For those of you following, I am aware that I have not been posting with the same frequency as I did when I began, but I assure you, this is not because I have been skimping or forgetting. It is, actually, in fact because I have been writing so much, that I simply haven't had time for extra-curricular activities (ie: blogging).
Last night I did the last big chunk of surgery from the First Draft and finished out with a total of 68 pages (maybe 2/3 edited and reworked into the book, and 1/3 of brand new writing). It was fantastic. This brings me up to a total word count of 60K, and approximately 230ish pages. The end is almost literally in sight. Aside from a few minor detours, I can see where I am going and where I want to end up. This is very exciting. And believe me when I say that it was difficult to force myself to go to bed last night at 1:30 a.m., even knowing that I was going to have to be up at 7 with the dinos. I still tossed and turned for a good half hour, wishing I was downstairs clacking away on my laptop.
In other news, the dinos are doing great :)
My Raptor went to the zoo with us on Sunday and had a wonderful time. Apparently, he had more fun trying to throw rocks in the water near the fences than actually viewing the animals. (I'm just glad he didn't throw rocks at the lions and have us either eaten or kicked out). My T-Rex is pretty much walking completely on her own now. She's babbling more now and I am sure she will be talking before long. So exciting times here at the dino farm.
You know, that name originally comes from a game called Dinopark Tycoon that my husband played when he was younger. One time, before we had dinos of our own, he told me that I was like his purple dinosaur. This particular dinosaur was stupendously expensive to buy and once you had it, it would only eat room service. It would sing for the guests and be the star attraction, but every so often it would just keel over and die, costing you a small fortune to replace it.
I'm still not sure to this day if it is a compliment or insult, but I'd be happy to live on room service.
Anyhow, that's all the news for now. If I am not back for a week, it should be because I am nearing the final word count of the book. I hope.
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
If You're Procrastinating and You Know It Clap Your Hands!
Ugh, sorry, but that song has been running through my head ALL.DAY.LONG.
I suppose I bring it on myself by singing it to my T-Rex because she now CLAPS every time. She'll be mid-tantrum, mid-thrashing-because-I-don't-want-my-filthy-shirt-changed, and she will simply STOP and clap every time I sing it. Epicness. Babies get even cuter when they start doing tricks. Among her other recent accomplishments is: "How big are you? Are you 'so big'?" And upon saying 'so big' she will throw her hands up in the air like she's at a crazy punk concert just to show just how tall and menacing baby T-Rex's can be. Also Epic.
But, in relation to my title... I am currently procrastinating. It's 10:41, the hubby is all tucked in bed, the kids are asleep and I am at my scheduled writing time (at least for the rest of spring break--dunno what I will do once our international students are back to school and I need to start dragging my sorry hide out of bed at 7 a.m. again... oy). So here I am, ready to write, documents open and.... I am making a blog post.
But never fear. This is quite normal for us writers. Procrastination is easy... but it doesn't get the job done. Not that there's not joy in it too, but writing can sometimes be a task. And it takes commitment when you reach a spot that's dry, or necessary--the characters simply have to get from Point A to Point B--to keep going. Those are the times when its much easier to browse Facebook, or play a round or two of solitaire, surf for some music, or do pretty much anything else. Read: Update blog.
At least I am happy to report that my time has not been wasted doing only those things. In the last couple days I have made four lasagnas, gone to the pool with the dinos, and done various other 'Mom' things. And on Sunday night I did write a whopping 21 pages. Which was also satisfying.
So I think I will officially end my procrastination, making my obligatory 5 page quota and crawl into the bed across from me that looks entirely too tempting.
Note to other writers: I find if you can get through 2-3 pages of "I don't want to write" and "This is just drivel", you hit the gold mine. Inspiration flashes and before you know it you've written 21 pages. But man, those first 2 are so freaking hard. Kind of like exercising. When you think about getting your water bottle, strapping on your runners, getting your iPod, it all seems like too much effort on top of running. But once you're out there, breathing hard and feeling all empowered, you know it was worth it.
Time to pull on my sneakers... or pull up my bootstraps. Whichever.
Good night all!
I suppose I bring it on myself by singing it to my T-Rex because she now CLAPS every time. She'll be mid-tantrum, mid-thrashing-because-I-don't-want-my-filthy-shirt-changed, and she will simply STOP and clap every time I sing it. Epicness. Babies get even cuter when they start doing tricks. Among her other recent accomplishments is: "How big are you? Are you 'so big'?" And upon saying 'so big' she will throw her hands up in the air like she's at a crazy punk concert just to show just how tall and menacing baby T-Rex's can be. Also Epic.
