Kristophrenia

My New (Internet) Home

2010-01-31T11:30:00.002-05:00

I'm now babbling inanities over at kristybaxter.com. Please visit me over there, and make sure you change your bookmarks and blogrolls accordingly!

Telling Moments

2009-11-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

Listening to: "Audience Of One", Rise Against

I was talking with a friend a while ago, and we were discussing our favorite classic films and their best moments. Roman Holiday, of course, came up in this conversation. I can't say it's my favorite Audrey Hepburn film--that would be like picking my favorite star in the sky or my favorite sunset--but it's a film that everyone should see.

Especially writers, if only for the opening scenes.

You see, there's a moment of absolute brilliance in the opening scene. While discussing our favorite moments, my friend recalled the Mouth of Truth scene:

Which truly is great. Especially since, according to some sources, Gregory Peck ad-libbed the bit where his hand disappears, so Hepburn's reaction there is real.

The vespa scene is pretty darn good too, as she recalled:

And then there's the haircut scene, which reminds me of every time I've walked into a salon wanting a drastic change. "You sure? You sure?"

And of course, I can't find the scene I want on YouTube. But I'll describe it, for those who've never seen the film:

The Princess is visiting yet another city on a whirlwind goodwill tour. In Rome, as in the other cities, a formal reception is held. The Princess must stand for probably hours as the country's most important people come forward to meet her. A thrill for them, an obligation for her. In a formal gown, hair perfectly coiffed, she has everything a princess should: dignity, regal bearing, an inner calm that shows on the surface.

And her feet are killing her. The camera goes beneath her skirt to show her carefully slipping from her shoes and stretching her toes. This, right here, is the telling moment. Here we delve beneath the character's perfectly designed exterior to see what's going on inside. She's tired, she's feeling incredibly stifled, and the weight of her responsibilities is bearing down. Without a word from the princess, without even a change of expression on her part, we see everything we need to know.

This is a telling moment (don't confuse "telling" in this case with its usage in the popular adage "show, don't tell"--as we are, in fact, being shown quite deftly what's going on in her mind). It's a single action by a character used to tell us his or her state of mind.

And it's the most brilliant telling moment I can think of from film or literature. Perhaps that's why, out of all the wonderful moments in that film, that first scene is my favorite. It's a stroke of genius, and it's funny, to boot--as the princess loses control of the situation when she can't quite get her shoe back on before she's required to sit. So there sits her shoe, just beyond the hem of her gown, and her calm exterior is ever-so-slightly ruffled as she begins to panic. Her handlers do their job and handle the situation, as one of them asks her to dance and gives her the opportunity to quietly slip back into the shoe. But the audience knows, now, where the protagonist stands.

What do you think of this scene as a telling moment? Can you think of any particular moments like this, from film or literature, that so beautifully illustrate a character's starting point? And, most importantly--if you've seen Roman Holiday, what's YOUR favorite scene?

Playlist!

2009-11-13T09:50:00.003-05:00

Okay, so I know very few of you have read the most recent novel, FLAWED (the novel formerly known as THE PINK BANDANA GIRLS)--especially since it only just went out to my betas and CPs--but I'm gonna post the playlist here anyhow.

Why, you ask? Well, personally, I'm constantly on the lookout for new (to me) music. I rarely listen to the radio, because it just seems to be the same ten songs over and over. Even the Sirius-XM radio stations we get with our satellite dish can get repetitive.

So this playlist has a decently wide variety of music, most of it alternative but from different genres. This is the final, official playlist, whittled down from the fifty-odd songs on the original and arranged to follow the plot.

Here's the Rhapsody version, which is the full list. Supposedly you can get a Rhapsody account and listen to 25 free songs/month--but I can't for the life of me find the link for that.

And here's a version I made on via a playlist site, which is missing a few songs that weren't available. The bulk of it is there, though.

Maybe give some songs a listen and see if there's something there you like--because there are few things better than opening your world to new music.

Guest Blog by Tim, with Special Guest Star Jeff Goldblum

2009-11-09T11:26:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I don't fully appreciate how weird and wonderful my friends are, both online and IRL. They find humor and joy in the strangest of places and encounters, and that's what makes life so incredibly interesting. I was given a reminder of this late Saturday night, as my Twitter buddy/former fellow J-towner Tim sent me a Facebook message:

DUDE.
I just had an epic duel with a fly.

What followed was a story so hilariously harrowing that I had to share it with the world. Tim wrote it up for me in very short order. I must note that we discussed the tiny bit of, um, slightly "coarse language" at the very end of this, the type not normally found on this blog, and after some discussion decided it really completes the story. So I apologize if anyone's sensibilities are offended, but hey, the story's SO worth it.

And so without further ado, I present Goldblum's End by Tim Snyder.

_____________________________

Let me preface this account with a bit of an admission. I'm no “Star Wars Lightsaber Master” or “Lord of the Rings Duel Fanatic,” but I was hella' pumped over what transpired in the mirror area in my apartment's bedroom. In fact, the limits of my “swordsmanship” understanding extend as far as fighting with foam swords for two years (a fine hobby if you get rid of all that roleplaying fluff).

It's about eleven thirty at night on November 7. I'm sitting at my computer, enjoying the Internets' splendor. I suddenly hear the cacophonous hum of an insect's wings nearby. I grab the only swingable thing near me, a huge pad of newsprint paper, and go to the source of the sound. I spot the creature instantly: as I thought, a bug. I kept my distance, as it was unclear just yet if the little guy was a hornet or just a giant fly.

As luck would have it, I stood face to thorax with a giant fly.

It was perched on the mirror until I rose my pad to smash it against its platform. Once airborne, I could tell that my unwieldy art supplies would do nothing to this winged little bugger. I decided on a tactical retreat once I figured that nothing in my room was up to snuff for the task of fly-slaying.

I approached my roommate and his friend, then, who were playing a guitar and a bass.

“Hey, do you guys have like a flyswatter or something? There's this giant fly on the mirror.”

My roommate laughed.

“Oh,” he said after a brief coughing session, “you mean Jeff Goldblum.”

Jeff Goldblum. Har har.

He handed me a newspaper and wished me good tidings in the battle ahead, not in the traditional ways of wishing my safe return and whatnot.

Oh heavens no. He just said, “go kill it.”

My roommate and his friend returned to their music, providing me with a little psych-up. Rolled-up newspaper in hand, I took up position before the mirror, and nudged the door shut. I realized that what I was going to do would look hardcore against an opponent not a fraction of my size, but just ridiculous against something as tiny as a fly.

Feet T'd off like a fencer, knees bent, offhand up to slap the fly, newspaper up and wrist making small circles, I remembered what it was like to hit someone with something, and the whole kids-beating-each-other-with-foam-swords thing came back to me like riding a bike. Or maybe a triceratops.

The battle began. Buzzing wings and whining guitar strings blended together, the percussive snaps of my weapon meeting solid surface throwing snare hits that punctuated every subtle motion with a big, bold exclamation point. Alas, for each hit, a miss was all that waited beneath.

That's not to say I didn't absolutely nail the thing a few times, though. Goldblum took his blows like a champ, and came back for a few more. After three, though, he started feeling the wrath.

“Did you kill it,” my roommate yelled into the room.

“I got it limping!”

I heard him mutter from the living room, “... How does a fly limp?”

“It's an expression,” I yelled after yet another angry slap at the mirror.

Each impact put more and more of that animalistic sheen into my eyes. It took maybe five more swings to bring it down flat on the medicine cabinet's top. I went for the terminal blow, but missed. Instead, the fly, perhaps in a diversionary tactic, spun in circles on its back. I went to the living room and herded in my roommate and his friend to introduce them to my fly little fly.

I hit at it again. This time, however, he didn't dance; instead, Goldblum made for his great escape. My roommate's friend took the newspaper and smashed the grounded fly, hopes likely as trashed as its squirming body was. It bounced off the ground, to the center of the three of us. I gave it the final blow, a vicious curbstomping that would make anyone cringe.

I kept stomping on it, maybe for effect, maybe because I really didn't think that'd kill it. It took my roommate saying, “It's dead dude, it's dead,” to stop and lift my foot to view the corpse beneath me.

“Aw, Tim. Now you got raisin juice on your foot.”

Later that night, my roommate played Taps for the fly. I wasn't present.

Goldblum was a dick, anyways.

Grammar, Em Dashes, and a Cameo

2009-10-30T09:53:00.004-04:00

As anyone who's glanced at my Twitter feed during the editing phase will know, I have a slight em dash problem. Like my other writing tics (I have a whole list), it's a problem I clear up during revision, and then I complain about it on Twitter.

Elizabeth Ditty, one of the Evil Cabal, just so happens to list improperly-used em dashes as a copyediting pet peeve. And so, to help us poor em dash addicts out, she blogged about the proper and improper use of them. Get thee to the post, post-haste, as not only is it a very helpful bl0g -- but I make a cameo.* I even have dialog! And it's quite appropriate to my character.

What are you waiting for? Get over there!

*Couldn't help myself. Had to use one.

Why I Changed My Mind

2009-10-29T10:07:00.003-04:00

Listening to: Kings of Convenience, "Power of Not Knowing"

Note: After I write this, I am fully prepared to go into hiding and save myself from the Evil Cabal of Evil Alter Egos, who are all going to KILL ME.

So, uh...I decided not to do NaNo.

Now wait, before you pile on...this is a decision made with much thought and consideration, and not a little regret. And I have pretty good reasons why it's just not for me, aside from last year's debacle (which actually turned out pretty well in the long run, at least I think, as I'm about to send the novel I messed up for NaNo last year out to CPs and I'm still pretty in love with it).

Let me put this out there: I love writing. I mean, duh. We know this.

And like a lot of writers, I get a lot out of the first-draft-period. That spectacular rush when the characters start becoming people, the euphoria when the story starts telling itself, the supreme satisfaction when everything just comes together. That feeling of being in the story, so deep inside it that it's all you can think of no matter what else you're doing. I love every second, and I revel in it. Sometimes I turn into a hyper little kid, when everything's going so well and the words are really flowing, and I bounce around in my seat and grin like an idiot and maybe dance around a bit.*

Now, let's talk about editing and revisions. I think I heard a few groans out there, seeping past the music playing on my headphones. I mean, at first when I'm revising, I'm kind of excited to fix all the things I know are wrong with the story, and there's the satisfaction of polishing my dirty, rough gem into, one hopes, a flawless diamond that will sparkle and shine and make people cry with its sheer beauty.

Ahem. Anyhow. That high wears off pretty quick, and then it's a long hard slog to the end.

So, as I've stumbled the last steps in the revision marathon these past few days, I've been thinking about all this and NaNo.

And I realized that NaNo compresses the part that I love, the part that turns me into a slightly tired ball of happiness and sunshine, and extends the part that turns me into a crotchety old lady who glares at little children and kicks puppies.** It takes away a month or two of writing and adds a month or two to editing.

As fun as the communal writing and the crazy rush to the end and the flurry of caffeine are, the writing itself is what really fulfills me. So why should I shorten that period (unless I'm on a deadline or something)? I should enjoy it. It goes fast enough as it is.

Now, a few things:

In my preparation for NaNo this past week or so, I've done a great deal of brainstorming. Character profiles, worldbuilding, backstory creation, all that fun stuff. Far more than I've done for any previous novel. In the process, my throwaway idea has turned into something that really excites me. Funny how that happens, huh? I also feel very prepared to write it. I'm probably going to stop short of outlining the plot, because my brain just recoils at that idea. Maybe I'll try, who knows. But I've gotten something wonderful out of just this week of preparing for an event I won't even be participating in.

I got my baby brother into NaNo's Young Writers Program. He's only ten, and he hasn't written much, so he's set a goal of 50 words/day. So even though I'm not really NaNoing myself, I'll be guiding a young soul through the process. And he's two years younger than when I wrote my first "novel", so I'll be helping one of my siblings beat the family record I set. And, you know, family bonding, sharing the love of writing, passing it on to the next generation, etc.

I WILL be writing. I'm still pretty much on schedule to start the new project on Sunday. I'll probably go pretty fast as the rush of a new novel sets in and as all the words piling up in my head this past week finally tumble onto the page. I just won't be setting an arbitrary word count goal.

The Husband, when I told him my reason for not NaNoing, said, "That's why I thought you shouldn't do it." I think he really just didn't want to deal with a wife who was pulling her hair out by the roots, screaming about tangled plot threads in the grocery store, or sitting in the corner muttering, "50,000 words, 50,000 words, 50,000 words." But whatever.

There you have it. Those are my reasons. I'll still be here on the sidelines, cheering all you brave folks on, encouraging you to OD on energy drinks, and laughing at the crazy. And everyone needs a cheerleader, right?

So, uh...please don't kill me?

*This may be more related to my innate dorkiness than my love of writing.

**Hyperbole alert. I don't do these things, even at the worst parts of revision. CALM DOWN, PEOPLE.

PIE! (and other things)

2009-10-12T09:20:00.009-04:00

Listening to: KaiserCartel, "Favorite Song" (This song is so adorable & sweet, I recommend you give it a listen)

Here's the pie from last Thursday's Fall Bakeoff on Twitter. Apple with a crumb topping.

It was pretty good, but I'll do a few things differently next time. Thinking of making another one this week, and I'm going to get to the country market and get good apples. Grocery store produce is never as good as what that place offers. I have some Triple Berry preserves from there, and OMG is it the best thing on toast ever or WHAT.

Also, I don't think the recipe called for enough butter. The crumb topping could've stood to be...crumbier? I don't know. I'll try more butter next time, and we'll see where it goes.

So. In the "other things category...

Those of you who were around last year may remember the hellish time I had with NaNoWriMo. And how I decided afterward that it wasn't for me. I mean, sure, a few good things came from it...mostly blog posts. And I eventually finished my NaNovel, after some major plot restructuring. And I think it's halfway decent. Time will tell if others agree with me, but whatever.

So I mentioned on Twitter the other day that I saw everyone gearing up for NaNo, and now I had to resist the temptation--and then some of my buddies pounced on me, seeing a carcass ready for picking. "You know you want to!" "All the cool kids are doing it!" "Be optimistic!"

Gah! And then we started assigning evil alter egos to the instigators, who then told those of us who were on the fence that we, too, could have evil alter egos if we'd just do NaNo. And then someone assigned Maleficent to me, and she's like the most badass Disney bad guy ever, and Sleeping Beauty was the first Disney movie I ever loved.

I totally lost my first tooth while watching Maleficent be all evil.

Double gah! There was some grumbling about all the Disneyfication of our alter egos, and discussion of perhaps making them all literary characters (and if anyone has any evil literary characters in mind that they think will fit me, leave suggestions in the comments), but I'm sort of already in love with this one.

Okay, so I'm thinking about NaNo. It's just so tempting, what with the communal writing aspect, and using a word count spreadsheet, and getting that much writing done in thirty days, and then thinking about it helped me get some details for an idea that's just been a vague concept in my head for several months. And, you know, having an evil alter ego.

So I've already gotten something out of it.

And I'm going to be project-less in November anyhow, because I plan to give the latest WIP to the betas & CPs (oh hey betas & CPs, this is probably the first you've heard of this, I'll be in contact via email soon to discuss your availability).

Here's my tentative plan, then:

Do NaNo. Give myself permission to write badly, knowing that getting the words down on paper is the goal and editing will fix that. But watch out for plot problems. Because those can become a big tangle that is nearly impossible to fix, or at least harder than bad writing. At the first sign of bad plotting, slow it down or take a few days off to consider new directions. So, in this scenario, I would be doing NaNo very carefully, and with the option to bail if I think it's hurting my idea. It's hard enough to do a good idea justice, so I don't want to risk ruining it altogether.

I've got to admit, I'm excited, and this has urged my brain to really think about the new idea...which led to some serious brainstorming last night when I was trying to fall asleep. That's always a good sign.

So what about you? NaNo, or NOOOOONaNo? Who would your evil alter ego be? And do you like my pie?

This & That

2009-10-05T16:42:00.004-04:00

Ugh. I've been down with the DeathCold* for about a week. Finally starting to feel like a human being again, as opposed to a massive hulking CoughSniffleSneezeMonster, as of this morning.

I have a million things on my to-do list,** because I've been slacking (read: sleeping and/or sitting on the couch watching Buffy marathons and sipping mass quantities of chamomile tea) for the past several days. Finally got back to the writing on Saturday; it's not really writing, per se, so much as going through the many notes I've left for myself and making sure all loose ends are tied up. These generally fall into two categories:

1.) Random things I wasn't sure about, but was either unable to research due to lack of Internet access or unwilling to research due to wanting to keep writing;

2.) Notes about specific scenes, characters, etc.; reminding myself to take a look at something that I feel falls short, doesn't add up, or that I may have dropped in later scenes.

Examples of #1 that I spent Saturday evening researching: the Dewey Decimal system, colors of granite flooring, the effect of bumpy dirt roads on vehicles. Oh, what an exciting life I lead. I also rocked out to pop-punk and sang so loud I scared the cat away, if that makes you feel any better about my Glamorous Life. In addition, I spent 40 minutes on the phone with my brother, who is currently traipsing about Alaska with AmeriCorps. So, even if my life isn't necessarily exciting, I'm related to people who are doing interesting things. That counts.

Examples of #2: When your protagonist hits her head hard enough to black out, you may want to like, put a bandage on that later or something. This pales in comparison to the moment I realized that she'd sustained a moderately debilitating injury in one scene, and then two scenes later was running around doing all kinds of stuff like she wasn't even hurt.

And when I say "it's not really writing, per se", as I did above, that doesn't necessarily mean that I didn't do a bit of rewriting on my opening. It's not right until I've rewritten it twenty times, yanno.

I would say that I'm done with the notes, except for how I'm NOT. I have this bad habit of leaving notes for myself EVERYWHERE. Comments in the document, a separate document of random notes taken while writing and another of Notes for This Particular Revision, and notes for particular scenes/chapters in yWriter. This seems disorganized, and it kind of is, but trust me: I have a system. It may be a pain in the neck, but it's a system.

So I'm going to finish attending to those notes and the six million other things I have to do, and then what? Well, I'm going to take a breather from the manuscript for at least a few days. This cold threw me off schedule, so I think I might enforce this breather by working on something completely different: a short story set in the Grim Light world. No particular ideas yet, so maybe I'll just take some dialogue and run with it. It looks like Jen is thinking of doing something similar--great minds and all that.

Also, because serendipity is serendipitous, an old friend came along recently and asked for some editing help with an essay she's submitting with her Master's applications. So I'll be working on that, as well, and flexing the ol' editing muscles as well as the academic-paper muscles. I think the latter are located somewhere near the gluteus maximus.

And more fun! I just decided to join Twitter pals and fellow writers Dan Faust (@danfaust), Elizabeth Ditty (@ditty1013), and Mary Wachsmann (@mwachsmann) in a Twitter Fall Bake-off on Thursday. We'll be posting our results on TwitPic with the tag #falldessert, and I'll be sure to post pics here, too. I'm thinking an apple crisp of some kind, but if you have any other suggestions, I'm open.

So what's been keeping you busy these days?

*While talking with my brother, we determined that my cold is the same cold he just got over. It migrates back and forth between your head and your chest, it seems to go away and then BOOM it's back, and your neck hurts for some inexplicable reason. So...I got my cold from Alaska, without ever leaving PA. I AM MAGIC.

**And here I am, blogging. I'm funny like that.

Polish Wedding

2009-09-21T11:23:00.005-04:00

Listening to: Silversun Pickups, "Panic Switch"

Every region, I suppose, must have different wedding traditions. I've only been to one wedding outside of Pennsylvania (my half-brother's wedding in Florida), so I can't be 100% sure about this, but it seems like a natural side effect of that whole "melting pot" thing.

I never saw the Polish version of the money dance (also known as the dollar dance) until I went to a western PA wedding. Since I moved to this area permanently, I've been to many weddings, and almost all of them have featured this crazy, awesome, exhausting version.

The money dance is traditionally some combination of giving money to the couple,* dancing with the bride or groom, and getting a shot of liquor. At my wedding, we did it just like that--money, a dance, and a shot. It was a great chance to get face-time with our guests, and it raised a few bucks. And then it was over.

My brother-in-law and I get feisty during the money dance.

My mom and one of my best friends do the shot portion of the tradition.

The Polish version includes all this (except dancing with the groom--he has a special mission that will be explained momentarily), but after you've had a quick dance with the bride to this song, you join the previous dancers in forming a circle around the bride. You dance/run as others dance, and the circle gets bigger or other circles are formed around the inner circle. It gets pretty crazy, as you have to disconnect or raise your arms occasionally to let people in, and the circles get nuts or turn into the outline of an amorphous blob because some guy had one too many drinks and keeps pulling the circle this way and that.

So you're running/dancing in a circle for a good while, sometimes shouting "Hey! Hey! Hey!" And then the real fun begins.

Once everyone has danced with the bride and joined the circle, the groom comes along. And his mission is to get past everyone to get to his bride.

Generally, it's considered good form to make this as hard as possible for him. It's also fun.

It's also a tad dangerous, but whatever.

The wedding I attended on Saturday, at which TH was best man, had the best money dance I've ever seen. We were crushing together around the bride, screaming at the groom, telling him to go OVER the crowd, calling for backup in emptier spots. The groom was pushing people, fighting his way past people stacked five deep. He kept circling and diving, looking for a weak spot.

I'm proud to say we probably kept him out for a good 45 seconds.

I'm also proud to say that my wrist was killing me for the remainder of the night.

It's one of the most fun, most unique wedding traditions I'm aware of, and I'm always a little sad that I didn't know about it before my own wedding.

Any interesting wedding traditions where you come from, or that you've seen in other regions?

*Apparently, some people think it's tacky, but I've never had a problem dropping a dollar into a bag for the couple. I mean, come on--it's a dollar. And if you're like a lot of the people at our wedding (and now us), you tie that dollar up into a nice tight knot before you toss it into the bag.

The Internet & Publishing

2009-09-16T11:53:00.001-04:00

It hasn't, in the grand scheme of things, been that long since I started writing my first novel and stumbled over to the Internet, about halfway through, because I suddenly wondered what to do with the thing.

And yet so much has changed since then.

When I started querying that first novel, I needed a boatload of stamps because so few agents took e-mail queries.

For GRIM LIGHT, I still have stamps left over, because I miscalculated and bought too many (also, because my querying was successful, but I'll shut up now). And I definitely noticed, when I was doing my super-OCD spreadsheet of agents, that the number accepting e-mail submissions had increased significantly.

And when I first started looking for publishing blogs, Miss Snark and GalleyCat were about the only games in town. There may have been a few others, but they don't stick out in my memory. But if my (admittedly faulty) memory serves, Kristin Nelson and Jenny Rappaport came around not long after that. And of course, there's always Publisher's Lunch and Publishers Weekly,* which bring news of the more formal kind.

Then something happened. New blogs started popping up here, there, everywhere. It was like a game of whack-a-mole trying to hit them all.

Nowadays, you can't throw a gin & tonic without hitting an agent, editor, or general publishing blog. Keeping up on the news and everyone's opinions on it can be a bit daunting. Of course, you can follow many publishing folk on Twitter, and have a better chance of catching that bit of news you missed, but again...there are so many.

Thankfully, a few of these blogs have taken to posting weekly news and article roundups. I've found these such a timesaver--someone else is out there sifting through the blogs for the important stuff, so I don't have to. Bless 'em.

Every Friday, Nathan Bransford posts "This Week In Publishing", which gathers up newsworthy bits from the publishing world. And QueryTracker has its "Publishing Pulse", also posted on Fridays. This is more of a blog roundup, in addition to a listing of new agents and agency moves.

ETA: From the comments, Robert W. Leonard gives us Pimp My Novel and Market My Words, which also do weekly roundups; R. K. Charron points us toward Jane Friedman's blog, where she also does a weekly summary. Thanks guys!

