September 2/500 words
The little dogs have vanished, and life, or what passes for life around here, has settled down a little.
I say a little because school is still on full speed forward, and the days flash past me while I struggle to hold my list in my head. The worst part of starting a new year is the CELDT testing we kinder teachers do. And the state of California in its infinite wisdom (yes, that is sarcasm, and why do I want to type it as sarchasm this morning?) has decided that kindergartners must be tested in reading and writing. Individually. Which means, each kid gets tested a minimum of one hour in total since the other two components are listening and speaking. The reading segment is ridiculous, for the most part. The writing segment even more so.
My favorite ('chasm alert!) sections are the reading part which demands that the kids look at a sentence and point to the picture that shows what it says. For writing, it's the five-item test on sentences and choosing the proper punctuation--period, comma, or question mark. Or no! Maybe it's the part where the kids have to point to the correct word in the sentence that needs capitalization.
If this were a test simply for native speakers and I taught in an affluent area, I might get a few kids that could respond with some degree of accuracy. But no. This is meant for second-language learners, and how the heck any of my kids who are relatively fluent in English are supposed to escape the protection of the ELD designation in kindergarten--regardless of fluency and how alike they are to my native English speakers who could not answer these items either--is beyond me.
Don't get me wrong--some kids need the protections. But others don't. And will survive indistinguishable from any native English speaker. Well, except for this test. And the ELD designation.
Lots of frustration on my end, less so for the kids because it's only a chopped-up hour of their life.
In other news, what I thought was an allergic response to the smoke and particulates of the fires around here wasn't. I'm calling this a cold now and the suffering that goes with it is annoying the heck out of me. Interrupted sleep for the third night in a row, and the cranky that accompanies my colds is in full-swing.
Surely it will get better, right?
Maybe not until the 15th, though, which is when I have to have tested a total of 14 kids, ten of which only attend school until 11:30A.
Writing proceeds. I rewrote the clockwork story, changing it from third to first person. I think I'm happier with it and perhaps the lack of closeness to the character that some editors have complained about has been fixed by the change. It's up on the workshop waiting for any comments, and I'm hopefully going to be able to do some critting tonight.
After I survive another day of testing at school.
Bleh.
September 5/250 words
There's a remarkable correlation between the amount of snot one person produces and the mountain of used tissue that rises before her. Just saying.
Still sick, obviously. I thought I'd moved past it by spending eleventy-bazillion hours in bed on Wednesday night, and I did feel better on Thursday. But that was Back to School night, so yesterday, instead of feeling as though I'd been sick but was getting over it, I now feel sick again.
If I could pass my cold onto the ants I would.
For the ants have decided that surely I will give up and allow rivers of them to enter my kitchen and take up residence. During daylight hours they discover otherwise (or maybe not; dead scouts don't talk) and during the cover of darkness they try again. I have sprayed outside twice and purchased more poison (California poison, which means it wasn't that great to begin with and the ants have developed an immunity to it and I'm considering mixing my own--mayonnaise and borax, perhaps, and leaving it in a little dish for them) to spray, while my 409 vanquishes the ones who brave the kitchen counters.
Also, for the record, the men who reside in this house are totally clueless and will leave a small piece of food or a knife liberally covered in mayonnaise or some other fat on the counter as a teaser. The ants are convinced there is more wherever that came from and continue to search. This morning I caught a small group lifting a crumb larger than all of them put together, carting it up the windowsill above my head. I'm pretty sure one had a megaphone and was calling, "Stoke! Stroke! Stroke!" That's a lot of perseverance. (Well, and ant stupidity. They really shouldn't try fighting gravity with an entrance in a ceiling corner.
Needless to say, there hasn't been a lot of writing around here. I'm hoping to remedy that tonight and even get the next section ready for the Posse and my turn next week.
I did manage a crit for someone on the 'orkshop, and I hope to get another one done today. If the meds kick in and my nose stops running and being stuffed simultaneously, and if the Ideo slush dump isn't too massive.
It's a three-day weekend. If I had my way and the damn dogs would leave me alone, I'd spend it in bed being totally worthless.
September 7/250 words
Dear little spooked-out lizard who has forgotten lizards can't climb glass,
When the dog is sniffing about, the proper reaction is to freeze. You blend in nicely with the cement, and Harley will never see you as long as you stay still.
Take a lesson from the bunnies.
Secondly, do not leap from a nice rough wall onto the glass-paned window ever again. Having you flail on the edge of the window frame while Harley leaped for your tail repeatedly made me extremely nervous.
I'm sure my screaming was not conducive to your peace of mind.
