What happened to the lazy days of summer?? I find myself at the end of the day reflecting on the incredible amount of things I managed to stuff into it. Like the soliloquy at the end of Stone Sour's album, I have a 'summer spent and a winter earned'. Winter is when I'll get the cabin fever, and start all kind of projects, just to keep me sane. Ish. Sane-ish.
I did 6 more chapters yesterday, edited and mostly to my liking. Cleaned up some dialogue, and simplified a radio frequency situation. Throat mikes are great, but they don't have the range to reach from Maine to Virginia. I was trying to make them do it on paper, but the real world tech just wouldn't support it. Came up with an alternative that both simplified the scenes, and made for less unnecessary dialog. I know, boooooring. It's so much more interesting when you get to look at the story. Hopefully, everyone in the known world will get a chance to sometime in the not-too-distant future!
Company is coming from out of town, so I must get back to swabbing the deck and chipping off barnacles. There's a few more things I'd like to rant about, but no time for it today. I promise to be incendiary in the next few days, goddess willing.....
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Ripping Holes, Mending Tears
Restraining my urge to hit the 'select all' function then 'delete', I've spent the last few days doing some heavy editing on the first draft of the book, about 79 paperback size pages, ten chapters so far. I found some plot holes that I patched up, and made some room in other places for action that will happen later in the book. It's both harder and more gratifying than I imagined it to be. I've found that note taking is somewhat helpful, but I have to remember them for them to be of any use at all!
Meanwhile, my short term memory is stuffed full of 'gotta remembers'- he's wearing (fill in manly duds) while out in the (driveway? outhouse? where was he again?). No wonder most fiction writers are notoriously bad for carrying on a conversation-we're trying to maintain a presence in both the here and now, and in the then and where. I seem to say 'Huh?' alot nowadays....
Meanwhile, my short term memory is stuffed full of 'gotta remembers'- he's wearing (fill in manly duds) while out in the (driveway? outhouse? where was he again?). No wonder most fiction writers are notoriously bad for carrying on a conversation-we're trying to maintain a presence in both the here and now, and in the then and where. I seem to say 'Huh?' alot nowadays....
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Catching the Worm
I'm up and moving earlier than I have been for most of the summer, mostly because I feel a bit unhinged (more so than usual) if I sleep in past 7am. Early bird catches the worm and all, early to bed, early to rise; makes a mamma keep one step ahead of the curve. Sleeping in has never been an option for most of my adult life, and I'm OCD enough that now it makes me feel like I've gone and screwed the pooch for the day if I do. Missed opportunities! Slack work ethic! What's next, a complete descent into decadence? Will I lose whatever drive I have and become-*gasp*-a slacker??
Naw.
So for the sake of my whirling brain, I get up a bit earlier, quiet the voices in my head (they like coffee, are nicely distracted by it), and make a to-do list for the day. Pointedly ignoring the fact that I won't get to most of the list, of course. No matter how thorough it seems to be, I end up doing three times the work that was on it. Oh well, at least I can give myself the illusion that I'm organized. And that's what life is all about, eh? Living within your self-made illusions. Now if only I could get everyone else to live in mine, I could get a whole heck of a lot done around here!
Naw.
So for the sake of my whirling brain, I get up a bit earlier, quiet the voices in my head (they like coffee, are nicely distracted by it), and make a to-do list for the day. Pointedly ignoring the fact that I won't get to most of the list, of course. No matter how thorough it seems to be, I end up doing three times the work that was on it. Oh well, at least I can give myself the illusion that I'm organized. And that's what life is all about, eh? Living within your self-made illusions. Now if only I could get everyone else to live in mine, I could get a whole heck of a lot done around here!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I claim this ending of my book in the name of blood, sweat, and tears!