For how notoriously slow** publishing is, it sure moves pretty fast sometimes. Thank the stars there are people out there keeping an eye on it.

What are your favorite publishing blogs? Do you know of any others that do weekly news roundups?

*I know that this publication doesn't use an apostrophe in its name. But I can't help but put one there. It just looks so wrong otherwise. And don't think I didn't debate about whether it should be a plural or singular possessive. Publishers Weekly gets off the hook because you could potentially look at it as a plural noun.

**I like to say that publishing isn't that slow, it just plans really, really far in advance.

Frog Blogging

2009-09-10T11:01:00.004-04:00

Listening to: Paramore, "That's What You Get"

So I've been doing something a little out of the ordinary lately.

Frog-handling and frog-sitting.

I know this photographer from my time down at the cafe where I write, and his latest project revolves around frogs. He shoots them with flowers, vegetables, fruits, and various miniature items.

Of course, since he has to be behind the camera, he needs someone to position the frog and then jump out of the way before the frog himself can jump. When his regular assistant is unavailable, he calls on me and I help out. It's definitely an interesting gig.

He has three red-eyed tree frogs (two adults and one baby), which look something like this:

Seriously, how freaking cute are these things? I mean, COME ON. Look at that little face and those little hands.

And then there's the poison dart frog, who looks like this but CUTER.

Seriously, he's teeny tiny. He also has, at least I think, prettier coloring than the photo above. His blue is deeper and darker. We call him Little Blue. He is, to be honest, my favorite.

And then there's the miracle frog, who escaped eight months ago and was presumed dead. Steve (the photographer, in case you didn't click the above link to his site) was fixing his washer a few weekends ago and, when he went to move the washer, found the little guy under there. He survived for eight months on whatever water and bugs he could scavenge down there. Pretty impressive, I'd say!

He's a fire-bellied toad, by the way, and they look like this:

Not cute in the same way as the tree and poison dart frogs, but cute in his very own way.

He's also the only one I get to watch hunt when I feed them.

That's right, I also feed them on occasion. I did it twice this past weekend, and boy was I nervous. All it really involves is changing their water dishes, giving each frog the correct number of crickets or fruit flies, and moistening their soil. I only had to do it every other day, but I wanted to be there at other times just to make sure everyone was still alive.

That might have something to do with the fact that I already kinda-sorta-maybe-a-little had something to do with the demise of one of the original tree frogs.

Those of you who have followed me for a while may remember a few mentions of the little disorder that I bear, hyperhidrosis. Yeah, I'm sweaty. Quite sweaty. And tree frogs, like most or all frogs*, drink through their skin, and so they can only come in contact with spring water. My sweat would probably kill them, seeing as how it's not really pure and it's probably salty. So I wore rubber gloves whenever I assisted with a photo shoot.** And I did that for several days in a row.

Which had never really been done before, so we didn't know that, as Steve suspects, the latex in the gloves would affect Carlos. His coloring started to go bad, and then one morning--boom. Gone. I felt pretty horrible about this, even though Steve insisted it wasn't my fault and neither of us could've known. And I really liked Carlos. He was a good little frog.

Anyhow.

Super-tempted to put "Frog Handler" on my resume. I mean, come on. It at least guarantees a call to ask what the heck that is. Have you ever had any particularly odd jobs or side gigs that just begged for a cryptic title on your resume?

*Look at me, making an assertion and being too lazy to do the research to back it up. Yeah, I'll admit it.

**Embarrassing fact: The first day, I realized I could actually sweat through one pair of rubber gloves. Without an opportunity to blot, it just gathers and gathers and finally seeps through. After that, I doubled up.

Reeeeeeeeeeevision...

2009-09-03T11:03:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The Thermals, "Now We Can See"

I picture a couple of yodelers calling that post title out from a mountaintop like in the old Ricola commercials.

Okaaaay...moving on.

Finished the first draft of PINK BANDANA GIRLS last week. Damn, did that feel good. All told, it took me just as many months to write as most of my first drafts (between five and seven)...except those months were spread out over a year and a half, and I worked on GRIM LIGHT, its revisions, and a few other ideas in between.

So now I'm getting ready to revise. Judging by The Husband's* reaction to the first third or so, it starts off a little too slow, so I need to throw some more conflict in there. I have a few good ideas for that.

But what I've really needed was a good synopsis. So I opened up yWriter, which I've had on this laptop and my last and never actually got around to using. I think it's going to be a huge part of my revision process from now on, though. Here's why:

yWriter has a chapter and scene breakdown feature, which essentially requires you to summarize everything. You can make files on characters, locations, and items, and insert them into each scene in which they appear. You can specify the date a scene took place and how long it lasted, as well as whether the scene involves the plot or subplot, is action or reaction. You can rate several different elements--relevance, tension, humor, etc.**

All of this was huge, and as I went along I picked up on several places where I didn't have enough conflict, or where a plot thread disappeared, or where a character acted...well, out of character. You can make notes on specific scenes or the whole project, and then you can make yWriter draw up a report using several options.

It's beautiful, in short.

It allowed me to do something very important for revisions, I think: see my story both as a big picture and on a detail level.

And now I'm ready. I'm pretty excited about it, too. I want to make this story good, dangit!

So, two things to take away from this post:

yWriter: highly recommended
It's revision time!

*He's the only one who gets to read stuff before I revise. That poor soul, he had NO idea what he was getting into when he married me...

**You can also change what elements you rate. For instance, if you're writing a romantic thriller, you might want to rate romance/sexual tension instead of humor.

On Poetry

2009-08-27T09:41:00.003-04:00

Okay, so the title right there probably turned some of you off--but wait. Hang in there.

This is gonna be good.

You see, I have this sick love of poetry. Not writing it--I mostly got that out of my system in high school, thank God. Lo, what angst through yonder window breaks? It is the teen years, and Kristy is the emo. But in all truthfulness, I can't possibly write good poetry. It's a strange art, requiring both precision and soul. Meter, internal and external rhyme, assonance and alliteration,* all of that--plus trying to condense an idea or feeling into just a few words--plus the insight required to even find an idea or feeling that merits such expression--just no. I don't have it in me.

I do, however, recommend that writers take at least one poetry class--be it reading or writing poetry--in their career. Even if you can't master all of the above elements, understanding and appreciating them helps your writing so much.

And because I appreciate all of those things, and I'm always looking to get high on words, I love reading poetry. I could while away hours and hours just searching for lines that uplift, illuminate, sting, charm, or destroy. Such is the English major way.

When I find those lines, I save them. I have three separate documents on my laptop, all containing poetry I love and nothing but. And because poetry is a love that's meant to be shared, I'm going to throw some of the best stuff I've found right at you today.

From one of the American masters, Mr. Frost:

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

-from "To Earthward"

That last line intimates so many things, and can be interpreted in so many different ways if standing alone. But reading the rest of the poem, you discover that he's talking about the pain that comes with joy. Be it the pain of knowing it's transitory, or the pain of love itself, even when it's good, or the sweet sting of beauty...and Frost prefers (needs, even), after getting his fix of joy/pain, to come back to earth and be grounded.

Derek Walcott thinks being grounded is the only way to survive.

When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

-from "The Fist"

"Hold hard then, heart." I could say that all day and not get tired of it. Of course, then I'd look like the crazy person I am, and we can't have that.

But the question that arises is, to be grounded or live on air? To give in to the fist, or to harden oneself against it? Which is preferable?

Wallace Stevens knows all about questioning one's preferences.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

-from "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

I can say with all certainty that lines two and three of that snippet are a vital part of my love for poetry. But within that snippet, within those choices he offers--which do you prefer?

But I guess no matter what we prefer, nothing is permanent. So do as Wordsworth suggests and use what is left...

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind
-from "Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood"

What's that? We're getting too serious? Oh, all right. A quick Dorothy Parker break:

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.
-"Comment"

Back to it, then.

But wait, what's this? A poem that celebrates life instead of examining its pain? Oh yes, Gregory Orr--give it to us!

To be alive: not just the carcass
But the spark.
That's crudely put, but…

If we're not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?
-from "To Be Alive"

That's how I feel about poetry, and a number of other things. Be the spark, and dance.

And we'll close with a bit from Charles Baudelaire on the necessity of poetry (and other things):

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

So go ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock what time it is. And get drunk on some poetry.

*You see what I did there.

When You Can't Stop

2009-08-10T12:13:00.002-04:00

Okay, so the tale of the epic road trip will be continued at a later date.

Why, you ask?

Because there's only one freaking story I'm interested in telling, and that's the one I've been writing for months. This thing has pulled me in so deep that it's practically all I can think about. I'm still fulfilling my normal obligations, even having a social life, but no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'm thinking about this freaking story.

I wrote until 3:30 a.m. this morning, and even then, I didn't want to stop.

I don't know that I've ever been so wrapped up in telling a story, in finishing it, in seeing the end. Maybe it's because I don't actually know how this one's going to end...yeah, probably. Most of the time, I at least know where I want my characters to end up, even if I don't quite know how to get there. This time I have no clue. It keeps shifting as I write, their fates as changeable as the wind.

Okay, enough with the freaking poetics.

It's almost like reading a book that pulls me in so deep I can't see outside of it, and I reallyreallyreally can't wait to see how it ends. Except, of course, I'M WRITING IT. So I have to work much harder than if I were simply reading a book.

It's almost become an obsession. I say almost because, as I mentioned above, I'm still doing other things. I'm just kinda sorry I have to do them. For instance, tomorrow I'm heading north to my hometown, and I will go to the ol' county fair. I'm excited to hang out with a friend up there, and for us to go around being snarky at everything, as has been our wont since we were little.

But I keep thinking, "I won't have a chance to write. I'll have to stop for like, a whole day!"

Even though I know that, at this point, that's probably best. A long drive, some time away to think, to let everything simmer in my subconscious. When I come back, I'll sit down at the keyboard, and it'll just flow out with no urging from me.

Still, I can't help but feel like a petulant child. It's very hard to resist the urge to stamp my foot, cross my arms, and whine, "But I want to wriiiiiite!"

I'm a grown-up, though. So I won't.*

Okay. Off to write now.

*Except for real quiet-like. *Stamp* *Cross arms* But I want to wriiiiiite!

Dispatch, Part I: Tale of an Epic Summer Road Trip

2009-07-29T23:51:00.005-04:00

I've been meaning to do this for five years.

And now is the time.

We are about to embark on a tale of a ridiculous road trip. This tale includes multiple near death experiences (drama!), bizarre city shenanigans (comedy!), the concert of a lifetime (exhilaration!), a quick trip to the psych ward of Massachusetts General Hospital (whoa, what?), and forty-six hours without sleep (exhaustion!).

It will be told in multiple parts, over the next few days. All names have been changed to protect...well, everything.

And so it begins...

Once, there was a freshman in college whose friends introduced her to this amazing, awesome band called Dispatch. That girl's name was Kristy, and she is me.

As someone who listened to more punk than anything, you wouldn't expect me to be attracted to a band described by Wikipedia as indie/roots folk jam band.

If you'd like, you can listen to what I feel are some of their best songs here.

My Rhapsody Playlist

From the first song of theirs I ever heard, I was hooked. I listened to them as I studied, as I drove, and as I read. I danced to them. I introduced my brother to them.

And he introduced all of his friends to them.

Fast forward to the summer after college graduation. I'm interning at the local newspaper again, preparing for my wedding, hanging out with family and friends. I go to a party with my little brother, at some friend's house on the north end of town. The one thing I remember about that party is this conversation:

Me: I'm so mad that Dispatch broke up. I wanna go to the big last concert.

Brother: We should totally go.

Me: Eh, depends on where it is.

Brother: We should totally go!

Me: And it depends on how much it costs.

Brother: WE SHOULD TOTALLY GO!

Me: You know what? We should go!

The feeling spread to a bunch of Brother's friends. We discover the show would be in Boston on July 31, and it would be free.

FREE.

If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

I try to organize the trip in some way--you know, make hotel reservations or something--but Brother's free-spirited friends will not be organized. "So-and-so knows someone in Boston, and we can sleep in his backyard," Brother says. I shrug and go along with it. "We can just park our cars at this beach he knows and sleep on the beach until the show, anyhow." Again, I shrug.

We gather together, about seventeen of us, with four vehicles, in the early evening of July 30. I had worked all day and was a little tired, but the excitement bubbling in my blood keeps me going. We pile into our four vehicles and head out. I believe at this point I'm driving the second or third car in the caravan.

Our town fades behind us and we push into the forest between Warren and New York state. Not forty-five minutes into the drive, we have our very first near-death experience.

On the twisty-turny forest road, a police car has decided to execute a three-point-turn on a sharp curve. The first car comes around the bend to find said police car directly in its path. She jams on the brakes, and the screech of brakes, joined by a chorus of screeching brakes behind her as we each follow suit.

If any of us had reacted too slowly, we could've had a serious problem.

Mr. Policeman continues his turn as we wait, but we have to pull over soon afterward as one passenger of the first car is having a panic attack. Please note the panic attack, as this will become a recurring theme of our journey.

We continue on. Sometime later, we stop at a gas station near Friendship, NY (which I always remember because my great-great-great uncle started a music school there). There are some shenanigans--mainly a very eccentric member of our group, Ivan, deciding he was hungry and that those strawberries in the trash can look good. Ew.

We pull out of the gas station, which is pretty much directly off the highway. I end up being the last car in the caravan, and an eighteen-wheeler separates me from my fellow cars. I should note at this point that we have walkie-talkies. I try to pass Mr. Eighteen Wheeler, who is going quite fast, and he puts his turn signal on as I'm doing so.

I do not know, at this point, that he is just letting me know not to hog the left lane, as he'd like to pass the cars ahead of him as well. I freak out, thinking he can't see me and might try to pull into my lane while I'm still in it. Brother, who is in the passenger seat, also does not know the trucker signal's meaning. As I speed up rather quickly to avoid becoming roadkill, Brother flips off trucker.

Bad idea? Yes. Very, very bad idea, but we don't know better and we think he's trying to smush us.

As soon as I pass Mr. Suddenly Angry Eighteen Wheeler, he pulls into the left lane and practically attaches himself to my car. Looking in the rearview mirror, I realize he is so close that I actually cannot see his bumper. This does not feel safe. I scream a bunch, my passengers scream a bunch, and several voices on the walkie-talkie scream a bunch. There is no room for me to slide into the caravan, so I have to pass our other three vehicles to get into the right lane.

And now I have another reason to never forget Friendship, NY.

I have a mini-panic-attack, which I suppress because I feel that the caravan stopping for two panic attacks in just a few hours seems like a bad sign.

Oh, how little I know.

We drive and drive through the darkness. There is some irritation at the leader car, who has our navigator in tow, as she's not really great at maintaining a set speed. In one 55 mph zone, we go 40, then 50, then 35, then 60. I realize that my cruise control will be completely useless on this trip.

We tell stories to keep entertained and stay awake. Or rather, the members of my car tell one story, each person making up a sentence of it and handing it off to the others. The result is probably unpublishable in this space, but we still occasionally make reference to it even now, five years later.

We finally make it to Massachusetts in the wee, wee hours. We stop at a gas station, which is technically closed but allows you to pump gas still using a credit card. We fill up, we goof around for a few minutes, stretch our legs, all that. And then Ivan's eccentricity rears its ugly head again.*

"Why do they say not to smoke around gas pumps?" he asks, taking his lit cigarette and sticking it into the gas dispenser.**

I've watched the Summer Olympics and still never seen people run as fast as we do in that moment. All except one. The most peaceable, easygoing member of our group stalks over to Ivan, grabs him by the shirt, and starts screaming at him. When the threat of an explosion or fire passes, we pull the two apart, pile into our cars, and get the heck out of there.

That is the last of our official near-death experiences, although there are a few more bad moments ahead.

On and on, across Massachusetts, where I've never been. I'm enchanted by town names, although the only one I can still remember now is Chicopee. I say the word over and over, until it sounds like something I made up myself. By this time, the other members of my car are asleep. I struggle to stay awake and lucid, downing caffeinated beverages that don't help, as I reached peak caffeination hours ago. I chew mint after mint, which oddly helps.

I start hallucinating. The car in front of me seems to be pivoting, turning 180 degrees until it's perpendicular to mine. I see large boulders rolling, bouncing across the road.

NOTE: Should I have stopped? Yes. Did I? No. I had this strange need to prove myself, to show that I could drive to and in what is, if not the most dangerous city in which to drive, certainly in the top three. Later, looking back, I realize just how dumb I was, and even though nothing really happened, I learned my lesson.

We get into the city around 8 a.m., and my passengers awake. I am fully awake myself, as driving in this place is truly an adrenaline rush. Also, suicidal. Luckily, our navigator has lived in Boston for a while and gets us to our destination--THE BEACH!

The dirty, garbage strewn beach.

The beach we're supposed to sleep on.

I vote that we just stay at our cars and nap until the show starts. I am quickly vetoed, as everyone else wants to explore.

Into the city we go...

Stay tuned for part II, which involves admonishments from subway loudspeakers, balloon animals, and a little fountain prancing. Part II will be up...Monday-ish.

*I'd like to state right now that Ivan in no way represented the rest of the group. Many of us were not really pleased that he was coming. He did, however, provide moments of surreal entertainment that I will never forget, as messed up as it was.

**I've been told that there was really no risk that anything would catch fire or explode. I still have no desire to be around a lit cigarette and a large container of gasoline. It just doesn't seem like a happy place to be, y'know?

Writer Wednesday - Guest Starring...

2009-07-29T08:08:00.003-04:00

Um, me!

Pop over to Fantasy Debut and visit, we're talking about (booming voice) THE DREADED OPENING. Comment, leave an excerpt, jump into the fray.

Battle of the Cats

2009-07-27T15:00:00.005-04:00

We have a guest cat in our house for the week. Meet Tucker:

Catnip! CatnipCatnipCatnip!

He's just as skittish as he looks. The only reason he's not under the loveseat is that I brought him some catnip.

Tucker was brought over for catsitting on Friday night and proceeded to hide under/in a chair in the sunporch for his first few hours. Apparently Tucker has become the hiding master, as necessitated by the fact that he lives with a six-year-old girl who likes to use him as a dolly.

We eventually got him into the living room, where he slipped into the loveseat. Now, if we want to get him out, we have to either recline the seat and reach under there, risking head injuries or blindness as we squirm into the inner workings of the seat--or get out the catnip.

You can guess what my preferred method is.

Tucker has slowly, slowly come out of his shell/hiding place. He spent most of Saturday in the loveseat, but that evening he lounged on the living room floor for quite a while, only darting away when TH clomped* down the stairs. But he would hang out under the side table next to his sanctuary, rather than going all the way back into hiding, while he checked out the threat. He even wandered around the living room, hopping up to look out the window.

The prospect of temporarily housing a second cat worried me. I worried about Shakespeare. Not because I thought he might be in danger, but because I thought he might be a danger. See, Shakes has gradually become the terror of all my friends. He acts all friendly, rubbing against your legs and letting you pet him and even pick him up--but then he arbitrarily decides he's not all about this anymore, and he bites you. I don't know where we went wrong, but I blame TH. He never had a cat before, so he played rough with him, and that, I think, made Shakes think he could play rough back. Either that, or it's the classic Siamese temperament--which is temperamental. Bipolar, even. Although he's a barn cat, Shakes obviously has some Siamese or maybe seal-point Himalayan blood.

This here catnip is MINE. I will mark it with my belly fur to designate it so.

This is him sitting on top of his scratching board thing, where I had placed his catnip, evidently trying to absorb it through osmosis...or protect it from Tucker, the catnip fiend.

But Shakes has been a doll baby. Seriously. Every time he comes near Tucker, there's growling and hissing--but it's almost always from Tucker. Tuck's a good cat, so I think this is mainly a response to being in another cat's territory. Just self-preservation. Tucker's even batted at Shakespeare's face a few times, and Shakes doesn't really fight back. He even makes chirping, happy noises toward Tucker, which I translate as, "Won't you be my friend? Please? Please please please? It would make me so happy!"

To which Tucker replies with a hiss and a growl.

Of course, he does act in some ways I consider passive aggressive. For instance, if Tucker is in his loveseat enclave, there's a good chance Shakes is sleeping on top of the loveseat.

This has given me hope, though. I thought Shakes would be hard to socialize after almost five years of being the King of the Castle.** I thought I'd have to wait until we move to get my second cat.***

But I think--much to TH's chagrin--that Shakes will have a little buddy to play with by the end of August.

Hopefully this one will spend some time outside the loveseat.

I'm watching you.

*Really, Firefox? "Clomped" is a word? Okay, I'll take it.

**TH and I have no illusions. Our names may be on the deed, and we may pay the mortgage, but The Bard runs the joint.

***I remembered last week that I'd been promised: once I got an agent, we would get another cat. It was just another incentive to work hard, and I had so many of those that I forgot the cat thing until over a week after I accepted representation.

Reminder

2009-07-22T09:02:00.002-04:00

If you're a writer, get thee over to Fantasy Debut post haste for Writer Wednesday, where we're discussing Unsavory Protagonists and Assorted Bad Guys. Post an excerpt (max 300 words) and comment on others'...it's really fun and quite thought provoking.

Get Ready, Kids

2009-07-21T10:57:00.002-04:00

Listening to: Modest Mouse, "Float On"

Just popping up to tell you to get ready for Writer Wednesday tomorrow at Fantasy Debut. Jennifer Estep will the featured writer, and the topic is Unsavory Protagonists and Assorted Bad Guys. I think it should be an interesting conversation, and although I'll be AFK in the afternoon, I plan to hang out in the morning and on Thursday if the conversation's still hoppin'.

Yes, I just said hoppin'. Yes, I'm living in an Archie comic. Now, off to my jalopy.

Reading as Research

2009-07-17T09:01:00.004-04:00

Listening to: The Starting Line, "Direction"

First off, thanks to everyone for the big congrats and everything. It's been a heck of a week...still looking around myself in pure amazement from time to time.

So I just finished, around 2:30 a.m., Cassandra Clare's Mortal Instruments Series. I finished Book II on the way to the in-laws on Wednesday, and Thursday morning I made The Husband take me to a bookstore to get Book III.

Okay, I was gonna be laying by the pool all day, I needed something to read. Never mind that my mother-in-law has like a living room full of books.

Plus, you know, I could potentially be writing sequels/a trilogy/more than one book in a world before I'm forced to move on to another world and other characters, sometime in the near future. So it's RESEARCH.

You know what I love about writing? Aside from, you know, everything. I love that reading is research. And NO, that's not just a cop-out to get my husband to leave me alone when I'm reading or make him go get me the next book in a series when I'm hooked. It really is. I almost always "read like a writer", as the creative writing profs put it in college--with an eye toward characterization, plotting, dialogue, description, symbolism, etc. Even as I'm following the story and getting caught up in the plot, a part of my brain is working to notice other things. It's not really something I can control anymore--the writer part of my brain kind of took everything else over a few years ago.

Every so often I mourn this habit, as I love nothing more than getting so sucked into a book that I forget everything else around me. You know, when someone interrupts your reading, and it's like waking up from an incredible dream--you have to re-orient yourself to your surroundings, figure out what time of day it is, and probably throw something at the person who interrupted you? But if a book is really good, like crazy good, it can still happen.

Mortal Instruments did that to me several times, which is why I re-read the first one--I wanted to read it with an eye toward style and plotting and all that technical stuff. The first time, I just got sucked in, occasionally stepping out to wonder how, exactly, she'd done it. Since I want to do that with storytelling, I have to figure it out, y'know?

It's still the most incredible thing to me, that this thing I've done since I was tiny, this thing I've never been able to help doing, could be a part of my job. I always hated it when I was little or in my teens, and I'd be reading, and my parents would force me to get my nose out of the book and socialize or do chores.*

MWA HA HA! I say to them now. Just TRY and stop me from reading. I have the world's best excuse now. "But I'm working!"

