Looking Back

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.

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!

Here We Go Again

Listening to: Guster, "Either Way"

I think the new project that I hinted at the other day is starting to take shape. Of course, I'm not going to go into much detail here (don't want to jinx it--I'm so freaking superstitious), but I told The Husband about it last night and he got very excited. That's kind of my litmus test for ideas--if he likes it, it's good.

I will say that it's somewhat more fantastical than my previous work. Most of what I write is contemporary fantasy, set in our world as we know it, in some subset of our society that has magical qualities/abilities for whatever reason and blah blah blah. This particular idea, though, involves a sort of parallel world that exists simultaneously with ours, and the intersection of those worlds.

I gotta admit, I'm a little nervous about it. I find myself not really committing to it yet--the voice in my head says, Well, we'll* just write a little more and see where it goes, this doesn't have to be our next project....

And then I write a bit more, and then a bit more...and yesterday I found myself brainstorming crazily. I don't know why I'm having such a hard time committing to this--maybe I'm scared, maybe I'm not really in love with the idea yet. I definitely didn't get that wonderful chill up my spine that I usually do when I fall in love with a concept, when I know it's "the one". Am I just getting jaded with the whole write-a-novel-revise-the-novel-repeatedly-try-to-get-it-published-and-fail process?** Or is the idea really not as great as I think?

Or am I just overanalyzing everything because I'm bored to tears right now?

Or is this a good thing--a sign that I'm finally able to stop freaking out every time I start a new project, and I'm developing a more relaxed approach to all of this?

Or am I just overanalyzing everything because--oh wait, we went there already.

I don't have a freaking clue. All I really know, I guess, is that it's humid as $*%& today, I need a shower, and The Office season premiere is on in 8.5 hours.

And I guess that's enough.


*Yes, the voice in my head uses the Royal We. I'm majestic like that.

**If so, it's a bit early for that. I've only been actively pursuing publication for about two years. That's like, a minute and a half in publishing time.

North vs. South

Listening to: Less Than Jake, "The Rest of My Life"

We've been living down here for almost seven weeks, and I've wanted to write this entry for about six of those. I feel prepared for it now.

Please note: these are the observations of someone living in the northernmost part of the southeast U.S., who has lived in the Northeast all her previous years. I've visited southern states many times in my youth, as my grandparents lived in Tennessee--but visiting and living in are very different things.

These are just the interesting differences I've noticed, and are only my opinions and observations. And very little of this is politics-related--this is more about atmosphere and way of life. So, without further ado...

The North and the South: A Comparison

Attitudes

• North: A cool, reserved demeanor is common. Generally, strangers are polite but keep their distance. Naturally, exceptions abound. An example: I was a regular at Denny's for over three years, and only one server actually knew my name. Also, walking to the mailbox around neighbors I've lived by for two years, there would be brief eye contact followed by a curt nod or a wave.

• South: They don't call it "Southern Hospitality" for nothin'. Even just walking to the mailbox, people meet your gaze, ask how you're doing, etc. Also, I've had bartenders and servers ask and remember my name on just one visit.
  
• Note: This sounds nice, but it has its downsides. I've also had a woman who I'd known for about three hours, and who I'd spoken about six sentences to during that time, asking me detailed questions about my parents' marriage(s). I'm still not even sure how the conversation got there. This isn't a single-incident phenomenon, either--people in the South generally want to know more of your business than people in the North.
  

Pace

• North: Let's just get this out in the open--I am a woman in a hurry. If I'm out shopping or whatnot, even if I'm just leisurely wandering through the mall to pick out a few shirts, I want to get the job done and get out of there. I don't have time for people dawdling in front of me, eternally unsure which direction they want to go next. I have always been like this, since I was a little thing, although I've forced myself to slow down a little in the past several years.
  
  In the North, there's an even mix of slowpokes and speedsters. But even in the North, people just can't go fast enough for my liking.
  

• South: Everyone. Is. Slow. (Unless they're driving--see below.) This has really forced me to slow down, as I can't be so rude as to blast around everyone wandering through the store aisles. Still--come on, people. I've got places to be!
  

