A spot of discomfort

In this draft and the draft before this, I wrote scenes that are sexual in nature. The one in this draft is a straight-up sex scene; the previous draft was more of a soft-core porn situation. In both instances, writing them (and subsequently reading them) has made me really uncomfortable.

That’s the point of these scenes, though. They’re not fluffy feel-good scenes of intimacy—they’re shows of power and control, of one person over another. “Intimate” sex scenes are easy to write and fun to read, but scenes where sex is a… shall we say “weapon” are occasionally exactly what the plot calls for.

I feel that the first difficulty with writing scenes like those is to make sure that your foreknowledge, as author, doesn’t come through into the narrative. Frequently, you want a scene like that to seem frivolous when you read it and then reveal itself to be sinister once more information is revealed; so you want to keep it light, fun, and sexy. The missteps should seem accidental and inconsequential. You don’t want to have an overwhelming sense of foreboding throughout—that sorta kills the mood. But when you know that what’s going on is actually really skeevy, you have to write it while wearing blinders. Stare straight ahead, right down the sexy barrel of that gun, and don’t glance to the sides—there be monsters.

But the second difficulty with those scenes is standing by them, having confidence in them once they’re written. Looking back at them, you are likely to feel like you shouldn’t have written them, for any number of reasons. Maybe you think you went too far. Maybe you think it’s out of place or inappropriate. Maybe you think you went into too much detail. But most of the time, that just boils down to you feel uncomfortable with it. You know why it’s upsetting and you can’t ignore that. But don’t let that stand in your way. Ask yourself, Does this scene move the plot forward? Does the entire scene move the plot forward, or are there places where you could pare down? Does it say important things about your characters that couldn’t be said as well in a different way?

I think making sure the entire scene is important, is important, (omg word salad,) because you don’t want a scene like that to be indulgent. If you want it to be gross/creepy in hindsight, then you don’t want your readers looking back at it with an uneasy sense that even though it’s icky, they feel like you (the author) want them to enjoy it anyway. Because yuck.

Word count: 21,573 (呅)

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come look at adorable pictures on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Knitting a story idea

When you have an idea, and it doesn’t make sense, do you give up on it? Should you?

I think it is conventional wisdom that, if the idea seems like it doesn’t make sense, you move on. You don’t want to spend a lot of effort on a thing that’s going to strike readers as false, right? And that’s okay. Sometimes ideas actually don’t work. But I believe that just because sussing out what the plot is takes time, effort, and a little mental gymnastics doesn’t mean it’s always not worth doing.

For example, my initial inspiration for Cassidy was literally, “Acid rain, and a girl with prosthetic legs and amnesia.” Figuring out who she was and why she had amnesia was like sitting on an egg, combined with kneading dough. The most important part actually came to me while I was on the elliptical machine at the gym. There have been times in the writing process when it seems like I’m trying too hard, and the end product is going to feel contrived because I keep having to make room for things, or force things in. And I do think it’s true that when something is forced in, it shows—but that’s what rough drafts are for! You put it in so that you don’t forget it and maybe in a subsequent draft you figure out exactly how it fits.

Say you have an idea, and it’s predicated on a conflict and a character’s reaction to that conflict, and you’re excited and happy and plotting things out in your head… and you realize after an hour or so that the whole foundation for the idea seems contrived, that no sane character would react the way your character reacted. What do? You could start over, try to figure out what the appropriate response would be. You could scrap it and move on. Or… you’re the writer, you’re the worldbuilder, who’s to say that reaction isn’t appropriate? What would have to change to make their reaction appropriate? Would it be internal to the character, or external? Like, maybe your character is mentally ill, or something like that.

Don’t force the ideas that don’t feel right, but remember—you’re the god here. If you want something to work, figure out how it would work, and write it that way.

Happy writing!

Word count: 17,869 (䗍)

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come look at adorable pictures on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Writing! Again!

Hey guys, so this is exciting!

I wrote 2,222 words yesterday.

The last words were “the end,” not because I finished the draft but because otherwise I’d have only written 2,220 words and well, you can’t have that.

I don’t know if what I’m writing is any good. I have a very hard time having a feel for that while I’m writing it. I usually imagine my future readers making fart sounds and rolling their eyes when they’re reading my feeble attempts at misdirection. But… it is not mine to judge, only mine to write it down as it comes to me.