And speaking of which, since I spent yesterday at the in-laws, reading and getting a tan...it's time to get back to work. The actual writing work, not the reading work. I can only use the "But it' work!" excuse for so long, you know.

*My parents have multiple pictures of me reading on vacations, on holidays, etc. They'd turn the camera toward me and be like, "Oh, and here's a picture of Kristy doing what she always does, but in a different place/on Christmas Eve!"

Announcement

2009-07-14T10:19:00.006-04:00

Listening to: Journey, "Don't Stop Believin'". Oh, hush up and let me have my sentimental fun, will ya? =)

I have no idea how to really start this blog post, so I'm just gonna dive in headfirst.

I have an agent.

As of this morning, I've officially accepted representation from Marlene Stringer of the Stringer Literary Agency. She offered representation based on my novel Grim Light, which many of you kids have watched me write. And I say now, thanks for sticking around through the craziness. And the craziness of querying, and all the craziness in between.

Wait, what am I saying? All that craziness had to be pretty entertaining.

Anyhow...holy tangent, Batman.

So.

The story.

I started querying Grim Light a little over two weeks ago. Yes, I know all the other writers out there want to hit me right now. Please don't hit me! Remember that I've queried three other novels, so it's not like this really happened right out of the gate.

Marlene emailed me last Wednesday to ask for a partial. I sent it and tried to think of other things. I was not successful, but I tried.

Then on Thursday, she asked for the rest.

I was a bit distracted on Friday. I think it took me 45 minutes to load the dishwasher. I would find myself standing in the living room with a dirty cup in one hand and a fork in the other, wondering how I'd gotten there.*

Then I stopped waiting and checking my mail and my phone, because it was the weekend and I figured the chances of getting any news were slim.

Silly writer, eh?

She emailed me on Saturday night, and I got it first thing Sunday morning. She loved Grim Light and wanted to speak on Monday to see if we suited each other.

We're gonna fast forward through the big smiles and the undignified dancing, k? You can all imagine it pretty well, I'm sure.

So I was up bright and early on Monday, waiting for The Call. I knew it wasn't coming until around 9, but I didn't want to be all groggy when it came. I'm somewhat incoherent for the first half hour of the day, and "incoherent" is hardly a good first impression for a writer to make.

We spoke for a little over an hour, and it was awesome. I knew very quickly that she was the perfect agent for me, but she wanted me to take a day or two to digest everything and contact some of her clients for their opinions.

So I did. Nothing but awesome, across the board. And the clients themselves seem pretty darn cool too, all very welcoming and interested in me and my writing. I feel like I've joined a very warm and talented family.

And then there was maybe a little celebrating. Just a little. And because I am lucky and I have such wonderful people in my life, I got TWO flower deliveries within a few hours of The Call.

The left ones are from my friends Amy and John, and the right ones are from The Husband.

So, after a day of calling people and celebrating and trying to make myself believe it, I called my agent--that's right, I said it--and officially accepted representation. We're both very excited about this, and I think it's gonna be a great working relationship.

I know I have a long road ahead. But it's been a long road getting here, so I'm gonna take a moment to thank everyone. So many of you have been so supportive and helpful, you've followed all the highs and lows and encouraged me and read my work, and it's helped more than you know.

So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

And now, because I know you're all wondering, "But what does the cat think of this?", I give you the Cat of Cats, The Bard himself, Shakespeare, looking very excited and proud:

Don't let his stern looks fool you. He really is very happy for me. No, really. He only tried to bite me once yesterday. That's totally cat-speak for "YAAAAY!"

*This is a slight exaggeration. Slight.

Life: It Really DOES Get in the Way

2009-07-02T10:12:00.004-04:00

Well. I've almost got Pink Bandana Girls up to the point where I can continue where I left off last November. I needed to take out some elements that were really overdone and cliche, and make it a little bit special, which was pretty fun. All that encouragement definitely helped, but the chaotic air of the past few days has not.

I think it's weird how everything happens at once. A few weeks ago, I might've said I was bored with my life. HA! Silly me.

A friend's dad got critically ill, and I was busy meeting her for coffee when she could take a break from the hospital. Then Thunder in the Valley, which really isn't stress but is chaos, with the 16 million bikes in town (ours, of course, being one of them). Then, on Tuesday, I spent most of the day cleaning, and decided I'd spend the evening writing.

How stupid of me.

You see, I got a new phone on Saturday, after my old one broke. I wasn't able to retrieve my contact list, so I had to input the numbers by hand. And I made a mistake, and subsequently sent a few text messages to a wrong number, thinking it was my friend. They were fairly innocuous, slightly amusing messages: one regarding my neighbors playing very loud music, and another regarding our plan to combat that by having a lawn mower and power washer party. Then another with our plans for the evening.

I realized my mistake later that night, and promptly fixed the number. I thought that was it. Three days passed.

Just before I sat down to write on Tuesday, I started getting calls. The first, I noticed, was from the number I'd accidentally texted. I figured that if they had something to say to me, they could say it in a voicemail. After that, they were blocked. As they were from a blocked number, I ignored them.

I couldn't ignore the voicemails, though. They contained a special brand of drunken psychosis that can't really be ignored. Especially after the eighth call in four hours, with three very lovely voicemails calling me all sorts of pretty names. On the eighth call, I allowed a friend to answer, as by that time I was shaking with anger and anxiety and didn't think I'd be able to stay calm.

His end of the conversation was actually rather hilarious. The caller kept trying to talk over him, and he'd say, "N-no. N-no. YOU listen. N-no." My other friend said he sounded like the b*tchy flight attendant from SNL. "Buh-bye. Buh-bye."

And then I called the police. I put it off for as long as I could, hoping that the caller would decide enough was enough, or maybe pass out or take her meds or something. But at that point, I figured two calls an hour for four hours, frequently coming within a few minutes of each other, was my breaking point.

Then I got a text from my friend--her dad would not make it through the night.

I think, between all this happening, I wrote about 200 words. I did manage to get some brainstorming done, and I have a better idea of where I want this novel to go. But this was all done between my shaking and ranting and pressing "ignore" on my phone and listening to cracked-out voicemails, and then being sad for my friend.

I guess what happened is that the phone I accidentally texted was owned by a male. His girlfriend got her hands on his phone and--three days after the fact--decided to take matters into her own hands. This was according to the voicemail I got from the police at 7 a.m. the next day. So, as far as I can tell, it's over.

I'm going to try to write tonight. I'm pretty excited, actually--I can't wait to get immersed in the story again, to really feel my characters and be part of that again. I miss it SO MUCH.

There's a pretty good chance I'll be turning my phone off before I even start.

Confessional

2009-06-24T10:50:00.003-04:00

Okay. So. Confession time.

This is really, really hard to admit, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it.

*Braces self*.

I haven't written a word of fiction since November.

Gah! I want to go run behind a chair or something, so ya'll can't see me.

I mean, yes, I worked on the revisions for Grim Light, and they were quite a task. 6000 words out, 10,000 words in. And that was like the third start-to-finish revision. And I was doing work-work, too--you know, the stuff they paid me for. But as for fiction...I fiddled with a few potential projects, brainstormed some, but I didn't actually sit down and just write.

This, after a four year streak of nothing but writing.

I don't know who or what to blame, aside from myself, who I blame a lot, of course. Was it because I had a job?* Was it because of other things in my life that were pulling at me? Was it because of NaNo? And if you go to that link, let me tell you--that was written the last day I wrote something non-revisional, on my NaNo project. And yes, I'm making words up, at least according to Firefox's spell check.

I recently went back to that project, the NaNo project, and re-read it. I have 35k words there. I want to finish it. There are some changes I need to make before I do, because I hated the direction it was going. It's the old pressure-cooker vs. crock pot analogy I used back then--some people plot better under pressure, but I'm a crock pot kinda writer. I need to just take it slow and let my brain do its thing. There's all kinds of stuff going on up there that I don't know about.

Let me state that it's NOT writer's block. I know writer's block. This isn't it. This is...I don't know. Confusion? Discouragement? Distraction? A combination of all three, maybe.

So today, I'm going to work on fixing those things. I'm going to get the manuscript all ready to be continued.

And later today, or maybe tomorrow--

I'm going to write. And I can't freaking wait.

Have you ever had a period of non-writing, be it writer's block or life? How long did it last? What did you do to stop it?

*I just recently took a leave of absence for a few months, due to both the writing thing and a few other factors that I can't discuss.

Twitter for Writers

2009-06-17T10:09:00.002-04:00

Just popping up to send you to Toasted Cheese, where my article on Twitter for Writers is up. I think it looks so pretty with the screenshots.

Still working on that query as I work on other things. I'll get it, I just feel like there's something I'm not quite seeing and I need to let my brain figure it out on its own without any help from me. More often than not, I just get in the way with these things.

There and Back

2009-06-01T13:28:00.003-04:00

Listening to: Dispatch, "Two Coins"

Oh. My. Gah--

Yes, that's right. I'm back. Again. I know I have these periods of disappearance, when life gets crazy or I get a bit burnt out on the blogging thing. And you know I do, too. So if you've been patient and awaited my glorious return, thank you. And if you appreciate the sarcasm in that last sentence, DOUBLE thank you.

I'm in a weird mood. Sorry.

Anyhow, my life has been weird and crazy and exhausting and weird and crazy all over again over the past few months. I have no particular news, except that I finished the massive revisions on Grim Light, and I'm getting ready to query. I'm making my usual query spreadsheet, and I somehow managed to write my short synopsis (one page, baby!) in one sitting. Without fiddling with either font of margins, too.

Who's a pro? I'm a pro, kids. Either that, or I've done this crap one too many times. Leaning toward option B.

Now I'm working on the longer synopsis. I think I'll do one page for every 10k words, which will come out to about seven pages. Does that sound right? Someone tell me if that sounds right.

And I think--I think--I've come up with a decent query letter. I'm going to tweak it a bit, and then I'll put it up here for ya'll to poke and prod at, if you wish. Or you can just bask in its glory. You know, whatever.

Maybe I'll do that for Teaser Tuesday, actually.

My problem with queries tends to be that I rewrite them a million times over the course of querying. Tia can attest to that, as she was instrumental in a long, long series of revisions last year. I'm hoping to avoid that this time. If it works, great. If it doesn't, then on to the next book. Whatever.

So I'll be ready to query in the next few weeks. Sooner, hopefully. And I've decided, as part of my new "if it works, great" attitude, that I'm just going to shoot them out ten at a time, every Sunday night. I'll have my querying order all worked out in advance, and I'll just move to the next 10 on the list every Sunday, regardless of responses (or lack thereof). I'm just going to do this and get it over with, because I'm freaking ready. It's been far too long since I started this novel, and I'm tired of it sitting around.

So that's what's going on with me, writing-wise. And you?

Return to Revisionland

2009-05-06T09:50:00.004-04:00

Listening to: Damien Rice, "Cannonball"

The betas have spoken.

When you hear the same comment from several people on a major aspect of your story, you pretty much have to listen. Eventually. After like, the sixth person says it. Maybe.

I've struggled a lot with this particular aspect, which was having my protagonist (Freya) in first person and chapters from my antagonist's (Grigory) POV in third person--then first person--then third person again (through multiple revisions, not varying within the novel itself). I knew I was taking a risk with it--it's done by some authors, yes, but not terribly often, and it's a rarity in YA. I have about 25 books on the YA shelf of my bookcase, and only one series out of all those books does this. Although in that case, the POV varies between first person for the protagonist and third person for secondary characters.

So yeah, it was a risk. And I fought a lot with it, as is clear from the fact that I kept on changing Grigory's POV. In third he was wooden; in first he had more personality but I felt it was confusing for the reader; when I moved it to third again, I felt I'd nailed it--he had personality, but I made sure the reader knew in each of his chapters that it was from his POV.

But after so many comments about it--none of them really negative, just uncertain and concerned--I decided to do something.* And I realized that I was being an idiot. A really, really big idiot. The whole reason I had multiple POVs was due to a rule I created that Grigory couldn't approach Freya until a certain thing had happened.

Um, hello, McFly. If you create the rules, you can change them.

So I'm restructuring the whole damn thing. Grigory appears in Freya's life by the second chapter, and it's all from her POV. His method of getting what he wants from her, or trying to, is going to be markedly different. He's going to be more hands-on, sneakier, more manipulative.

And so far, I love it. I'm loving being back in Freya's head again. I feel like this adds a new element to the story, a deeper element to Freya's character and her journey, and more suspense and mystery to the plot.

Of course, it's also ridiculously complicated. I'm performing surgery here, people. This is the most complex revision I've ever taken. I like a good challenge, though.

To keep track of when and where all the changes are taking place and how my plot will change, I needed some kind of storyboard/timeline, though. I couldn't just go in there willy-nilly and move this and that, add, subtract, and whammo.

So I went into Word and started having fun with text boxes. This is what I came up with:

It's small and blurred--don't want to give away my plot--but you can see what I've done. One line for Grigory, one for Freya. Red boxes are scenes that need to be added. Red text represents things that need changed within existing scenes. Text in gray is stuff that happens off camera, so to speak. The arrows are sort of cause and effect, more to keep my mind clear and connect various incidents than anything. The scenes on the line, obviously, are scenes in which Freya and Grigory appear together.

I'm about halfway done with the whole thing. It's taking up every spare second, as I want to get this thing done already. But I've learned something really important: be flexible. Not just when my betas are concerned (I learned that a long time ago), but also in the initial writing.

If I'd just decided to change that one silly, unnecessary rule when I first realized I had a problem, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

One last thing, before I go back to my revisions. After almost every reader commented on this particular aspect, and after I really dug into the revisions, another friend finished reading. He told me at the bar on Saturday, and we started talking about his thoughts. I asked him what he thought of the varying POVs (clearly, he was reading the pre-revision version).

"I loved it!" he said.**

Head, meet desk. Oh wait--you've met before? Ah, yes. You're good friends. No introductions needed, then.

*Tia was the straw that broke the stubborn writer's back. Hear that, Tia? You're a straw! =)

**This is why I kept a copy of the previous version. Just in case I either change my mind or mess it up entirely. I'm not stupid, yanno.

Teaser Tuesday #3

2009-04-21T21:06:00.006-04:00

Listening to: Barefoot Truth, "Roll if ya Fall"

Other Teasers this week: Tia, Dan, Steven, ChristaCarol.

Okay, I realize practically all I've been posting lately are Teaser Tuesdays. I'll get on that, I promise. Later this week, you'll get a little peek into how I'm fixing some problems with GL. I'll even have graphic aids.

This week's teaser comes from Battle of the Hexes, the YA/Contemporary Fantasy I finished before Grim Light. BotH is technically the last novel I wrote, since I'm still fixing GL and I stopped halfway through Pink Bandana Girls. So we're truly going back in time here.

But this is the farthest I go. Before this...meh.

The rusty blue Buick was parallel parked on the street directly in front of the quaint-looking brick building. I instructed Rilla to park down the street, two spots from the corner.

"Are you sure you can do this?" I asked as Rilla flipped the visor down, exposing a small mirror.

She ran her fingers through her long curls. "Can, yes. I can flirt like nobody's business. Want to...not really, but I'm willing to sacrifice myself for the cause." She pulled a tube of lip gloss from her purse and applied it with expert speed.

"Well, thanks in advance. I know this won't exactly be pleasant, and I appreciate it."

She shrugged and turned to me, her shiny lips gleaming in the sunlight. "I look at this like a trip to the dentist: it's not fun, and it may even be painful, but it'll be over quick, and then I can just forget all about it."

"In a way, it's even better than the dentist--you don't have to go back in six months."
Rilla chuckled, but her eyes turned serious. "I'm more worried about your part, actually. Do you really think you can break into a car in broad daylight?"

I had actually been trying not to think about that part.

"Don't worry about me," I said, struggling to reassure her as much as myself. "If you're going to worry about anything, worry about whether the secret's still in the car. This is all pointless if he took it out."

"Oh, it's there. Darren may be clever, but he's lazy and arrogant, as well. He would never imagine anyone could con him or steal from him."

"How's the traffic on this street?" I asked. The café sat among other cute little business on a narrow street that branched off the main route through town. Since we'd parked, only one car had passed, but even light traffic concerned me. If one person who knew me saw me breaking into Darren's car, I was busted. And this was a small town, so a lot of people knew my face already.

"It's not too bad," Rilla said, applying powder from a compact, "but you'll still want to watch your back. What about the people in the café? It has two big windowseats that face the street."

"Just keep an eye on the other customers. If anyone stares too long out the window, create a diversion. Drop a glass, fake a heart attack, anything."

Rilla let out a loud huff of air. "Yeah, right. No problem. Should I put on a clown suit and do a little jig?"

I grinned. "You can if you want, but I don't think Darren will be as interested." Rilla rolled her eyes.

"We need a signal," I went on. "Some way I can let you know when I've got it."

"Just come to the car and lean on the horn. Once you're done searching the car, it doesn't matter much if we draw attention to ourselves."

She took one last look in the mirror, fluffing her curls and smacking her lips. Then she flipped the visor back up. In my heightened state of anxiety, as my nerves jangled like a tambourine, the sound held the frightening finality of a prison cell door slamming shut.

I pulled the Slim Jim, a long, flat strip of metal with a notch cut into one end, from my backpack. Arching my back and bracing my feet against the floor, I slipped it into the waistband of my jeans on my right side so it rested against my leg and pulled my shirt down over the handle, which stuck out past my waistband. Rilla tried to look nonplussed.

"Ready for your close-up?" I asked when I was finished.

Rilla tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled coyly.

"Ready for your felony?"

Lucky

2009-04-01T10:27:00.005-04:00

When I started this blog two and a half years ago, I thought it would just be a fun place to document my progress as a writer; somewhere to let loose all those thoughts and theories that arise during that long, wonderful, arduous, exhilarating process known as "writing a novel." You know, just another place to get the voices out of my head and onto the page.

I didn't know I would make such wonderful friends, and that has been the best surprise of all.

First Tia. We started reading each other's work, helping each other with query letters, consulting each other on decisions (I think the email thread in which I debated whether to enter the Golden Hearts lasted a week!). She's a great writer and a dedicated reader, and her insights never fail to blow me away. She sees things that I never thought of before, opens my eyes in ways I didn't think possible.

Then, when I was at the 2008 Pennwriters Conference, frequent commenter Eden asked me to write an article for Toasted Cheese about conferences. That opportunity, offered at such a tumultuous time in my writing life, bolstered my confidence--and going back to my old newspaper roots and writing in article format was incredibly fun. I must've done a decent job, because she's now reading Grim Light. Considering that she's an ABNA award semi-finalist (go read it! go review it!), I can't wait to hear her thoughts.

Lisa popped up in late 2008, offering to read Battle of the Hexes when I was considering self-publishing it on the Internet. She's a reader of Tia's, as well, and I think of her as our cheerleader. Unfailingly insightful and helpful, always enthusiastic, she pointed out aspects of my book that no one had noticed before. She's now read Grim Light--you can see her thoughts here--and as I go through her notes and apply her advice to the novel, I'm certain that we're making it a better book--together.

I met Steven on Absolute Write, early this year, after he found my blog and asked for some advice about starting his own. He's added his name to my reader list, and I've added mine to his. Considering his poetry, I'm eager to get started on his novel, A Birthday Suicide.

I don't even recall how Jen Hayley and I met. But I've been cheering on her progress, as she snagged an agent and is now, I believe, on submission, and I can't wait to see more success from her. Partly because it's so exciting, and partly because she keeps on posting teasers that make me desperate to read more, and I want to go to the bookstore and buy the darn things, but I can't because they're not there yet, and it's very frustrating, and it makes me write with excessive italics. I tell her to stop torturing me, but she keeps doing it. So maybe next Tuesaday I'll fight back with a little of my own...

So basically, I think you guys are so full of awesome, it must be bursting out of every pore. And I just wanted you to know that you're making the writing so much less lonely, and for that I thank you.

No April Fool's here, because it's the damn truth.*

*Argh. More italics. Darn you, Jen!

The Fear

2009-03-25T10:12:00.003-04:00

Fear is a huge thing in this writing game.

I'm afraid that I'll never make it as far as I want to.

I'm afraid that the words will stop coming.

I'm afraid that the ideas will dry up.

I'm afraid that each novel won't live up to what I have in my head.

I'm afraid that my readers, when they give me praise, are just trying to be nice--and that I'll think I'm better than I really am.

I'm afraid that my learning rate will plateau, that I'll reach a point where I can't improve anymore.

I'm afraid that my genre will go south, that agents won't be interested and editors won't be acquiring it when I finally manage to write the right book.

I'm afraid--and yes, this is ridiculous--that I'll stop loving the writing. I'm afraid it'll become a chore to me, that it'll be tainted with the bitterness of rejection.

I'm just plain afraid.

Fear is like a disease. It spreads from one thought to the next, infecting each with anxiety and doubt. If not treated soon enough, it can disable and destroy you.

I don't know how you treat it. Everyone has their own methods. Mine is fairly simple, and can be condensed into one word:

Write.*

When I'm writing, it's so much easier to push the fears back. Yes, they're still there, lurking in the dark corners of my mind. But the writing quiets them, calms them, makes it easier to concentrate on what's important. Maybe it's just because the writing distracts me, but I think it's something else: the love of writing is strong enough to beat back fear.

So when those dark corners grow larger and larger, when the voice of doubt shouts louder than the others, I sit down and I write. Or I think about my next project, and let the excitement for it do its job. Or I just remember all the good times, those thrilling moments when the characters become real, when the right words are close at hand, when the plot takes an unexpected turn.

Before I know it, I'm smiling. And that right there is the first step of recovery.

*Please consult your health professional before seeking treatment. Side effects may include euphoria, voices in your head, grammar nazi-ism, and obsession with fictional characters of your own creation. If you find yourself sitting in a cafe, wearing a beret and talking about "your art" or "the craft", please contact your doctor immediately.

In Between

2009-03-18T10:29:00.004-04:00

So I've carried this idea in my head for almost a year now.

It started as just a germ of something, inspired by a big news story. After that FLDS compound in Texas was raided last April, I decided I wanted to write something involving a fundamentalist religious cult of some kind. That was it. That was all I had. The idea of someone being stuck in one, with no way out, and being fundamentally (hehe) different from her fellow members and unable to reconcile her life with those of her peers really attracted me.

Keep in mind that I normally, at least in my long fiction, write about witches and reapers and kids discovering their magical powers and such. So you wouldn't think that "fundamentalist religious cult" would be right up my alley.

I let the idea just sit in my head for a month or so, and then one night, I brainstormed on it. Just opened my notebook and started writing down ideas. And everything just came out, came up, came together. That germ of an idea merged with all the germs in my brain, the ones that I'm normally interested in. I have no idea how or why this happens. It's like my brain requires ink and paper to make things concrete.

The idea has continued to simmer since then. I made some false starts on the beginning and did some reading and research to put everything together, but then I got a job and had to focus on one book. Grim Light was that book.

And now GL is almost done. After some discussions with beta readers (and I'm sure there are more to come), I figured out what needs to change, what I need to work on. And I'm determined to get that work done...because I want this book off my plate. I want it to be done and out there and ready to be seen. Mostly because I'm proud of it, and I want to send it out in the world to have its chance.

But also because there's a tasty plate full of scrumptious morsels over there, and this one in front of me got cold long ago. And some of those scrumptious morsels got rearranged into a really solid meal the other day, as I was driving, and now I feel really ready. I can do this. I itch to do this. I want to get sucked into a plot, a character's mind, a story in my mind that has to travel to the page. I want that nervous, all-consuming feeling that I have to be writing every second or it'll all float away.

But there's GL, sitting there, whimpering to be finished. For good. I've been such a good girl so far, staying dedicated to one project...

So what am I going to do today?

You totally think I'm going to just work on GL, because I'm a good girl, and because I'm so ethical with my writing, and because I'm practical like that, don't you?

Hehe. I'll show you.

I'm going to do...both.