Driving

• North: This, of course, depends on where you are in the North. In Boston, for example, they all drive like the devil himself is on their back bumper and they're gonna get that little bastard off, dammit. In New York...well, I don't know, because I will never drive in New York. Boston was bad enough.
  
  And everywhere you go, there will be leadfoots and cell phone yappers, tailgaters and people who drive 45 mph no matter what the posted limit is, and people who haven't used a turn signal in so long that they probably wouldn't notice if you took out the turn signal lever. It just seems like there aren't as many of them (except the 45 mph ones, who are always there if you're in a hurry) up north.

• South: Where are you people going in such a damn hurry? Because I can guaran-freakin'-tee that, when you get there, you'll dawdle like you have all the time in the world. And please, I'm beggin' ya...if you're going to cut me off, could you at least use your turn signal when you do it? A little warning before you place your back bumper within six inches of my front one would be nice, is all I'm saying.

TVs in Bars

• North: Generally tuned to local news and/or sports. Neutral stuff that has a higher chance of appealing to more customers.

• South: If there's more than one TV, one of them will be tuned to FoxNews. If there are multiple smaller TVs and one larger one, then generally, the larger one is tuned to FoxNews. I offer no opinion about this--just noting it for the record.
  

Fireworks

• North: I come from small towns in the mountains. Fireworks in the mountains means lots of echoes, which means the fireworks are good and loud. This can be good and bad: it's great on the Fourth, when the local fireworks are set off and have amazing, booming sound to accompany the visuals; on the other hand, it also mean you have to listen to all your neighbors, and their neighbors, and their neighbors, set off their own (illegal) fireworks for the weeks prior to and following the Fourth.
  

• South: In the flatter areas, it's like watching fireworks with earplugs. Where's the boom?! Where's the earth-shaking noise?! Rather unimpressive, I think.
  

Beer/Alcohol

• North: It is a Pennsylvania state law that any establishment with a liquor license must stock Yuengling. Flout this law at your peril. Since I hit drinking age, this has been nice, as I thoroughly enjoy Yuengling. Generally, if I'm in Pennsylvania and I'm drinking beer, you can bet it's Yuengling. It's both a taste and a state pride thing.
  
  Other, more formal PA state laws, however, can be annoying. One can only buy beer from state-licensed beer distributors (except six-packs, which can be purchased from bars). One can only buy liquor and wine from state-licensed stores. Strict hours of operation are set, and Sunday sales are a point of controversy and nonexistent in most places.
  

• South: A few bars carry Yuengling, and some even have it on tap, but chances are good that I'll have to find another beer to drink. This has been fabulous, actually--I've tried several new beers, and realized, to my shock, that Yuengling is not the only tasty beer out there. Sam Adams Summer Blend, Dead Guy Ale, and Miller Chill are all satisfying to the palate.
  
  And, specific to Virginia, may I just say...beer and wine in gas stations and grocery stores? Sold past midnight, and on Sundays? Bloody brilliant. I'm sure it doesn't help the drunk driving rates, and it certainly makes being an alcoholic less complicated...but I do love shopping for wine in the grocery store.
  

That's pretty much it, I guess. It's been a fascinating experience, for this writer, to spend an extended period of time in a part of the country that is so different than the small, two-hundred-mile radius in which I've spent most of my life. I'll always be a Pennsylvanian at heart, but the South has many charms and benefits. I'm sure I'll come up with more observations as time goes by, and I'll be sure to add them to the list. If you have any further thoughts or observations, feel free to drop by the comments and speak your mind!

-Kristin

P.S. I started out listening to Less Than Jake's "The Rest of My Life" on my Yahoo Launchcast. As I wrap up the entry, Unwritten Law's "Rest of My Life" begins. Odd...

Mystery of the Rose

Listening to: Bayside, "Masterpiece"

Now, this is just plain weird.

I have this beautiful Don Juan climbing rosebush I planted last spring. I planted it next to the stairs leading to our sunporch, and this summer I plan to buy a trellis it can climb on. I've always loved roses, and the blooms off this bad boy are gorgeous. Big, full, deep red, with thick stems that are great for cutting.

Over the summer, it grew to about three or four feet tall. Then the fall came, and I knew I should winterize it...but it didn't seem like fall was ever going to end. And I kept putting it off, and forgetting about it, and then putting it off some more.