I’m going to have almost twice the words for this upcoming Writers’ Group meetup as I had for the last, hooray! And honestly, if I’m going the wrong direction this time, I’m just going to finish the draft and give up on the damn story because there’s just no pleasing you people. (And by “you people” I obviously mean myself and the craft of writing at large. No personal offense intended.)

I saw the Ghostbusters movie this last Friday, and it was awesome. At a couple of different parts I had to remind myself that it wasn’t the original and it wasn’t trying to be, and with that in mind, I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better movie.

Oh yeah, then there was MuckFest.

Guys, MuckFest was great this year. The venue was perfect: flat, grassy, wide open. The weather was perfect: warm by 9am but we got out before it got hot. The mud and water were perfect: refreshing but unarguably on the warm side. We brought our shower tent and shower bag and man… that was great. I was the #1 fundraiser (*takes a bow*), so I got to have a hot shower, and there could be nothing better. That’s definitely a keeper.

The Racing Snails were in the top 10 fundraising teams, and Elly Conley was in the top 10 fundraising individuals! Thanks all my donors! I (obviously) couldn’t have done it without you!

On Sunday, Branden and I went to the Adele concert with my parents. She is a great performer, very very fun. We were sore and shell-shocked from Saturday’s Muckening, but we muddled along and had a great time. Overall, my weekend was packed but kicked ass anyway. Viva los Ghostbusters, amigos, and I'll see you when I see you.

Word count: 15,633 (㴑)

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Workshopping

Recently, I decided that I am interested in being an editor. Possibly professionally, since it’s something I can do from home. I read a ton anyway, and I really do love giving critique and feedback, so I figured, why not give it a try? I posted on Twitter, Tumblr and Facebook that I was interested in being a workshopper, thinking it’d probably be a cold day in hell when someone decided to take me up on it.

Much to my shock and delight, though, someone did contact me yesterday. I’m so super excited about this, guys. I can’t even.

I critiqued Becky’s novel, New Year’s Revolution, as you know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while. I let my friend Rachel, who is a professional editor, read the editor’s letter I sent to Becky. She told me that I had good instincts for what improvements could be made, but that my delivery needed work. I’m excited to work on those things.

For example, I always approach a perceived problem with how to fix it. As an editor, I need to quash that impulse. It’s up to the writer to fix it, if they even choose to. So, that requires me to think more deeply about the problem itself. In order to present the issue to the writer, I’m going to need to really put my finger on what the specific problem is, and why it’s a problem. Sometimes even what leaving it unchanged could mean. But not how to change it.

I also feel like I need to work on the snark. I always have an impulse to snark on things that bug me, like the overuse of a word, or too many rhetorical questions. That might be okay when it’s your friend’s writing and they can intuit your tone of voice, but when it’s someone who is (basically) a professional colleague, I need to put a lid on it. This is just another way of saying I need to be able to put my finger right on the problem that I’m perceiving, not to diminish or trivialize it (or for that matter, the author) by making fun of it.

Of course, my first critique is going to be unfiltered Elly. I just need to get comfortable with the idea of a rough draft of feedback itself. To go back through and make world-safe my very internal monologue before releasing it upon an unsuspecting vic… ahem, public.

Until Monday!

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Write what you know?

So, the conventional wisdom has long been to “write what you know.” Recently I’ve seen a lot of seemingly embittered writers decrying this advice. “If we don’t get outside the realm of what we already know, how will we truly exercise our imaginations?” I, personally, think that the advice “write what you know” has evolved and changed since its inception.

It is perhaps even true that when those words were first spoken, the person giving the advice truly meant, “your experiences are valuable and interesting and I want to read about them.” In current times, though, I think the far more relevant interpretation of this advice is, “know what you write.” A generation ago, stereotypes and cultural appropriation and other forms of ignorant writing were acceptable. Now, if you’re going to have a Japanese-coded culture in your novel about dragons, you’d better know a lot more about Japanese culture than what you learned from Seven Samurai and anime.

In other words, there are things that aren’t yours to take and use. If you are going to incorporate these things into your writing, do so respectfully and knowledgeably.

If you don’t already know the thing you want to write about, learn about it. Don’t just assume you know all there is to know and go prancing off into the sunset, pen grasped in sweaty fingers and cheeks shining. We all have a responsibility in this fraught time to be sensitive and well-informed, and it’s no one’s responsibility to teach you things—you have to go out and self-educate.

I hope that it’s clear that I’m talking about writing that is meant to be read by people other than yourself. Write whatever you want if you’re keeping it on your own computer, of course.

Write on, word nerds!

