Invisible People

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.

Notes

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!

Thoughts While Querying

Now, Dear Readers, I will take you inside a writer's head while she performs the age old snail mail querying ritual. For those of you who have been there before, this may sound familiar. For those of you who haven't--yes, I need medication. I know.

And so it begins.

This paper feels thin and cheap. I should buy better paper.

Where's the black pen? Why is it that I can only find colored pens when I need a black one to match the ink on the paper? Why does this matter so much?

Damn, I can't fold a letter to save my life.

Wait, did I put the right name in the greeting?

I should triple check that all my contact info is right.*

Damn, I can't fold an SASE to save my life.

I put the correct name in the greeting, right?

~Touches SASE fondly~ Please, no offense meant, but I hope I never see you again.

I put the address labels in the right spots on the outer envelope and the SASE, right?

%&$*, I folded it wrong and it won't fit into the envelope. ~Prints out another copy.~

Where'd that black pen go?

Damn it, cat, get off my query letter!

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

I should check everything one more time before I seal the envelope.

Oh for God's sake, just seal it and get to the mailbox, already.


And there you have it. A little journey into the querying writer's mind. You're welcome, by the way.


*This particular compulsion is based on the very first query letter I sent out, which had my home phone number wrong. This is something that most second-graders can get right, but I, evidently, cannot. Yes, world, I AM an idiot.

One of Those Days, again

I spent most of this morning and a small part of the afternoon thinking that today was Thursday.

This would just be a normal, unremarkable lapse in brain function...

...if I hadn't also ran the dryer with nothing in it.

Nothing bad happened, but I still feel like an idiot.

Here, have a picture of the cat:

Country Living

Listening to: Dispatch, "Water Stop"


This is why I love living in or near the woods:


Sorry the picture's so small, but if you look right in the middle, you'll see a deer. She ran through the field just as I was passing the door. A rarity, that--they usually come out at sunset. We've seen four at a time, at the most.

Another shot, just as she was returning to the woods:

That's a bit better. And here's some more wildlife, spotted on Saturday:


Yep. That's a turkey. Even living in the woods all my life, I've only ever seen wild turkeys once before, driving down my dad's road. And he lives WAAAAY out there.

Of course, seeing all this wildlife is a bit sad, too. Just two years ago, the land where our apartment complex now stands was forest. These animals have been run out of their home, and now only have a strip of forest to live in. With the rate of development down here, I'd bet that even that strip will be gone in a decade.

That's why I could never live here permanently. I would look around and see nothing but beautiful forest and wetlands being torn down and mowed over, and WalMarts, Bojangles, and million-dollar housing complexes built in their place. It's already happening, actually...I just haven't been here long enough to see it firsthand.

No, give me rural Pennsylvania any day. I much prefer to live in a place where few others want to live, than a place where everyone wants to be.

I'm funny like that.

A Few Notes

1. I have evidently reached that point in the novel-writing process when I am absolutely, 100% positive that I suck, and I'm totally screwing up a great idea. Don't worry--I've been here before. I'm quite familiar with the territory. I know my way around.
   
   
   
2. I do, however, think it's too early to have Professional Juggler Syndrome (PJS). That's the feeling that I have a dozen balls in the air, and I have to keep them all going, and dear God one of them's going to fall, or two, or all of them, and there's no way I can do this, and omigod I suck.
   
   
3. I will be cleaning the house from top to bottom today. Yay.

That is all.

In Your Dreams

Listening to: Senses Fail, "Can't Be Saved"

UPDATE, 4:50 PM: Finished my typing and wrote a little over 300 new words. Ridiculously easy, now that I'm caught up.

100 Words Status: I will be writing 200 words to make up for yesterday. Yes, I'm a bad, bad girl--or at least, a girl who already had 2000 words to transfer from notebook to laptop. So. Yeah.

The Husband informed me last night that he had an interesting dream the night before. It involved the two sisters from my last book, and one of the major settings, the lake. Needless to say, I was fascinated--I never dream about my characters.