I'm good at that--just ask my husband.

So it never got winterized. I'm just kind of crossing my fingers and hoping it makes it through, so I can enjoy more beautiful roses this summer.

As I was driving home from a friend's house last night, I realized I should probably take a look at it, see how it was doing with all the snow and cold we've gone through. I pull into the driveway, get out of the car, and hurry up the walk. The motion-light comes on, and I lean over to peer at my baby.

It's been cut.

The canes are now about six inches to a foot tall, and the ends are very cleanly cut. Smooth, even. This is most definitely not the work of weather or animals--only pruning shears could've done that. And the cut-off pieces are nowhere to be seen.

I think the succession of sounds that came out of my mouth was something like this: "Whaaaaatha...huh?"

Okay, I think. My husband must have cut it. I don't think he would have done that without asking me first, but sure. So I ask him when I get inside.

Nope.

And the best part is that these roses grow best on two-year-old wood--so you're supposed to prune very lightly, removing only twiggy growth and non-productive stems. Granted, whatever damage my midnight gardeners did, I probably did as much by not winterizing the roses...but still. It's MY plant to damage, and no one else's. No one has the right to come into my yard and decide what goes on in my garden. You may think, "Well, it's just a flower, who cares?"

I do. It's not just a flower, it's my property. If you decide to clean my windows for me, without asking...well, that's very nice of you. But if you break one in the process, then you've done damage to my property. No matter how wonderful your intentions were, you still damaged my property. And who's going to pay for it? Who's going to buy a new rose if my old one is too damaged to bloom this summer? And even if it does bloom, they took a summer's worth of growth away. I guess I don't need to bother buying a trellis this summer. Thanks, mysterious gardener.

I've slowly progressed from confused to thoroughly pissed.

UPDATE: And now slightly freaked out, because my neighbor says someone was kicking at her back door late one night about a week ago. She suggested that perhaps someone might have cut the rose canes because they're thorny and they got in the way of peering in the window directly above.

No matter what, the whole situation is strange. If I don't blog for a while, then I'm either chasing away rose-hating Peeping Toms, or chasing away compulsive gardeners.

And we're back...

...to square one, sort of. They offered him more--enough, actually, that we could afford it. For some reason, I never thought they would counter-offer. I had completely dismissed the whole thing from my mind.

And now we're back to seriously considering this, perhaps even more seriously than we did before. I even told my friends about it, the ones that I wasn't telling until we were certain that we would go. We'll probably go down there some time this week for a few days and scope out the area. Maybe even check out a few houses while we're at it.

It's been quite a week. I plan to get back to talking about actual writing in this space at some point, I promise. It's just that things are pretty hectic right now--although, if we move, that won't really change anytime soon.

Nervous. Yes, I'm definitely nervous. =/

It's been a long, long while...

Listening to: Sugarcult, "Do It Alone"

Sorry for the prolonged absence, imaginary readers. I've been up, down, out of town, back in town--you name it. And now I'm trying to procrastinate, and what better way to do that than the good ol' blog?

The current upheaval in my life is waiting to hear whether we're moving to Virginia. The chances are pretty slim, I think, but it's a possibility. On the one hand, I think I could use the change in scenery...I've lived in the same two towns all my almost-25 years. And we would be 40 minutes from my best friend and an hour from VA Beach. Definitely some serious entries on the "pros" list, there.

The cons? We would be nine hours from our respective families, and six hours from the network of friendships that we've developed here over the past several years. Granted, with such proximity to a beach, we would be guaranteed visits--but it still would be difficult. That, and the cost of living is MUCH higher down there, so...yeah. I would stand a much better chance of snagging a newspaper job down there, though, than I do here.

Oh yeah--and the weather is better there, too. Obviously. Just to clarify that observation, it's currently 9 degrees here, with a windchill that makes it feel like -7. Down there, it's 37 degrees, and feels like 30. Doesn't sound too warm, no...until you compare it with our weather.

There are other factors, of course. The move would be stressful, the crime rate is higher there, and I'm not certain about selling our house in the current real estate climate. But oh...what an interesting change it would be.

