without writing. Gah. It's terrible. Does anyone else do this? I don't want to write The End. I don't want to say goodbye to my friends.

This has already taken three months longer to write than it should have. And that makes me mad and sad. I wish I was better at sticking to my goals. Oh well. Onward and upward. I will be writing and/or editing every day this weekend. I will keep you posted.

I got 2k today, one blog post, three music videos listened to on Youtube, and now for some food! Stay motivated, Fearless Readers.

I need a do over

This week has been shit.

And I have no one to blame but myself. This whole week I’ve been a zombie. Stumbling to work after 4 hours of sleep. Stumbling home, intending to do good works…and falling prey to the siren song of my lush and purple bed. 

I’m talking about naps, my friends.

Long, luxurious ones where you wake up and don’t know where you are or what time of day it is. Is it time to get up and shower, or get up and eat dinner? The kind where you slipped under the covers because you were tired and cold, and you wake a little too warm, with only one sock and slightly damp. Those kinds of naps.

After searching for my missing sock amidst the bedclothes, and sometimes more tired and stiff than I went to sleep, I don’t have the wherewithal to write.  I am too muzzy headed, and/or I get sucked into the Netflix stream and never come out, not going to bed until 1:30 or 2:00 am, because thanks to my ill-timed slumber, I am not tired. And getting into bed doesn’t mean I’m going to stay there. Last night, after getting in bed at 1:30 am, I woke an hour later to the hurking,  lurging of one of Cricket’s more splash-worthy upchuckings. Being aware there is drying cat barf somewhere in your apartment is not conducive to sweet dreams. 

 I’ve kept up (mostly) with my daily poetry challenge and blog posts are written well in advance. But the novel has been at a standstill.

This is totally unacceptable.

I can’t write like this. I’m completely miserable. I have to change that this weekend.

My boss asked me about my writing today. I was assuring her I was still actively writing, and talked a little about my book blog and my online writer’s board (Absolute Write). She was saying how it’s good to have a passion. I wanted to say something about how I’d probably do a kamikaze off the roof if I didn’t have my writing to keep me somewhat sane. But you don’t say those kinds of things in polite company. 

So instead, I'll say it on the internet. And thank you people while I'm at it. You know who you are. You encourage me. You may, or may not, understand me, but you act like you do. And you don't judge me. Or at least not to my face. Thank you all. Now, let's go have a better week.