The Busy Bee

2009-03-11T11:00:00.002-04:00

Listening to: The Hives, "Hate To Say I Told You So"

Why haven't I been around you ask? Oh, I don't know...it could be blog malaise. It could be blogger's block. Or it could be that my life has gotten so freakin' crazy that I can't tell my right hand from my left anymore.

Okay, so I couldn't do that to begin with. Whatever.

Seriously, it seems like I'm spread out all over the place here. I don't mind it so much, though. Let's make a list, so I can feel even more overwhelmed:

Still querying on Battle of the Hexes. What can I say--I'm slow. I don't have too many agents left to go, but I tend to query when I have the time. Which, lately, hasn't been very often. And for the past month I've been waiting for a query critique on a writer's forum from a pretty awesome agent, who's on my list anyhow. I figured I'd wait and see if I could get some good advice before continuing.

When's the query crit, you ask? TODAY, I answer. Am I nervous, you ask? HELL YES, I answer. Who's the agent, you ask? STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, I answer.

Lesson: query faster for the next one. I think I'll send out ten a week, regardless of when/whether I receive replies. That way I can just get it done and over, instead of dragging out the process for....dear lord. A whole year. Yeesh.
Grim Light is out to some betas, and I've gotten some great feedback. I need to do at least one more round of revisions before I query. I hope to be ready by mid-April.
House-hunting/selling: We just got a storage space, woo! So I have to start packing some junk away so the house looks all uncluttered and spacious when it's showtime. Which, it being spring, will be very soon. What I love about this? I'm going to pack away pictures and knick-knacks and stuff, and then in several months, whenever we finally find and get a house we love, I'll get to unpack them. And it'll be like Christmas! I love that. Yes, I'm weird.

Also, I'm spending this weekend cleaning. That is NOT like Christmas.
Brainstorming for the next one. I expect to start as soon as revisions on Grim Light are completed.
Judging for the Golden Hearts. That took more time than I expected, and was certainly an interesting experience.
Working on my website. Yes, that's right. The blog will be moving as soon as the new website is up and ready. Which, again, I hope to have completed by mid-April, so I can comfortably use the email address that comes with my domain for my e-queries. The website thing is a new-ish arena for me, so it's been slow going. I learn as I go...and I don't go very fast. If I set aside one night a week to work on it, though, I should be done by my deadline.
Work. Oh, that's right. The day job. It's starting to get down to crunch time. As it's just a temporary gig, I expect to be done by June...but I was also supposed to be done last September, and they kept me on. So that is certainly subject to change. I'm surprisingly comfortable with this.

And, aside from family and friends and all the usual stuff, that's my life these days. I think that, once I hit mid-April--and especially once our current project at the day job is done--I'll have more time for blogging.

So...what's been keeping YOU busy these days?

Grim Light Playlist

2009-02-15T11:27:00.002-05:00

UPDATE to last post: I don't think you have to register with Rhapsody to listen to this list. I can't be 100% sure, but you may be able to listen via the link in the sidebar without registering OR signing in.

The playlist is available over in the sidebar, through Rhapsody. But if you can't get that to work or just wanna view the songs, here they are:

1. Middleman - Bright Eyes
2. Chasing The Sun - Alex Lloyd
3. Autoclave - The Mountain Goats
4. Bad Sun - The Bravery
5. Winter - Jason Webley
6. Thunder - Boys Like Girls
7. Get Lonely - The Mountain Goats
8. Blue In The Face - Alkaline Trio
9. Under The Ground - The Working Title
10. Other Side - Dispatch
11. I Must Belong Somewhere - Bright Eyes
12. Hopeless Case - Less Than Jake
13. Little Death - +44
14. Yellow Birds And Coal Mines - The Scene Aesthetic
15. Against the Night - Jason Webley
16. Dance With The Devil - Breaking Benjamin
17. Cemetery Lawn - The Rosebuds
18. Hold Hands And Fight - The Rosebuds
19. Slow West Vultures - The Mountain Goats
20. Your Neck - Alkaline Trio
21. This Is A Suitable Valedictory - The Scene Aesthetic
22. This Is Not The End - The Bravery
23. The Coroner's Gambit - The Mountain Goats
24. Hallelujah - Paramore

Writing & Music

2009-02-15T10:33:00.002-05:00

Yes, here it comes. The blog that every writer writes (especially the YA ones, for some reason. We love our music, I guess). The blog...about music and writing.

I never used to be able to listen to music when I wrote. From my first "novel" (I use that word loosely in this case) all through college and a year beyond, music would just distract me. This fact actually kind of bothered me, because I wanted to listen to music while I wrote. A lot of times, as soon as I would finish something, I'd pop on the music just to feel some relief, to get something else in my head.

The only time, during all those years, that I used music when I wrote was when The Husband and I got our first apartment together. It was in a house divided up into three or four apartments, and there was one right next to ours. The couple that lived next door was...interesting. He was, as I called him, the Jack of All Trades. If I needed something, he would tell me that he used to do it, but for some reason was unable to now. Case in point: when I locked myself out of the apartment, and needed to get to my very last class of college--ever. He informed me that he used to be a locksmith, but his equipment was in Ohio. Then he told me that I should keep a key in a magnetic box under my car. Buddy, I thought, I left the barn door open and the horse is already ten miles down the road--and you are not helping. Also, when we got our wedding pictures back, he informed me that he could edit them all to look absolutely perfect (*ahem* I already looked gorgeous, thank you, and the photographer did a great job with editing)--but he didn't have his computer anymore. I wondered if, should I need a Sumo wrestler for some unknown reason, he would offer his services except that he didn't have that weird loincloth-diaper thing they wear handy.

Anyhow.

His live-in girlfriend was quite loud, and spoke very slowly. She was quite nice otherwise, but this could get annoying to a serial-sentence-finisher. I'd be sitting at my computer, trying to write, and she'd be talking on the other side of the wall, and I could hear every word. And I wanted to finish her sentences instead of the one I was trying to craft in whatever masterpiece I was working on.

So--in that case--music. Loud, loud music.

Then I got my first tech writing job. For the first few months, the small office I worked in with about seven other people was rather quiet. I never bothered listening to music, because it was easy to get wrapped up in my work in such a (relatively) peaceful environment. Then an employee returned from a long business trip. An employee I'd been warned about.

You see, he had severe untreated sleep apnea. He would fall asleep quite frequently at his desk, which was two over from mine. And snore. Loudly.

That first day he was back, he fell asleep three times before lunch, for an average of a half hour each time. I spent my lunch hour at Target, picking out headphones. From then on, as soon as I heard the first snore, those headphones got popped onto my head, and blissful music would replace all sound.

And from then on, I vastly preferred having music handy while I wrote.

This preference slowly evolved into something. I was still working on my first (real) novel then, and I can honestly say that no particular songs popped out at me as appropriate for it. Once I started my second novel, however, a few did, and I created a small playlist of about nine songs. The trend continued with my third, and a bigger playlist was created--about thirty songs. I used it when I needed to get back into the mood for the story, when I felt blocked, whatever. What at first seemed a procratinatory tool became very useful at my lowest writing moments.

I never organized these playlists, however.

Until now.

Let me tell you, this was an otherworldly experience. See, usually I just scribble down a song in my notebook if I'm writing and it speaks to me; if I hear it while I'm writing, I pop over into a special document I keep just for my playlist and add it. Sometimes I'll hear a song while I'm driving, and I practically melt at how perfect it is for the book. But it's always just a random group of songs, never a structured set that reflects the book itself.

When I actually ordered the songs in a manner that follows the plot and pace of Grim Light, I felt this natural high come on me, this feeling of completion. Here was this set of songs that rises and falls with my plot, that speaks in the voice of my narrator, that follows her path. And it was wonderful.

And now I'm sharing it with you. I posted it in the sidebar, so if you'd like (and if it works, ahem) you can pop over to Rhapsody and look at the track list or even listen (although I think you have to sign up for that, but I'm pretty sure there's a free account that will allow you to listen to up to 25 songs, and there are only 24 in the playlist).

And in case it doesn't work, I'll post the plain tracklist in my next post. It won't make nearly as much sense to you as it does to me--obviously, since you haven't read the novel. But what is a blog if not for sharing things that don't make sense to others.

Anyhow. I'm all hyper now, so I'm going to go channel this energy into something useful. Like revisions. Or bouncing around the house like I'm on a pogo stick. Or chasing the cat. Something.

What bands or songs speak to your novel, if you have one? Do you listen to music while you write? If you have a playlist to share, please do in the comments, or on your blog (and post a link back to it in the comments), because I'm always open to finding bands and music I haven't heard before.

Wheeeeeee!

Revisionland

2009-02-06T08:54:00.002-05:00

Listening to: Jack Johnson, "Holes to Heaven". Gotta say, it's nice to have a laptop with speakers that I don't cover with my hands when I type. Much more logical, yes?.

I'm still stuck in Revisionland.

It seems like I've been revising this book forever, but it's only been since December 8. Yeah, yeah, that's a bit of a long time, but remember that I had Christmas in there. The holidays always screw me up--all the hustle and bustle, all the buying and wrapping and traveling, makes it hard to work.

And then there was the avoidance. Oh boy, was there avoidance.

When I first started writing this one, I had no idea where it could go. Once I flipped the idea around in my head a bit, I saw some possible paths, and I took one. That path, in the end, required me to take a bit of a risk.

The scenes that are in my protagonist's POV are written in first person. Her voice just jumped at me as soon as I started, so there was no getting around it. The story demanded it. Which was fine with me, because I do first person a lot better than I do third. A LOT. While yes, this is something I should work on, I can't really change what the story is asking, can I?

Okay, done with the excuses now.

The story also, however, demanded another viewpoint character--my antagonist. That's one of the downfalls of first person--you can't really tell what's going on anywhere but around the protagonist, and since she couldn't have any personal contact with the bad guy for the first half of the book--didn't even know he existed, really--I needed to throw his POV in to up the tension, as well as help the reader get to know him.

It started out in third person. I didn't really want to take that very risky move of having two first-person viewpoint characters. I quickly realized that his scenes were becoming rather annoying, though--he was cardboard, one-dimensional, and kept spouting all these cliche bad guy lines. "She will be mine." "I would not fail again." Blah, blah, blah.

So I switched all his scenes to first person, sometime last summer. Surprisingly, it seemed to work--it fleshed him out quite a bit, got me much farther into his head. It helped me come up with a plausible backstory that explained his current actions. And that backstory even begged the reader for a bit of sympathy, which I like. I'm not a fan of antagonists that the reader automatically hates.

It was only when I finished and was reading through the manuscript that I realized: his sections were also ridiculously telling. Since he was alone most of the time, and we were stuck in his head, there was nothing for him to do but tell us his plans, hint at why he was doing what he was doing, fume over this and that. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to smack myself.

So I made a plan to add another character to his scenes, a sidekick or cohort of sorts, someone he could talk to.

And that's where the avoidance came in.

This seemed like such a big project, I couldn't help but shy away. The little voice in my head whined, "But we already changed all his scenes! I don't wanna do it again!"

I finally got to work on it, though. And on a whim, I changed the scenes back to third person. If done with care, I can keep the things that cropped up in first person that helped flesh him out. And boy, I'm only halfway done, but those scenes are so much better now. The dialogue in there, plus the character I pulled from the second half of the book and into my antagonist's scenes, who amuses me (he's very impassive, and it infuriates my antagonist, which pushes him to do things he might not do otherwise, just to try and get a reaction from his cohort).

I'm going to try to finish those scenes today--just power right through them. Looking back over how these sections have evolved, I can only say that, once again, writing has surprised me.

I don't care how long you do this--there will always be something that takes you by surprise. And that? Is just one of the many reasons why I love it.

Setting It Up

2009-01-04T13:09:00.003-05:00

Listening to: Ani DiFranco, "Hat Shaped Hat"

I've been doing a lot of reading lately, a great deal of which has me thinking about setting. Specifically, settings so important to a novel that they almost serve as another character.

One of the latest books in my currently-reading pile is Invisible Writer, a biography of Joyce Carol Oates. Regular readers will know that I adore Oates* and have for years--an interesting attraction, considering I write YA contemporary fantasy. We'll blame it on college, 'mkay? Anyhow, the biography follows her life and makes connections between the various places she's lived and the (mostly fictionalized) settings of her novels and short stories. Upstate New York, Detroit, even the town in Texas she hated showed up in one story. These settings are, in many cases, crucial to the events of the novel or story, the voice and the tone, and the characters and their development.

So this got me thinking about other books where setting is important. I also just read An Abundance of Katharines,** and having completed all of John Green's novels, I can say setting is pretty important in his novels, too. Looking for Alaska: Alabama. Hot days, sultry nights, the slower tempo of Southern states all contribute, I think, to the protagonist's frame of mind throughout. Paper Towns: Mostly Florida, can't recall which city, but the half-finished and abandoned housing developments play a big part in the plot and the atmosphere. Katharines: Starts in Chicago, quickly makes its way to rural Tennessee. The people and customs of the area are hugely important to the plot, and some of the comedy, since the protagonist and his best friend are, respectively, half-Jewish and Muslim, in addition to being born-and-bred city boys.

My point would be, I guess, that I love books where the setting provides such a thick, heady atmosphere that it stays with you even after you close the back cover and set it back on the shelf.

And of course, we have an entire genre that is defined, in part, by its setting. Urban fantasy novels wouldn't be urban fantasy if they were set in, say, a farming community in Iowa.***

This confluence of books about setting-heavy writers and books by setting-heavy writers led me to think about my own settings. I may have mentioned this in passing once or twice, but I've never gone into detail--I love Pennsylvania, I've lived here for all but six months of my life, and I'm kind of obsessed with setting novels here.

I grew up in the woods, see. And the woods were our playground. At our first house, we each had a section of the woods, a tiny clearing or a fallen log, that was our "house" or "store", depending on what we were playing. The creek that meandered behind our house is still a beautiful, fantastical setting rife with possibility in my mind. And I don't think city kids would play "Invisible Man" like we did.*****

My first book--both times I wrote it (age 12 and age 23)--was set in a fictional town in northwest PA, and if I put it on a map, it would've been right on top of my hometown. My second took place at a camp that I plopped down right in the middle of the Allegheny National Forest, which is all around my hometown and was a big part of my childhood. My third? Yep, you guessed it. In that one, I actually used specific parts of the town--the high school, the river, the old bridge, the cafe--and gave it a name that refers to my current town (Charlestown). My sister clearly recognized the high school, and my mom recommended changing the high school's exterior to the middle school's, as that added a bit more creepiness to the opening chapter.

The settings in these books are by and large important to the stories. I hope, at least, that I've incorporated them in a manner that adds atmosphere--small-town, forest-y atmosphere. It's the atmosphere I live in, and the atmosphere that speaks the loudest to me. For book three, though, I veered away a bit--the main characters traveled to the mountains of North Carolina (pics 1, 3, 4, and 9) for the climax. I've been there once, about nine years ago now, but the area stuck in my head. I was nervous about veering from my home area, and probably only included sparse details of the surrounding area--actually, I might go back and add some, even now. But I rarely feel confident traveling via my own fiction to other places.

Which might be why I've been thinking about setting so much lately, aside from all the reading. Because my next book won't take place anywhere near Pennsylvania. It won't even, really, take place in America. The setting itself will be fictionalized, but it'll be based on real places--islands, to be specific. This particular aspect of the novel is so important, in my mind, that I've mentally titled it The Island Book. I have a few actual titles in mind, naturally, but I can't bring myself to call it anything else.

I'll be starting it in a month or two, and even though I'm quite nervous, I'm also incredibly excited. It's good to veer away from your comfort zone, even if it takes years to get there. And I feel like I'm ready. Everything I've written so far, in a strange way, has been leading to this.

How about you? Have the settings in any particular books struck you as terribly important to the novel? And if you are one of those rare (*snort*) other writers out there, what role has place played in your writing?

*And really regular readers will recall that I met her last spring, got two books signed by her and a picture taken with her, and also was told by her that I was very beautifully dressed--all facts I will make any excuse to bring up even eight months after the fact, and probably for the rest of my life.

**Note: This may be spelled Katherines, but I'm too lazy to find the book either in real life or on Amazon. Also, not in a linky-linky kinda mood, so not gonna do that either. But all of John Green's novels are good, so maybe go look them up. His books make me giggle quite a bit, but they also dig into some of the deeper truths of life. There--I'm now finished making up for not linking to Amazon.

***Is there such a thing as rural fantasy? Settings with sparser populations, I think, can contribute hugely to the tone of a contemporary fantasy novel. I think this is a genre waiting to happen, or, more likely, one that's already happened and it just kinda passed me by because I was too busy looking at something shiny.****

****The footnotes for this entry are getting ridiculous.

*****This game consisted of pointing and saying, "Hey look, it's the Invisible Man!" Then, when the target looked, you said "Oh, you missed him." Also, we made mudpies and mudballs for the Invisible Man. Whether they were "poisoned" with sticks or grass depended on whether he was evil that week or not. Yes, this was before the Internet.

And so I ask the Internets...

2008-12-22T21:04:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Fallout Boy, "Homesick at Space Camp"

I came up with an idea a few months ago. At first, I was all gung-ho. Now I'm vacillating back and forth, unable to really decide. So I thought, since it involves the Internet, I would ask the Internet. I fully welcome any and all honest opinions in the comments or, if you're too shy, email me at krisbaxter AT gmail DOT com. Really, people, I need your help on this one.

So I have this little book that I wrote. And edited. And edited. And edited. And queried. And queried. And queried some more. And I mostly got rejections, although a few requests made me temporarily happy and hopeful--only to have the usual disappointment. And I love it, still, after all that. I really, truly do.

It's my third novel, to be exact. I did not experience that post-editing love with either of the first two. Not...in...the...least.

And I have this domain that I bought over a year ago. I have yet to use it. I'm waiting for The Husband to be a little less busy, so he can help me with all the aspects of website creation that I don't really get.

So I'm thinking...my list of agents to query is ever-shrinking, although I have every intention of querying each and every agent that reps my genre before I move on to another step. And that step, for the first time, might not involve trunking the novel.*

Yes, that's right. I'm thinking about self-publishing, but on the Internet. On my own website. Essentially, the idea is that I love this book and I want people to read it, or at least give it a chance. When I think about it, I think about my protagonist Hazel, who I adore in all her snarky, sarcastic, loner glory. I love Hazel, and I want people to get to know her. It's as simple as that.

I have a few promotional ideas in mind, mostly involving giveaways. Awesome giveaways, by the way, although I'd prefer not to get into them right now. That might draw at least a few people to the site, and that's really all I want. I feel the expenditure on my part would be worth that. And, as it's a YA novel, it's more likely to draw readers due to that generation's higher use of the Internet.

But then I think...maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe the book isn't all I think it is (note: I don't think it's spectacular or anything, and I know I can do better with my next novels, but I think it's at least somewhat entertaining and quite readable). Or maybe I will, against all odds, eventually find success in this business, and regret this move, because the Internet is forever. Maybe in five years I'll hate the book and wish I'd never put it out there. Maybe everyone will hate it, and I'll get tons of horrible feedback and spiral into a pit of self-pity and depression.** What if, what if, what if.

Important Note: This would all be happening sometime around April or May. I entered the novel in question into the Golden Hearts, and so I'd wait to see if I finaled before making any serious moves. No, I don't actuallyexpect to final, but the hope exists at least. The finalist list is, I think, release in March.

And so I ask you, Internet. What do you think? To Internet-self-publish, or not? Please, honest opinions and thoughts.

P.S. If there is some positive response, I'll publish a short synopsis, essentially the meaty part of my query letter, in a future post. Not quite ready for that yet, though.

*Don't worry: I continue to work on my next novel, and will go the usual query route with that, as well. I'm not solely focusing on this one novel--writing-wise, I have moved on.

**Okay, so I have more faith in myself than that, after all the rejections, which I've learned to handle rather well. But still, the potential is there.

An All-Around Guide to Editing and Revising

2008-12-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

I am of the opinion that, just like writing, there's no one "right way" to revise a novel. You have to experiment with different methods until you find the right one for you. There are, however, a wealth of tips and tricks out there on the Internet and in your local bookstore that can help you piece together your very own, special-as-a-snowflake method.

First of all, there are two books I read in preparation for my current revision that are really shaping how I think about my work. They are:

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers: How to Edit Yourself Into Print, by Renni Browne and Dave King

This one covers nearly all the bases, attacking all those bad habits that you indulge in during your first draft. Which is all well and good, because that's what first drafts are. But in the editing process, you have to let your strict, be-spectacled taskmaster out of that closet you shoved him into six months earlier. Browne and King show just how to really let that taskmaster roll, right down to examples from both classic and contemporary literature to which they apply their own principles. The authors also offer exercises at the end of each chapter, so the reader can practice what (s)he's learned.

Tips:

Take notes. As I read, I got so overwhelmed by all the wonderful and pertinent advice that I feared I might forget something. I made sure to capture on paper all the bits and pieces that I knew were my worst offenses. And before each editing session, I review those notes so that each important point is stuck in my head.

Invest in several colors of highlighters. For each "no-no" that they outline, they advise going through your manuscript and highlighting each offense you've committed. I plan to do this on my second pass of Grim Light, after I've caught all the basic stuff. I fully expect to emerge on the other side with a very, um, colorful manuscript.

Spunk and Bite: A Writer's Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style by Arthur Plotnik

This book takes everything you learned from Elements of Style--you have read Elements, right?--and tells you just when to use or disregard all those time-honored bits of advice. It's true, many years have passed since the first publication of the hallowed Writer's Bible, and it's also true that--gulp--much of the advice contained therein doesn't always apply anymore. Go ahead, purists, throw your hats and rotten tomatoes and shoes at me. But it's all a matter of knowing when to follow the path that was laid out decades ago, and when to veer off in a new direction. This book, I hope, will show you the way.

Tips:

Again, take notes. It can be overwhelming at times.
Be prepared for some serious hits to your ego when you realize that it'll take a long, long while before you can successfully apply a lot of the advice in this book. It'll take some serious creativity and brain-stretching, but it'll be worth it. I'm not there, yet, of course--not anywhere near there--but I can see the payoff already.

Websites:

I've covered some of these before, but they all bear repeating. And there are a few new additions, as well. All very valuable.

Holly Lisle: How to Revise a Novel

This really helped streamline my editing process, both physically and mentally.

Holly Lisle: One-Pass Manuscript Revision: From First Draft to Last in One Cycle

Again with the streamlining.

Tess Gerritsen: The Second Draft

What to look for when you're editing.

Tia Nevitt: Word for the Novelist: Revisions, Part ONE and Part TWO

This is part of Tia's very informative and helpful Word for the Novelist series. She's a super-power-user of Word, and seems to know every facet of this complex application. If you use Word, I highly recommend perusing both the Revisions section of this guide, as well as the guide as whole. Links to each section can be found in her sidebar.

So that, my friends, is the complete list of all the elements that have shaped my revision process. Read, bookmark, and give them a try. And if you have any other links or recommended books, feel free to share in the comments, and we'll add to the list!

P.S. And if you're beyond the revision process at this point and on the hunt for beta readers, Absolute Write is launching a beta-matching project on December 25, although you can sign up for it right now.

Happy revising!

The Jingle Cats

2008-12-19T13:29:00.001-05:00

I don't remember if I posted this last year, but even if I did...dear lord, it deserves another one. It's just. Too. Much.

All right, FINE.

2008-12-19T10:07:00.003-05:00

All right. I'll come back.

I've been avoiding the blog recently because, well, I just didn't really feel like it. NaNo went south for me (and not in the good, "hey it's warmer down here" way, more like the "this book belongs in a basement somewhere, gathering dust and being eaten by rodents" kinda way). Yes, yes, I know, with NaNo, you're supposed to write badly, that's the point, blah blah blah.