Epilogue still to write, but that will come after the first editing session, to be sure I wrap things up with some measure of coherency. The thing that surprised me the most is how difficult it was to actually finish the last scene. Of course, my characters were in a pretty hard place, personally. So they were a bit reluctant to tell any sort of tale. I dragged it out of them, without much kicking or screaming on their part. Me, on the other hand, I was bouncing in my seat, backspacing, staring at the cursor, and generally being a spaz. Muscled through it, and came away happily stunned at the ending. My heroine is such an unpredictable girl. She keeps me busy, and I hope she will continue to for a long time.
Epilogue still to write, but that will come after the first editing session, to be sure I wrap things up with some measure of coherency. The thing that surprised me the most is how difficult it was to actually finish the last scene. Of course, my characters were in a pretty hard place, personally. So they were a bit reluctant to tell any sort of tale. I dragged it out of them, without much kicking or screaming on their part. Me, on the other hand, I was bouncing in my seat, backspacing, staring at the cursor, and generally being a spaz. Muscled through it, and came away happily stunned at the ending. My heroine is such an unpredictable girl. She keeps me busy, and I hope she will continue to for a long time.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Conflict Resolution
Initial writes on the final scene are done, done, done. My muse really took me by the back of the neck and pushed my face into this one-I was so tense and into the plot that I got a charlie horse in my back as I wrote. Messy, bloody, and full of surprises; it brought to light some character traits that had been lurking in the background the whole time for my heroine, surprising herself about herself. Surprising me, too. I know my characters better than anyone, especially right now. But they still manage to sneak in an unplanned revelation every now and again, or do things that are definitely not in my notes. I try not to dissect the process too much, look too closely at the organic growth of the characters, but sometimes I wonder where 'surprises' in writing come from. Are they my subconscious rearing up and making me write things it's already planned? Is there a part of my brain writing the book right now that I can't access until I sit down to type? Or are the voices in my head finally getting around to having their own hobby? Whatever it is, if it keeps me laughing out loud, or covering my open mouth in shock and awe, it goes in and stays in. Even if it means a carefully planned scene will be thrown in the air like a deck of cards, and I have to play '52 pickup'.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Fictional Heartbreak
Today I am going to try my best to hurt someone I care for very much. Truly, it's going to hurt me more than it does them.
Now before you call 911 and have the constabulary at my doorstep, let me assure you that however real they may be to me, it's going to be entirely on paper.
But in the best interest of the plot, someone has to go down in a fairly dramatic fashion for my heroine to have the impetus to rush in and save the day. I had no idea when I began this book that I could become so attached to someone entirely in my head that it made me stutter-step in my writing. Actually, to be completely honest, the 'book' didn't start out as such-I sat down to write a short story to get the creative juices flowing so that i could start on a book later. It got so out of control, word-count wise, in the first few chapters that I threw up my metaphorical hands and gave myself over to it and rolled with it. Now I find myself thinking of my characters at all hours of the day and night, having revelations about them, learning things about their motivations, in essence falling in love with them, no matter how flawed they might be. So when i realized that one of them had to be hurt, it haunted me to the point of obsession. I kept trying to re-do the plot, adjusting the dynamic so that I could weasel out of it, but to drive home what I wanted, I couldn't find my way out of it. Thankfully, I don't have to do away with them completely. If I did, I would have to prepare a memorial service, be in mourning, wear black (oh wait, I already wear black most of the time), and mope around for days. But no, I just have to hurt them badly. Trust me though, someone's going to pay. That's the up side that will have me sitting down to write today. Plot driven pain is lamentable, but I can sure as heck make my bad guy pay in spades for it.
Now before you call 911 and have the constabulary at my doorstep, let me assure you that however real they may be to me, it's going to be entirely on paper.