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

And after doing all that research, too…

Guys, I have come to a hard realization. You may want to sit down.

My novel… isn’t a hardboiled detective novel.

You’ve been with me through my many drafts, versions, and imaginings of my novel. You’ve watched me do endless research. You’ve seen me through the frustration of outlining and writer’s block and plot holes. So it’s probably just as hard on you as it is on me to make this difficult change of heart.

It’s okay guys. I promise. Let me tell you why.

One of the premises of hardboiled fiction is: the story is about the case, not the detective. The detective takes it in, lets it get personal, makes judgement calls and moral calls and such, but the case is the thing. In my novel, the case ends up being very personal to Cassidy. The story is about her, because the case is about her, and the two cannot be split.

After I read all my research material into hardboiled fiction, I read a book series, The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher. It’s about a wizard detective in modern-day Chicago. I loved this series—it managed to capture everything I loved about the hardboiled genre and eschew everything I didn’t love, and it made me realize that I love the trappings of hardboiled mystery. The idioms, the sardonic tone, the mean streets and the almost-corrupted yet incorruptible protagonist. But it also was very much about the main character. He sees everything through the filter of his own biases, which is true for hardboiled fiction as well, except that in the Dresden Files, his biases are important to the story—to the case, to the way he ends up solving the mystery and resolving the conflicts.

I realized that that was what I wanted out of my book. I wrote a mystery about a character, then I selected a genre that divorces the main character from the mystery—smart going, Elly. But giving up the official genre of hardboiled doesn’t mean I can’t rub right up against it, try on its shoes and makeup and steal its change from its bedside table.

Stressing about genre is probably the least productive thing you can do when you’re trying to give birth to an idea, but knowing your genre can determine the direction you go when you’re writing, so… it’s a conundrum. I’m glad I got this figured out. At this point, pointing it out doesn’t really change much, but it feels good to do so.

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Plantser

There is much banter in the writing industry about the terms “pantser” and “plotter.” I believe they were coined by the NaNoWriMo community. To be a “pantser” is the write by the seat of your pants, to have no set route and to go where the story takes you. To be a “plotter” is to have a comprehensive outline, to know where you’re going and how you’re getting there before you even start writing.

I’ve tried it both ways. NaNo 2014 I was a pantser. I basically had a character idea and some settings ideas and I went from there. It was the seed to my novel, and I’m super glad I just did it. But to be totally frank, the result was… unsatisfying, to be diplomatic about it. For my second and third drafts, I was (/tried to be) a plotter. Even though I loathed writing outlines and the process was disheartening and soul-sucking compared to just writing narrative, I was sure that the reason my first draft had failed was because I didn’t know where I was going when I started.

Well, my second draft, while being much better than my first, was still far off the mark of what I want to eventually end up with. I don’t believe that it benefitted from an outline as much as I had learned a lot from the first try, but after I finished it, I didn’t have that perspective. From where I was standing, it looked like I had a second draft that was much better than my first and it had had an outline: ad hoc, ergo propter hoc. But I was several chapters into my third draft when I realized that I was going at my story from completely the wrong angle.

And I realized that writing the outline had contributed to cementing this wrong angle in my head.

Not to mention that starting over after writing a comprehensive outline was… well suffice to say that I was more ready to give up writing forever than to write another comprehensive outline. More than that, though, I wasn’t sure yet where the story was going to go. I kept trying to work on an outline and getting stuck on things that I couldn’t predict. And I was getting very frustrated with not writing narrative—the only fun part of writing. (Hashtag my own opinion kthxbai.) So I decided to start writing and see if it went anywhere.

The beginning I wrote was both strong and terrible: strong because I think I started in the correct place, narratively, and terrible because it was disjointed and semi-coherent. That was partially because I was in a semi-panic while writing it and as a result was having terrible aphasia. I kept not being able to find words, so instead using the much more formal words for things than my narrative voice justified. But I said fuckit and kept writing, because it felt like running away from a predator: didn’t matter if I tripped, I fucking got away.

As I write more, my voice comes more easily; the sequence of events happens more naturally; and as ideas come to me I feel very free to incorporate them if I want to—no restrictive outline to stick to like glue. As a result I really feel like this draft is where I’ve been wanting to get to all along. I still feel like it is almost certainly not the final draft. Much polish and sanding and restoration will be needed once I’ve finished writing it. But I may have finally found the thing that I won’t have to rewrite from the ground up.

