July 1/300 words
Yesterday was a bit of a wash. The buttonhole story came back (but an alas-o-gram! That hasn't happened since I sent him my first story, which was before John's advent! Go me!) with a comment that it didn't quite engage him enough. I may have to rewrite the darn thing if I get similar comments from Sheila. I'm now testing if it's a guy vs. girl kind of story perception by sending it to her.
So it's out again. And since I had another to send to F&SF, I did. (Take that, John!) Ground Wars is winging its way to John even as I type.
I managed to win one of the prizes from Strange Horizons--a 5-disk compilation of Escape Pod, which I'm looking forward to. I want to hear stories read aloud and see how they do on a more ephemeral level. If you haven't donated to Strange Horizons, it's not too late. As the publisher of a small online magazine, I can honestly say that any amount is welcome whenever it arrives. But if you want a prize, you're going to have to hurry.
I did hack out 300 words on the novel--see? I told you the short was only a Sunday fling!--and it's tougher at the moment. I have a good feel for where the story is going for Kalim, but it's murkier for Bashak and Mareet. I also remembered this morning that I've got more characters to deal with than it first appears--those tattoos are characters in their own right, but you just can't go by appearance. Giving each of them a different feel (and varying motivations seeing how one is incorporated, the other not) is going to be a little more difficult.
Why did I think writing this novel was a good idea?
First drafts are always difficult for me. I work things out as I go, praying that the subconscious will cough up the information I need on something more than an intuitive level. When it doesn't, or I can't connect with that bit of knowledge, I crawl.
One thing I learned by writing Buttonholes was to trust myself. That the story would work out in the end, even if I only had the vaguest sense of how I was going to get there. Of course, I need the ending before I can start, but then it's a matter of aiming the story and letting it find its own path.
So I need the scene endings in mind before I start writing a new scene, and that can be tough, since I haven't figured the line of action for two of these characters.
Kalim's line currently stands like this: captured by warriors/meets warrior brother/soul runs a takeover attempt which succeeds for a while/Kalim refuses to play along with soul's plans and somehow recruits brother to save him/he escapes and heads back home to compound.
I don't have anything nearly as clear for the other two. Bleh. I should nail them down.
I'll be so happy to get to the rewriting stage of this novel.
Really.
Finally, in the concerns of the day that I have to do something about, the laptop is not keeping the correct time.
Doom de doom doom.
I'll be backing all the critical stuff up again today. Currently, all the new writing is being stored on my thumbdrive so I can take it back and forth. Eesh. I so do not need this.
July 3/1000 words
I prised 1K out of my--well, let's not say where, exactly. Trust me, they are the suckiest of the suck and a bare minimum of what you need in order to call something fiction.
So yeah, I have dialogue and mouthy heads. There are a few arms, eyes, and bits of scenery lying around, but they're not doing a whole lot. Not enough to make it interesting.
It occurs to me that a chainsaw might be a good thing to introduce.
Except for the measly fact that this is 400AD and no one has tapped into electricity. Yet. Wind power, yes. And I need to set that up in the beginning and throughout a whole lot more than I've done so far.
Also, the nice thing about having an extra interior soul is that it can point out pertinent facts and lead the apparently stupified POV character to some rather nasty conclusions. That scene will need a major rewrite. But my subconscious was putting stuff together for me as I wrote. So, maybe it's just a puppet for my subconscious.
An extra soul does come in handy every so often, even if they tend to being annoyingly right.
In other news, something is blooming in the backyard and my nasal passages are responding enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically.
There is medication in my future.
Probably not enough, if I listen to my kids.
And, if that weren't enough, today is back to school and cleaning. My closets (all of them!) are going to be absolutely organized and together.
This summer, for a change, I am not painting. Anything.
Life is good.
July 5/1050 words
For a change, it was a relatively quiet Fourth. Either the kids in the surrounding blocks have all grown up and moved away for the summer/college/time being or the fines for illegal fireworks in this town are high enough to make people think.