Love,
Me
Dear Harley,
When Mom says get down, do it. I may not pick up a lizard with my bare hands, but I have no problem applying a choke hold to your collar.
Not-so-much-with-the-love,
Mom
Dear Spousling,
When I scream for help, I do not want you to stand in the doorway and tell me how to pick up the lizard. I am screaming for you to pick up the lizard.
You're the biology major, remember? The English major in this relationship is not required to deal with wiggly things larger than ants or spiders, alive or dead. This was in the fine print of our marriage license and after thirty-three years, I would have thought you'd have gotten the message.
Irritated,
Me
September 9/250 words
So yeah, the writing. Uh...
It's been difficult getting on the bandwagon and not falling off. And I also write much better when I'm doing it consistently because that notion of 'where was I?' is missing.
Let's take last night's little bit for an example.
A sandstorm is coming. Bashak is loading up on supplies for his infirmary and the patients within just in case. Water, check. Meds, check. Food? Oh... hrm. Well, I'll just run over to the kitchens and see what they've got for me there.
So he leaves, nears the main gates, and finds...
...a sand tornado swirling their way.
What the hell? Brain? Brain? You sleeping? This is not a tale of Dorothy Gale, you know. Are there even tornados in the mideast? And why do we need one now? Because a regular sandstorm was going to be enough. Srsly.
Yeah, so my brain: when in doubt, throw shit in.
Throw shit out? What the hell for? It's far more interesting to watch me squirm as a sand tornado hits me in the face.
September 12/200 words
My sinuses are stuffed with cotton, my throat with cactus needles.
I blame the movie 9.
We did go see it last night, because animation--wow. I had to see it. And the animation did not disappoint. Little, mostly empty, bags of personality, given life, and allowed to roam a dystopic backdrop where the machines have won. What's not to love?
Okay, trust me, there are things not to love. The plotting, for one, but the animation wins on all counts. And while I was curiously unmoved by the tale, the animation captured me, tied me up, and fed me to machines.
Obviously, I escaped. After the credits ran.
SPOILER ALERT. BEGIN BLINKING RAPIDLY.
Which is when my questions began, beginning with what happened to the little parts inside these guys when they got slurped up by the machine?
IT'S OVER NOW; YOU CAN STOP BLINKING.
Don't know that I can quite bring myself to recommend seeing it, though, unless you are an animation fiend like I am.
Writing got usurped by an early choir practice on Thursday and the movie last night. I plan to make up for it this weekend and get myself back in the writing saddle. This will be helped by the fact that nothing is going on tonight or tomorrow night. And thank heavens.
Maybe there will be naptime. Because it is tiring being sick and dealing with all the regular (not to mention drama!) of school. No, I'm not telling. Just believe me. Drama!
The ant rivers are still putting in an appearance. They do skip a day or two every so often. I figure that's so they can hatch baby ant help. Eventually I'll kill off the nest, and it won't be soon enough.
My attempt to kill them all in gargantuan mass extinctions is being helped along by the idi family members who don't bother to wipe up all crumbs. May as well put a signpost on the countertop with a blinking THIS WAY TO FREE FOOD!!!
Strangely enough, coming down to a kitchen full of marauding ants makes me tired, too.
In addition to all the exhaustion going round, I received the most thorough crit of my entire writing life. Stuff that had totally blown past me, because you know, fantasy. Make shit up, and then who cares about how it actually works. :P So, thanks, Dru!
Now if I could just rid myself of this green skin tone.... I figure I'll be this way until Blue Heaven ends. *sniff*
September 13/200 words
My current work-in-progress (besides the novel) is the one I have rewritten the most.
It began in 3rd person, present tense, got switched to 3rd person past, migrated back to 3rd person present again (this time with feeling), and recently received another rewrite to 1st person present.
The current rewrite is all about logic, which I apparently lack in vast quantities when I am writing fantasy. The last crit I received was all about the logic of the world and the woods, and how time flows and where they get their supplies... I will be rewriting for another day or two.
Although I have figured out how I want time to flow rather than leave it there for the reader to imagine for themselves:
Time slows.
So now, all I have to do (hear that note of sarcasm?) is to throw bread crumbs on the story path so the reader can figure it out.
OMG. (Or, as one of my last year kinders used to say, "Oh. Em. Gee." Funniest thing, ever. But I digress.)
So yeah, in the middle of strewing bread crumbs.
And yesterday, while I was on Trillian, chance made me explain my novel to her... which a. is wonderful, because I lack words to explain is coherently off the top of my head and I have to think about it. And b. the discussion clarifies stuff for me, if not for the person I'm speaking to. She's agreed that I need two POV characters; I haven't convinced her I need the third.
