Itchy Fingers

I'm still buzzed over finishing book II. I find myself drumming my fingers, thinking about chapter 1 of book 1 which needs a total overhaul rewrite. On my lunch hour at work I've been doing a chapter by chapter synopsis, and peppered throughout are many, many notes to myself in red. They didn't bum me out, those notes. They seemed to be shining little bits of things I already knew, and much of it was just tying up to things that happened later already.

I am surprised. I was looking forward to the generous days off I gave myself, including one entire day off on Wednesday, where I didn't even have to go to my day job. I spent the whole day thinking about writing. First, I pulled out some notebooks I keep for my "novel ideas" (thank you for not laughing.) First: Endways of the Gods. A huge, HUGE idea that made me quiver in my fairy boots. I'm not quivering too much anymore. I think I can tackle it. After reading the notes, a scene come dancing out of the aether, and I banged it out on the Neo (little word processing device - Thank you Angie!) Then I had another idea show up while I was trying to enjoy Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time. I didn't know what this idea is, so I wrote up some notes. I still don't know if there's a real story there, or is it just another orphan world/bit of magic that never finds a plot.

I've written a total of four novels now, and it was GREAT to finish this one. It was AWESOME! Now I only have one more leg of the story to write. The funny thing is that finishing the novel didn't make me feel any different. Wednesday did. On Wednesday, my "day off", I suddenly felt like a writer.

Book II is done!

I don't know at what point I moved beyond the simple arrogance of "I am writing a novel" to "I am writing a trilogy" but I did. I don't know how I made the leap, but people should understand, it is not the arrogance of "I am writing a trilogy because I am such a stud," it's the insecurity of "I don't know if I have it in me to write a trilogy, let's start writing one, and not query or move on it until it is done." I've taken another step towards that goal, because on Sunday, August 16th, I finished book II! I am so stoked.

It's a tempered, happiness (really - please, I don't need all the Absolute Writers who saw me cavorting in every thread, scampering like a drunk in Vegas, laughing and drowning out my seriousness, here!) I know I have serious work to do. The first book doesn't stand alone, or have an excellent summed-up stopping point. It just sorta flops around and runs out of breath. I'm already thinking about tweaking, and I know I have the mother of all rewrites coming. However, who said the unwritten page can't be edited? Well, I have 1002 pages to edit. Yay me! (that's two books of pages... I did not write one book that's a 1000 pages... just for to clarify!)

In celebration: I give you pictures of my Cricket. I loves mah kitteh...

"I'm cuter than Faireh! See?"

"Mama, what you do with my ears?"

"Sure, take undignified picture of me. Just cuz I don't have thumbs. I seen you naked. And I have claws."

Her majesty, displeased.

"Sure, stack books. Rest of your crap in piles. Have you changed the litterbox yet? Get to it. I don't have all day. I have sleeping to do, and later, I gotta scratch up the screens."

shhhh..... the beast... it slumbers...

Update

I haven't been blogging or following anyone's blog lately, but the good new is: I am writing. I'm so near the end I can taste it! I gave up worrying about word counts, because I would keep stopping to check where I was at, and anything that stops or distracts me is not a good thing: I have the attention span of my 4 month old kitten when I write. In the last week, I've had an 11 page day and a 13 page day. I know that pales in comparison to some of my uber-word count colleagues, but I am happy with 4 or 5 pages a day, so 13 is like 3 days of work for me.

I have embarked on the diet, and it's going... ok.... The pre-packaged food is nasty, but I am enjoying the simple pleasures of grapefruit and apples, spinach out of bags with low calerie dressing. They taste like ambrosia after undercooked pasta and lumps of mystery meat in foul, gloppy sauce. Now if I could only conquer insomnia.