But in the best interest of the plot, someone has to go down in a fairly dramatic fashion for my heroine to have the impetus to rush in and save the day. I had no idea when I began this book that I could become so attached to someone entirely in my head that it made me stutter-step in my writing. Actually, to be completely honest, the 'book' didn't start out as such-I sat down to write a short story to get the creative juices flowing so that i could start on a book later. It got so out of control, word-count wise, in the first few chapters that I threw up my metaphorical hands and gave myself over to it and rolled with it. Now I find myself thinking of my characters at all hours of the day and night, having revelations about them, learning things about their motivations, in essence falling in love with them, no matter how flawed they might be. So when i realized that one of them had to be hurt, it haunted me to the point of obsession. I kept trying to re-do the plot, adjusting the dynamic so that I could weasel out of it, but to drive home what I wanted, I couldn't find my way out of it. Thankfully, I don't have to do away with them completely. If I did, I would have to prepare a memorial service, be in mourning, wear black (oh wait, I already wear black most of the time), and mope around for days. But no, I just have to hurt them badly. Trust me though, someone's going to pay. That's the up side that will have me sitting down to write today. Plot driven pain is lamentable, but I can sure as heck make my bad guy pay in spades for it.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
TMI
Or, Too Much Information for those not obsessed with acronyms. I love acronyms, and drive my family half mad with them. Anyway, I just saw another example of why I am soooo very paranoid. The news just had a story about Twitter, and how some people have had their houses broken into after they posted that they would be out of town for two weeks on the site. Oh wow. That's the equivalent nowadays of putting up a banner that says "I'm gone, the dog is a wussy, and don't forget the diamonds in the bedroom." on your house. Connectivity is great, but like anything, you have to be sure who you're talking to. Eavesdropping has expanded beyond sitting on your front porch and peering at the neighbors through the hedge.
So many people think that your computer is some kind of magic portal that only you and your select friends can access. No no nooooooo.....Every penny ante hacker would love to get their hands on YOUR stuff, if only to mess with it and make your life harder. Everyone needs to practice their hobbies; hackers and phreakers just have the unfortunate need to practice on other people's stuff. And sometimes it's not even necessary to be that computer literate.So much information is posted about people online, of their own doing, that it would be a cake walk to track them, just by joining sites and sifting through their blogs, pictures, profiles and tweets. I periodically google my name and the family's names to see what kind of stuff is out there, to keep track of it all. Try it on yourself someday. If you haven't been a master of disguise online, you might be amazed at what you can find. I once did a friend a favor and followed her husband's footsteps online, no passwords, no access to his computer directly at all. Let me put it this way; if there was a vice, he had it. And I found damning proof of it. I'm not a hacker, not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm very diligent, and know a few cool tricks, is all. And I always wear protection-several layers in fact-when I send the computer online. Firewall, private browser, pop-up/drive by/spyware blockers, all go active. NORAD probably doesn't have the level of paranoia I do. Like my mother always says: Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching me!!
On a different note, the writing is over the hump I created last week. I was feeling very Igor-like by yesterday morning, lugging this great growth around on my back, twisting my face up into a rictus of a smile and drooling a lot. I made myself sit down and push through it later in the day, and came away, well, not exactly smiling, but satisfied with the few pages I managed to put down. I seem to have a strange problem with getting my characters out of or into rooms. It's like they want to stand there for pages and pages, meticulously describing every little minute detail of where they're going and what they feel about it. After putting my hand on the small of their backs and pushing them through, they do just fine, the pace resumes, plot ticks along nicely, conflict and resolution flow and meld. It's almost like it's too much commitment for them to go somewhere else. Or maybe I've made them too comfy where they were. But, through the door they went, and now they are finally FINALLY face to face with the guy that pretty much started the whole mess in the first place. He tried the bait and switch already, and now he's cornered. Or IS he? *cue evil laughter*
So many people think that your computer is some kind of magic portal that only you and your select friends can access. No no nooooooo.....Every penny ante hacker would love to get their hands on YOUR stuff, if only to mess with it and make your life harder. Everyone needs to practice their hobbies; hackers and phreakers just have the unfortunate need to practice on other people's stuff. And sometimes it's not even necessary to be that computer literate.So much information is posted about people online, of their own doing, that it would be a cake walk to track them, just by joining sites and sifting through their blogs, pictures, profiles and tweets. I periodically google my name and the family's names to see what kind of stuff is out there, to keep track of it all. Try it on yourself someday. If you haven't been a master of disguise online, you might be amazed at what you can find. I once did a friend a favor and followed her husband's footsteps online, no passwords, no access to his computer directly at all. Let me put it this way; if there was a vice, he had it. And I found damning proof of it. I'm not a hacker, not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm very diligent, and know a few cool tricks, is all. And I always wear protection-several layers in fact-when I send the computer online. Firewall, private browser, pop-up/drive by/spyware blockers, all go active. NORAD probably doesn't have the level of paranoia I do. Like my mother always says: Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching me!!