Anyway. I recently read a term that I had previously not heard of: “plantser.” This is a hybrid planner-pantser. For me, that means I know the starting point, I know the themes, I have a cast of characters (some of which may not end up making appearances), I know the twist, and I know what Cassidy needs to do to “win”—but I don’t know the exact journey she takes to get there, and to be honest, I don’t know if she wins or not, yet.

So, put me in the plantser camp, because I need a little structure—a little, but not too much.

Word count: 10,916 (⪤)

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Writers’ Group meetup and writing date

Whoops! I forgot to blog on Monday. That’s okay, I can make this one longer for it.

Writers’ Group meetup was this last weekend, and for the first time in a long time I actually had something to share. Branden went on a literary-critique tear; I’ve rarely seen him so enthused about giving feedback when he reviewed Rachel’s story and Becky’s book blurb. I submitted almost 9,000 words for review, and Branden has been reading them as I’ve been writing them, so he didn’t have as much feedback for me as he did for them (which is fine). But I got lots of good feedback from the girls. Few enough problems that I’m either doing really, really well or no one can bring themselves to tell me what they really think. Or maybe they’re withholding judgement.

Just for the record, I don’t actually think anyone thinks it sucks and is keeping it from me. That was a joke. Oddly enough, sharing holds no real terror for me. I know I’m not perfect and could always do a lot better, and am prepared to hear that feedback when it comes. It’s gratifying when I get less of that than I expect, and at the same time it makes me itchy for more. (Though, I think getting more quantity and more specific “I really liked this part!” would scratch that same itch.) But getting any feedback at all is a privilege and a blessing and thank you, thank you, thank you Sarah, Becky, Rachel, and Branden for your patient and dedicated reading and reacting.

But the fact that I’m going to need a whole new group of beta readers was raised during the meetup.

My friends can help me hammer out the problems. They can help me patch the holes and fix the typos. But they can’t be surprised by the story, because they already know the twist. So, I need several people who don’t already know it, who can read it and tell me if the twists and turns are any good, if it hangs together, if it delivers on its promises. I’m looking forward to having a fresh audience, when it comes time for that.

Yesterday was this week’s writing date with Becky, during which she put the finishing touches on her blurb (it’s looking really great now!) and I got some words down. Pretty exciting. Also, pretty nerve-wracking. I am wandering into uncharted territory now, and I have no outline for this version. That aspect has been really freeing, yet scary. Still, I’m enjoying seeing where my fingers take me.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. Happy Hump Day!

Word count: 9,656 (▸)

Writer’s block morphs and changes

Yesterday, I had an excellent day of writing. Becky and I monopolized a couch in the coffee shop from eleven am to four-thirty pm. I didn’t write every single second of that time, but I did get into a groove and managed to pump out over 1,500 words. While I was writing away, I noticed something interesting.

I was chatting with Rachel in the background. I would write my story while waiting for her to respond to whatever I’d said last. I’d made writing the time-passing activity, instead of phone games, or Netflix. It was the most freeing attitude shift: instead of using chatting as a distraction from writing, they existed non-competitively and non-stressfully, side by side. And having five hours of friendly relations with my book has, for the time being at least, altered my overall feelings towards it. Instead of feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of it, or frustrated by its inscrutability, now I feel affection with it, like we’re friends who are going to get together to do something later.

In the past I’ve written blog posts that assert theories on how to overcome writer’s block. Those blogs were correct, for me, at that time. I didn’t anticipate—didn’t understand—that the rules could and would change. I don’t think that I've seen this expressed as conventional wisdom in the multitude of writing blogs I follow. Maybe it’s because it’s self-evident to most, but it was a surprise to me. It was like having the whole floor jerked out from under me when my old tricks didn’t work anymore.

Now that I understand that the Inhibitor is an adapting creature, moving to choke off the little shoots of inspiration that manage to wind their roots through the joints in its protective carapace, I feel slightly more prepared to keep it in perspective. But (and this is an advanced philosophical realization, don’t try this at home), I realize that even this feeling of being properly armed is going to leech out too. It’s a constant growing rumble. The only way to turn down the volume is to keep trying, trying, trying. And be kind to myself.

The Inhibitor is a master of disguise. It makes itself look like inspiration to do other creative projects (my personal favorite); exhaustion or sleepiness; and when all else fails, it just starts sounding alarm bells. They are sometimes articulate, "You will never get it right! You might as well not try! You will never get it right!" or "It’s no fucking fun! Why are you even doing this! Don’t you have something better to do!" Sometimes it’s inarticulate, but I can make the screaming shut up by walking away from the writing. If I get too close to it, it keeps getting louder. And sure, there are some days when the alarm never would shut up, no matter how hard I tried; but I suspect that, most of the time, if I just pushed through it, it would eventually fade away.