It wasn't the writing itself that was bothering me. It was the plot. Dear lord, the plot. With such a short span of time in which to create it (I'm not an outliner, and never will be), I turned in desperation to overplayed cliches, done-to-death tropes, and plot twists that even a blind man could see coming from a mile away in a thick fog. As I told my husband, "I think I liked this novel better when Dean Koontz wrote it in 1995."*

Bad writing, I can fix. A hopelessly terrible plot...not so much. That would pretty much require scrapping 90% of the novel, and the very idea of putting in all that work only to do it all over again...bah.

My plotting process, such as it is, cannot be successfully completed in 30 days. I need at least six months. I don't know exactly how things work in the cobweb-strewn attic that is my brain, but when I let it do its thing, everything falls into place. If I give myself time to let my subconscious work, to put all the pieces into place without any real conscious effort on my part, then it does the job. Or at least, it makes a somewhat coherent plot structure that uses all the elements I tossed into the first 3/4 of the novel for just that sake. I can't necessarily say it's truly successful, since I remain, as I like to put it, gloriously unpublished.

Example: With Grim Light, a novel I was never sure I could complete from the very beginning, I reached a point of true despair about two days before I finished the book. I looked at everything I'd written so far and saw no way in which to resolve it all, no way for my heroine to get out alive. still truly human, and somewhat happy. No. Way. Whatsoever. So I set the book aside for a few days, struggling with the idea that it may not actually get finished. I didn't wrack my brain, didn't brainstorm--none of that. I just set it aside and brooded.

Then it happened. I sat back down to write, determined to give it my all, and finished the book in one night. I like to use the cooking metaphor: If I let everything simmer for a while on low heat, I get a (to me, at least) wonderful resolution with a few twists and turns that even I didn't see coming. But NaNo...NaNo is like broiling or microwaving. Everything happens very quickly, and there's no time for all the elements to coalesce into a delicious whole.

That's right, people. I'm a freaking Crock Pot.

Anyhow, so, that's that. I will eventually come back to that novel and try again, but it needs some time to sit by itself in the corner and think about what it's done. Then, when it's ready to apologize, maybe we'll talk.

In the meantime, I'm now in the editing and revision stages for Grim Light. Yesterday, I found a massive plot hole--okay, more like an epic failure of logic on my part--that I'm still trying to fix. As a whole, I feel the book will take more than one serious pass to get it to where I want it, but that's nothing new. I hope to be querying by April, though. I'm going to throw myself into this with everything I've got. Because I'm chomping at the bit to start on my next idea, which will be somewhat of a departure for me in terms of setting, theme, and voice. I'm projecting that this novel will take about two years from first page to final edit. It's going to be tricky, but I love the idea and I can't wait to get started.

In a future post, maybe even today, look for website and book recommendations for editing and revising. This should, I hope, be especially helpful to the first time NaNo-ers out there. I know one in particular that I promised this information to, and hopefully others will benefit from it as well.

Because that's what I'm here for, folks. Just here to help. And, you know, whine. It's a strange mixture.

*Don't get me wrong, I'm a big Koontz fan from way back. It's more the "1995" part that is the insult.

An Old Fiend

2008-11-23T01:43:00.003-05:00

A short play in one act.
Setting: A small, cottage-like house in South Central Pennsylvania
Characters:
Kristy: A twenty-something brunette (since last weekend) writer, doggedly working on her fifth novel, a feat which she is using NaNoWriMo to complete
Writer's Block: A grizzled old man with straggly gray hair and a smug grin

The doorbell rings. Kristy answers the door to find Writer's Block standing on her front stoop, the eternal white and dead brown of early winter behind him.

Kristy: Oh...hello.
WB: Hello.
Kristy: Been a long time.
WB: Yes. Yes, it has.
Kristy (with the sigh of one who knew this was inevitable, but still hoped for the best): I suppose you want to come inside.
WB: Of course. May I?

Kristy steps aside, her lips tight in grim resignation. WB enters the home.

Kristy: Well. Would you like some coffee? The coffee pot hasn't been cold since November 1.
WB: Certainly. That would be lovely.

Kristy sighs again as she fixes WB a cup of coffee.

Kristy: So, what have you been up to, since last we saw each other?
WB: Well, I'll admit--I've been quite busy. Hopping all over the country, you know. I tried visiting Joyce Carol Oates, but she slammed the door in my face. She's as feisty as she is small.
Kristy (wryly): Yes. I would've guessed that.
WB: Since I was in New England anyway, I decided to stop by Anita Shreve's house. She threw a cup of coffee in my face.
Kristy (glancing remorsefully at her steaming cup of coffee): Well, that sounds about right.
WB: So, then I tried Stephen King. He answered the door, but he let off this maniacal roar of laughter, and his eyes seemed to glow with demoniacal intent...well, I couldn't help but run away.
Kristy: I would've done the same.
WB: And then I zipped over to California and paid a visit to Dean Koontz (warning: sound autoplays). As you may have guessed, that was a waste of time.
Kristy: Yes. Yes, I might've guessed as much.
WB (casually leaning against counter): And then I decided, perhaps I should set the bar a bit lower. Literary and horror/suspense writers, they're such difficult targets...but if I wanted easy pickings...YA writers seemed like the place to be. I mean, they're so entrenched in adolescence anyway. Lack of confidence, and all that.
Kristy: Well, I wouldn't say--
WB, interrupting: But John Green was busy with his Tour de Nerdfighting, and I couldn't even find him. I mean, that man was jaunting all over the country, and I...well, I'm not so young as I used to be. I just don't have the energy for that.
Kristy: Who does?
WB: Exactly. Since he's such good friends with Scott Westerfeld and Justine Larbalestier, I thought I'd pay them a visit.
Kristy: No dice?
WB: No dice. It must be nice, married to someone who not only writes, but writes in your genre. The motivation must be inspiring.
Kristy glances upstairs, to where her husband sits immersed in his computer-science-related-not-that-I-could-really-explain-it-to-you-even-though-I-work-in-the-technology-sector-myself Grad School Work): I imagine so.
WB: After that, I tried Maureen Johnson. She had some secret formula for repelling me, though. That, and the zombies at her door rather frightened me, with their monotonous chanting for Braaaaaaaaaaaaaains.
Kristy: That would frighten anyone off.
WB: And then Diana Peterfruend, but....
Kristy: Unicorns?
WB: You said it, sister. (pauses to shake off lingering terror of sharp unicorn horns)
Kristy: And after that...?
WB: Well, I thought perhaps I should try another participant of 70 Days of Sweat. So I stopped by Jen Hayley's place, but she's got this crazy reward vs. punishment system going on, and between the loud replays of Buffy and the screeching of Write or Die from her computer every time she fell behind...well, I just couldn't take it.
Kristy: Understandably.
WB: I'm very old. I have a hearing aid, you know.
Kristy: Of course.
WB: So I thought perhaps a NaNo participant. You know, a first timer (technically, sort of). Someone who's been keeping up with the daily requirement, but just barely. Someone who's already written one novel this year, and might be flagging on the second. Someone who's...
Kristy: Tired?
WB: Yes, thank you. That's the word.
Kristy (sips her coffee, perhaps hoping for a sudden infusion of motivation. None is forthcoming): And now you're here.
WB (saunters into the dining room and casually seats himself at Kristy's deskchair. The glow of her word processor lights his face): Yes. Now I'm here. (puts feet up on desk) You don't mind if I make myself comfortable, do you?
Kristy (sighs again, takes another dainty sip of her coffee, then slams the mug down on the counter): Well, as a matter of fact...
WB: It's been so long, dear. So very long. And I've given you peace for all that time. You've written what, three--
Kristy: Four.
WB: Oh, four novels during that time. Sorry, darling--I don't count the first one. Such dreck, you know. Anyhow, I figure you owe me just a bit of time, a short vacation, if you will...
Kristy (begins loading the two-week's worth of dishes into the dishwasher, and dismantling the decorations from the Halloween party she had three weeks ago, but will not meet WB's eyes) : All right. Fine. But just one day. That is all I give you.
WB (eyes the blinking cursor in the word processor). Well. We'll see.

NaNoWriMo Quirks, or: Wherein Our Author Cracks Herself Up

2008-11-21T08:34:00.003-05:00

One interesting effect of NaNo is the increase in the reviewing comments I make to myself as I'm writing. Since, for the most part, it's all going straight from my brain to the page in a big messy sprawl of words, and I have some serious OCD issues, I can't let some things go by without commenting on them. If I'm honest with myself, it's because I'm afraid I'll miss them when I'm revising. Some examples:

One of my main characters didn't have a last name. For his first full-name mention, I just called him "Cameron Lastname." The comment linked to this says, "Um...yeah. He needs one." This got especially fun when his parents came on the scene, and it was "Mr. Lastname did this" and "Mrs. Lastname did that" left and right. Find and replace will be my savior on this one.
A serious NaNoism (read: awful, typo-ridden sentence that you refuse to fix because doing so will decrease your word count): "Our toes, resting at an angle on the porch floot,* pushed back and forth to move the swing gently back and forth." I'll leave you to ponder the beauty of that sentence all on your own, but of course I had to leave a comment for myself, because obviously I might miss such a rotten sentence when editing...
"She lifted the lid of my old jewelry box, setting off a tinkling rendition of Some Song That Would Play On A Jewelry Box." Really famous song, yo. Bet I've got it in your head now. Of course I had to point this out to myself.
Next to a truly horrid metaphor, which I refuse to share because it's just. That. Bad.: "Dear lord. Really? REALLY?!"
I kind of dropped a character for, oh, 50 pages or so, then brought her back out of nowhere. My narrator said, "With all the chaos swirling around my life, I'd completely forgotten about my tenuous alliance with What's-Her-Name." I said: "Or maybe the author completely forgot because she's been dropping plot threads left and right. Who knows. Could go either way."
Couldn't find the word I was looking for, so just put in a word that I truly hate, "verve". Comment: "AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this is horrid."
I unleashed the critic in me on one of my narrator's particularly heartbreaking statements: "Bah. Inane, trite crap."
When my narrator was cooking breakfast: "Can you tell the author was hungry? Mmm...potatoes." It should be known that I promptly went to the kitchen and made myself some french fries.
And finally, after I said one thing in three different ways in a single sentence: "Okay, think of about five more ways, because this doesn't slam it over the reader's head quite enough."

I think it goes without saying that the editing process for this particular novel should be nothing short of hilarious. Of course, I will say it, because NaNo has made me say everything that pops into my head, and I am one wordy girl.**

*Yes, that typo was in the original sentence--and yes, I left it there.
**This doesn't flow quite right, moron. Geez. Think of another noun you can call yourself. There must be more than one.

Just a question...

2008-11-16T23:26:00.001-05:00

So, uh...could we change NaNoWriMo to NaNoWriTwo-Weeks-and-One-Day?

No? Okay. Just checking.

Back to work.

NaNo Status Update, Day 14: On Wordiness

2008-11-14T09:14:00.002-05:00

Listening to: Rise Against, "Whereabouts Unknown"

So I'm 500 words behind on my NaNo. No worries, though--I'll catch up today, no problem. I'm actually excited to push past it.

Why, you ask? And how? How can you possibly be excited to write after vomiting out 1667 words each day (okay, and 3000 on that one day, after I missed the day before) for the past thirteen days?

Valid questions. I will get to them in the most roundabout fashion possible.

One of the interesting things about doing NaNo, especially for the first time, is studying the effects it has on your writing, both the process and the actual product. I talked about the strange effect it's had on my process, in my super-special, I've-had-too-much-caffeine way, last week. And last night I realized how it's affected my product.

Usually, when I really get into a novel, I start getting really excited about seeing what happens in the next scene, or about writing that scene, or about seeing the aftermath of that scene. I start imagining it in my mind, picturing it, savoring it. And I get the itch to write. Which is nice, since I don't have to force myself at all.

I've reached that point now. So I wrote yesterday, trying to reach the scene I wanted to reach, and it led me to an interesting revelation. Because I didn't get to that scene.

I wrote 1100 words. At the start, my MC and the object of her affections were in her car, driving to a particular destination. At the end of those 1100 words, they were still in the damn car. They'd driven maybe two miles.

Nothing. Had. Happened.

What had I written, then? A line of dialog or two, and lots o' pretty, pretty description. I even inserted a comment for a particular line, something to the effect of, "This is the purplest of purple prose." Yes, description has its place, and is necessary for clarity, scene-setting, and pacing (and sometimes symbolism and foreshadowing). But I realized that I'd become a word machine, simply churning out sentence after sentence of, essentially, nothing.

I have a natural wordiness--I have to strive for economy ~~quite frequently~~. (See? Were those two words necessary? Not at all.)

So this is proof, I suppose, that NaNo is working in one respect--it's shut up the Inner Editor, bound and gagged him, and shoved him in the closet. He still gets a word in now and then, as with the purple prose comment,* but for the most part he's quiet. And I draw out my scenes with a bunch of crap about the pretty, pretty leaves, and the road, and the sun setting in the distance, and blah blah blah.** Most of which will probably be removed in January.***

Looking back, I can think of many places in this manuscript with superfluous description.

And this is why I'm excited to write today--because I will push past that scene and get to the one I'm itching to see. I have over 2000 words in which to do it. No, I won't let the inner editor out--he stays in the closet until 12:01 a.m. on December 1. I'll just...well, not sure how I'm going to do this without Inner Editor.

I guess I'll just have to write and find out.

*He shouted that one when I removed his gag to give him his daily bread and water.

**And the leaves are pretty, and the sun is pretty, but they're not the freakin' main characters, so maybe they shouldn't have more words devoted to them in one scene than I've devoted to my characters. Gah!

***Being a good girl and letting it sit for a month. Maybe longer, since I still have to edit Grim Light. Oh my, I have a lot of editing ahead...it makes my head hurt just thinking about it.

Buy a Book, Save the World--Pass it on!

2008-11-13T10:15:00.002-05:00

Everyone else has already said it better than I could (right down to the post title, which I only added my little encouragement tag to at the end), so I'll let you read them.

Now, git on out of here and buy a book. Any book, so long as it's new. Then pass these links along like hot potatoes, because we all have to do our part. Then, if you want, come back here and post in the comments, and tell us what book you bought. Shiny gold stars* to all my special friends who buy something and let me know. And to any of you who don't...well, no gold star. You're not special.

I'm going to the Tour de Nerdfighter event in Pittsburgh tonight, so I'll be buying at least one book to get signed. Probably more. Because when the publishing industry is in decline and everyone's running around in terror, and my career has yet to even begin...

...what better comfort can I find, than a good book?

*Seriously. I'm going to use my questionable art skills to make gold stars. Or something.

NaNo Status Update, Day 11

2008-11-11T22:56:00.002-05:00

Hit 19k words tonight. I think I've lost my plot. Has anyone seen it? It's about yea high, not particularly bright, a bit clumsy, with a few half-hearted twists.

If seen, please call the number on its collar (1-800-MYPLOTSUX). I'd offer a reward, but...eh.

Seriously, though, I'm at that point. YOU know. That point. Where you kinda maybe sorta know what's happening next, but it's all vague and nebulous in your mind? And you think that maybe it's stupid? And you wonder why you're even doing it? Oh yes, and you start thinking that your narrator's voice is a little (read: a lot) uneven? And you kind of wish she'd just stop complaining? Yes, yes. You know. Well, I'm there, baby.

But the beauty of NaNo is that, instead of letting your Avoidance Troll guide you, you just have to step right on him (squish) and take the lead. No, no--don't listen to his muffled pleas as he squirms under your boot--he has no control over you. We are not operating under normal circumstances here, people. We've gone...NaNo.

I've also reached another milestone in this (insane, inane, ill-advised) endeavor. I dreamed about my book. Never done that before, until last night. That's right, after no less than four novels, one of them invaded my subconscious and made things very interesting while I slept. Probably, I assume, because I spend so much time thinking about it during the daylight hours. So now I don't even get a break when I'm sleeping. Dammit.

And this was one of those dreams that woke me up in a cold sweat. My character--I have new sympathy for her. I haven't really been very nice to her, but it's for her own good. And as I promised on twitter last night, I will bake cookies for her when this is all over.

Oh, speaking of cookies...I can't stop eating. Pretty much ever since NaNo started. If I see it, I eat it. So, even if I don't finish my book, I'll have twenty new pounds to show off, come December 1. Um...yay?

Speaking of which, I think I have some Doritos upstairs...better get on that.

Keep writing, everybody!

P.S. Came up with a nice idea for a post-NaNo celebration post today, which I will be working on throughout the month. Keep an eye on this space come early December.

A capella, Star Wars, and John Williams - How Can You Go Wrong?

2008-11-10T11:03:00.003-05:00

The answer: You SO can't. This is so right that it's wrong, and so wrong that it's right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch it about 15 more times.

Thanks to Eden, whose awesome radar is much more sophisticated than mine.

NaNoWriMo Top Five

2008-11-08T10:39:00.003-05:00

Listening to: The Flobots, "Handlebars"...again. Really like this song.

Top Five Reasons Why I Will Never Do NaNo Again

After one week--seven days, yo--and 14k words...my brain, it is dead. The funeral is tomorrow. In lieu of flowers, please send donations to The Society for People Who Join Ridiculous Writing Endeavors.
I can no longer speak coherently. I frequently say one word when I mean another. For instance, last night I tried to tell someone I was a doormat, and accidentally called myself a welcome mat.
My story? I have no idea where it's going. Usually, when I get to this point, I can spend a few days away from it and let things work themselves out in my head. But noooo...I have to be doing NaNo, which requires me to force it all out as I write. I don't like this. I don't like this at all.
I find myself trying to plan for NaNo in the midst of long-planned social engagements. Like, "Okay, so I'm going to Pittsburgh with Keely on Thursday...I wonder if she would mind driving at least one way, so I can write." This somewhat defeats the purpose of planning social engagements--you know, the things I do to get away from the keyboard.
I am no longer capable of typing a single word without a type.* I used to be such a great typist, and such a good speller. All gone now. Thanks, NaNo!

Top Five Reasons Why I Will Be Starting Another 50,000 Words on November 1, 2009

The typos? They rawk. They make me laugh. Hey, if I can get some comedic relief from something, I'm all over it. No matter how many brain cells it destroys.
The more I write, the more I want to write. Not just my NaNovel, either. Blogging, journaling, even twitter. I am a fountain of words. Most of them may suck, but hey. That's the price.
It's a lot less lonely than writing by myself.
I have a short memory. I'll probably forget the hellishness by...oh, December 2.
14,000 words? In one week? Awesome!

*This was totally unintentional, I swear. I didn't even notice it until I finished and was reviewing what I'd written. I'm leaving it in for its awesomeness.

Inner Editor vs. Inner Word Count Monitor

2008-11-07T08:22:00.003-05:00

Listening to: The Flobots, "Handlebars"

Come one, come all, to the battle of the century: The Inner Editor vs. the Inner Word Count Monitor DEATHMATCH, sponsored by Mountain Dew and NaNoWriMo! You'll pay for the whole seat, but you'll only need THE EDGE!

In this corner, the Inner Editor, a heavyweight prizefighter with wire-rimmed glasses and a red pen. (Crowd Roars) He's feisty, he's pedantic, he's nitpicky--and he won't shut up!

Aaaaand in this corner, making his first professional appearance, the Inner Word Count Monitor! He has control of your mouse, and he will make you hit the "Word Count" button every twenty seconds! And he'll slap you with a trout for checking Twitter! (Crowd throws manuscript pages at the ring)

REF: All right boys, you know the rules. No hitting below the belt, no jabbing with pens, and no tripping. I'm looking at you, Word Count Monitor.

3...2...1 DIIIING!

ANNOUNCERS: Editor comes out of his corner, fists flying through the air, ready for action. Word Count Monitor hangs out in his corner, chewing gum and smirking. Editor does some fancy footwork, jabs, fakes an uppercut, then comes in fast, attempting a powerful hit to the gut with a hardback first edition of Elements of Style. Word Count Monitor blocks the blow with one finger.

And Word Count Monitor finally saunters from his corner.

What's that he's pulling from his shorts, Bob?

Well, Joe, I believe it's a NaNoWriMo Word Count Spreadsheet. Look at that thing. It has a morale chart and everything. Oooh, and he smacks Editor across the face with it! Editor is DOWN! No one saw this coming, Bob. The crowd goes wild!

Word Count Monitor is throwing his hands in the air and dancing to the crowd's cheers--I do believe this celebration is a bit premature. And there's Editor, leaping off the mat and throwing himself at Word Count Monitor! Oooh, he's punched Word Count Monitor in the back with a grammar website! That's a low blow, wouldn't you say, Bob?

Yes it is, Joe, but it's no less than we've come to expect from Editor. Look at that squiggly red line across Word Count Monitor's back. That was a good hit from Editor.

And Word Count Monitor turns with a powerful swing with a trackball mouse. Oh NO! He hit the "Word Count" button! Things aren't looking good for Editor.

Editor is down, crying like a little girl. The ref is counting it...one, two, three!

WORD COUNT MONITOR WINS! WORD COUNT MONITOR WINS! He's dancing around the ring, and look! He just jumped on Editor like a trampoline! Nobody expected this, Bob. Editor is a veteran of four novels, two crappy and two not-so-bad, and everyone thought he had what it takes to beat a newcomer like Word Count Monitor. But the scrappy underdog has come from behind for an unexpected victory.

Well, Joe, Editor was the clear favorite in this contest. I bet a lot of people lost money on this one.

They sure did, Bob. They sure did.

Our Right

2008-11-04T01:17:00.005-05:00

Eighty-eight years ago, we, as females, were given something we should've had all along--the right to tramp to the ballot box and cast our vote alongside men, to be counted equally. That's right, we have had this right for less than ninety years. I'm sure some of you have grandparents older than that.

Here, in the first paragraph of the Declaration, is the assertion of the natural right of all to the ballot; for how can "the consent of the governed" be given, if the right to vote be denied?
-Susan B. Anthony

To deny political equality is to rob the ostracised of all self-respect; of credit in the market place; of recompense in the world of work; of a voice among those who make and administer the law; a choice in the jury before whom they are tried, and in the judge who decides their punishment.
-Elizabeth Cady Stanton

I never doubted that equal rights was the right direction. Most reforms, most problems are complicated. But to me there is nothing complicated about ordinary equality.
-Alice Paul

If you don't like the way the world is, you change it. You have an obligation to change it. You just do it one step at a time.
- Marian Wright Edelman

So today, go out there and use what other women worked so hard to get. Stand in line if you have to, wait as long as required, and make your voice be heard.

If you won't do it for yourself or your country, do it for all those who fought for it. They deserve it.

NaNo Status Update, Day 3

2008-11-03T20:40:00.003-05:00

Skipped my lunch break because Bill Clinton was flying into the airport, and I wanted to catch a glimpse.

I saw his shoes.

Not really worth it, but okay. Then I spent a few hours knocking on doors, canvassing for a local candidate. Got a bunch of yeses...pretty sure someone gave us his Christmas card list by accident.

Now, it's 8:45, and I need to get my writing done for tomorrow because I'm skipping lunch again and doing more political stuff...and also partying. Hey, this only comes once every four years. But still, gah! Excited for this election to be over...both to find out the result, and to be able to concentrate on NaNo.

Off to work.

NaNo Status Update #1

2008-11-02T23:20:00.003-05:00

So, I hit my word count target.

For tomorrow.

How hard do I rock?

The answer, for those who don't know, would be "pretty hard".

This is good, for more than the obvious reasons. I'm doing election stuff tomorrow after work, and then election stuff and election results party stuff on Tuesday after work. That pretty much leaves me with lunch breaks and a few hours tomorrow night for writing, until Wednesday. I needed a cushion, and I got one.

Now, off for some much need sleep. Brain=very fuzzy. Hands=tired.

But heart? Heart=happy.

Na-WTF-Was-I-Thinking-Mo

2008-11-02T17:03:00.002-05:00

Listening to: Say Anything "Alive With the Glory of Love"

So NaNoWriMo has begun.

Could someone, please, just do me this favor. Answer a single question for me:

What the hell did I get myself into?