On a different note, the writing is over the hump I created last week. I was feeling very Igor-like by yesterday morning, lugging this great growth around on my back, twisting my face up into a rictus of a smile and drooling a lot. I made myself sit down and push through it later in the day, and came away, well, not exactly smiling, but satisfied with the few pages I managed to put down. I seem to have a strange problem with getting my characters out of or into rooms. It's like they want to stand there for pages and pages, meticulously describing every little minute detail of where they're going and what they feel about it. After putting my hand on the small of their backs and pushing them through, they do just fine, the pace resumes, plot ticks along nicely, conflict and resolution flow and meld. It's almost like it's too much commitment for them to go somewhere else. Or maybe I've made them too comfy where they were. But, through the door they went, and now they are finally FINALLY face to face with the guy that pretty much started the whole mess in the first place. He tried the bait and switch already, and now he's cornered. Or IS he? *cue evil laughter*
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Silence is Golden
And duct tape is silver.................
I couldn't figure out why for the last two weeks or so my muse has been reluctant to play, to say the least. I have written and erased so many lines, my backspace button is getting shiny and worn through. I finally realized it was.....
Mommy, can I have a Popsicle?
Mommy, can we go to (fill in store name here) so I can see if they have something I will bug you to buy me?
Hey mom, check out this cool thing....
And then when I've had enough, I say--'I'm going downstairs to write, you need me, come get me.' hoping I'll have some peace to think in.
And then I'll sit there for an hour waiting for someone to come and interrupt. When I give in an come upstairs, everyone is crashed in front of the tv, usually the stupidest thing on satellite blaring at full volume. Then I get irritated and turn it off, trying to put some good old fashioned summertime back in summer. 'Go outside, do SOMETHING!' I say.
Then the voices start.
'Mommy, what do tapeworms think?'
'Can I have ice cream?'
'What is your Visa password?'
'Can I order this cool thing off this dubious internet site?'
I love my kids.
Really. Truly. But sometimes I wish we lived in Mayberry and not in the sticks. Then they could go bother Mr. Greenjeans once in a while, and roll hoops down Main Street with the Rascals. Then maybe I might get some writing done. After I bake the pie, that is......
I couldn't figure out why for the last two weeks or so my muse has been reluctant to play, to say the least. I have written and erased so many lines, my backspace button is getting shiny and worn through. I finally realized it was.....
Mommy, can I have a Popsicle?
Mommy, can we go to (fill in store name here) so I can see if they have something I will bug you to buy me?
Hey mom, check out this cool thing....
And then when I've had enough, I say--'I'm going downstairs to write, you need me, come get me.' hoping I'll have some peace to think in.
And then I'll sit there for an hour waiting for someone to come and interrupt. When I give in an come upstairs, everyone is crashed in front of the tv, usually the stupidest thing on satellite blaring at full volume. Then I get irritated and turn it off, trying to put some good old fashioned summertime back in summer. 'Go outside, do SOMETHING!' I say.
Then the voices start.
'Mommy, what do tapeworms think?'
'Can I have ice cream?'
'What is your Visa password?'
'Can I order this cool thing off this dubious internet site?'
I love my kids.