But, in relation to my title... I am currently procrastinating. It's 10:41, the hubby is all tucked in bed, the kids are asleep and I am at my scheduled writing time (at least for the rest of spring break--dunno what I will do once our international students are back to school and I need to start dragging my sorry hide out of bed at 7 a.m. again... oy). So here I am, ready to write, documents open and.... I am making a blog post.
But never fear. This is quite normal for us writers. Procrastination is easy... but it doesn't get the job done. Not that there's not joy in it too, but writing can sometimes be a task. And it takes commitment when you reach a spot that's dry, or necessary--the characters simply have to get from Point A to Point B--to keep going. Those are the times when its much easier to browse Facebook, or play a round or two of solitaire, surf for some music, or do pretty much anything else. Read: Update blog.
At least I am happy to report that my time has not been wasted doing only those things. In the last couple days I have made four lasagnas, gone to the pool with the dinos, and done various other 'Mom' things. And on Sunday night I did write a whopping 21 pages. Which was also satisfying.
So I think I will officially end my procrastination, making my obligatory 5 page quota and crawl into the bed across from me that looks entirely too tempting.
Note to other writers: I find if you can get through 2-3 pages of "I don't want to write" and "This is just drivel", you hit the gold mine. Inspiration flashes and before you know it you've written 21 pages. But man, those first 2 are so freaking hard. Kind of like exercising. When you think about getting your water bottle, strapping on your runners, getting your iPod, it all seems like too much effort on top of running. But once you're out there, breathing hard and feeling all empowered, you know it was worth it.
Time to pull on my sneakers... or pull up my bootstraps. Whichever.
Good night all!
Friday, 16 March 2012
Vanquished by the Rest of the Week...
So, I started out with some high expectations this week. I was going to really dig into my book. I'd gotten through a good chunk of the copy/paste and edit sections. Probably only another 2 or 3 left to pick out from the first draft. But upon finishing Chapter Eight on Wednesday--which was not easy given the mood of the Dinos--I gave up.
It was more important to sit down and "build towah" with the Raptor. So there I sat amidst a sea of mega blocks and a destructive T-Rex, while the Raptor tried unsuccessfully to steal every block his sister could get her hands on. Meanwhile, he's given up building and I'm still making a lego tower to the sky, while he rides his bike around the island in the kitchen. But he's smiling and happy, and really that's what it's all about, right?
Then yesterday, we went for an impromptu shopping trip with their Nana (my mom) to buy presents for their cousins' birthdays and Easter. It was nice getting out of the house. Trust me, as a stay-at-home-mom, these occasions are necessary. Sometimes we make up errands, in fact, just to get out before the cabin fever drives us CrAZy!
But it is not conducive to writing. I think part of it is procrastination since I could technically skip some relax time at the end of the night--at the risk of my sanity--to get more writing done. But I've been holding out because as I hit Chapter Nine, I realize I have some world-building to do. Since things have changed from Draft One, I have the freedom to do this.
This means a shift in gears. From writing mode to thinking mode. Not that this is a bad thing, but lately my brain seems melted. In fact, as I read over this post, it's very disjointed. Could be because if I have to listen to Elmo's song ONE.MORE.TIME. I may actually asplode.
*BOOM*
That's all for now. Hopefully, next week is more on target. Ah, life is all about balance and it's not easy to achieve a balance between meeting my own goals, spending time with friends and family, and nurturing my Dinos. At least I know which ones are the priorities. Still, it leaves me looking wistfully over my shoulder at characters and stories lurking in my imagination. See you soon, guys. I hope.
It was more important to sit down and "build towah" with the Raptor. So there I sat amidst a sea of mega blocks and a destructive T-Rex, while the Raptor tried unsuccessfully to steal every block his sister could get her hands on. Meanwhile, he's given up building and I'm still making a lego tower to the sky, while he rides his bike around the island in the kitchen. But he's smiling and happy, and really that's what it's all about, right?
Then yesterday, we went for an impromptu shopping trip with their Nana (my mom) to buy presents for their cousins' birthdays and Easter. It was nice getting out of the house. Trust me, as a stay-at-home-mom, these occasions are necessary. Sometimes we make up errands, in fact, just to get out before the cabin fever drives us CrAZy!