In all seriousness, my first day went well, although it got off to a rocky start. I couldn't start at midnight on November 1, as I wanted, because we were throwing a Halloween party. Writing is important to me, NaNo is important to me, but when my guests need drinks, they need drinks, yo. And no one else is going to make them!* Plus, the Naked Pirate drink my brother introduced me to was quite popular that night, and no one else quite knows how to make it.**

So I got started Saturday afternoon. Of course, before I began, I had to do the following:

Spill coffee on my laptop. Just on the edge, but it slipped into a vent and into my headphone and line-in jacks, leaving me with some sound problems and a laptop that needed to be dried out before I could use it.
Decide to handwrite for the first day.
Find a notebook that has more than three consecutive blank pages.
Search desperately for my pink bandana. This, by the way, is my ritual for NaNo this year. I must wear a pink bandana whenever I write. I have my reasons for it. It should be interesting when I'm writing on my lunch break at work--I'm quite sure the guys won't really understand, and will think I'm weird. Which, you know, might just be true. But still.
Be unable to find bandana for ten minutes, and start to wonder if the universe really doesn't want me to write. At all. Ever.
Find pink bandana, and finally commence writing.

I hit the target (1667 words), handwriting about half of it and then typing it all up and adding another scene later that night. I'd like to actually be at least a few hundred words over my daily goal today and tomorrow, so that I have a cushion built in for Election Day. I'm going to vote, go to work, possibly canvas or give people rides to the polls, and then party while the results roll in--none of that, except maybe my lunch break, leaves me time for writing. We'll see, though. It was a struggle getting more than 1600 last night.

Later, a post on the eternal struggle between my Inner Editor and my Inner Word Count Monitor. NaNo seems to bring out the worst in both these guys.

But now...I write!

Happy NaNo-ing!

*Some of my friends call me Martha Stewart Jr. This is only because, in comparison with them, I am fairly domestic. I have a house and a flower garden and a vegetable garden, I like playing hostess and making food for people, etc. In comparison with Martha Stewart herself, though, I am a bum on the street, drinking hooch from a paper bag and politely offering sips to passersby.

**Ice, about 1 part gin, 3 parts pineapple juice, and a splash of blue curacao or Blue Maui--just enough to give it a pretty blue-green shade. So. Yummy. And dangerous.

P.S. Currently at my mom's house, babysitting the sibs. Wearing my bandana as a headband over my disheveled hair. Spilled coffee all down my white t-shirt on my way here. Went to bed late and got up early, so the eyes look a little tired. I look like a writer, at least--you know, the kind that's been drinking for a week straight and maybe hasn't sold anything for a while and so must couch-surf. But a writer nonetheless.

Seven Facts Meme

2008-10-29T14:49:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The Arcade Fire, "Wake Up"

Jenwriter tagged me for this one--just seven random facts. So you'll probably learn some things about me now that you'd be better off not knowing. Aaaand off we go!

This is the fun one. I have different colored eyebrows and eyelashes. Now, when I say that, I mean the right eyebrow (my right) is blond, and the left is brown-black. The eyelashes correspond to the eyebrows. If you look at my profile pic, you can see it somewhat. You can see it some here, here, and there's a good shot of me mascara-less here. I was born this way, or at least I've been this way since I, yanno...grew eyebrows and such. It takes most people a long, long time to see it.
At my last job, in a review, my boss called me "fanatical about planning and organization". Most backhanded compliment I've ever gotten.
I once had a hedgehog named Sydney. Hedgehogs, apparently, are illegal in PA, so a family friend picked it up for us in NY. I believe that my cousins accidentally scared it to death (I suspect they were poking it with the fork I found near his cage/tank thingy) on Thanksgiving one year. Hedgehogs are shy, timid creatures.
Prior to meeting my eventual husband in 2001, my longest relationship lasted about four months. That guy ended up becoming a very close friend, so close, in fact, that he was an usher in our wedding.
I just (like, as I finished writing number 4) got a text from a friend who's taking classes from some of my old profs at the ol' alma mater. One of my all-time favorite profs just found out she and I are friends, and told her to tell me that I was one of the best students he ever had. I'm like, near tears here. Seriously! Best REAL compliment ever.
I grew up in the woods with three siblings. We played in the woods a lot, creating little communities that became the basis for hours of imaginative playing. One year, we decided to surprise our parents by purchasing seeds from the dollar store and planting them. In the woods, of course, so our parents wouldn't see the garden until it was grown. Yeah. That worked really well.
I adore olives, pickles, and cheese. Seriously, I could make a meal out of a relish tray. I look forward to a relish tray more than I do other features of a holiday--like, yanno, the turkey. Although mashed potatoes come in close second. I love potatoes, too. I'll take potato chips over chocolate any day. I drool over home fries. Yes, yes. I know. I'm a freak.

There! Now I must go back to doing actual work. Blah.

Only going to tag a few people, because I'm maverick-y like that, and Jenwriter got to some of mine first.

abkiel
Nancy Dietrich
Eden

If the glass is full / Drink up! Drink up! / This may be the last time / we see this cup...

2008-10-29T11:32:00.004-04:00

...If God wanted us sober
He'd knock the glass over
So while it is full we drink up!

I shouldn't even read book review and publishing blogs. They get me into trouble.

For instance, Galleycat led me to this entry from the Book Examiner, which makes me want to grab Gatsby and a gimlet. I'm seriously considering having a reading party after NaNo, during which I and my nerdiest friends read classic lit and drink suitable cocktails.

Yeah. I'm totally serious. That is how nerdy I am.

Then I'm sifting through back entries on the Examiner and I find this one about the Daily Lit website, which will now be sending me daily bite-sized portions of The Secret Garden (re-reading for nostalgia's sake), The Awakening, Shakespeare's Sonnets, Daisy Miller, The French Revolution, History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and both the Wikipedia Tours: Famous Women Throughout History, and Greek Mythology.

Clearly, I have no self-control.

Then I hop over to Bookninja, and find the Internet time-waster of the day, which you can find here. Go and do this, please. I command you.

Seriously, I love the Internet. I love, love, love the Internet.

LOVE.

Misnomers

2008-10-28T22:19:00.003-04:00

I really, really wish my husband would stop, when telling people of my NaNo plans, getting it confused with a certain organization whose acronym begins with N and ends with A and mainly consists of perverted grown men.

And telling them I'm "getting my friends to do it, too."

Just sayin'.

NaNooooooo...

2008-10-27T11:55:00.002-04:00

So, yeah. As I'm sure I mentioned previously, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again this year. Last year I died off right around day two. Hey, on days three and four, I was moving from one state back to another...I was a little busy, okay?

This year, however, my motto is "No Excuses."* Nothing is gonna stop me from winning this year. I have a great, fun little novel all lined up. I have multiple friends in the area who are joining me for the 30 Days of Crazy. I'm only working part time. And I'm not moving. From the keyboard. Until 12:01 on December 1.

I'm nervous as hell, though. Excited, yes. Itching to write, yes. Thrilled to have friends participating, yes. Nervous? BIG FAT YES. I mean, 50k in 30 days? Really? Are they kidding? I can't do that! It took me eight months (give or take a few, what with the indecision and other books I was working on) to write my last novel! And that clocked in at about 60k!

But then the little voice kicks in--the one I rarely listen to, because it's so quiet and tinny, sounds like it's coming from the other end of a long tunnel--and it says, "You can do this. The pressure will be good for you. The deadline will be good for you. And it'll be fun as hell."

You think I should listen? Yeah. I think I should listen.

FIVE DAYS, PEOPLE!

*I think that was also the motto of a jeans company at some point in time. Really, what kind of tagline is that for denim wear? "There is no excuse for why your butt looks big in these jeans." "There is no excuse for our refusal to size jeans like men's pants, so that you don't spend three hours just trying to find a pair that fits." No excuses, indeed.

Catching Up

2008-10-21T23:08:00.002-04:00

Haven't read GalleyCat in a while, so I found a few gems over there today.

Book Cover Mashup over at bookninja--hysterical.
Go ahead, judge a book by its cover--or at least, guess its Amazon ranking based on its cover.

Found yesterday:

This is old, but it's new to me--and gave me a laugh. How to Write a Book. My favorite step:

14. If you’ve worked hard three days in a row, take a hard-earned day off. And it looks like snow tomorrow, so you might as well take the whole weekend. But a day off from writing is not a day off from complaining!

Also a few months old, and maybe I posted it before, but I just found it in my email archives. It's funny enough to merit the risk of a double-post: Writing a Novel, a Love Story.

There. Take a break and enjoy yourself.

Invisible People

2008-10-19T23:04:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The Mountain Goats, "Alpha Rats Nest"

Sometimes, when I'm reviewing notes by beta readers, I'll have little arguments with them. Note: they are not actually, physically present during these arguments. Sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud. It goes something like this:

"No, really, it's better the way I wrote it. Just trust me on this one. Seriously. No, I don't care how much you insist, I know what I'm doing. Oh, what's that? Well, you may have a point there, but still. Well, yeah. That's true. All right, all right, fine. Have it your way."

Am I the only one? Yes? Okay. Just checking.

The Avoidance Troll

2008-10-19T13:05:00.004-04:00

I've needed to get some editing done for days. If I'm going to be ready for NaNo, I need to have all these other chores out of the way.

But there's this little troll, a short little stumpy little wrinkle-faced little jerk,* who sits next to me and whispers, "But wouldn't it be better to do something else? Forget all those silly chores. Clean! Play video games! Read! Anything but work."

And I listen, because his gravely voice is so very convincing. He's right--I DO need to play video games!

(Two hours later) No, wait. I didn't need to do that. I needed to do work! How could I possibly listen to that little brat? WHY? He has sucked so many hours from my days with his too-tempting ideas.

So today, I'm locking him in the closet. Oh, don't worry. I gave him some bread and water, and a few books and a flashlight. I'll get some serious work done, and then I'll let him out...

...eventually.

*So much easier to blame my problems on imaginary friends. Really, it takes all the pressure off my shoulders.

POV Snobs

2008-10-19T12:25:00.005-04:00

Ugh. Diana Peterfreund and Jenwriter both wrote very cogent blog posts about POV snobbery--specifically, first person POV snobbery, and now I'm all up in arms.* Evidently, only amateurs use first person.

Everybody knows Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, Daphne du Maurier, and Charlotte Bronte were hacks. Rank amateurs, the whole lot of 'em.

I mean, obviously.

I went off on this rant in the comments over at Jenwriter, and Diana closed her post with it, but I feel it needs to be said in as many ways and places as possible:

Do. What's. Best. For. The. Story!

That's what a good writer does. Think of your favorite five novels. Doesn't matter what genre, time period, whatever. One of those must be told in first person. Now, imagine it in third.

See?

Now do the reverse, with a third person book from your top five. Imagine it in first. Ah, there we go. It's not the same, either, is it?

To repeat what I said over at Jenwriter, Rebecca and Huck Finn? In third person? Nobody would've read them. They would've been missing the particular qualities that make them good, that make them classics.

My point is, these books are your favorites for a reason: they tell a great story, and they tell it well. That's why you love them. And whatever tools the writers of these books used, they used for the good of the story. That's the only consideration one should have when chosing POV. Some stories work better from first, others from third. Some stories require multiple POVs. Some stories require local or regional dialect in dialog. Some stories require short chapters or scenes, and others long. Some require the writer to wear a purple top hat and monocle while writing.

Okay, well, that last one is probably pretty rare, but I'll tell you what: if it helped tell the story better, I'd do it.

And that's really all there is to it.**

*I refuse to get started on genre snobs. There are people who will always try to feel smarter or better than others by disparaging what those other people read or write. It has always been, it will always be--so I just read and write what makes me happy, and if other people look down on me for it, that's their problem.

**Okay, so one other, small, teensy-tiny consideration might be my weak points as a writer--I might be less likely to use a tool that I'm not very skillful with. But that's a tiny consideration that can easily be trumped by one thing: the story's need for it.

Looking Back

2008-10-14T17:10:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The patrons of the awesome little cafe I frequent, out on the patio, on one of the last nice days of the year!

It's funny to look back, after you're finally done.

I really didn't think Freya (now tentatively titled Grim Light) ever had a chance. When I first started writing it in February, a few elements of the idea were different, but not markedly so. And I really didn't see where it could go. I remember asking TH, in the car one winter night, if he thought it was okay to just write something because I enjoyed it, even if I didn't see a future for it. Writing for writing's sake, essentially. He, of course, thought it was fine. He thinks everything I do is fine (grin). So I worked on it, and then I stopped and picked up something else...and then I picked it up again, and so on.

When I chose to focus on Grim Light (still getting used to that!) after I started my job in June--because I didn't really think working full-time and writing three or four different books all at once seemed like a good idea--I was very uncertain. My writing time was going to be severely reduced, so I wanted to be sure that whatever project I chose wouldn't be a waste of time. I honestly think it was a combination of my love for the book and other people's love for it that made me choose it, despite its inherent uncertainty.

So to finish it was a more fulfilling accomplishment than any other book I've written (this is four, she said sadly and triumphantly). After the initial rush wore off, I looked back to February, and how hopeless it all seemed. Heck, I looked back to this past Sunday, when it also seemed hopeless. And I truly couldn't believe it. Not that it had been hopeless--no, I remembered that feeling all too well--but that I'd done it. That I'd taken this idea that initially looked like a dead-ringer for a dead-end, and managed to find a way out. That I'd ever had enough faith, in those early days, to keep going, instead of abandoning it for one of my more promising ideas. That I hadn't had enough faith, all those times I did abandon it for a while, and had almost missed this chance. It seems like a minor miracle to me.

Sometimes, you have to find hope even when something seems impossible. Sometimes, you have to write just because you love your characters, whether you think they'll reach the end or not. Sometimes, you just have to turn off that voice of uncertainty and write for the sheer joy of it.

Sometimes, you just have to write.

...and she conquers the beast. (insert roaring crowd here)

2008-10-14T00:29:00.004-04:00

Writing a book is like an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster. -Winston Churchill

That's right, kids. Just over 4000 words today, and the book is DONE. It clocked in at just over 60k words, which is about average for the genre, and for me. Less than I expected with the new ending that occurred to me tonight. I was sure I'd be up all night, with the ending I had planned before. This one's better, though. I'm quite happy with it. I'm also shocked--I didn't expect to finish it until near the end of the month. I expected at least another 10k words. It is what it is, though.

Of course, I'm already thinking of little things that need fixed, things that could be added or subtracted here or there. But that's a job for tomorrow. Or maybe I'll actually let myself rest for a day.

Maybe.

Now, though, my happy little writer self is going to get a shower and go to bed. After I do a little happy dance, naturally.

DONE!

Ahhh...

2008-10-13T23:14:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The Rosebuds, "Let's Hold Hands and Fight"

So far tonight I have:

Found a giant plot hole, like, the size of Kansas--and found a way to patch it.
Figured out just how my MC is going to get out of this hole I dug her in--and from which I was certain, pretty much from the beginning, no escape was possible. One of those transcendent moments of writing that keep me going.
Stood on the high-wire, juggling a dozen balls, six trout, and a watermelon, knowing there's no net to catch me if I fall--and gotten to the halfway point, where if I can just keep this up, I know I can make it, and maybe even make it look good.
Paid my credit card bill. Hey, it was on my to-do list.
Written 2,942 words.
Fallen back in love with this book. I'll admit, it lost its shine for a few days there, when I wasn't even entirely sure I could salvage it--but now I adore it.

I'd say that's a pretty good night, but I'm not done. Not by a long shot.

Finishing...ALMOST

2008-10-13T22:04:00.003-04:00

Listening to: The Mountain Goats, "Dilaudid" (Awesome song with awesome strings)

So I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel with my current project. And I've once again reached that point where I want to finish it now, tonight. Just type and type until my fingers can't stand it anymore and the keyboard is in flames.

I have other things on my to do list (for example, I'm certain I have no pants to wear to work tomorrow), and I have a long day at work tomorrow ("Hey, we need to get this document done by tomorrow--you can do that, right?"), but I might just do it. I've (technically) been working on this thing since February, and it's time to be DONE. An all-nighter just might be in order.

We'll see what happens.

Another Layout Change

2008-10-06T17:20:00.002-04:00

Yes, I changed my layout again. The pink was driving me batty.

Woohoo!

2008-10-06T07:43:00.002-04:00

Go over and congratulate Jenwriter, who got "the call" last week. So very excited for her!

A giggle

2008-10-01T09:06:00.002-04:00

Today's xkcd is certifiably awesome. xkcd tackles fiction...RAWK. Make sure you check out the alt-text (the pop-up text that comes up when you hover over the comic).

Another great one recently was this. Again, don't miss the alt-text. It's sort of the cherry on top.

Getting Into It

2008-09-27T11:54:00.002-04:00

Listening to: Scary Kids Scaring Kids, "Degenerates"

When I first started my current project -- working titled Freya -- I was excited but wary. I really wasn't sure I could make it work. The original idea seemed like it couldn't go farther than novella territory, and I could only think of two possible ways it could all end, neither of which I liked at all (hint: both involved the death of a very important character). But I was so caught up in the narrator's voice, right from page 1, that I couldn't help myself. I had to see where it went. I had to follow her down her path for at least a while, because she was just that awesome.*

Then practicality (and uncertainty) kicked in, and I abandoned Freya for another project, one that had more potential but was infinitely scarier because it was several miles from my usual stuff. It still had some of the same elements, but was also far from my comfort zone. Also, it required a great deal of research, as well as a voice I wasn't sure I could handle yet.

Then, certain that I wasn't quite ready for that particular novel, I abandoned that for another idea. An awesome, fun, different idea. That's the one I'm doing for NaNo. And occasionally in there, I'd work on the sequel to to my last novel, or the first idea I came up with after I finished the last novel. That's right, folks--last winter/spring, I had no less than five things I wanted desperately to write.

But Freya's voice still called to me. I would occasionally, feeling like a little cheater, open up the document and read the first few pages, and next thing I knew I was adding to it. She's addictive, that one. And back and forth we went, until I started my job and realized I had to commit myself to just one novel--or go absolutely crazy.

I asked two people, both of whom knew the details of all three ideas, and they both said, without hesitation, "Freya."

Somewhere in all this, I'd taken Freya in a different direction, one that had far more potential. It wasn't easy--something about the project didn't lend itself to change very well. It took a lot of long showers to get there. But I was at least somewhat confident, once I found the right path, that it had some possibilities.

I never quite fell in love like I have with other novels, though. I was addicted, yes, and I enjoyed the writing, but something held me from falling headfirst into it all. That was a problem. I need that feeling, at least for the first 30k words. After that, it's a matter of, "Well, I've come this far, I pretty much have to finish." Because, you know, once you reach the middle, it's not as fun anymore--it's a long, hard slog to the finish line, tripping over your own feet the whole way.

Freya, somehow, always surprises me. She did it every time I stealthily opened up the document last spring, certain that her voice couldn't be as addictive as I'd thought. And she's done it again now.

Because, nearly 50k words in, I'm head-over-heels. I love this damn book.

What's the change? I don't know for sure. I added a character that I really like, and that helped. And the encouragement I've gotten from those two people who pushed me to focus on Freya has helped a great deal.** Also, I've shown the first page to my brother, who is decidedly not the YA paranormal romance type. He's more the Tom Robbins type, on the rare occasions that he even reads fiction these days. He forgot to stop at the end of page 1, continued on a few more pages, then kind of woke up and realized what he'd done. "I could definitely keep reading this," he said.

Yes, I thrive on outside approval. Hey, I'm a flawed human being. What can I say.

This writing thing never fails to surprise me. Every novel is different. Whereas my last one was like a teenage romance (in the writing experience, not the genre itself), all furious adoration and the hectic joy of first love, Freya has been more like an arranged marriage with a really great guy that I didn't know. I wasn't sure it was a good idea at first, and I tried to back away. But then people pushed me toward it, and I was drawn to the challenge, and the next thing I knew, I was committed. And it took me a while, but eventually I realized its potential. And got really, really excited.

So that's where I am, now. Seven months after I started the damn thing, I finally love it.

Took me long enough.

*This is not boasting. I take no credit for her. She is awesome all on her own, with no help from me. I did not create her--she sprang fully formed from my head, like Athena from Zeus. No, I'm not comparing myself to Zeus.

**One night not too long ago, I was writing while TH was reading Twilight (yes, I'm a mean wife who makes her husband read YA when he'd rather be reading Palahniuk or Myron Cope's autobiography). I asked him how it was going, and his gaze slid to my laptop. "What are you working on?" he asked. "Freya, of course," I answered. A look of longing crossed his face. "I want to read that. Hurry up and finish." Oh, my cold little writer's heart grew three times in size that night!

A Glimpse of the Top (as it topples ...or not?)

2008-09-22T12:46:00.003-04:00

I'm by no means an expert on the publishing industry. Heck, I'm not even in the publishing industry, really. Just trying to be.

But considering how much time I spend on that "trying" part, this article was really fascinating (the original, split up into 9 pages, in case the first link is expired). Found via boingboing, so probably the rest of the (internet) planet has read it already, but just in case you didn't. Also, Cory Doctorow's comments on boingboing, about what the article missed or ignored altogether, were pretty insightful.

I'm very much on the outside of this article, so it's easy for me to sit back and say, "Well, it should be interesting to see what happens." Which is, of course, my only choice, since I'm just little ol' me in little ol' PA, writing my little ol' books...

...but I still get kind of nervous, just because this is the industry I've always dreamed of being a part of, and I want it to stay alive, dammit! Which I'm sure it will, in some form or another. The question right now is, what form will that be?

I don't think anyone has the answer for that.

Jammin'

2008-09-21T15:36:00.002-04:00

Listening to: The music in my head, which is sweet and flowing and always in tune =)

So, I've discovered an incredible creative experience. I can't really believe that, in all my years of practicing this art, I never found this out before, but...

Jamming is a fantastic form of music.

My brother plays banjo (and about 12 other instruments), and he's on this side of the country for once. I've seen him jam with his friends, and seen him play by himself, and both are awesome to watch.

Even more awesome, though, is jumping into the fray and jamming myself. Which I just did for the first time a week ago, at a party my brother held at my dad's house.

The night before the party, knowing that there would be impromptu music played, I practiced playing freestyle. Now, I know that sounds rather counterintuitive, but you have to understand--I had never, in all my years of playing violin (12 years now, with a 6 year break after high school), played without sheet music in front of me. I didn't truly realize that until I picked up my instrument and started trying things out.

It was awesome. The only thing I can compare it to is those transcendant moments of writing, when your brain shuts off and your instincts take over. It was, in fact, just like that.

So I really looked forward to the next evening, even as I was a bit nervous. All the Vagabond's (that's what we call him sometimes) friends would be there, as would my sister and brother-in-law.

Well into the night, after many drinks had been consumed and one of my brother's male friends had worn my tank top while doing shots of rum and posing for pictures*, I was standing in the kitchen when I heard someone strike up the guitar in the living room. Then I heard my brother's banjo kick in--he has a very distinctive sound, almost like he's playing classical music--and I knew it was time. I snatched my violin from its case and ran to join the crowd. Someone pulled out a harmonica as I walked in. I listened a bit, then let my arm and fingers take over.

It. Sounded. Amazing.

The boy who had worn my tank top earlier provided percussion with a cooling rack and a ladle, and about six or seven others just sat and listened. I can't tell you what notes I played, or even hum the melody, because I made it up as I went along and forgot it as soon as we finished. Everyone came up to me afterwords and said how great it sounded, but the best compliment came from my brother:

"I have never been so proud of you in all my life," he said.

So, after the thrill and melody of that night, I was a little depressed coming back to J-town. No one to jam with! And after that night, I was hooked. Sure, I know a few people who play various instruments, but I didn't think any of them would really be up for jamming.

Then serendipity happened.