At the moment, I'm fairly ambivalent about it all. Whenever I think about it, I generally think, "Meh...I could go either way. Whatever."

So...we'll see.

Random Linkage Fun

Wanna get in the holiday spirit? Wanna walk around your house singing like a cat all night?

Here ya go. (Note: If you haven't already, you have to download the Rhapsody player to listen, but it's free and there's no registration.)

I find this place really interesting. My nation is approaching its one-day anniversary. It's kind of a slow process, and a bit complicated, but definitely eye-opening and fun. I'm looking forward to building Kristinia into a superpower that strikes fear and/or respect into the hearts of its enemies.

I love stuff like this. There's nothing better than old pictures of places you know...makes you think about how things have changed in the past fifty or sixty years, and how much they will change in the future.

That's all for now.

-Kristin

Wind and Twilight

Listening to: The Postal Service, "Such Great Heights"; Guster, "The Captain"

Interesting afternoon.

First: Went to run some errands. Had to drop of my dress and Husband's suit for his company holiday party next weekend for some cleaning of the dry variety.

It was a slightly comedic adventure.

First I decided to try on another dress, just in case I might like it better than the one I planned on wearing (both are my sister's bridesmaid's dresses from weddings she's participated in). The second, less likely choice is an odd dress--it has a partially open back. It zips up to just above the top of the butt, then it's open for a little bit, and then there are two wide pieces of ruched material, dotted with gems, that meet in the middle and are connected by four (hidden) hook clasps.

Well, I thought (hoped) I could get the dress over my head and fully onto my body without unhooking the clasps, since I was alone and had no one to hook them back up for me. No such luck...the hooked section stopped firmly at my shoulders.

So then I unhooked two clasps and tried again. This time, I got further...but not as far as I would've liked. I tried a little too hard to get the dress past my shoulders, and was a little too successful. It got past my shoulders, all right...and then got stuck there. It didn't want to go up, and it definitely didn't want to go down any further.

For about a minute and a half, I struggled furiously, my arms stuck above my head at an awkward angle, desperately trying to get out of the damn dress and praying that I wouldn't still be stuck in it when the Husband got home (boy would that have been a story). Somehow, I managed to wrench free of the damn thing after a lot of thrashing about. It was really one of those moments when you wish you had someone there, not so they can help you, but so they can laugh with you.

I got dressed (after firmly deciding that I would not wear the 2nd choice dress next weekend, even though I didn't succeed in fully trying it on) and gathered up Husband's suit and topcoat. Flew off to the dry-cleaner's.

We're protected from the wind here, since we're situated on the downslope of a hill. Once I got up to the main road, though, I discovered how truly nasty it was. I have a large-ish car, but I could definitely feel the wind gusts as I drove.

Arrived at the dry cleaner and grabbed the various items of clothing from the backseat. As I stepped back with my armful of hangers and plastic bags, I reached out to shut the door--but the wind beat me to it.

Turned to walk the short distance to the cleaner's, and discovered that my door wasn't the only thing the wind wanted. It also wanted my dress. True story: That dress was flying above me, and I almost lost my grip on the hanger as the wind tugged and pulled with all its might. I staggered toward the cleaner's, grateful that someone was exiting as I reached the door--because it took two hands to keep my clothes (the ones I was carrying, not the ones I was wearing) from flitting away.

Luckily, that was the end of my adventures. I made it from the dry cleaner's to the grocery store, and from the grocery store to home, without being whisked away by a strong wind.

But I had a thought, one that I frequently have, when I reached the house. I don't understand why, in spooky stories and movies and such, midnight is considered "the scary time". Twilight is really where it's at. It's not that it's scary, or even spooky, necessarily...but just that, when the sun has just dipped below the horizon and the last bits of light are fading from the sky...and the trees are black silhouettes against the indigo of the sky...well, it just seems that anything can happen, good or bad. And it's just a short time, so quick and then, before you even realize it, night is upon you.

Forget midnight...twilight's the place to be.


Three posts in one day...I've been drinking coffee since I woke up, so we'll blame it on that. I'm feeling...chatty. Good thing we're going out tonight, or I might talk Husband's ear right off.

Ta!

-Kristin