But it is not conducive to writing. I think part of it is procrastination since I could technically skip some relax time at the end of the night--at the risk of my sanity--to get more writing done. But I've been holding out because as I hit Chapter Nine, I realize I have some world-building to do. Since things have changed from Draft One, I have the freedom to do this.
This means a shift in gears. From writing mode to thinking mode. Not that this is a bad thing, but lately my brain seems melted. In fact, as I read over this post, it's very disjointed. Could be because if I have to listen to Elmo's song ONE.MORE.TIME. I may actually asplode.
*BOOM*
That's all for now. Hopefully, next week is more on target. Ah, life is all about balance and it's not easy to achieve a balance between meeting my own goals, spending time with friends and family, and nurturing my Dinos. At least I know which ones are the priorities. Still, it leaves me looking wistfully over my shoulder at characters and stories lurking in my imagination. See you soon, guys. I hope.
Monday, 12 March 2012
E-Merg Book Surgery & Cupcakes
So, I'm not entirely sure who's following me here, but I haven't posted in a few days. This is completely normal for me, by the way. Weekends are family time and hubby time. I try to catch up with friends, run errands, and spend quality time with loved ones. I don't do a lot of writing--usually.
However, as we all know, today is another dreaded Monday--except I am finding that today was filled with good things and production, not dread.
This weekend I began the arduous re-write process. I hadn't planned on it. As I went to bed Saturday night (around 11:30) I laid there, listening to the hubby snore. Dinos tucked in safe--the Raptor visiting his Grammie and Papa and the T-Rex snuggled in her warm little bed. And after rolling over for the fifth time, I figured, "To heck with this. I'm going to get some work done."
*Roll out of bed, trip over sweater. Swear quietly and catch myself on the dresser. Glance around. Snoring still coming from the bed. Baby T-Rex still sleeping in playpen. Breathe a sigh of relief. Find flash-light. Flick on. Look for laptop.* Aha! *Grab laptop. Turn off flash-light. Leave room. Come downstairs and open laptop.*
5% battery life. Sonova...
*Go back upstairs. Flick flash-light back on. Hunt for cord.* Aha! *Turn off flash-light. Come back downstairs with power cord. Nearly trip over the Raptor's favorite gween (green) and gowd (gold) motorcycles that he clearly left as a death-trap on the bottom stair. Think to myself, "How did I miraculously miss those the first time?". Plug in laptop. Fire up novel. Open brand new doc and begin the copy/paste nightmare ahead of me.*
BOOK SURGERY!
Surprisingly, it's not difficult; at least, not as difficult as I expected it to be. But it is time-consuming and requires concentration. For me, it is much easier to be interrupted in the normal writing flow of a brand-new scene than while I'm trying to copy a phrase or sentence here, re-write how a character feels/thinks about this, and remember whether or not their eyes are blue or brown.
I'm getting through it--and the ideas are popping into my brain on how to make it a better book every single day. It's keeping me awake! Very irritating, but I do feel productive.
Oh that reminds me. Cupcakes. We made rainbow chip cupcakes today and lemon cake too. So I am feeling doubly productive. And now at nap-time, I know the T-Rex is off eating smaller mammals in her sleep, while the Raptor is busy trying and succeeding in climbing every single piece of furniture in his room. But he's an expert now. Maybe I should put him in the circus? Gymnastics? At any rate, the house is filled with the smell of lemon cake and I'm finishing this post, drinking a Coke Zero and preparing to pull up Melodia.
Actually that reminds me. Maybe I'll leave all of you with a snippet. Whet your appetites (I hope), so to speak:
From Chapter Three:
However, as we all know, today is another dreaded Monday--except I am finding that today was filled with good things and production, not dread.
This weekend I began the arduous re-write process. I hadn't planned on it. As I went to bed Saturday night (around 11:30) I laid there, listening to the hubby snore. Dinos tucked in safe--the Raptor visiting his Grammie and Papa and the T-Rex snuggled in her warm little bed. And after rolling over for the fifth time, I figured, "To heck with this. I'm going to get some work done."
*Roll out of bed, trip over sweater. Swear quietly and catch myself on the dresser. Glance around. Snoring still coming from the bed. Baby T-Rex still sleeping in playpen. Breathe a sigh of relief. Find flash-light. Flick on. Look for laptop.* Aha! *Grab laptop. Turn off flash-light. Leave room. Come downstairs and open laptop.*
5% battery life. Sonova...