Or gas is just too damned expensive to warrant the trip to the town where I teach, which is the only place in this county that you can even find fireworks on sale.
Still, the bunny silhouetted on my next-door neighbor's lawn and I had a delightful show just above the treetops.
I'm pretty sure the bunny's response to all the booms and lights was a very quiet WTF.
And go me! Another 1050 words for the past two days. I'll wrap up this week's novel words with another 700 or so today, and call this week a success.
For some reason, they were relatively easy words. I managed to write them in less than an hour and a half. The absolutely wonderful news is that I'm almost to the point where I've caught up Bashak's and Mareet's segments to Kalim's adventures. All is good. For the moment, although I'm already looking at what I have to do for a rewrite, and one thing is to align these damn story punches.
Oh well. That's what rewrites are for.
Finally, for those of you who have somehow missed the announcement on several of my friends' lists, Clarion West students suffered a theft of laptops and other things yesterday while in class. I think back to my experiences there, and if that had happened to me, I would have been devastated. My laptop was my first and brand-new. Backups? Eh. Not so much (or to be honest, not at all.) What did I have to back up onto? (Of course, I'm not even sure memory sticks were available five years back. Or, if they were, perhaps outrageously expensive.)
If you're able to donate something towards the cost of replacements, no matter how large or small, you can donate directly through this page, making sure to mark your donation "for Computer Replacement." All donations are tax-deductible.
We can't help these students retrieve their writing, critiques, or whatever else they've lost through this theft, but we can lighten their burden by replacing their laptops quickly.
July 6/850 words
I think the most difficult thing about writing this weekend has been not falling asleep.
Based on my propensity to check email, read LJ, or play a quick game (or ten! Because addicting they are!) of Word Twist or Scramble, I've moved to the living room wing chair and footstool. There I write on my laptop, the very one that does connect to the internet here, but I have trained myself so thoroughly to not use the internet on it, that I ignore its ability. Research for any reason? It's back to the PC.
It helps keep me honest, and truthfully, word count accrues because I'm not wasting my time.
But it's very comfy, and I continue to doze off.
The long weekend (which is not how I think of it because my entire summer is one long weekend) has vanished. We worked on the pool. We trimmed the false cherries that line our back yard. I swept, the Spousling mowed. The back yard looks wonderful.
I, however, am sore. Mostly around my hands.
We celebrated with a get-together last night at some friends', and a great time was had by all. Today is about the napping.
The vegetables are producing. I have tons of green tomatoes, a few zucchini and yellow squash that aren't as big as I'd prefer, and...
...ta dah! Two beans.
Apparently beans are self-pollinating and don't produce well if the temps are over 90º.
Well, darn.
I had plans for those beans, so there had better be a ton more. I will be staring evilly at them momentarily so they get the message.
Tonight will be Shakespeare in the Park, I believe. And I'm looking forward to another evening out--the more so because my word count is finished for the week, although I might squeeze a few more words into the short, if I am awake later.
Or not.
Isn't summer about taking it easy?
July 7/0 words
How to become a future mother-in-law:
1. Have a boychild.
2. Wait twenty-two years. (You can hope for longer, but I'm here to tell you things don't always go as planned.)
3. Hear hints from his siblings. Wait.
4. See the ring. Wait.
5. Hear that today (four weeks ago) will be it. Wait.
6. Hear three weeks later that said boychild got the girl in question to a lovely romantic sunset on the beach only to discover he left the ring in the car. Wait.
7. Refuse to hold breath until the family rumor mill strikes again. Girlchild promises it will be this weekend. The Fourth, to be exact. She will call immediately once she knows for certain. Wait.
8. No call. Continue waiting.
9. Have a conversation with the Spousling this morning.
Spousling: Oh, did Boychild's Name Redacted call you yesterday?
Me: No, why?
