11.21.13

Speaking of passion... there's a complementary action called being in the groove, when you let the words flow and don't check them, just let the story evolve from your fingers, with no idea of where you're headed, and where you may end up. I love days like this, when something happens you don't expect, and suddenly you're racing along, breath tight in your chest, fingers flying on the keys, and the story is unfurling before you. 

It might last five minutes, or five hours, or five days, but when it happens, it is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I had one of those moments today. 2400 words total, which is good, but the last 1000 of them were in the last fifteen minutes of my writing day. It was an action scene, which are always fun to write, and something so unexpected happened it took MY breath away. Who knows if this will make the final book, but for the moment, I close my laptop with a feeling of exultation, my adrenaline still running high, my heartbeat racing. What will tomorrow bring?

Only the shadow knows...

Sweet dreams!

11.20.13

I want to talk about something a little touchy today. It's an issue I come across quite a bit, and an important one to keep in the back of you mind when you sit down to face the page.

I'm talking about writing with passion versus writing with precision.

There is more to writing well than being able to lay down the most perfectly constructed sentence in the world. Of course you must write well. That's not even up for debate. You must know the rules, understand grammar, punctuation, homonyms and possessives. You have to be literate, and glamorous in your prose.

But if you write without passion, without allowing your heart and soul into your words, your work will lay dully on the page. No sparkle. No excitement. And no connection to your reader.

Writing is hard. It's frightening at times, especially when you're doing work that's personal. Even fiction, especially fiction, in which you take a grain of sand from a situation or a memory and blow it up into a story. Fear is the number one reason you aren't writing with passion. Fear of being judged. Fear of someone seeing themselves in your work. Fear of (you fill in the blank.)

Fear. It is what holds us back, and what drives us forward.

Don't be afraid. Let it all hang out. Write with reckless abandon. Give your reader something to think about, something to chew on after they close the covers. Don't worry about offending people - and don't worry about upsetting them, either. And think of this when you put pen to page:

“You own everything that happend to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." - Anne Lamott

This is one of the reasons I encourage writers to try NaNoWriMo. To give yourself permission to write, fast, unedited, uncriticized. To allow yourself to be unstoppable.

I'm still working, at 2200 right now. A good day, in which I've vowed to be fearless. Back to it.

Sweet Dreams!

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.