11.19.13

A day of editing, with a net 500 new words. Started at the beginning and edited what was already there, plugging in a new plot point, taking another out. Putting flesh on the bone. This method of writing is slower than what I'd like, but it's richer, as well, more complete. Tomorrow will be even deeper, and even better. 

Randy requested chicken soup, so there's a pot now simmering on the stove. I've made analogies between writing and cooking before, but it strikes me that soup making in particular is nicely suited to the concept of editing. Especially veteran soup makers, who don't use recipes, and veteran writers, for whom editing is a joy as much as a chore.

Cutting up all the vegetables for the mire poix, making sure there's equal parts white, green and orange in the base of the pot, then adding more orange, because I'm a carrot fiend. Splashing in handfuls of spices (unmeasured, of course) the small decisions based on what it looks like after a good stir-- I think I'll add a bit of garlic, that bay leaf is too small, I'll balance it with this large one, I need a touch more thyme -- then the utilitarian parts:  searing the chicken breast to give it some texture, adding in the broth and setting it to simmer. Later I'll add the peas and the noodles, shred the chicken, and voila - soup's on. 

Writing down new words and cutting old, rearranging the sentences, moving a paragraph here, changing a pov there, adding in a layer of backstory, taking out a red herring, then the utilitarian parts: making sure the chapters are the right length, the endings of each compel the reader forward, the slow-burning fuse is laid in the proper spot. Later I'll go back through again, adding in the garnishes, the senses, the smells and sights and sounds that don't make it in until the last pass.

There's a similar rhythm to the acts that is never lost on me when I'm in creation mode. I've made soup a hundred times, I've edited my words a hundred times - it's all instinct at this point. Instinct and a moment of fervent prayer that I haven't cocked it up.

Reading Megan Abbott's DARE ME - think cheerleaders meet LORD OF THE FLIES. I'm enjoying it -- Abbott is one of our finest crime fiction writers: her phraseology, the way she draws the reading into her world, the dread that permeates the story -- she's a master, and each time I pick up her books I know I'm in good hands. So I'm off to finish, and stir the soup.

Sweet dreams!

11.18.13

Didn't you think when Mercury went out of retrograde things were going to calm down? Yeah, mother nature seems to be playing with us - from tornadoes in November to full moons coming on the heels of a retrograde. I'm quite unsettled, and I know I'm not alone. Rather amazing how the change of seasons can be stunningly beautiful and wreck so much havoc.

Lots done today, but none of it adding to my word count, nor moving my body in any meaningful way, which always gets me twitchy. I worked over the weekend though, so apparently my brain decided it wasn't going to join the party. Did manage to catch up on mailings and contests and the like, so the To Do List is looking a bit less ominous. 

Thanksgiving is next week, and I have so much to be thankful for. So I'm going to quote my dear friend Erica Spindler and repeat my mantra a few times tonight - Gratitude Attitude - have a glass of wine, cuddle the kittens and the hubby, and tomorrow, kick the Muse's ass. In the most polite, loving way possible.

Sweet dreams!

11.15.13

Good day today. Figured out a few major plot points that were holding me back, reworked the beginning a bit, had one brilliant brainstorm, and wrote wrote wrote. I was surprised the word count was only 2200, I felt like I did more, but I guess fleshing things out gives the same sense of accomplishment as a huge word count. But I crossed the 20K mark, and that's one of my thresholds. It means I have over 100 manuscript pages, and we call that a Very Big Deal. So I go into my weekend a happy camper.

Though I'm only writing one book right now, I feel like I'm juggling quite a bit. Which of course, I am, but most are for projects coming soon, so they really need to be back-burnered whilst I'm cooking on YARD OF GRAVES. I don't know, perhaps my mind can't be composed for one thing at a time, even though I certainly can't write two things at a once. I've switched back to Wunderlist, and I'm happily creating to do lists and planning things out there, so that helps. 

The kittens and I have reached a state of detente. The have figured out how to place themselves strategically around my neck and on my shoulders so my lap is free for the laptop and my hands free to type. And if I have to get up, they go onto their coordinating blanket for a snooze. This might just work.

Lots of work ahed this weekend, and some good books to read, too. Refill the well. You refill yours too.

Sweet dreams.

11.14.13

Felled. I've been fighting off a cold, which finally caught up to me. I tried to write, I really did, but between sneezing and coughing and kitty wrangling, it was sheer crap, so I gave up and read. I finished ALLEGIANT by Veronica Roth, a super cool and clearly inevitable end to her hugely popular Divergent trilogy.

I had some problems getting into it; I was so wrapped up in the first two and there was a style issue I struggled with (I'm not a fan of dual first person POVs unless the two voices are hugely distinct, so I will blame my difficulty keeping track of whose POV I was in today on foggy brain.)

It's interesting, almost every trilogy I've read bumps into the same thing, a little lag at the beginning of the third book. Hunger Games had it too - and it's a hero problem. It's an intrinsic part of the hero's journey, this apathy toward the reality of their path, gearing up for the final fight. The feeling that they've done enough, they shouldn't be asked to give any more, to continue being heroic. They're tired, and worn out, and the last challenge has taken so much out of them, they don't have any more to give. Or so they think.

In other words, they become human.

It's hard for the writer to breathe life into this part of story, I'm always fascinated to see how people handle it. I think JK Rowling is the only one I can definitely say didn't fall into this. I haven't tried to tackle this kind of hero's journey yet, and I'm anxious to try, especially keeping this phenomenon in mind. How to keep the hero heroic when they, quite rightly, need to step down and let someone else lead for a while.

Heroes are heroes because they somehow find the internal strength to move past this apathy and sacrifice themselves, again, for the greater good, even knowing there's a damn good chance they won't make it. And when they step back up, engage, the books take off and I'm breathless to the end.

Finishing ALLEGIANCE, I spent the last forty pages in tears. I have to applaud Roth, she's crafted a hugely fascinating series that asks all the right questions, and gives heartbreaking answers. She doesn't waver on her path, and I'm sure she was encouraged toward a different outcome. But she did what was right for the story, and that makes her a hero in my mind. Buy them, you'll love them.

Sweet dreams!

11.13.13

Okay, back on track. 1300 today, two chapters totally revised, with a great bit of insight into my villain. It's hard when they don't want to reveal themselves, but I've got it now! 

I'm embarrassingly far behind on my NaNo count, but with the stuff I've ironed out over the past few days, that should rapidly improve. Going for another 10K day on Friday, so hopefully I can catch up. 

Tomorrow was supposed to be all but lost, with three different appointments, but I think there's time enough between the first and second to sit down at Panera and knock out a 1000 or so.  Also, so please THE FINAL CUT was nominated for an RT Reviewer's Choice Award. What a huge honor.

Have discovered the kittens' weakness - music. They were absolute banshees this afternoon, climbing all over me, the computer, the chair, playing with the multiple mice that litter the living room floor. Jameson has eyes like a hawk, and goes bonkers for my curser, hell, anything that moves on the computer screen. I pulled up a squirrel video on YouTube and they both sat on the keyboard and watched, enraptured. Then I put on some Dvoräk, and bam - they curled up and went to sleep like Fluffy and his magic harp. They're still out, two hours later. And now I know.

Off for tacos and margaritas with some dear friends. Part of the all work and no play makes JT a dull girl initiative. Pray the minions don't tear the house apart whilst I'm gone.

Sweet dreams!