I was hanging out at the cafe I patronize after work, and the boyfriend of the-most-awesome-barista-in-the-world was the only other person on the patio with me. A song played, something with an awesome violin part, and I commented on how great it sounded. We got to talking, and I discovered that he plays acoustic guitar, and in fact gives lessons at the studio down the street. I mentioned my jamming experience, and he invited me to join him for a session sometime.

We haven't had a chance yet, but I'm now carrying my violin with me every time I go down there. I just finished jamming with my brother (on the front porch--how country are we?), who's back in town for a few days, and he thinks I'm getting the hang of it.

There's nothing like it, especially with a group. If you play an instrument, and you ever get the chance to jam--go for it. You won't regret it.

*Another story for another day.

Whoa!

2008-09-20T21:37:00.003-04:00

What happened there? Someone changed her layout...

This is probably just temporary, something to freshen it up. I want to go cleaner, something with some boxes on the sidebar holding my links, nicer lines, etc. I just have to, you know, figure out how....

Let me know what you think. I did the banner myself, and I mostly like it, but I can't decide if the pink is good or not. Opinions?

Updates

2008-09-17T18:25:00.003-04:00

Someone's actually updating her blog two days in a row. It's a freakin' miracle.

Just finished emailing Tia about our beta-reading arrangements--she finished Starcaster, and I'll be finishing my current masterpiece (she said with a hint of sarcasm)* within a month. I love how we're practically on the same schedule! I also heart my beta readers, especially Tia, who's always so insightful and eager to help. Thank God for the Internet--without it, we'd never have met!

So, here's where I'm at after this long-but-it-felt-short, crazy-and-it-felt-crazy summer...

I'm working part time now, as I said yesterday. Sort of. They keep pulling me in on my days off, but I don't mind so much. I like my job, I like the guys I work with (yes, it's all guys--practically the story of my life), and I like my projects. Tech writing is never the most fulfilling occupation,** but the guys make it fun.
I finally settled on a book idea for the long haul. I'm about 45k words in, with probably 15-20k more to go. I hope to have it finished by November 1, so I can participate in NaNo with one of the other ideas I came up with in that frenzy of creativity last winter. After that, I have yet another idea lined up, in addition to all the editing and submitting of the other two. I know how to keep busy, that's for sure. Or make myself crazy. One of the two.
And another reason to finish my current project soon...I've decided to submit it to the Golden Hearts. I think it fits the description, although I'm torn between paranormal romance and YA romance. I'll probably go with paranormal, though. Fingers crossed, everybody! I'd be happy just to make it into the top 100--the GHs are so big and well known in the industry, that's a major accomplishment in itself...and certainly a nice addition to my query letter.
Whenever I actually have time, I'll load up some of the pictures from this crazy, crazy summer. It's been quite a time, between visitors and festivals and parties. I think we overcompensated for last summer's loneliness and boredom this year. I don't think we were bored or lonely once. And I'm not complaining!

That's about it. Boy, it doesn't seem like so much when it's displayed in such an organized fashion...but trust me. It's been...a lot. And here's to more!

*I had a professor in college who frequently added parenthetical dialog tags to his own speech, just like that. After I graduated, that little quirk, oddly enough, was one of the things I missed the most!

**You can always tell I'm back at the tech writing by all the bulletted lists in my blog posts.

Back from the 9-5 grave, and other miscellania...

2008-09-16T14:39:00.005-04:00

Well.

I don't even want to look and see how long it's been since I've blogged. I've been a bad little blogger, neglecting my faithful readers and shying guiltily away every time I saw my blog's link in my bookmark bar. Always something else to do, somewhere else to go, something else to write.

But now I've moved to part time at work (at my own request). I have a little more free time, although it never quite feels like enough. So, it gives me great pleasure to announce...I'm baaaaaaaack, baby! I've got new plans to share, new entries on all kinds of subjects (writerly and otherwise), and I'm sure lots of silliness and the general inanity that keeps me from falling into general insanity. 'Cause you know, NaNoWriMo is coming up...should be lots of inanity and insanity there. Fun!

Before we get to all that in the coming weeks, though, I'd like to comment on something that drives me a little crazy. And that is this: the utter shock, or at least eyebrow raising, that comes when someone discovers that--quelle suprise!--girls play video games.

I know, I know. However did they escape from the kitchen?

This annoyance was mostly brought about by two recent articles: This one, by the AP and published by CNN, which is so surprised at females--female teenagers, no less, who haven't known a world without video games--who play video games. So surprised, in fact, that the author feels the need to set that fact apart with em dashes, as seen below:

The survey found that while young Americans don't necessarily play the same thing, nearly all of them -- girls included -- play video games of one kind or another.

Really? Are we so shocked at this? Did no one see this coming? But of course, we have to focus on the fact that the dainty little girls don't like the shoot-em-up, run-around-in-a-virtual-world-collecting-weapons-and-stuff, scream-obscenities-over-the-headset-at-your-gaming-buddies games.* They couldn't possible have found some girls that enjoyed these games, could they? I mean, they certainly don't exist out there in the real world, right? Because, you know, what 75% of a gender likes, the other 25% must enjoy as well.**

Disclosure: I don't much enjoy those games, myself. But that's more because they usually involve some sort of a map and a considerable amount of hand-eye coordination, and I am both spatially and directionally challenged.

Anyhow.

The second article came out a few weeks ago, and really got my feminist meter fuming. "How to Get Your Girlfriend Into Gaming," published by MSNBC. It's about a panel at a gaming expo (Penny Arcade's expo, to be exact) in which many stereotypical, and sometimes just plain demeaning, suggestions were offered. Jezebel*** really said it better than I ever could, so I'll leave it at that.

No, actually, I won't. I'll leave it at this quote from one of the ALL FEMALE members of the panel:

"Ask her to help you spot snipers," said Phillips. "Chicks like flattery. If she feels like she’s helping, then you’re making it a positive experience."

There are no words I can say to combat that kind of patronization. Except this:

When my husband, in 2004, first brought home SSX Tricky, a snowboarding game for the XBox, I idly asked him if I might like it.

"Hm," he said doubtfully. "It might be a little tough for you."****

Well, that was it. I was unemployed at the time, and not writing, so the next day was spent proving him wrong. By the time he came home from work, my snowboarder was kicking some serious powder. And had beat all his high scores.

So maybe the way to get your girlfriend into gaming is to be a jerk and tell her she probably won't be very good at it. Worked for me. Although this probably isn't going to be an issue for vry much longer, since--gasp! shock! dismay! -- girls are already there.

*Or as we call it in my house, "Tuesday evening."
**These statistics are a guess on my part. I'm not actually sure what percentage of teenage female gamers prefer the more violent games, but I'm willing to bet the number would surprise male gamers.
***This site, and it's comments, frequently features NSFW pictures and commentary. If you're easily offended, I would steer clear. I quite enjoy it, though.
****Notice he said, "for you," not "for a girl." I think he was referencing my legendary clumsiness and general lack of coordination. He certainly knew better, by that point in our relationship, to imply that I might be in any way less competent than he due to my gender. Oh, to have more men like him in the world!

Anniversary

2008-08-15T22:24:00.012-04:00

No, not my wedding anniversary. Not the anniversary of anything writing-related. Not even the anniversary of when we got Shakespeare the Bitey Cat.

No, tomorrow is what I call the Dispatchiversary. Four years ago tomorrow, I traveled to Boston with my brother and about 15 of his closest friends to see our favorite band, Dispatch, play their very last (at the time) show. It was a crazy, crazy weekend, with no less than three near death experiences, some exhaustion-related hallucinations, balloon animals, a water bottle war, and a lovely, 2 a.m. visit to the Mass. General Psych Ward.

Yes. It was crazy in more ways than one.

And one of these days I'll get around to telling the story in some permanent form, like I've been meaning to do for years. Not today, though, and most likely not tomorrow. Busy, busy, busy!

So instead, here is a video from the aforementioned bottle war, during a gorgeous song called "Past the Falls". Being in the middle of that was a fairly insane, wondrous experience--and sometimes a bit scary, too. At about 1:06, the craziness begins. Enjoy!

Wedding Bells

2008-07-19T09:21:00.002-04:00

Ah, it's summer. That season when so many blushing brides walk down the aisle, eyes bright with joy, to meet their groom and be joined for life...

...and also that season when the bride's and groom's friends do that thing they promised to do at the wedding, all the while wondering, "Why did I think this was such a good idea ten months ago?"

Yes, I will be reading an original poem at TH's friend's wedding. Today. Yes, after poring over this poem for the past month, and practicing it aloud many, many times, I kinda hate it. And yes, I am a nervous freaking wreck. But this is something you do for friends, and I love these guys, so I'll get through it.

The best part? The bride does not want to hear it until I actually read it at the ceremony.

Pressure? Nah.

Of course, as a member of the wedding party, sort of, I received a gift from the couple. A lovely pen with my name engraved on it. Can you believe this is the first time I've gotten an engraved pen? You would think someone would've thought of that a long time ago. I teared up a little bit when I saw it. Not sure why.

And of course, as a member of the wedding party, I get a seat on the booze bus to a bar, then the reception.

Drinks? Yeah. I'll have seven, please.

Wish me luck.

And it's out!

2008-07-15T12:03:00.003-04:00

My article on Toasted Cheese.

A very exciting addition to my day! This is the first thing I've had published in a while, since I switched to mostly longer fiction. I've already got a short story idea in my head, though, that TC will get first crack at if I ever find time to write it! As it is, I'm squeezing this blog post in between work, work, and more work.

Have a gorgeous day, everyone!

Article

2008-07-15T08:53:00.001-04:00

Article is supposed to come out today. Watch this space.

Writers' Stories

2008-07-05T19:59:00.002-04:00

As Tia mentioned in the comments of yesterday's post, one of her blog buddies posted her writer's story, and then said blog buddy's blog buddies--still with me?--went to town. Some linkage for you, if you're interested in following the trail:

Maria Zannini
The Reaction

Enjoy!

250th Post

2008-07-05T02:16:00.002-04:00

For my 250th post, I give you this bit of hard-earned wisdom...

Drunk Sheetz hot dogs...are the best Sheetz hot dogs.

Notes

2008-07-04T11:20:00.003-04:00

A couple things:

Tia joined the cool kids' club (yeah, that's right) and posted her Writer's Story. Read it here, and here.
Totally got to watch two F-18s land and then take off at work the other day. That was the excitement of my week.
I feel like, with the tech writing and my personal writing and trying to take care of the house and having a social life--I might lose my mind this summer. Which doesn't really affect you, because my blog posts will probably become only slightly more nonsensical. So, carry on.
Happy Fourth! Fireworks! Parades! Cookouts! Best yet, a day off!

Now, I mentioned last year that I come from a town where the Fourth of July parade is highly, highly anticipated. Social event of the summer, you might say. Some might have thought I was exaggerating about the week-long Parade of Chairs that precedes the actual parade.

Here ya go. See? I was not exaggerating. People really do that. And that was published yesterday, so the photo would've been taken Wednesday. The parade is today, but two days before, the sidewalks were littered with chairs.

Is it any wonder I'm just...a little...off...sometimes? So there you go, kids. A mystery explained.

Celebrate safely!

A Thundery Weekend

2008-06-29T16:35:00.034-04:00

Since we had a glut of writing stuff last week, today's post will be pictures and fun. I like to keep you on your toes, after all.

This weekend in my lovely town was Thunder in the Valley, when Johnstown welcomes all the bikers it can handle. In honor of the event, I swallow my terror, don some leather (my mom's leather jacket from 1979, in this case), and hop on the back of The Husband's bike. I did it twice this year...here's a picture from after my first triumphant trip:

Yeah. That's right. How hot are we? Don't worry, we wear helmets at all times. This was in the backyard, upon our return from an event Thursday evening.

I have to admit, I'm starting to like the bike. Once I get past my fear, there are two kind of awesome parts of it:

A.) The adrenaline. There's quite a rush speeding down the road in the open air, once you forget the whole I-could-die-at-any-moment thing.

B.) What I think of as "the secret club". Ever see two bikers pass each other on the road? A lot of riders will hold out a hand--sometimes in a normal wave, but most downward and at an angle--as they pass a fellow biker. Just sayin' hi, but it's pretty cool, and I love it.

Then, on Friday, we went up to the Cityview Bar & Grille at the top of the Inclined Plane (World's Steepest Vehicular Inclined Plane, yanno) with a bunch of friends. One person decided to dress up, and then the idea spread to the rest of us. I think we clean up pretty nice, eh?

The Husband and Me, looking very much NOT biker-ish.

My Girls--Ashlee and Amber.

The whole gang.

Then we rode the Incline down to J-town for some Thunder fun. It was pure chaos down there--I've never seen Johnstown like that. Lots of people, lots of music, lots of food, lots of booze. Good times!

Ashlee & I on the Incline (that's right, I had a costume change. What, you think I'd walk around downtown in four inch heels?).

Now that's talent.

The city, from above.

On the way back up, bikers waiting for the next trip up the hill.

I'm well aware you can't tell what this is. It's Johnstown from the Incline, blurry and squiggly. I think it's kinda artistic.

The next day, TH and I went back downtown for more Thunder. We just can't get enough. He didn't win the motorcycle he wanted to win--or the diamonds I wanted him to win--but we still had fun. And he took pictures of me from bad angles, as seen below:

After wandering around the city, looking at lots of leather and having some good, thoroughly unhealthy food, we found the Motorcycle Acrobats. These women were pretty amazing. I don't think these pics need any captions.

And here's a video of their last stunt, three full revolutions.

Some fun dirtbike stunts, too. Yes, that's a guy laying on a ground while the stunt guy does hops all around him. You couldn't pay me enough money.

Motorcycles, motorcycles, and more motorcycles--and the Incline doing a trip in the background.

Some folks taking off for a ride. Not an unusual sight this weekend.

One of the many, many streets lined with bikes on both sides. Pretty much every street in the area, in fact, was filled with bikes, in addition to several parking lots. It's pretty impressive, I have to say.

And finally, there's me, my beer, and my cheesy fries.

There were many other great moments I couldn't capture, because our camera batteries died shortly after this. Like, for instance, the impromptu beer-bottle-stacking contest in this tent, the culmination of which was a tower taller than I am, stacked on a table and reaching to the tent's ceiling. A true engineering marvel.

Also, the fun ride home, just after we noticed yet another black storm cloud heading in. Pretty much the whole ride was...well, wet. And windy. And I made it, without freaking out. Without even putting my visor down*, even, because I figured if I could make it all the way home without giving in, I'd be badass. Yeah. I'm badass.

And of course, after we dried off and warmed back up, we drove (in the car this time) up to see TH's friend and watch some George Carlin...and arrived just in time for the Thunder fireworks going on nearby. We had prime spots to watch them, a nice, unexpected treat.

So it was a great weekend, if a very, very busy and tiring one. I'm gonna go relax some now...before I go write. I'm tired, but I still have work to do. As always.

And how was your weekend?

*Don't worry, I had sunglasses on under my helmet, for eye protection. Otherwise, the visor would've been down. I'm a safety freak, even when what I'm doing isn't particularly safe.

A Writer's Story, Part III

2008-06-24T05:00:00.002-04:00

Listening to: Birds. If you couldn't guess that by now, you're a bit slow.

Get caught up: Part I, Part II

So, after the inspired flurry of my first "novel" over ten years before, and a decade of wandering and wondering...I had a job interview. A little less than three years ago today, in fact.

It was for a tech writing position in Altoona. I wouldn't relish the commute, or the job, but I needed to fund my grad school plans somehow.

I'm not certain how we got on the topic of that first book during the interview. The interviewer--a headhunter, not my possibly-future-boss--seemed impressed that I'd written a book so young. I gave him the short version of the story: I wrote it, took all the character names from my family history, it got lost, etc. He promised he'd let me know when my second interview, with the actual company, would be scheduled.

On the drive home, I didn't think about the interview. I thought about that novel. I thought about how it felt to write it, that rush of creativity whenever I sat down at the computer, the amazing, bittersweet feeling of ending it, the pain when it was lost. I thought about all that as I trekked through the Pennsylvania hills toward home.

Later that night, it was still on my mind when I went up to Denny's to see some friends. When only one friend was left, I started talking about Whispers of the Past, and how it had been mentioned at the interview and been on my mind since.

I made a decision, right then. I decided that I should try one more time. If I couldn't do it this time, I would give up the ghost. For good. For my own sanity.

And as I was still a writer at heart, if not in action, I carried a notebook and pens with me. So, at around 11 p.m. in a nearly empty restaurant, I began. Since Whispers was the book that had haunted me all those years, I had to finally get it out of my system. I would change all the characters' names except the protagonist--still Julia Greene--in order to make a fresh start. I didn't need to keep all the idiotic, self-indulgent trappings of the last one, either, but the themes would remain the same: family, and how they shape our lives, even when it's unknown on our part or theirs. With a little magic thrown in for good measure, of course.

If that didn't work, then it was time to give up, at least for the moment. I was killing myself, otherwise.

Twenty-five handwritten pages later, I drove home, exhausted and exhilarated.

I don't know how it happened. I don't know why. But that night was the first of many, many feverish nights of writing, plotting, brainstorming. I would hand-write at night (afraid to break the spell), then type it up at home the next day (this was the impetus for my laptop purchase).

Three moments, during that first month, stick out in my mind.

The first occurred only a day or two after that rebirth of my little opus. I was driving to Denny's, ready for more writing, when a few lines of dialog ran through my head. I got so lost in that moment, the like of which I hadn't experienced for over a decade, that I emerged on the other side very confused. And I honestly had a moment where I thought, "Oh my God, I'm twelve years old. Why am I driving?!"

And then I cried a little bit. No, I'm not kidding. It's both stupid and sweet, I know.

Then, not long afterward, I drove to Warren to visit my dad. We were talking about family stuff, and I think my writing, and that famed genealogical history of our family came up. He mentioned the hardback copy he had.

"Wait, what? Hardback?" The only copies I'd ever seen were bound in thick blue paper and typed in courier font.

"The original one," he explained. Then he got it out to show me. I was flabbergasted.

Not only was it one of 30 copies printed in 1913, it also had pictures. Oh, only a dozen or so, most of them reproductions of family or individual portraits. But one in particular made my heart stop for a good five seconds and sent shivers running up my spine.

Julia Greene.

Of all the people whose portraits could have been in that book...I don't even know how to finish that sentence. Still now, I'm amazed. It was the first moment when I fully realized the meaning of "kismet".

The last of those three moments came when I called up that best friend from middle school--who is still my best friend to this day--and told her just what I was writing.

"I have to thank you," I said, "for losing that one copy of Whispers. If you hadn't, maybe I wouldn't be doing this now. And I'm loving every second of it, so...thanks."

I know for a fact she never expected to hear that.

Over six months, I wrote the second version of Whispers of the Past. It wasn't great--wasn't even good--but it was written, and I learned a lot from it. Almost immediately afterward, I began my next novel. And almost immediately after that, my next. No angst, no desperation, no tears in sight.

That's my path, so far. I know--I hope--I have a lot more steps to take, a lot more forks to choose from. Right now, I'm perpetually waffling between five different novels, unsure which is the best to write, which is best for me now. And I'm working toward publication, just as I've been since I finished that first--no, second--novel, which is a journey all its own.

And today--which is two days ago, for you--is the second anniversary of my first rejection letter. So if you're wondering what inspired this verbose little bit of nostalgia, there you go.

That's my story. That's how I came to be here. Now...how about you? We all have a different story, and since you've listened so patiently to mine, I want to hear yours.

If you blog about it, leave the link in the comments and I'll link to it in a later post. Or, if you want to hijack the comments thread with a short version, have at it.

Every writer has a story.

What's yours?

A Writer's Story, Part II

2008-06-23T05:00:00.002-04:00

Listening to: More birds chirping. It's still today for me, which is yesterday for you. Ah, the magic of the internet and blog drafts.

For Part I in the story of how I became a writer, click here.

In the grand tradition of all trilogies, the middle is where it gets dark. Just warning you.

So my book, the one I'd slaved over for six months, was gone. Blame it on my stupidity, my best friend's irresponsibility, and early computer technology's unreliability. As Mr. Vonnegut would say, "So it goes."

What happened next? Nothing, really. I didn't write another book--I fixated on the lost one. My parents got divorced, we moved from the woods to downtown, high school happened. I read--a lot. I lost interest, for the time, in writing novels--although I still wanted to be a novelist "when I grew up." I still wrote, though, simply because I couldn't help myself. I wrote horrible, angsty poetry, mostly inspired by my confused teenage emotions and the twisted, cruel dramas of high school. Lots, and lots...and lots of angsty poetry. I even wrote less angsty, more trite and schmaltzy poems for my friends, on request, to give to their boyfriends. And several of my little creations were published--in my friend's 'zine. Ah, yes...I was the bard of Warren Area High School.

I may have written a short story or two for contests, none of which ever won. Aside from that, I was as uninspired as possible. I blame the hormones.

Don't think for a second it was easy. To return to normal, dull life after that first solar flare of obsession hurt badly. As did my own questions about my abilities, my creativity, and my identity. If I wasn't a writer anymore, then what was I? I recall a few teary nights in bed, torn and confused by that very question.

Then came college. I majored in English Literature, since it combined my two great passions: reading and writing. As for my future career, that changed frequently over the semesters. Maybe I would be an editor. Or teach college. Or, failing that, teach high school. I tried out journalism during two summers, as an intern at the local paper. I enjoyed it somewhat, and felt that I had a knack for it, but journalism is a beast of its own making, sucking the soul and innocence out of all who approach it. I'm a very sensitive, innocent person, and I decided to preserve that by steering clear of the fourth estate.

I tried several times, throughout college, to recreate the magic of Whispers of the Past. I tried both rewriting it and writing other stories, but I never got more than a page or two before the flame died. I wrote one well-received short story for a writing class, and it was published in an acquaintance's literary journal.* But I rarely wrote for myself, just for the sheer joy of it, and the questions nagged ever more. My own identity grew increasingly uncertain.

I got married and moved permanently to Johnstown. At that point, I had decided to get my MFA in Creative Non-fiction, as I'd taken a liking to that area in college and been pushed toward it by several professors. I'd get a job tech writing in order to pay the bills. As I searched for a job and worked at my grad school applications--including an essay on "why I became a writer"--I grew rather despondent. I had fits of depression, crying jags, moments of absolute torment. I'm not being over-dramatic, just honest. I didn't even write any more creative non-fiction, as without professors assigning it in college, it no longer needed to be written.

I wasn't writing, and therefore I wasn't a writer...and therefore I was a wreck.

You can see how my path forked and changed, twisted and turned over the years. I thought I'd nearly come to the end, the moment when I'd give it all up for good. The moment when I'd release the writer in me into the void, and find something else to do with my life.

And then I got a call about a tech writing interview. Strangely enough, that interview would send me off in a whole new direction, the one I'm still heading in today. How did it happen?

You'll find out tomorrow.

*I was going to wait until my article came out in Toasted Cheese for the big unveiling of my writing name and the end of my pseudo-anonymity. But this seems like a good moment, so there you go. Consider it a gift from me for getting this far.

A Writer's Story, Part I

2008-06-22T15:18:00.005-04:00

Listening to: the birds chirping in the trees. I'm relaxing on the front porch after a busy weekend with the in-laws. Pictures of my pretty, pretty flowers to come sometime this week.

Every writer has a story.

I'm not necessarily talking about the stories we slave over, dream about, and furiously brainstorm as we drive and shower and go about our daily lives. Those are a part of our larger story, though--each shaping who we become as a writer.

I'm talking about the path we took to get here. The journey we've taken that won't end until we either stop writing or die. Our "how I became a writer" story.

For me, the term "writer" is the first thing that would come to mind if someone asks me what I am. I'm also a woman, a wife, a daughter, a sister to many, a friend to more. Maybe an enemy to a few. An employee. A gardener, a reader. A violinist. But the one word that defines me is "writer".