This also came up in conversation with an acquaintance earlier this week. After writing for several hours at Denny's, I was getting ready to leave and remarked to my table-mate that, after such a long stretch of being in her head, my protagonist would probably spend the evening in my head.

I've mentioned before how I hear voices, and yeah, it sounds a little crazy, but I think it's only natural when you spend so much time creating a character*. No, she's not really "real" to me, but I've spent a lot of time with her. I spend a huge chunk of my non-writing time trying to figure out what the hell is going to happen to her, and how she's going to deal with it--and in my writing time, I'm writing in her voice. With so much time devoted to one imaginary person, they get stuck in your head like a bad 80's pop song.

Anyhow, when I mentioned this to him, he said, "Oh, so you're going to dream about her all night?"

Well...no, oddly enough.

I'll lay awake, thinking about what I've written and how I can improve it. I'll hear bits of dialog from possible future scenes. I'll consider various plot twists. But I won't dream about the characters, the book, or pretty much anything writing-related.

And I think I know why. My brain needs a break, dammit. As much as I love my characters and my current WIP, 24/7 is overkill. And my brain knows that. It's like when you dream about work**, and then you wake up...and you have to go to work. Who enjoys that? Not me.

I'm thrilled, though, that my characters made enough of an impression to show up in someone else's head while they were sleeping. That might just be a sign that I did something right.

Or maybe he shouldn't have eaten that pizza. Who knows?

-Kristin


*Note to other writers: Never joke about this with a therapist. Turns out, you probably shouldn't mention the voices in your head to someone who could have you committed.

**Which I have--when I was still at my old day job, I once dreamt that I was tech writing. That was it. Just...tech writing. No purple unicorns, no visits from people I graduated with and haven't seen in years. Just...tech writing. Number one sign you need to leave a job: when it's boring even in your dreams.

Randomnia Miscellanea...uh...Ergo Sum?

Now I'm just making crap up (see title).

I'm thinking about starting a new feature on this blog, one that will be rolled out next week. I haven't yet decided if it will occur on Mondays or Fridays. I'll make that all-important decision this weekend, and on Monday I'll introduce the new feature.

Speaking of this weekend, the blog will be dark until Monday, as we are trekking up to the in-laws' tonight and won't be back until Sunday. Our reasons for this trip are twofold:

1. My m-i-l's 50th birthday is on Tuesday, so we're celebrating it this weekend.

2. The Husband's friend is unveiling the third installment in his film trilogy (at least I think it's a trilogy) Saturday night. The Husband and I filmed our parts in the movie over Thanksgiving weekend. He plays a CIA operative or something, and I play his wife who is actually a secret agent from...somewhere else, I don't know...who married him to get at the secrets, but who used to be involved with the protagonist.

Now, about this. Filming it was definitely fun. I got to shoot at John Parker (the titular character, sort of a James Bond type with angst) in my m-i-l's kitchen, then scream the F-word when John Parker thrust my husband in front of him and I shot him (husband) instead. With my m-i-l in the next room.* We had an awesome time doing the whole thing, and a part of me can't wait to see the finished project.

But.

In the scenes after I shoot my husband, I chase John Parker downstairs. Now, this whole time, I'm in my freaking bathrobe, having just gotten out of the shower (in the movie, not in real life). I find him downstairs and confront him, and he recognizes me (I'd had some plastic surgery and such--again, in the movie, not in real life). JP gets the upper hand and, to try to save my own hide, I have to...um...er...try to seduce him.

I had to say the words, "You wouldn't want to let all this go to waste, would you?" as I untied and opened my bathrobe (calm down, I had stuff on underneath, and they only filmed from the neck up).

Do you think I'm looking forward to seeing this on screen? On a big screen, no less, as we're going to another friend's house to watch it on his projector screen?

The answer would be, resoundingly, NO. I have been dreading this for months. It's going to be very uncomfortable for me, especially with other people around. To them, it will be entertainment. To me--sheer humiliation, I suspect.

*Sigh*. The things I will go through for my friends.