*Go back upstairs. Flick flash-light back on. Hunt for cord.* Aha! *Turn off flash-light. Come back downstairs with power cord. Nearly trip over the Raptor's favorite gween (green) and gowd (gold) motorcycles that he clearly left as a death-trap on the bottom stair. Think to myself, "How did I miraculously miss those the first time?". Plug in laptop. Fire up novel. Open brand new doc and begin the copy/paste nightmare ahead of me.*
BOOK SURGERY!
Surprisingly, it's not difficult; at least, not as difficult as I expected it to be. But it is time-consuming and requires concentration. For me, it is much easier to be interrupted in the normal writing flow of a brand-new scene than while I'm trying to copy a phrase or sentence here, re-write how a character feels/thinks about this, and remember whether or not their eyes are blue or brown.
I'm getting through it--and the ideas are popping into my brain on how to make it a better book every single day. It's keeping me awake! Very irritating, but I do feel productive.
Oh that reminds me. Cupcakes. We made rainbow chip cupcakes today and lemon cake too. So I am feeling doubly productive. And now at nap-time, I know the T-Rex is off eating smaller mammals in her sleep, while the Raptor is busy trying and succeeding in climbing every single piece of furniture in his room. But he's an expert now. Maybe I should put him in the circus? Gymnastics? At any rate, the house is filled with the smell of lemon cake and I'm finishing this post, drinking a Coke Zero and preparing to pull up Melodia.
Actually that reminds me. Maybe I'll leave all of you with a snippet. Whet your appetites (I hope), so to speak:
From Chapter Three:
Smokey grey eyes considered her for a length of time
before he finally said, “How about we get that coffee?”
“How
about you answer my damn question? I
don’t care how many of those weird cat dragons are…” she stopped suddenly,
gasping in horror.
His
smile soured and he muttered, “Should have offered whiskey, not coffee.” He stepped near to her as she swayed on her
feet.
“Cat
dragons,” she said in a horrified voice.
He
regarded her calmly. “Yes, Miss Sinclaire. You’re not dreaming or crazy. Draklines are but one of your many
creations. You made them and they’re real.”
Savannah
felt the world spinning as a myriad of images hurtled through her brain. Her pencil crayons working feverishly over
the page, caught in one of her daydreams.
Wearing her Sienna and Yellow Ochre Prismacolors practically down to
nubs by the time she’d finished the lazy, sleepy cat dragon. The world not only spun, but tilted.
“But I
drew…”
He
sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.
“Yes, you drew them. Just like
your mother drew me.”
- Excerpt from Melodia, written by E.M. Turkstra (2011).
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Why Hearing Bad Things is Sometimes a Good Thing.
Yesterday I had a writer's date. If you've never had one of these before, basically it entails 2 (or more) writers sitting down and talking about their work. One of my very good friends took it upon herself to read the current WIP and give me feedback.
It's always a mixed bag in some ways. If it wasn't so useful to the whole writing process, I'd probably call it a form of strange, gratifying torture. Actually, I may still call it that. I think writers are just a wee bit masochistic.
When I was a young writer (not that I'm old now--perhaps I should say an immature writer), I took criticism like it was literally a stab to my heart. Seven years ago, I'd give my work away with baited breath and pray that when it came back, it would not be marked up with notes, but with smiley faces and "fantastic!" smeared all over the page.
That meant I was good at it, right? That I could spin out novel after novel and get published, right? Imagine my surprise when I found this was not the case. (I have a box-full somewhere of about 50 or so rejection slips from major publishing houses and agents when I naively thought that all one had to do was write the book and send it off. Little did I know the truly staggering amount of work that happens after the first draft of the book).
I nearly gave up. What was the point? This was hard. Maybe I was just not very good? But the words still came--in the park, in the middle of the night, hanging out with friends. Ideas and scenes and character still kept speaking to me. So I wrote in secret, believing all the while that I was really just terrible at it. Kind of like self-flagellation. I don't know why I did it when all it did was hurt me. But, I am not one to wallow and once I decided that this was what I really wanted, I resolved to get better. Let me tell you, if you happen to be an aspiring writer--the only way to get better is to keep on writing.