I've mentioned before how someone had to say, "You're good at this," before I realized, hey, I kinda was, and it might be a good idea to pursue it. For many years after that fateful incident in my eighth year, there was only one career path I cared about. Of course, I had a backup plan. In my younger days, I figured if I couldn't become a novelist, then I would be either a librarian or work at a bookstore. I think no more needs to be said about that.

Naturally, the first step was to really write something. Something more than just the usual essays and short stories assigned at school. So, when I was about twelve, I embarked on my first novel.

Yes, I know. How adorable. But I didn't think it was adorable then. It was all I cared about, that thing. Every spare second was devoted to it. I crafted scenes and dialog in my head at school and on the bus, and then I'd rush to the computer the second I got home, boot it up, and let my fingers fly. I sneaked upstairs to the computer after my family was asleep--to write. My mom once told me to stop writing and go outside, for heaven's sake. It was my first taste of the singular obsession that is writing a novel.

I remember one specific moment, while I talked on the phone with a friend about the book. I was approaching the climax but wasn't quite sure how to set it all in motion.

"I just don't know how to make it all happen, how to bring them all together and put them in danger," I said to my friend as I lay on the dining room floor, the phone cord stretched across the adjacent kitchen. I can still clearly remember the texture of that carpet.

We chatted about it for a few minutes, and then it hit me.

"Fire!" I yelled--much to my friend's alarm, I'm sure. "There's going to be a fire!"

After reassuring her that no flaming conflagration was engulfing my house, I hung up and dashed to the computer.

That first "novel"--50 pages of single-spaced, 12-point courier type, if you must know--was entitled Whispers of the Past. All the character names--except, of course, the character "Luke", whose namesake should be clear to any Star Wars fan--were taken from another book, one near and dear to my heart: my dad's family history, going back to the first members of our family who arrived in America in 1630, first written and published in 1913 (I think), and subsequently added to by each generation.* The main character's name was "Julia Greene." Remember that little detail, folks.

I cried a little bit, I'm sure, when I finished that book. Late at night, while everyone else slept, of course. And everyone else cried when they read it, since I killed off all but two of the main characters, who of course got married in the "ten-years-later" epilogue. The very kind classmate who offered to print it out for me, since we had no printer then, handed it to me on the bus the next day with the following comments:

"First of all, stop making each chapter a separate document. That thing was a pain to print out. And secondly, some of the pages toward the end might be a little damp."

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Tears, you idiot. I mean tears."

So, it was quite a critical success, at least among my friends and family. I gave that copy to everyone who asked. Whether they read it or not, I don't care. Most probably didn't...and that's a good thing, I'm sure. It was decently written for a twelve-year-old, I guess, but no one should be subjected to 5o single-spaced pages of any twelve-year-old's writing.

And very few more people would be, as it turned out. I gave the only existing hard copy to my best friend in the world, who didn't read much, and waited impatiently for probably several weeks for her opinion.

When I finally asked about it, she admitted that she'd lost it. Don't get me wrong, she was the best friend a girl could have, but she was a bit disorganized and more than a bit irresponsible. After the storm of tears and accusations, and swearing I would never forgive her for it, I searched out the disk containing that little piece of my soul...and discovered it had been utterly corrupted.

Whispers of the Past, it turned out, was lost.

What happened next? Well, I guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow. A little hint, just to keep you salivating: it involves lots of angsty poetry. Oh yes--that's right. Angsty. Poetry.

*My uncle and I will soon be embarking on this generation's addition, and I can't wait. Yes, I'm a dork. Deal with it.

Coming Soon

2008-06-20T00:08:00.002-04:00

I promise you a great, big, hearty helping of Kristophrenia in the very near future. I've got it all planned out, I just have to actually, you know...write it. Which I will most likely do on Sunday. Because that's the first chance I'm likely to get.

Sorry I've been so very neglectful, of late. Let me tell you this, it's going to be one looooong summer, what with the writing two or three or four different novels, and the working, and the keeping the house clean, and the everything else.

And now I must go to bed, because I have to be up in 5.5 hours and I've already stayed up far too late. It's past midnight, yanno.

When did I get so old?

See you Sunday!

Oops.

2008-06-13T08:26:00.002-04:00

I have been horribly remiss. It's been almost a month since I blogged.

Here's what's going on, in short form, because I'm going away for the weekend in a few hours and I still have to shower and pack.

I wrote an article for Toasted Cheese, which will be posted on the site in mid-July.
I got a job. Tech writing again, woot. I start Monday. It may only be for the summer, depending on several factors.
I started a new book. Yes, again. This is the fourth book I've started since I finished the last one. What's wrong with me? Heck if I know. But hopefully, this one will stick.
I gardened a whole bunch. Look for some rose pictures in the next few weeks. That dang thing is gorgeous.
I discovered a wonderful little cafe, which I had no idea existed. It's right next to a wonderful little tea shops where I got my tea leaves read. A wish will be coming true soon, maybe within the next year, if all this stuff can be believed. I used to do this stuff for fun, but then two different palm readers in two different states, two years apart, informed first me and then my husband that we'll be having twins whenever we decide to procreate. So, take that as you wish.

That's about it. No word from the big editor yet. Fingers, toes, and every other cross-able appendage still crossed.

Keep it real, kids. Have a freakin' awesome weekend.

When the Voices Won't Stop

2008-05-23T09:42:00.003-04:00

Listening to: Chronic Future, "Shellshocked"

There. After a week of polishing and shining and finding typos, and sweating over this manuscript, it's off to the editor who requested it at the conference.

I made many changes, not any huge ones but several that fixed some minor problems people brought to my attention,* and quite a few that make me feel like this thing is as good as it's gonna get anytime soon.

All these changes required me to dive back into the book, and into my protagonist's head, with full force. I was concerned, at first, that I would find this difficult. HA! I'm so funny. Because I had the opposite problem. Once I got started, I couldn't get her voice out of my head. All week, she's been talking and talking, giving me bits of dialog and narration that weren't there before. Verbose little brat, my protagonist.

Every time I was in the car or the shower, there she was. I woke up this morning to her voice, as she gave me a few last bits to put into the manuscript before I sent it out. She just wouldn't shut up.

So now I have her voice in my head, and I figure I may as well use it. I think I'll get back to work on book two this weekend, since none of the projects I've tried to start in the past few months have really panned out. I've always been against starting a sequel when you don't know if the first one even has a chance--it seems like such a waste of time to me. But this book changed all that, because I really want to write more of this character's story.

And if nothing else, it'll distract me from the waiting game that has begun, yet again. Distractions--I need them.

*Thanks Tia!

Typos

2008-05-22T03:55:00.003-04:00

Listening to: Yellowcard, "Miles Apart"

No matter how many times I and other people read through my manuscript, I still stumble upon typos when I go over it again.

Beautiful, wondrous typos that make me burst into laughter at 4 a.m., like this gem:

"...his breath sent an electric sock down my spine."

Teehee. Better hope your feet don't sweat when you wear that electric sock. Oh, this writing stuff never gets old.

I'm almost done with one final pass on the manuscript, and then it's off to the editor who requested it last Saturday. Fingers crossed, everyone--even though you won't be getting updates if they're negative, 'cause this is a happy place.

A happy place full of fantastic typos.

A Writing Weekend

2008-05-19T10:51:00.004-04:00

Wow.

I think I picked a perfect year to attend my first conference. I mean, that should be obvious, what with Joyce Carol Oates as the keynote speaker and all...but that was only the beginning of a wonderful weekend.

I'm not going to go into much detail, because I have a LOT of work to do now. Here are the highlights:

Joyce Carol Oates gave a phenomenal keynote speech on the topic of writers and rejection. Rejection of all kinds, not just professional.

Then she signed books, and was so gracious as to not only sign my book, but also a book for my sister. And she told me I was "very beautifully dressed" (that's a direct quote, folks). AND she let me take a picture with her:

Sorry it's a tad blurry--she prefers not to take pictures with flash.

So, that was Friday night, in all its awesomeness. After the keynote dinner, my conference partner Ashlee and I returned to our room to read (yes, we ARE wild when left to our own devices) and work on my pitch for the next day. I was pacing the room, muttering to myself and practicing in front of the mirror, long after Ashlee fell asleep...and I had the feeling that there were many others in the hotel doing the exact same thing.

I went to some great classes on Saturday, including a session with three editors who read attendees' first two pages and gave their comments on them.

And if you want to induce a heart attack, a great way is to have an editor reading your work to a room full of people. I honestly started looking around the room, wondering if they had any of those portable defibrillators.

I got some wonderful constructive criticism from the editors, some nice compliments, and each of them said they'd read further if they had the chance. When someone asked which manuscript they'd take along to read on an hour's train ride, two of them chose mine! Unfortunately, none of them acquire in my genre....

But I still had my pitch to make.

I'm going to do my usual close-mouthed thing here, and not tell you just who the editor is, or even what house he or she works for.* Just rest assured that he or she's incredibly nice...

...and I'm not just saying that because he or she requested my novel. That's right.

I performed my pitch flawlessly, so well, in fact, that he or she finished it for me (he or she said the last word for me, a character's name, as his or her eyes lit up), which showed he or she was paying attention. Then I answered a few of his or her questions, and we talked about how I came to be a writer.

Now, I know that at these events, some editors and agents request everything, simply because it's very difficult to reject a writer to her face. I don't care, though--I'm going to take this chance for what it is--an incredible opportunity.

So now I must get to work, because this novel has to really shine before I send it out. Bring on the OCD and rampant perfectionism.

*See the vagueness? You don't even get to know what sex he or she is. Nah-nah-nah!

A First

2008-05-16T00:17:00.002-04:00

Going to my very first writer's conference this weekend, and leaving in less than six hours.

I'm going to get a book signed by Joyce Carol Oates.

I'm going to pitch my book to an editor.

And I'm going to learn lots of stuff, and have lots of fun.

Wish me luck!

Back from the Grave (metaphorically speaking)

2008-04-25T10:51:00.003-04:00

I feel like I haven't written any substantial, interesting blog posts in weeks...

That might be because I haven't, but the jury's still out on that one.

I kind of figured out why it's been so quiet here. I haven't really had a project to talk about and groan over and inspire interesting posts. I've had a few ideas, here or there, but they all got abandoned or petered out after, say, 20k words.

Then finally, a few weeks ago, something in my brain clicked, and I decided what I wanted my next book to be about. I had to wait, though--it was one of those ideas that kind of shimmers at the corner of your eye, but if you look at it directly, it'll disappear.

Yes, some of my ideas are like eye gunk. Beautiful analogy.

Anyhow, then I sat down last Saturday, finally feeling ready to brainstorm. And the idea, which had been about three words in my head, ("about a cult"), just came pouring out onto the paper. Suddenly all these characters were popping up in my head, and plot threads were branching out, and possibilities I'd never even considered were appearing.

And let me tell you...most of it is pretty scary.

Not because the idea itself is scary, but because many facets of it are going to involve stretching myself to places I've never stretched before. This is a whole new ballgame for me, folks, and I don't really know the rules.

For instance, I'm setting it outside of Pennsylvania. Every book I've written has been set here, because this is my comfort zone, and I know it. But the very nature of this book dictates that it must be set somewhere else. And I'm going to have to create that setting, not out of whole cloth but from scraps of other cloths, so to speak.*

Also, massive amounts of research will be required. I'm actually pretty good at research--I've been a college student and a journalist, so that skill has been honed pretty well--but it'll still be a giant pain. A pain I think I'll enjoy, though.

As if that isn't enough, I'll have to channel a completely different voice for the protagonist. I know this is confusing, because I mentioned in my little asterisk note below that the novel is set in the present day, but her voice will have to come from about 300 years ago. One of those it-is-but-it-isn't things.**

There are many other things, smaller things, that will crop up and make my life difficult, I'm sure. This will not be an easy book to write (of course, there's no such thing). I've explained the idea to my two sounding boards,*** though, and they're both very excited. Both of them think it could be really great. Thus, I'm utterly terrified that I'm not going to do it justice.

That's the name of the game, though, right? Do me a favor and scroll down to the bottom of this blog and read the quotation from John Irving posted there.

That's going to be my life for at least the next year.

Let the terror begin...now.

*I realize this is confusing. Let's put it this way: the setting will be in the real world, located near places that really exist, but it won't really exist. Less confusing? No? Oh well.

**No, it's not a time-travel novel. Not my thing. I'll leave you to wonder what on earth I mean, because I'm not going to explain it fully.

***Until the novel is well under way, I will not tell the full idea to anyone else. Ideas in their baby stages are very fragile, shiny things, and if exposed to too many eyes, they can lose their luster or break into a million pieces. Learned that the hard way, I did.

I Can Die Happy Now.

2008-04-22T12:13:00.002-04:00

I know I've been MIA lately, and I promise to be back with some nice, juicy blogging very soon...but in the meantime, the reason I could go to my grave happy if I should be stricken down right now:

It's all the way at the end, but it's a delicious trifecta of three things I love: Jon Stewart, Barack Obama, and...Primanti Brothers.

Beautiful.

Partying like it's 1989

2008-04-07T10:15:00.014-04:00

And here they are--pictures from my fabulous birthday weekend. Enjoy!

Birthday present from The Husband. I love presents that enhance and display my dorkiness.

What a tacky couple.

And this is hot. No one can tell me otherwise.

The 80s Prom Queen accepts your compliments. Now where's my tiara?

Marty McFly, Mullet Man and Punk Rocker Chick

Party!

Ashlee and Amber, lookin' all rad.

And more radicalness.

Straight out of 1985, Ashlee and Josh

It's hip to be square!

Rock on!

I have no idea!

Cute couple.

The Breakfast Club

Amber and Marcus, post-costume change.

Okay, she is strong.

The gang's all here!

Everybody Wang Chung Tonight

2008-04-03T10:05:00.003-04:00

We're having an 80s party this weekend. It's partially to celebrate my birthday,* and partially because we want to. Also, partially because I want an excuse to play "Footloose".

Okay, I won't lie--"Footloose" is like, 75% of my reason.

Also, dressing up. We missed all the Halloween festivities because we were in Virginia, so this is our replacement. My outfit is...well, I think it'll look pretty awesome. And don't think I won't rock a rad side-ponytail.

Oh yes. I will rock it.

In the meantime, I'm having way too much fun downloading songs to play, when I should be cleaning or doing some work. But come on...It's hip to be square!

Yeah, maybe it's time to cut off the caffeine drip going into my arm.

And yes, there will be pictures, probably Monday or Tuesday. And they will be hilarious and awesome. And perhaps a little cornea-searing as well.

*although most of the attendees don't know it's my birthday, 'cause I'm sneaky like that.

Awww!

2008-04-02T15:13:00.003-04:00

I always feel like such a schmuck--after our critique sessions (an entire weekend with almost 20-odd emails sent back and forth, fixing up each other's query letters this time), Tia always thanks me on her blog, and I forget to do the same because...well, A.) I'm a schmuck*, and B.) I'm a bad li'l blogger who neglects her blogging duties. I read the thank you note she posted on her blog, and my little heart just clenched up.

So I'm saying "thank you" in return, because I'm so thrilled to have someone who both enjoys my work and also offers brilliant insights and observations, making it all the better. That person is Tia, who I found (or rather, who found me) via this blog in the first place. So it's only proper I should thank her here! She always sees things that completely escape my notice, and her hand (or mouse, rather) never touches my work without improving it greatly. I very much appreciate the time she takes to help me out, even when I (again, with the schmuckiness) take forever to get back to her on her work! (Bad Kristin! BAD!). She also wrote a wonderful fantasy novel that I truly enjoyed critiquing.

Thank you Tia, for all your hard work and for making our long-distance critique sessions so fun and helpful. And thank you, Internets, for bringing me an awesome critique partner!

*I love that word today, for some reason. Today is a schmuck day.

D.C. Pictures

2008-04-02T10:22:00.016-04:00

By popular demand (read: one person wants to see them, and who am I to refuse? =) , some pics from our trip to D.C.

We only hit the main tourist spots, since we were really only there for less than 24 hours. By the time we got back to the hotel after all that walking, we were almost too exhausted to go to the show. Almost...but not quite.

No pics from the Mountain Goats show, because there was no flash photography allowed. It was quite, quite awesome though, and especially poignant because the lead singer is having some health problems and they had to cut the tour short--the D.C. show became the last show of the tour. That aspect of it made every song, already powerful, all the more meaningful. Especially the last song of the first encore (we skipped the second, as we are old and get tired easily), "This Year":

I downshifted as I pulled into the driveway
The motor screaming out, stuck in second gear
The scene ends badly as you might imagine
In a cavalcade of anger and fear

There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year!

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me
I am going to make it through this year if it kills me

Don't think I didn't get a bit teary-eyed during that.

Without further ado, our nation's capital as seen by a first-timer:

First glimpse of the Washington Monument.

The White House: smaller than I expected.

Seriously. It's small.

The Husband and I in front of the White House.

Cherry blossoms! Yay!

This is a happy girl.

Even more astonishing when seen up close.

This picture and the picture below were taken from the same spot. The National Mall is loooooooooong.

Tourists. We are such tourists.

No, you CANNOT haz cheezburger.

No picture can do this justice. Seriously.

And no words can do justice to this.

Someday I'd like to go again, when I have more time, and see some other stuff, but I think we packed quite a bit into one afternoon. Between the city itself and the concert, it was a perfect birthday present.

Flying the Coop

2008-03-22T09:08:00.001-04:00

Going to D.C. to see the Mountain Goats. This is my first trip to D.C., although I've driven past it what seems like a thousand times. Looking forward to seeing some cherry blossoms, a monument or two--and, of course, a good show.

What is everyone else doing this weekend?

Breaking the Silence

2008-03-20T14:47:00.002-04:00

Regular readers of the blog (all three of you--hi!) may or may not have noticed my reticence in specifying my location.

I've never hesitated to mention I'm from Pennsylvania, and I've referenced my hometown once or twice. But I've never specified where, exactly, I live now.

That's about to change.

With the upcoming Presidential primaries in PA, we're getting an awful lot of attention. For some reason, not one but two major news outlets have published articles this week about the town where I've spent the last eight years of my life (minus the six months in Virginia).

Those articles are here--from the AP--and here--from the New York Times. Read them both, if you have time, because the disparity between them is quite astonishing. Two articles about one town could not be more different.

That's right, folks--I live in Johnstown. Flood City, J-town, South Central Pennsyltucky, whatever you want to call it. And you know what? I kinda like it here. I like the people, I like the atmosphere, I like the pride. It's dirty in places, and rundown in spots--yes, it's certainly seen better days. But I chose to live here, and I haven't regretted that choice for a moment.

Which is why I get angry when I read articles like the one published by the New York Times. Had the reporter spoken to, oh, I don't know, anyone under the age of forty, he might have uncovered something that would shake up his very, very one-sided view of this place. But he didn't, and you see the end result--a piece of writing that makes you wonder why anyone would possibly want to live in a suckhole like that. Not that I have anything against people over forty, but the ones Mr. Vitello chose to interview seem utterly devoid of hope. And I may be delusional, but I think that's one thing this place has.

I wrote the reporter a letter, and I won't lie--I'm pretty proud of it. Below, please find my own opinions, formed after not three days but eight years of life here.

Dear Mr. Vitello,

I realize that, having only spent a few days in the area, you couldn't possibly have gotten any real feel for the character of Johnstown and its environs. And I fully understand that space limitations would prevent you from crafting an article that truly goes to the heart of our region and captures its essence.

But for heaven's sake, could you have at least spoken to someone under the age of 40?

Let me tell you something about my husband and I. We're both in our mid-twenties, graduates of the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown--that's right, we have a university here that's received recognition and accolades from both The Princeton Review and U.S. News and World Report. Neither of us, however, came to Johnstown until we began college. We settled here after my husband attained a position with a local defense contractor--that's right, there truly are jobs here, and even some for highly educated adults! My husband's employer currently has almost fifty job openings.

We may not be typical, but there are plenty like us in this city, and you could have spoken to one or two of them. Johnstown is not experiencing the "brain drain" that other cities are suffering--quite the opposite, actually. There are many young, intelligent, well-educated people here who either chose to stick around or made the conscious decision to move here for a job after college. And wasn't it your own newspaper that heralded a resurgence in youth involvement and voting just one month ago? Perhaps you should read the articles your fellow journalists write--maybe the demographic you chose to interview won't have as much importance in this year's election as they have in the past.

Or perhaps you should take a look at other news outlets, like the AP, who just recently published a well-rounded article about our little hamlet. I compare the tone of that article to the angle you adopted for yours, and I truly can't believe the difference. It's hope vs. pessimism, energetic vs. weary. It's like two reporters visited two utterly different towns.

Johnstown may be a small city, but it's a pretty big place, with a wide variety of people, many of whom harbor different opinions about their town. I'm sure that, had you tried just a bit harder, you could have found one of them somewhere...if you'd wandered away from the dirtiest, most ignorant, most sensationalist part.

But I guess that's not such a good story, now, is it.
Sincerely,

Kristy
Johnstown, PA

I think that says it all.

Stupid Brain

2008-03-17T02:37:00.002-04:00

Listening to: the voices in my head.

It's 2:37 a.m., and I'm awake.

Why, you ask? Good question. Ostensibly, my insomnia is due to too much caffeine. Apparently, I'm getting old (the gray hairs that multiply every time my roots start to show agree).

But something happened in the three hours I lay awake in bed. My brain started going...and going...and going...until it got to my query letter. I've been trying to revamp it, but have been stuck on one particular paragraph that I couldn't seem to fix. For several very frustrating days.

And just like that (imagine me snapping my fingers here), I had the solution. I don't normally leave a nice warm bed to write in the wee hours, but I was terrified that the shiny new sentences would evaporate by morning. There was nothing to do but get out of bed and get them on paper--or laptop, rather.

So here I am, working on my query letter at nearly 3 a.m. Yes, it is a certain kind of madness, this writing thing.

But at least it's a fun madness.

Style and Personality

2008-03-13T10:08:00.004-04:00

Listening to: Rise Against, "Life Less Frightening"

Yes, it's been like, a week since I've blogged. I'm a bad li'l blogger.

I'm at that wonderful stage where I'm querying my previous novel while knee-deep in a new one. I wrote 2000 words the other night, and I'm re-tooling my query letter (with many suggestions from the fabulous Tia) as well. It's truly amazing what a pair of fresh eyes can see.

As for the new novel, it's...interesting. I'm at 11k words, and I'm still not really sure where it's actually going. Mainly because the darn characters won't stop talking. I don't know why, exactly, it's so dialogue-heavy--that's not really characteristic of my writing. But they won't shut up! The chapters are much longer than what I normally write, too, although that's not terribly important.

I've come to realize that my writing style doesn't really mesh too well with my personality. I'm a big fan of having control and knowing exactly where I'm going--just ask anyone who's ever driven with me. I get nervous if I don't have the whole route mapped out, or if I don't know the next two turns that are coming.

When it comes to writing, though, my map flies out the window at the beginning of every journey. Or maybe I never even had a map, I don't know. I'm definitely a "pantser" by default--I suck at plotting or outlining everything in advance. It just doesn't work for me. My mind goes utterly blank if I try to see even to the middle of a novel while I'm working on the beginning. I may get glimpses here or there, snippets of future scenes that run through my mind, but on the whole I'm pretty much clueless.

This is something that I'm slowly getting used to, and maybe even enjoying a little. I'll admit, there's a certain amount of trepidation (okay, fine, outright terror) when I sit down at the computer or notebook and don't really know what my characters will be doing, saying, or thinking that day. But, ever so slowly, I'm learning to have fun with it. There's a certain amount of pleasure in shutting up the neurotic voice screeching questions at me (Where is this going? What are they doing? What's going to happen in the next chapter? I must know!) and just writing.

It's the one time I can actually shut that voice up and live in the present, rather than constantly trying to prepare for the future.

This is a topic I'm very interested in, so I'd like to hear about other writers. How about you? What kind of writer are you, and does it mesh with your personality--or clash with it?