March 3/500 words
There may have been new words since the last time. I don't remember.
A bout of stomach flu will do that to you. I apparently lost most, if not all, memories to sleep and aches and involuntary trips to the bathroom. Things that passed me by in a flash:
The new issue of Ideomancer.
The last days of the visiting dog, the humping conga lines, the wrestling, the yipping. I consider this a good thing, although it meant I did have to pull myself together enough yesterday to vacuum the inch-deep layer of dog fur throughout the downstairs.
A rejection from Eclipse Two—again, not a bad thing, since I have the vague memory that it arrived but none of the usual dismay. I don't recommend the method I used to acquire that layer of disengagement, however.
I'm not back to writing the novel quite yet. Maybe tonight, though.
And, to jumpstart the writing, this morning I played with writing a flash piece. I've been craving something short, and stuffing that bit down to focus on the novel. I figure writing flash will not detract too much from the novel, and might even get me into writing it again.
Just having played with the organization of the bits has helped make the idea of returning to the second chapter not a big issue.
Mostly, however, I'm grateful to be vertical and non-achy. Being sick sucks, and walking about hunched over like an old lady really sucked.
I can say I'm ready to whip kinders into shape, though. I will have to rely on my teacher sekrit super power—the stare—to keep them in line.
March 9/830 words
I'm slowly ascending the walls of the pit I found myself in last week. Being ill sucks rocks--hot, juicy magma rocks and boulders. I'm still not 100% and damn fed up, I tell you.
This does not bode well for my old age.
I did manage to write a bit last week, which means I will write much more in the upcoming week, so I have something to share with my crit group. Luckily, I'm partially there, but I'd had plans to really focus on this chapter and move on, and here I am, in the arm-waving throes of what is this scene supposed to do?
So yeah. More of that.
At the dinner last night where the Spousling received yet another medal from Boy Scouts (the Bronze Pelican for those of you keeping count; he's got more animals slung around his neck....) the middle child horrified me (and amused me) by demanding why I didn't write him a story where someone drops sugarplum fairies into coffee and stirs.
This from a child who fervently believes I'm weird.
Sadly, I may have to use it. It's just too damn appealing to have an Agatha Christy mystery where something is picking off the various denizens of The Nutcracker.
It will not be a novel.
One is more than enough.
Finally, anyone who has seen my memory frolicking about on its apparent trip around the world? Please catch and return. I am damn tired of having to look up the words I should have at my fingertips.
March 10/1000 words
Writing happened yesterday. Apparently the pressure of having to turn something into the crit group tonight galvanized me into action and 1K.
Sucky 1K, mind you.
Nor is it done. This scene has been a whopper, and the next won't be any better, since I'm generating this chapter from scratch.
Can I just say how much I hate politics?
And would someone please analyze why I would be writing a novel with political leanings--internal and external?
Yeah, thanks.
The first draft is along the lines of blocking for me. I nail dialogue and the emotions running between the characters, circle around whatever the conflict is until I figure that out completely, and second drafts (and beyond!) are for everything else. Maybe I should just write screenplays.
But after a second draft, the story fills in. I find that sense of place, I look for details that will set this particular time and place, and I dress everyone.
Think about throwing in a stage and costumes.
I'd do this better (and faster) if my rough drafts didn't take two drafts themselves.
Maybe I just need to tune up my visuals--imagine the place the characters populate before I shove them onstage and move them around.
But last night's word count is mostly due to the fact that I was thoroughly able to embarrass my protag.
Just like having another teen of my very own.
*pets Kalim*
March 15/500 words
For those of you who haven't heard, the eldest, my very own personal dare-devil, has begun his trip.
On skis.
Across the Sierra Nevadas.
Fifty miles of them.
He is accompanied by one other idio friend, an ultra-fancy compass (although it doesn't come with a bottle opener, so what good is it?), and a GPS emergency system that he can bounce simple messages up to a satellite, which will then send email to those on his list. His choices are Okay, Help, and 911.
As you might be able to tell, I am not impressed by the technology, although I find it thoughtful on his part to let us know where we will locate the dead bodies come spring.
*slaps self*
Not that there will be dead bodies. Not at all. And no avalanches or bear inexplicably awake and hungry.
I'm sure I can think of a few more possibilities... like skiing down a slope that ends with a plunge of three or four hundred feet.
*Stop that!*
And we can plot coordinates, to watch his progress, so that's good.
As long as he keeps moving, that is.
*Of course he's going to keep moving!*
But no, I'm not worried at all. Not a bit.
*Here, have a fingernail or two.*
All of you with those cute babies? This is the kind of stuff they do when they become adults and you can't tell them no any longer.
View Larger Map where he's starting and check it out at the scale of 200 ft. He's north of Mt. Whitney, at 6000 ft. and heading up. I think part of the trip will be along the Muir Trail.
March 23/0 words
So, no word count, but I haven't been exactly sitting on my laurels. No, there were reports cards and leprechauns and Easter last week. And then, once school was over (praise be!) there was choir, and Easter vigil--a service three hours long with baptisms, confirmation, first communion, and music to be sung every other breath. Or maybe it just seemed like that.
Meanwhile, wrapping my head around plotting continues...
...and becomes a little clearer.
I can't say I outline. Not really. I'll write myself around until I come up with whatever happens to come next. That could be one to three pages of complete sentences, handwritten. The only time I handwrite anything. Having lived through the typewriter age, before changeable typeheads and machines that would erase for you, I have embraced the computer. EMBRACED IT, I say, although it's closer to a drowning woman's attempt to fling herself on flotsam and stay afloat.
Okay, so there I am, bobbing along in a current that I can't control. Over there. Over here. Look! There's an island! (Ha-ha, fooled you.)
Yep, that's about my style of plotting.
But now... that pearl metaphor I came up with while ago? With chain linking pearls together?
Forget the chains, although they may exist in some other metaphor. Right now, they're worthless to me.
My pearls have become the character's major desires. Surrounding each circle on the page are a bunch of rays. Each ray is an action that moves Kalim, in this case, closer towards his goal or further away.
Each pearl is one-quarter of the book. The rays might be one scene or several--they're just things I have to hit before Kalim moves on to the next piece of his journey.
Right now, I have most of the first quarter, most of the second, and quite a bit of the fourth in my head.
The third quarter, the part where he ends up living with his soul's soldier 'family' for a while, I have two bits. Maybe.
And I have to repeat this scenario for each of the other two characters.
But, oh, my god. I are plotting!
And in such a fashion that I can see where stuff is missing concretely (like the MIDDLE) and can plot my way, I think!, out of the muck.
Apparently, my subconscious has been working overtime on noveling.
Thank god, someone has.