Sp: It's official. They're engaged.
Me: Really! When did you talk to him?
Sp: Last night when you were at mass.
*Headbanging ensues as I count the hours between then and now.*
It's official!--they get it from their father.
And hooray! No more waiting!
(Except for the date. At least boychild can't forget that in the car....)
July 10/0 words
In no particular order:
No words so far this week. Not yet. Which means I will buckle down for today and the following two and generate some. The headbanging will commence once I finish banging my head against my classroom.
Yeah, the classroom. Well, it's migrating. Closets are cleaner. Stuff is finding spots, and I seem to remember most of the new spots I've stuck things in, so I am hoping I can keep everything organized. The one-day-a-week in to work moved to two days last week. Three days this week, and I wasn't going to go in today, except for the fact that our custodian popped in to tell me yesterday that they would be cleaning on... Friday. Which means I need all my shit together. Today.
So another trip in today, and hopefully, I won't be as wiped out afterwards as I was yesterday.
The Spousling is wrapping up his current contractual position and has been told he's done as of Tuesday because of budget cuts. Ouch. I'm trying to deal with the fear/horror of him being out of work again, even though it'll mean things I really want done about the house will get finished. Still, another splat on my life windshield. Bleah. (I can't tell you how often this has happened over the past few years. Let's just say it gets old, and I'm always grateful I have a secure job unlike the vast majority of the rest of the nation. At least, until the state of California goes out of business. Which it should have done years ago seeing how it manages (or to be precise, does NOT manage) its money.
An editor I have very little respect for as a person (whom I know solely via the internet) has opened his mouth and horrified much of my little portion of the blogosphere. The usual lines of defense (but I know him! and he didn't mean x, he meant Y!) have surfaced. Face it, people. What the man wrote is racist, and it doesn't matter if there's a race involved or not. My dad never met anyone he couldn't like on some level, no matter whether they were black, brown, green, or purple. We used to laugh at how Dad would find someone else he and a total stranger knew within a ten-minute chat. But the first words out of his mouth a lot around the house were "those Mexicans", which didn't apply to our neighbors on either side, Hispanic though they were, because we were friends. Friends don't come in colors. Or religions. Or even political beliefs. Once you've made a Them a friend, they're a friend. The other stuff? Not so important, and it kind of fades away.
The most racist stuff came out of my dad's mouth, and we blamed it on his years as a police officer. None of us kids ever challenged him on it, and as an adult I wasn't home enough to catch very much of it. I don't recall having ever said much more than "Oh, Dad, that's not true."
I get to live with my sins of omission, and it's times like these when I get to remember them and chastise myself.
It's amazing what people will say or how they behave based on their Fear of the Other. Demonizing is just the beginning. But all we can do is call them on it and hope we are getting through some of the bigotry. Or, if not that, at least making certain they get that it's not acceptable in polite company, or really, anywhere outside the confines of your own head.
My latest non-fiction reading is Save the Cat! by Blake Snyder. Granted it's about screenwriting, but I've picked up several new ways of looking at storytelling with this one, and I'm hoping to put a few into practice with the writing. The first eye-opener was on who your protag should be based on who changes the most. And my trash fairy story hit me between the eyes on that one. I'm going to rewrite it (since I haven't done anything with it since Nancy Kress told me she didn't think it was publishable at Clarion) and try it again. Maybe without some of the silly costumes and definitely with the stogey-puffing friend as the protag. If nothing else, it will be an experiment to see if he's right. In addition, I've got two things to really work on for every scene in the novel: +/- or -/+ (the emotional swing in each scene) and >< -- the conflict. Because some of these scenes I've got are light and will need much tweaking. I'm hoping to up the ante here.
I know thinking about writing isn't actual writing, but it's a good step forward. I'm anxious to put these into practice.
And now it's time to run. School awaits. The sooner I'm done, the sooner I get home and write. Oh, and crit. I have one story to work on for Ideo and one for the KIAPosse.
