Getting Into It

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!

Jammin'

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.