Well, I am still walking around in the darkness, but I am making some strides. I think I see clearly the things that need to be fixed in book II (The Truthsayer's Plot) - namely, it needs to have more about the Truthsayer's Plot in it. When in doubt, read your title, people. I have also had a muse-bomb, in that I realize a perfect reason why my Queen Regent is such a hag towards the Dragongar. I've really gotten my notes in order. I also busted out eleven pages on Sunday (after spending much of Saturday sobbing and much of Friday sleeping. I guess I can only do one thing at a time.)

I am still being terribly oversensitive and letting things get to me that I shouldn't. Little peas under the mattress are like boulders these days. And I kinda hate myself for it. One of the things I'm doing to improve things is working on my diet. I have a friend who is going to join me on a crusade to eat better. We were going to start slow: adding fruits and veg (the quantity you are SUPPOSED to eat, not just the onions and peppers that happen to be on the deep dish pizza. Oh, and the tomatoes...) for a week, then cut out fatty foods (...alas for the pizza...) then cut out deserts (yeah, ouch!). But she went and bought Nutrisystem and talked me into it. I can't afford it for long, that's for sure, but perhaps it will kickstart me. And the fruits and veg thing is so important: I KNOW when I eat more of the good stuff I feel better, it's simply a matter of being lazy... and oh how I hate throwing out food, which seems like always happens to the perishable stuff. Which means running to the store every couple of days. Oh well, I could use the exercise walking in from the parking lot...

Wish me luck!

Not Dead. No, Really!

No, please do not remove the pickets from the fence or the spicket from the side of the house. This blog has not been abandoned, despite the cobwebs in the cornices. And I am not dead, or disappeared to places unknown... it’s just felt that way.

I don’t know how to preface this, and believe me, I don’t want to sound like some sort of tortured artist. I believe most tortured or drug addicted or alcoholic artists that stand around wringing their hands over their art are that way because they refuse to do anything about it - in other words, they have carved themselves a niche and become comfortable, and the fear of crawling out of that niche and having to redefine themselves is too overwhelming. That doesn’t mean they are bad people, they have just forgotten that artists are supposed to push themselves. I'm not talking about depression not being a real thing - it is. Many artists that struggle with depression do just that: struggle. There are several people I have met “virtually” who are open and honest about their struggles, and they continue to work, write, and produce material. Those are people I really admire. And I don’t want to alienate the boys because I am about to bring up three little letters: PMS - the scourge of the 80’s!

I haven’t been around too much because I’ve spent the last two weeks drifting in and out of a hazy darkness, and trying to pretend I wasn’t. In other words, I wasn't struggling, I was drifting. I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t want to say anything to anyone, and I tried to continue to be myself, at least on the outside. This slow slide began around the time of the dreaded PMS - pre-menstrual syndrome to those of you without uterus-usses. That phrase is a wormy one, because the symptoms can come before, during and/or after the menstrual period (I know! UGH!) Mine is usually 12-24 hours of a strange, disassociated sadness, where I think everyone is whispering about me and my feelings are continually being hurt. I know during that time that it's just hormones, and the people I was friends with 24 hours earlier will still be my friends in another 24 hours - in other words, I try to take it for what it is - 24 hours of woe-is-me, and then done.

Not this time. I felt withdrawn, and began to withdraw. I’ve been in lurker mode on AW. I haven’t kept up with my blog or anyone else’s, and I feel bad about that. I’ve not responded to some emails. Have let a few promised things fall through the cracks, which sort of intensified my downward spiral so that I withdrew even more. These feelings coincided with the realization I didn’t have an ending for my book, and the overwhelming feeling that the year and half work on this has been akin to a mouse with four wheels in its cage; it spins and spins and spins them but never gets anywhere, and doesn’t come any closer to making those four wheels into a usuable vehicle. That feeling led to less writing. The less writing, the closer the black cloud came, the more worthless I feel, the more I withdraw.