So I began taking writing courses and my writing got better. I began getting my pieces back from other immature writers--mostly, who just needed an easy English credit--and they'd tell me things like, "Fantastic!", "Great job!", "Can't wait to read the next chapter". You'd think I would be stoked, right?
Wrong!
The more pages devoid of truly useful comments I got back, the more I groaned and complained. This doesn't tell me anything, I would mutter. How do I know if this character is really working? If they're believable? Or if that plot twist actually makes sense? Is this scene kind of superfluous? Does it actually lend anything to the story overall? Or could I cut it with little to no impact on the whole piece?
So yesterday, when my friend came back to me with comments, I had my momentary knee-jerk reaction of: "Oh crap, this is going to be a lot of work, a lot of re-writing. Throw out whole chunks, they're not even salvageable if these characters suddenly like each other, or that character isn't even there for these four chapters".
Then, as the smoke cleared and I thought about it, I began to realize how much better this would make my book. I realized this while we sat drinking tea, surrounded by clipboard, paper, and laptops at my dining room table. The same one the Raptor drew on. All the while he was being chased by his much more clumsy, but very determined T-Rex of a sister and the two of them were making a racket worthy of pots-banging on New Years' Eve just after midnight. (Again, I'll say the editor in question here is a very, very good friend of mine to not only put up with, but be able to work in, this sort of atmosphere.)
So where am I now?
I have one more set of criticisms to discuss with another very well trusted friend before I begn the arduous re-write. Most of the time I'd say don't re-write til you finish the whole thing, but because this will literally change the face of the novel, it must be done in this case. For now, I will curl up on the couch with my Kindle, read something utterly unrelated to what I'm writing, and let the ideas percolate in the back of my head.
I think the moral of my post today is: Sometimes hearing bad things is actually a good thing. When people criticise us (if they're not just waaaaay off base) it can make us think about things we normally don't, make us change... make us better. I think better--whether it is a better writer, better mom, better friend or just human being--is always a good thing.
It's always a mixed bag in some ways. If it wasn't so useful to the whole writing process, I'd probably call it a form of strange, gratifying torture. Actually, I may still call it that. I think writers are just a wee bit masochistic.
When I was a young writer (not that I'm old now--perhaps I should say an immature writer), I took criticism like it was literally a stab to my heart. Seven years ago, I'd give my work away with baited breath and pray that when it came back, it would not be marked up with notes, but with smiley faces and "fantastic!" smeared all over the page.
That meant I was good at it, right? That I could spin out novel after novel and get published, right? Imagine my surprise when I found this was not the case. (I have a box-full somewhere of about 50 or so rejection slips from major publishing houses and agents when I naively thought that all one had to do was write the book and send it off. Little did I know the truly staggering amount of work that happens after the first draft of the book).
I nearly gave up. What was the point? This was hard. Maybe I was just not very good? But the words still came--in the park, in the middle of the night, hanging out with friends. Ideas and scenes and character still kept speaking to me. So I wrote in secret, believing all the while that I was really just terrible at it. Kind of like self-flagellation. I don't know why I did it when all it did was hurt me. But, I am not one to wallow and once I decided that this was what I really wanted, I resolved to get better. Let me tell you, if you happen to be an aspiring writer--the only way to get better is to keep on writing.
So I began taking writing courses and my writing got better. I began getting my pieces back from other immature writers--mostly, who just needed an easy English credit--and they'd tell me things like, "Fantastic!", "Great job!", "Can't wait to read the next chapter". You'd think I would be stoked, right?
Wrong!
The more pages devoid of truly useful comments I got back, the more I groaned and complained. This doesn't tell me anything, I would mutter. How do I know if this character is really working? If they're believable? Or if that plot twist actually makes sense? Is this scene kind of superfluous? Does it actually lend anything to the story overall? Or could I cut it with little to no impact on the whole piece?
So yesterday, when my friend came back to me with comments, I had my momentary knee-jerk reaction of: "Oh crap, this is going to be a lot of work, a lot of re-writing. Throw out whole chunks, they're not even salvageable if these characters suddenly like each other, or that character isn't even there for these four chapters".
Then, as the smoke cleared and I thought about it, I began to realize how much better this would make my book. I realized this while we sat drinking tea, surrounded by clipboard, paper, and laptops at my dining room table. The same one the Raptor drew on. All the while he was being chased by his much more clumsy, but very determined T-Rex of a sister and the two of them were making a racket worthy of pots-banging on New Years' Eve just after midnight. (Again, I'll say the editor in question here is a very, very good friend of mine to not only put up with, but be able to work in, this sort of atmosphere.)