Really. Truly. But sometimes I wish we lived in Mayberry and not in the sticks. Then they could go bother Mr. Greenjeans once in a while, and roll hoops down Main Street with the Rascals. Then maybe I might get some writing done. After I bake the pie, that is......
Monday, July 6, 2009
Indepen-dance
Independence can be a very personal thing. One person's slavery is another person's freedom in possession. Believe it or not, all people like to be owned. It's a very safe way to live. The only difference between anyone is the point where you draw that personal line in the sand and say "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that..." (thank you Meatball!) That line is where you dance, proclaiming your independence from ________. Fill in the blank with whatever "that" you won't do. Me? I've railed against all kinds of things in my misbegotten youth: The Man, conventional thinking, western medicine, you name it. In the last year, I have focused on one simple thing to fill in that blank.
Fear.
I have declared my independence from fear.
I've heard the advise that you should do one thing a day that scares you. While not quite going to that level, I've come pretty damn close. I've done things and had things done to me in the last year that I was so afraid of I couldn't even think about them without having a panic attack. I won't bore you with the stupidly mundane, but i will give the short list:
Dentist-haven't been for twenty years. Had my first cleaning and partial root canal this week. Didn't pass out even once.
Airsoft-Joined a group of uber-testosteroned young men and shot at each other, sometimes drawing blood, twice a month for a year. Even joined a team and played at an invitational.
People-I'm awkward. Raised by wolves. Can't have a conversation without inserting foot deeply in mouth. I've talked to more people and made more contacts this last year than ever before. Didn't get my house TP'd once.
Just Did It-Started and am on my way to finishing my first book. Learned how the mower works. Shaved my dog. Many many things I would have put off indefinitely, I did. Without thinking it to death. FBI still not taking away my birthday.
I know that all of this is just the beginning, and I'm both tired and glad. May the good times roll, and the force be with me.
And you.
Fear.
I have declared my independence from fear.
I've heard the advise that you should do one thing a day that scares you. While not quite going to that level, I've come pretty damn close. I've done things and had things done to me in the last year that I was so afraid of I couldn't even think about them without having a panic attack. I won't bore you with the stupidly mundane, but i will give the short list:
Dentist-haven't been for twenty years. Had my first cleaning and partial root canal this week. Didn't pass out even once.
Airsoft-Joined a group of uber-testosteroned young men and shot at each other, sometimes drawing blood, twice a month for a year. Even joined a team and played at an invitational.
People-I'm awkward. Raised by wolves. Can't have a conversation without inserting foot deeply in mouth. I've talked to more people and made more contacts this last year than ever before. Didn't get my house TP'd once.
Just Did It-Started and am on my way to finishing my first book. Learned how the mower works. Shaved my dog. Many many things I would have put off indefinitely, I did. Without thinking it to death. FBI still not taking away my birthday.
I know that all of this is just the beginning, and I'm both tired and glad. May the good times roll, and the force be with me.
And you.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Send lawyers,guns and money
Today, I was a fugitive from the law.
The law was unaware of it at the time, but it still involved sneaking around town using back roads and using my best evasion tactics.
It was nerve wracking and invigorating at the same time. Ok, maybe I was feeling a bit paranoid, but my expired inspection sticker seemed to be twice it's size and blazing neon yellow, screaming out to any police in a five square mile radius to "Bust her! Ticket the infidel!!"
And to top it off, I couldn't find an inspection station that wasn't packed to the rafters with the same shifty eyed on the run people as I had become.
I guess I have to start making better to-do lists....
The law was unaware of it at the time, but it still involved sneaking around town using back roads and using my best evasion tactics.
It was nerve wracking and invigorating at the same time. Ok, maybe I was feeling a bit paranoid, but my expired inspection sticker seemed to be twice it's size and blazing neon yellow, screaming out to any police in a five square mile radius to "Bust her! Ticket the infidel!!"
And to top it off, I couldn't find an inspection station that wasn't packed to the rafters with the same shifty eyed on the run people as I had become.
I guess I have to start making better to-do lists....
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