So, I think I am going to admit that I am feeling down, downright down. I haven’t made it any better by putting up with some crap in the name of not making waves. Now I’m trying to kick myself in the butt, to not wallow. I’ve gone over some notes and found a magic line in which there is an ending for the book, rather than a lame cliffhanger. I think it’s a real, acceptable, jam punch ending where something is lost, something is gained and the story is moved forward. I have known the book needs work, what book doesn’t? I know the fairies aren’t going to write it for me, and the re-write is where the real work is, and a writer shouldn’t be afraid of doing real work.

So, that’s where I’ve been, and this has been my self-indulgent rant. I’ve gotten it out of my system, I hope, and will try and muscle forward. This blog was going to be about the writing process of a working schlub, and if I don’t write about the down times, then I don’t think it is a valid representation of said schlub’s journey. I wrote “Novel Done” on the square for August 14th and I hope I make it, but if not, that’s ok, because the “Summer Challenge” I joined on AW had a date of September 1st. I can live with that.

Back in the Saddle Again

Well, I have missed you. Don't know if you've missed me. I fell off the wagon after going to visit my sister, and got squat done in two weeks. I have rededicated myself, and I got 7 pages tonight. I am still aiming for 4 pages minimum a day. I am a lot closer to the end than I thought - I've already started writing the climax. However, there are 2 plot lines I've sorta let trail off... so there are a few more scenes to write and add in. Because of that, I can't say how much longer before I am "done" with the first draft. I hope to finish book II sometime around the middle of August at the very very latest. Then start editing book I (because I can't wait to edit that first chapter, God that thing is utter crap!) including writing up the chapter bits for doing a synopsis on book I and book II. I suck at those, and they will be needed for query time. Sigh. That should help me get ready for writing book III. Maybe I will even send book I off for beta? Maybe...

I've also signed up for nanowrimo! I'm not sure what to do... try and make myself write 3000 words a day... or just aim for the 50,000 and write bare a well padded outline of the first draft. I'm terrible at just going full steam ahead. I am always going back and fixing and adding. 

Oh well. That is where I am. I hope I haven't lost all my followers with my long silence. I thank you all for your kind words... when I actually give you something to comment on! 

Recharging the Battery

It's been a number of days since my last post because I've been away at my sister's house up north. Good God in Heaven, but it was hot. Four days of 100 plus temperatures with my sister, her two kids and the five kids from the neighbor's coming over every five minutes. It went so fast I can't quite remember everything that happened. However, it was a battery recharging I needed, a chance to get away from my tiny apartment, see my family and immerse myself in the majesty and beauty Northern California has to offer.

I will give you some blurbs: Lots and lots of trees. Most very tall. Ash, oak, fur, apple, neat lines of walnut trees, lacey strings of grapes and snarls and snarls of burdocks. Flat white rocks that ground together like teeth under my car tires. Sweat dripping down the back of my leg, then blood from three mysterious gashes. The feel of Robin's breath on my calf as she bandaged me. Lisa's laughter outside, echoed by everyone within hearing range, because Lisa's laugh is more infectious than swine flu. Cassie's wheat colored hair being slicked and straightened under a brush. Dustin upside down on every piece of furniture. Sunlight slanting through blinds and striping kitties with gold bricks. Cattails itchy against bare legs. Flip-flops smacking against concrete, packed dirt, and slipping on gravel. Meat bees humming over the skirt steak. The dogs hitting the motherlode when the kid's table is abandoned. A pinata filled with toys and hard candy. Three little kids smeared with chocolate icing, followed by three naked little kids smelling of berry soap. Poor Hailey's labored breathing in the night. Birds with magic wings flitting to the feeder. Waking up covered in sweat, so it feels like all your folded places have been oiled. Lifting the blanket to grab cooling waves of air from the fan. My dad up on a ladder and briefly wondering about his mortality. Indestructible moon sand meteors. Smiles, tears, why nots? He saids, you saids, I wannas. I hate yous. You're not my friends. Glad you came. Glad I came. Missed exit. I made it home. I had a great time. Thank you for coming. Thank you for having me. I miss you already. I love you.