Also, I realized that I have no adult female masters in view, although they do exist, and why is that? I may have to come up with another term to describe them, but it makes sense to call someone a master if they've mastered something.
Next rewrite.
Which I'm already dreading. Although I realized just. this. second. that the storm is probably going to be the crisis point for everyone, and how stupid am I not to have seen this before?
Don't tell me. Let me guess.
Maybe the end's not as far away as I feared. (Yeah, right. 400 pages, still going. But maybe it'll be less than 500 overall. Stupid run-on novel.)
Now off to prepare. I've joined another choir, and this is my first Sunday to sing with them.
September 16/450 words
Okay, so the last submission zoomed back at the speed of light. I kid you not. Twenty minutes. Max.
Alighty then.
So this thing must be flawed in other ways and I must figure out what they are.
I think now, I'm onto motivations for all three characters and getting those nailed down in my head and from there, onto paper. Makes me want to take the easy way out and just nail the brain onto that document.
But I won't. I'll work at it. I've started with Vidar, and I'm pondering in my free moments. When I'm awake. That has reduced pondering moments to less than a half hour.
(And I just remembered a school ditto I should be creating right this second, instead of this post. Ah, good times. School.)
And it's only going to get worse once the kinders are full day. I have a little time to breathe after lunch--or at least it feels like it. I'm setting up groups for the next day in between kids who appear at my door for the speaking component of the CELDT test.
The novel proceeds, but I'm frustrated by the pacing that I know is off completely. However, a new magic wielder is going to put in an appearance (that's for you, Kelly) and save Bashak's rear end. Which is good. Too bad he can't be in two places at once to save Kalim.
The brain runs, but it's still stuffed. Allergies have taken over for the cold, and I'm sneezing and sniffing again.
This is getting old. Real old.
But I can cough up that ditto before I go.
September 19/250 words
It's a good Saturday--I successfully slept late. Well, late. An hour. But I had a three-hour nap yesterday after school, and that combined with all the sleep last night meant I caught up. Coffee is adding that little extra patina of the caffeinated to my well-being.
Everything was lovely, lovely, lovely. Then the little dogs arrived.
And there was much rejoicing. On the part of the little dogs.
Yeah, not so much rejoicing via me, although they did eventually calm, and they have left--a miracle. There is dry-wall replacement going on at the kids' condo today. Let's call it... oh, an adventure in plumbing. Which resulted in holes. Because when you have a three-level condo, gravity plays its part. But hey, the leak is fixed, the drywall purchased, and soon the holes will be repaired.
Plus, they're doing it with the dogs' help. What's not to love in this picture?
Not much on the writing this week. I'm a bit depressed/distraught with my level of competency as a writer. Again. And while these episodes usually end well--I do grow, dammit--it's still slogging through the pit of I'll never be good enough despair and the cycle (try this, nope)³, give up and throw it back into the burial chamber of the hard drive.
Why isn't there a version of Candyland for writers? Or the Indiana Jones' version of finding the sacred sekrits of the god-writers?
I'd so be playing those.
School is going well, so far. We'll see if that continues next week. I've added a new writing component to the instructional day, and so far I like it a lot. At this point, it's a lot of directed drawing (I draw a bit, kids copy, repeat) and then some directed one-word labeling of the image. Six weeks or so down the road, the kids are supposed to be ready to write independently. I guess we'll see about that. But I'm liking it. I'm actually having them get to the editing part, where they have to check their writing for letter reversals and fix them.
In kinder.
If I can get them to understand that we check our work every time, and actually do it, I will be thrilled.
Over the past ten years, our API scores (California creates these magical numbers based on the STAR test results) have climbed dramatically: from 423 to 770. Last year, we jumped 51 points--our required goal was five. We've tried a variety of techniques to get these kids learning, even though I have my own personal qualms about asking kinders who are not developmentally ready to actually read. We do the best we can, however, and I think we're fine-tuning the process. Much of our success is shared with concerned parents who want the best for their child.
With the writing program I'm using, in addition to improving their eye-hand coordination, their ability to hear sounds in words and segment them, and their ability to simply copy, I'm working on listening skills and will eventually add the spacing between words and grammatical tidbits (sentence punctuation and capital letters), in addition to teaching them how to express themselves in a written format. I'm also hoping I'll get develop some good artists out of it.
When I was a kid, kinder was not based this heavily on academics. Now?
Well, if my kids aren't reading (or at least decoding simple CVC words) they're starting first grade behind their peers.
No wonder I'm exhausted by the end of the week.