So where am I now?
I have one more set of criticisms to discuss with another very well trusted friend before I begn the arduous re-write. Most of the time I'd say don't re-write til you finish the whole thing, but because this will literally change the face of the novel, it must be done in this case. For now, I will curl up on the couch with my Kindle, read something utterly unrelated to what I'm writing, and let the ideas percolate in the back of my head.
I think the moral of my post today is: Sometimes hearing bad things is actually a good thing. When people criticise us (if they're not just waaaaay off base) it can make us think about things we normally don't, make us change... make us better. I think better--whether it is a better writer, better mom, better friend or just human being--is always a good thing.
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Surprise Twists! In Story and Otherwise.
So last night the hubby and I went for a drive. I must say that he's instrumental for me in the writing process. Usually it goes something like this:
Me: I need [digs for example...] um, I need to figure out what I want to do with this villain here. I don't like the BIG BAD EVIL OVERLORD type. I want this one to be more... crafty.... or something.
Him: How about [insert really awful idea here]?
Me: *Long pause. Usually accompanied by much inward snorting. Perhaps laughing. Scoffing*. Ha. No.
Him: Okay.... what about [insert slightly more plausible thought here]?
Me: Um, no.
*Drive in silence, eating ice cream or sipping Tim Hortons. Wheels in my head turning.*
Me: Although... what if... [insert modified husband's thought, tailored to fit my world and plot/character/concept needs]?
Him: Yeah.... that could work. Did you think about... [insert potential problems]?
Me: Damnit. No. Oh wait... If I adjust...
Me: I need [digs for example...] um, I need to figure out what I want to do with this villain here. I don't like the BIG BAD EVIL OVERLORD type. I want this one to be more... crafty.... or something.
Him: How about [insert really awful idea here]?
Me: *Long pause. Usually accompanied by much inward snorting. Perhaps laughing. Scoffing*. Ha. No.
Him: Okay.... what about [insert slightly more plausible thought here]?
Me: Um, no.
*Drive in silence, eating ice cream or sipping Tim Hortons. Wheels in my head turning.*
Me: Although... what if... [insert modified husband's thought, tailored to fit my world and plot/character/concept needs]?
Him: Yeah.... that could work. Did you think about... [insert potential problems]?
Me: Damnit. No. Oh wait... If I adjust...
* * *
Such was an example of last night. He is my greatest support and the best sounding board I could have. Always rooting for me, he never outright shoots my crazy ideas, but doesn't have any qualms about pointing out the pitfalls. Then, he actually helps to try and find ways around them if I really have my heart set on that course.
Last night we did that for my current YA WIP (Young Adult Work in Progress).
I had just endured a long day of a teething 14 month old T-Rex (and believe me, dinos are grumpy when they are growing their razor-sharp, natural defense systems). I had also endured a very creative Raptor who decided to draw with felt pen (kind of washable?) all over my beautiful oak dining table. I can only be glad it was with a brown felt and kind of blends in. Apparently the paper I gave him was just not nearly as fun as drawing on the table when I turned my back for just a few minutes. At any rate, while surviving dino gymnastics--typical, but still exhausting--I also had managed to write a brief summary (5 pages) of my plot so far in the current novel.
By the time the hubby got home and picked us up to go and pick up a bike trailer for the dinos that we found on craigslist, I was in no mood for our brainstorming date. By the way those bike trailers look like funny little viewing pens for animals--perfect for dinos about town. So anyhow, the hubby asks me, "Are you ready to talk about Melodia [name of imaginary world from novel]?"
Me: *SNARL, GROWL, SNARL.* No.
Him: Oooookay.
After much driving and loud music, dino bedtime and relaxing, the hubby pulls a curve ball, makes a suggestion about Melodia and knocks me OFF.MY.FEET. What a twist! A cliffhanger ending? Suspense? Fascinating and disturbing surprises? I love it! The villain taking the confused, terrified and desperate heroine under his wing? The hero leaving, dejected--knowing there was no way to change her mind and that there were other threats even greater than the Big Bad Guy that he must go take care of while leaving here there? Ooohh. Chills.