Housework? Pfft. Let the dust and dog hair settle some more.
July 12/1800 words
Time to write has been the issue this week, and I've been very bad about eking those minutes out here and there. However, I do have 1800 words for the past two days, which is only 200 short of my goal, and another 1200 to write for today in order to make my goal. It's very doable, and I'm keeping the laptop open for those fifteen minutes here and there.
A child returns tonight, but only for the night, and then is off for the week, I believe, climbing mountains with a customer. I am caught between hoping he brings Zoey vs. he doesn't bring Zoey. I leave with my mom on Thursday for Monterey, the Spousling may be going to camp for a few days, and if so, he's most likely not going to take Harley. Which means finding a dogsitter. His problem, not mine. I made my plans knowing he was my dogsitter. :>
The classroom got wrapped up enough that it can be cleaned. I'm returning on Wednesday, since the carpets should be dry by then, and I'll achieve prep. For in kinder, there's a phenomenal amount, and I can't count on having a high school aide or a parent with time and inclination to do it for me. So yeah. Lots of tracing and cutting. I've also got all the charts I brought home to remake and then laminate. Once every twenty years or so. The things can take a beating.
I'm planning on accomplishing all of next week's writing before leaving with Mom. It'll mean that I'll have to really push myself, and two, that I'll actually have to *gulp* follow through on my mental promise, but again--it's doable.
One thing I'm discovering with the new little tricks I'm trying with these new scenes is that laying out the potential conflict and the emotional journey in each scene works for me and makes it easier to write.
Not that I'm actually following my brief notes, because, surprise!, the story that I think I'm going to write veers off in another direction. But it's keeping me focused on the inherent conflict.
I'm not certain that I'm doing nearly as well at raising the stakes.
But hey. THAT'S WHAT REWRITES ARE FOR.
I just want to get to the end of this novel. That's all. Then I can fix the damn thing.
July 13/1200 words
So I'm up and worried. The eldest was on his way home last night and expected around midnight. No show. I've already left a message on his cell, and I'm really hoping he just pulled over to sleep or something. He called me on the road as soon as he got cell reception, but there's a stretch of windy road that follows the Kern River down into Bakersfield, and drivers that are insane (as far as my definition of insane is) who pass dangerously. I'm managing to keep the twitchies down, but I'm still wondering what the hell happened and why hasn't he called back. (Oh, that sleep thing. Right. Or the mountain reception. There are too many places on that route where he won't get cell reception.)
So yeah.
Telling myself he's almost twenty-six doesn't help. And here I thought parenthood worries ended when they grew up. I really prefer the early days of parenthood. The ones where they're little, and they stay where you put them. Anything under, oh, say, sixteen, works for me. This adulthood stuff where I have no control, I'm not supposed to interfere, and all I can do is say, "Drive safely," or "Call when you get there," sucks.
I suppose they'll miss me when I'm gone. Or they'll just be, you know, relieved.
Thankfully, I got all of yesterday's words before I started worrying.
And now I must do it again.
It's so easy to pick out the scenes where I've just been telling myself just get it down. Don't think about it. Write.
There's absolutely no setting. It's mostly dialogue. There's no depth at all. It's bare bones, and if there is any musculature attached to those bones, it's still locked in my head.
And then I'll get to a previously written scene where I took my time and the contrast is amazing. Rewriting this thing is going to be tough.
I'm not at all certain all these scenes I've just written are going to be enough to balance out the scenes from Kalim's POV, which, as far as I'm concerned is the exciting thread. And heck, who wants to read a novel when one-third of it is interesting, and the other two-thirds not so much.
Why am I writing this again?
Still, it could be worse. I could be having to write six short stories this Write-a-thon. At least I'm not reinventing the characters and the plot and the settings every week.
Somehow that's scant comfort.