And in the last interesting bit of miscellanea, my birthday is less than one week away. Now, having an early April birthday and living in the mid-Atlantic states has always been interesting. I've had sunshine, snow, hail, and rain--mostly rain--on my birthday. The weather has been so promising lately, though, that I was stupid and got my hopes up. Here are the projected temperatures and conditions for each day between now and my birthday, according to weather.com:

Today: Mostly Sunny, 67.
Sat.: Partly Cloudy, 63.
Sun.: T-showers, 58.
Mon.: Mostly Sunny, 65.
Tues.: Partly Cloudy, 66.
Wed....uh-oh...: Showers, 46.

Thursday, the big day: Rain/Snow Showers, 37.

To that, a resounding, WTF?!!

The Husband informed me that, as with all things, Canada is to blame. There will evidently be a cold front advancing on us, which will arrive just in time for my birthday.

To that, I say, DAMN YOU, CANADA! What did I ever do to you, huh? Tell me. I really want to know. I've visited you on a couple occasions, and I was always nice. I didn't take advantage of your whole lower drinking age thing. Why would you do something like this to me?

Damn you, Canada. Damn you to hell.**

Have a good weekend, everybody.

-K.



*I let her know ahead of time that I had to drop the F-bomb--because, let's face it, that's not a word you want to scream with your mother-in-law in the next room--and she was cool with it.

**I mean no ill-will toward Canadians themselves. It's only their geographic region's weather patterns that infuriate me.

When the Flame Dies

Oh, it's a tragic story, and one that has been told many times before. Alas, I'm going to tell it again.

Girl writes novel. Girl, while writing novel, inevitably falls in love with novel and characters therein. Several months of joyous writing fly by, every one of them packed to the brim with sweet memories.

And then...girl finishes novel. It's a bittersweet moment, filled with elation and tears. Okay, maybe not tears, but I got a little misty. Girl edits and revises novel repeatedly.

And the love...oh, the love...it's still there, but faded somewhat, like one's favorite old shirt that has seen too many washings.

Girl starts a new novel while previous novel is with critique partners. This is when the betrayal occurs.

Girl finds herself falling for this new novel, who swaggered in with a twinkle in his eye and dirty thoughts in his mind. She can't help herself. She spends her days and nights plotting--literally--and thinking about the characters in new novel, and her adoration grows with every hour.

At the back of her mind, though, that last novel sits patiently, awaiting her return. "Please, come back to me," he whispers. "Make all the necessary revisions and start sending me out before the postage rate increases. Please....please? Did all those wondrous months we spent together mean nothing? Am I just dust and ashes now, just an old flame that has died out? I must mean more to you than that...."

But the new novel, that scoundrel, calls to her. "I'm pretty and shiny and new, and deep down, you know I'm better than that other guy," he says with a devious grin. "You can forget about him for a little while, can't you? We're having so much fun...."

Girl looks at old novel. Yes, they had a wonderful time together. And yes, he deserves a chance to go out into the world and try his best to make her proud.

Girl looks at new novel. So shiny and pretty...so sparkly. So fun. So awesome in every respect. But that old one....well, some of her loyalties still lie with him. He was good to her, after all.

With a pained sigh, she opens a document...

...and starts revising.

A Public Service Announcement

Two things* the public should know, just in case:

1. I heard voices in my head last night as I drifted off to sleep. The voices of my characters. Most people might think I'm crazy, but this is a good thing. If they're in my head, then I must be in their heads. Still, it's a bit crazy-making.
   
   
2. I'm totally head-over-heels in love with my protagonist's love interest/sort-of-enemy. Like, every time I write about him, I melt. It's frightening when you fall for a totally fictional character that no one has ever really met, who is the product of your own mind. Or, looking at it that way...maybe it's entirely natural. No matter what, though, I feel the urge to swoon whenever he walks into the fictional room or knocks at the fictional door. That can't be entirely normal.
   
   
3. These things are all good things, because I need the distraction right now.**

That's pretty much it. Now I'm off to swoon and melt, so as to get the voices out of my head.

*Well, maybe two things. I make no promises, because three is such a magic number. I may not be able to help myself.
**See. Told you I couldn't be trusted. Why would you trust someone who hears voices and lays dying at the feet of someone she completely made up? You should really know better.