Suddenly, the book I was ready to toss across the wall (figuratively because I did not want to lose my laptop), I am totally fired up and ready to write about... at 10:30 p.m. Thanks, honey.
No, seriously. Thanks.
Monday, 5 March 2012
Endurance, Sprinting and Dino-Farms...
The longer I write, the more I come to realize that writing is like running a marathon in a lot of ways. I've heard a lot of analogies about writing, including that writing is like giving birth (you carry your book for a long time and eventually, it pops out fully formed and wonderful--Ha!). I can see some similarities in that analogy, but really, giving birth happens whether or not you are ready, whether or not you've consciously formed your baby.
Books do not. They require a lot of work. I find that I am like a sprinter when I write. I go in spurts. I have moment of utter inspiration and I write pages and pages. And then I have blocks as I am sure most other writer's do too. The trick, I think, is to transform yourself into a marathon runner if at all possible. To form an endurance, which is what I am currently working on as I sit here with my laptop, surrounded by paper and pencil crayons that my 2.5 year old has chaotically scattered everywhere.
Lovingly nicknamed "the Raptor" from birth--due to his odd, high-screeched chirping noises--which let me tell you, have not disappeared over the years, this child is chaos incarnate. And he puts dents in my writing schedule, right along with his little sister (14 months), lovingly nicknamed the mini T-rex, after her mother, due to our short arms. Apparently... Don't ask.
The point is, the schedule is not easy to keep to, regardless of what your commitments are. I am in the middle of an all-consuming YA novel that is keeping me up at night, filling my waking thoughts and slipping into my dreams. The kind of story that just needs to be told. But things at the Dino-Farm do not make it easy. Maybe having somewhere to air my thoughts will help... but be prepared for much craziness should you choose to follow along. And hopefully some amusement.
Think of me like a terrible girlfriend: I can't promise to always be around--returning phone calls and remembering our dates (read: consistent), I can't promise to write long, eloquent love letters (read: profound articulate posts) or even that I won't be a split-personality crazy person (read: emotional rollercoaster). Now, if I haven't lost you yet, what I can promise (hopefully), is to entertain you with some of the details of my everyday process as I write. That in between the craziness, the sorrow and the triumph that is a writer's existence, you will find glimpses of humor and inspiration.
I invite you to run the marathon with me--or just cheer me along from the sidelines. Or even throw popcorn at me. Just no lego. Those damned things are sharp, especially when you step on them, and usually sticky since the Raptor's favorite pastime is spitting juice from the sippy cup into them. Fun times.
Books do not. They require a lot of work. I find that I am like a sprinter when I write. I go in spurts. I have moment of utter inspiration and I write pages and pages. And then I have blocks as I am sure most other writer's do too. The trick, I think, is to transform yourself into a marathon runner if at all possible. To form an endurance, which is what I am currently working on as I sit here with my laptop, surrounded by paper and pencil crayons that my 2.5 year old has chaotically scattered everywhere.
Lovingly nicknamed "the Raptor" from birth--due to his odd, high-screeched chirping noises--which let me tell you, have not disappeared over the years, this child is chaos incarnate. And he puts dents in my writing schedule, right along with his little sister (14 months), lovingly nicknamed the mini T-rex, after her mother, due to our short arms. Apparently... Don't ask.
The point is, the schedule is not easy to keep to, regardless of what your commitments are. I am in the middle of an all-consuming YA novel that is keeping me up at night, filling my waking thoughts and slipping into my dreams. The kind of story that just needs to be told. But things at the Dino-Farm do not make it easy. Maybe having somewhere to air my thoughts will help... but be prepared for much craziness should you choose to follow along. And hopefully some amusement.
Think of me like a terrible girlfriend: I can't promise to always be around--returning phone calls and remembering our dates (read: consistent), I can't promise to write long, eloquent love letters (read: profound articulate posts) or even that I won't be a split-personality crazy person (read: emotional rollercoaster). Now, if I haven't lost you yet, what I can promise (hopefully), is to entertain you with some of the details of my everyday process as I write. That in between the craziness, the sorrow and the triumph that is a writer's existence, you will find glimpses of humor and inspiration.
I invite you to run the marathon with me--or just cheer me along from the sidelines. Or even throw popcorn at me. Just no lego. Those damned things are sharp, especially when you step on them, and usually sticky since the Raptor's favorite pastime is spitting juice from the sippy cup into them. Fun times.
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