*returns to worrying over offspring*
ETA: The child in question called. He had pulled over to sleep shortly after calling me. Why he didn't call me to tell me that then, I will most likely never know. Stupid kids.
July 27/600 words
And she's baaaaaaack!
In one piece. Rested, relaxed, and ready to take another week or two off.
Okay, so not. But it's good to be home--well, except for the ants (reaction: EW! *spritzspritzspritz* since the Spousling's typical reaction is oh, they don't eat much), the doghair on the family room sofa (reaction: EW!!! I'm not sitting on that until I've vacuumed the hell out of it), and the garden (reaction: What?! You didn't water? Then I picked a bazillion green beans.)
So yeah. I go away and the place falls to hell and gone.
Luckily, I had a good time, so it only feels like payback for my having the audacity to take off for almost two weeks. Mom and I spent four days in Monterey--at Asilomar, which is the closest thing to rustic living in that area, and highly recommended. As a kid, we spent many weekends and days right across the street, but never actually staying at Asilomar. The motel we stayed in is now a part of the extensive grounds and buildings. Back then boardwalks to protect the dunes or signs posted to beware of mountain lions and climbing on the rocks did not exist. I'm pretty sure we climbed every single rock formation in Pacific Grove, and never once met anything more dangerous than a sea urchin.
Then Mom and I went to Tor House--the stone home Robinson Jeffers built for himself and his family--on the Carmel headlands. What a trip back in time! Inside the house itself, you could not see the neighbors that built around him when he had to sell property in order to pay the taxes. We climbed the Hawk Tower, modeled after Irish towers, and all I can say is that the Irish were in a heck of a lot better shape after climbing those steep steps several times a day, which was quite similar to rock climbing the way we grabbed on the building to haul ourselves up, and I bet they didn't graze their elbows and shoulders on the narrow stairs. If you chose to ever visit, don't bother taking a purse.
We went to the Monterey Aquarium, where I fell in love with the octopus and the penguins and remembered how much I'd loved the jellies on my first visit, seventeen years ago. We hit Cannery Row and walked a substantial portion of the historical walking tour, in addition to checking out some of the historical buildings that I don't remember much of as a child.
And we visited the Carmel Mission--but only the chapel where Mom and Dad were married.
The remainder of the time was filled with eating. We found some great restaurants and lovely views. We almost didn't notice the motorcyclists that filled town for the Red Bull U.S. Grand Prix and MotoGP World Championship. Almost.
Then back to Fresno for a few days to recover where I got to play auntie to my youngest grand-nephews and newest grand-niece. She's six weeks and bitty, so that was fun. Little bitty doesn't last long, especially when her brothers are actually part moose.
Finally, I left to visit my best friend from college up in the Bay Area. We spent one afternoon in the city and checked out the new Contemporary Jewish Museum, which was quite interesting. My favorite work was God’s Breath Hovering Over the Waters (His Master’s Voice) by Ben Rubin--a facsimile of the Horn Antenna (made in 1959 by Bell Laboratories, and used to discover the remnant sounds of the Big Bang by physicists Arno Penzias and Robert Wilson in 1964.) as a sound sculpture. Totally cool, and well worth a visit just to see this simple, albeit large, instrument. The other cool exhibit for me were the beautifully illuminated Bibles in Hebrew, rather than Latin. I should not have been surprised, but I was--I'd only ever seen Latin prior to this. And how closed I'd been to the possibility of illuminated Jewish Bibles. I don't know where I was.
A day later, my head expanded by a new way of seeing the world, I returned home.
You will notice that nowhere do I mention word count.
Well, that was because there were only 600 words overall, and I have my work cut out for me the next six days. I have to write 1400 words a day to make up for that, and, I do believe, it's extremely doable. If I don't make the count, I will double my Clarion West donation. I'm wincing at that promise, so I think it's just what I need to keep me focused.
Stick around and see how I'm doing by tomorrow. Harass me should I appear to lag.