September 20/325 words
So, in the ongoing saga of marketing my work, and in particular, "Paper Crane", it's been suggested by a knowledgeable source (my brother, the publisher, d'oh) that I re-edit it into a shorter illustrated children's book.
I'm serious about this one--I know it'll sell if I can just get it out there. So yes, there's another edit in my life. Right now, the darn thing's about 2000 words. I figure I'm going to have to tighten it by 500 words, at least, and I'm really hoping I won't have to tighten it more than that. My first pass will be looking at adjectives, adverbs, and prepositional phrases, and anything that doesn't directly apply to the storyline. Goodbye, temari balls.
But ohmygosh, the chopping on this one is going to hurt. I am not sure I can keep the lyricism of the prose if I'm chopping bits off right and left.
But it's worth a try, and I've had nothing but wonderful comments from people on this tale and how much they've loved it. I want to see this one in print, dammit. So if I have to lose words, I will lose words, and trust that the illustrator-to-be will be able to show the level of detail I'm having to lose.
It's all about trust.
Another suggestion was to go looking for a few illustrators' that I love and be able to articulate why I love them in particular. Not a bad thing, at all--even if the ones I like aren't the ones who actually end up doing the illustrations. I've already been looking at a few Japanese illustrators, thinking that they would have a far better touch with cultural aspects than my second-hand ones. (Everything in that tale, except the temari balls, I got by picking Gabriel's, my Clarionmate's, brain, since he had far more experience of Japan first-hand than I ever will.) I will also have to find a new title since there is already a children's book entitled "Paper Crane" out there.
Ick. Titles. I'm open to suggestions if you've read this one, because me and titles do not go together.
So yeah, more work. Which is fine, but a bit of a distraction from the novel. The novel's wordcount has slowed to a trickle, but the font is open and words pour out when I do write.
It's time to get back to perseverance and self-control.
(As a side note--when will I actually grow up? I continue to wonder, because I'm still fighting my natural inclination to sloth. WTH. Surely I should have overcome this deadly sin long ago.)
Anyway, a door closes on one short, but widens a crack on another. I guess I can call that a win.
September 24/600 words
The fire around here continues, and I marvel at the number of personnel involved. So far it's a little over 1800 and I expect that to grow a bit more, since my road is still closed and the fire's burned most of the vegetation available south. Yes, it's also burning west and east, which is something of a marvel right there; the Santa Anas are westerly winds.
One of our staff lost trees (probably oranges, I didn't think to ask, but avocados are so oily they are like dry splinters waiting for that first touch of flame. The only trees worse are the eucalyptus, and guess what we have planted on our hillside?) and had the comfort of a fire engine spending the night on their driveway. To which I say, wow. Hadn't ever thought of that comfort.
When my road does open, I'm taking photos of the ashy landscape I expect to find. The last time the fires burned through there, it was surreal. I'm grateful that it doesn't take long for life to push up through the soil and begin anew. Oh, and the floods. First rains and an El Niño year at that.
Meanwhile, there's been writing and meeting a friend at Borders to talk writing. We're going to try for an almost weekly Borders night meetup. I'm looking forward to it, especially since I haven't had this kind of support in TO before. Ohio would have been a completely different story.
Counted my novel words the other day and realized I'm up to 83K. So that storm is going to work out about right for the climax, and I'll just have to make certain I've got all the parts there.
Which I don't. There's going to have to be some juggling on Kalim's part to get him on the ship that he acquires that's caught in the storm. It's not on the page right now--as a matter of fact, it wasn't concretely in my thoughts until just now.
So yeah, no more worrying about the damn page count; I have to remember that working in submission formatting doubles pages. D'oh. How one can be so blind to the obvious is beyond me.
I've checked and rechecked twitter this morning, hoping that the county sheriff's department would have lifted those road closures, but no go. Another fifty-mile one way commute this morning, darn it. I just hope there isn't the fog like yesterday. It was as bad as the San Joaquin Valley fogs, where you can't see much at all in front of you, with the added benefit of the people who do not know how to drive in the fog whizzing past. I went 40, keeping a safe distance between me and the next car... they were zooming past at 60, no headlights, and tailgating. And they couldn't SEE. Which is why the valley has these horrific 75-car pileups. I couldn't get off the freeway fast enough. While I couldn't see on the road of the exit any better, it was a single lane, and all I had to worry about was someone plowing into me from behind.
Just another lovely morning in the LA environs. Wish me luck.
September 26/250 words
The fire engines have been returning home--long parades of trucks heading south, for the most part, since that is along my route. Hand-scrawled signs have appeared alongside my road thanking the firefighters for saving their houses and property. The landscape is charred, but not as deeply scarred as the first time--there simply wasn't as much brush to burn. I mourn my spring wildflowers. I'm not certain I'll have lupine and poppies come March and April, and they'd spread to cover long expanses of hillsides that past three years.
Trees that were burned a few years back got burned again. I'm hoping they show new growth once the rains hit. The orchards survived this time, either because of back fires or the irrigation that the farmers were allowed to use as a fire-fighting mechanism.
One outhouse lost, and amazingly enough, the man whose property burned twice before appears to have survived this time. He appears to have no structures--tents or canopies, some patched-together corral, piles of indeterminate possessions. The ground is blackened all around, but those things remain.
Meanwhile, the hills I snake between on my commute have morphed from small bushes and shrubs covering them to dry golden grasslands in the last two fires. I miss the visual differentiation and shadows.
If fire has its way, eventually the entire state will be bereft of any landscape cover taller than five or six inches.
My writing progresses, but I'm seeing the holes. I have a dropped character that I must bring back onto the stage, and while I do so, figure out exactly what his importance is. The motley crew of bedraggled escapees grows, and they'll merge together to confront the external enemy in the next book. I can say that with certainty, although I am not quite thrilled about writing another at this particular moment. In addition, I'm debating about rewriting a chunk that I know is wrong right now, rather than saving that for the rewrite after I finish. It's about the timing of the POV characters and how they return to each other, and it's critical that the timing work. Kalim should be on the ship and barraged by the storm, not hiding in a cave where he is currently. Lisen has to die, but she's showing no signs of getting herself in a situation where that can happen. Mareet must be awake in order to witness her death, but is still flat on her back snoring. Bashak's off rescuing someone in the destroyed building, and it's definitely someone I don't need, because I've got more characters than I want right here, right now.
I just figured out how I'm going to rid myself of another, who does the ridding, and how Bashak is going to deal with the guilt of that far more obvious death in his infirmary.
Go me.
Novels. Gotta love 'em, because if you didn't, you'd be brimfull of Teh Hate.
September 27/325 words
Lots of research yesterday--and none of it for the novel. No, it's more about getting information on fiction proposals, and the information out there varies widely. Of course.
The good news about information at your fingertips: there's a lot of it. The bad news: It's all contradictory. End result: You're more educated but still can't make a decision.
Yeah, I'll be pounding my head on this one for a while.
Into the cement.
Word count yesterday, because I forced myself to show up in Skype. Actually, it's not that hard when you know someone's waiting, and at that point, it's only a decision to talk to Kelly. Word count automatically follows, but it was funny to have both of us confess we'd hoped the other wouldn't show on Friday night. I believe, "Dammit, you're not supposed to be here." was my greeting. (Yeah, you've got to be tough if you want to write with me. You're not always going to be a welcome sight.)
But because Kelly was there, I wrote. And because I wrote, I have Bashak crawling around in a collapsed building to rescue the trapped person. Who is the girl he left in the infirmary while he ran to rescue the trapped person.
Talk about a continuity error. Copyeditors would have a field day with my rough drafts.
So yeah, it's something I know I have to rewrite, and I may very well go back and do just that. Hell, let the girl retrieve food from the kitchens, and return just in time to have the building collapse on her.
Now that I'm planning a regular Monday night face-to-face writing meetup, I may very well use that time for rewriting the segments I know have to change, so the next draft doesn't appear to be an overwhelming task.
And there's so much to rewrite already. I don't need more.
I'm going to have to make a list, though. My dedicated internal memory for the novel rewrite is already on the edge of collapse.
The signs you're getting old: You overheat and your memory sucks. Just like a computer you've been holding onto because you can't justify the cost of a new one.
*sigh* I'm not even going to mention the wrinkles. But for the record, I've gotten to the stage when I compare myself to elephants. Although, they probably win on the memory thing.
September 28/0 words
I spent roughly three hours yesterday rewriting my Paper Crane tale.
Well, the first time rewriting. I'll give it another pass, perhaps two. But on that first pass, I managed to lose the 500 words I'd been hoping for, and anything after this is gravy. Word's word count is 1362--down from nearly 1900--and I've managed to keep a good portion of the lyricism, if not all.
I'd love to get it down to 1200 words, but that's going to take fine-tooth combing. Losing this much of the total word count was relatively easy--I focused on the prepositional phrases, made certain that the verbs were strong, and deleted needless description. The illustrator has to do something, right?
But I've also managed to lose my perspective. After staring at the thing so closely, I've lost the ability to believe that it's a lovable story.
All I see are the flaws.
Perhaps a day herding small children will revive my faith.
Yeah, no. But at least I'll be distracted with no time to really think.