It is pretty frustrating and exhausting to have to keep switching up techniques for getting around the Inhibitor. It’s not like it publishes a handbook; and I suppose if it did it probably wouldn’t include ways to disable it. You just have to keep trying different things, again and again. And sometimes, you have to keep trying things that don’t work that well, if you can’t think of anything else. It’s really not surprising that it can have so much power over you.

Anyway, happy rambling is me. More work on snails art today, followed by more writing (I hope). Happy writing!

Word count: 8,747 (∫)

GenreCon 2016

I attended GenreCon this last Saturday with Becky, who was kind enough to clue me in to this event. It had special guests Kristin Nelson and Angie Hodapp of Nelson Literary Agency, who described the job of literary agents and then spent some time talking about what catches their eye, submission-wise, as agents. Then they did the favor of reading audience submissions aloud, saying what worked, what didn’t, and if they would have requested more pages based on the submission. They didn’t read mine, but in retrospect I’m fairly glad they didn’t, because reading over my first three pages I realized that they are kind of a mess. They’ve got some good ideas and imagery, but the frame of mind I was in while writing them (just fucking write, Elly, it doesn’t matter if it sucks) definitely showed a little bit. Mostly, it was an ordering issue. Everything needed to be shuffled around and reordered, to find its own place and occupy it. So even though the pages did not meet the “automatically likely to reject” criteria, they were still far from ready for analysis. But, that was a good thing to be able to see with my own eyes, and try to remedy.

Though, really, I need to keep moving forward. My first three pages can be a #SecondDraftProblem. (Yes, I’m officially calling this a first draft, for convenience’s sake.)

The keynote speech and slush-pile reading was followed by genre workshops, where writers meet with published authors of their chosen genre for specific guidance, tips, tricks, etc. Mine was mystery.

Because of the extensive research I’ve done with regards to my chosen genre, at first, it actually wasn’t super helpful. But when I corrected the author about the actual definition of “noir”, I got engaged in the presentation. In the end, we did an exercise wherein we got together in groups of five and constructed the plot of a mystery. It was way more fun than I expected it to be. All three groups had politically-motivated mysteries (without knowing or intending the similarity), which was fun. The exercise was:

1. What is the crime?
2. Who committed it?
3. Who is the victim?
4. Who is the investigator?
5. What error did the villain make in the commission of his/her crime?
6. How does the investigator solve the crime?

I’d never thought that building a mystery was so… simple. It’s a little disheartening, considering all the drama I’ve been going through trying to figure out the bones of my story.

Today, I’m working on my Racing Snails t-shirt design. I’m hoping to have time to write afterwards, but I don’t think that’s super likely. See you all Wednesday, faithful readers!

Word Count: 6,631 (᧧)

Progress is being made and GenreCon tomorrow!

On Wednesday, I had a writing date with Becky, and words came with me. That was pretty cool. A lot of the time on writing dates, or when I sit down to write during the day, I’ll spend a long time rereading. Or researching. Or … heh, blogging. Usually it’s writing-adjacent, but still quantifiably avoidance behavior, and almost always entirely fear-based. Not sure where I’m going from here. Not sure if I’m going to be able to pull it off. Not sure I’m doing it right, at all. Not sure if I’m going to offend, or be ignorant. But on Wednesday, after I got my computer plugged in, my chai and danish into my facehole, and my shoes off, the words just came.

It’s a good feeling, when it happens.

The unfortunate (maybe? Hopefully not) part is that I got to a transition point of the story just as we were wrapping up. That means two things: I got to a stopping place (which means that starting again isn’t as easy as I’d like it to be), and the story is about to go in a new direction. Which reboots the whole “am I doing it wrong” train of thought. Especially since it’s going to go places this story hasn’t yet gone, in any of the other 2.25 drafts. I used to write ghost / horror stories back in high school, but Cassidy has never treaded those corridors, and I’ve worn down such a groove with Cassidy that trying to bump her into that territory is proving… quite difficult. So, one tiny baby step at a time.

Tomorrow is GenreCon, a writer’s conference in Golden, Colorado. I’m really nervous. Not only have I never been to a writing conference, I’ve never been to any cons, ever. Unless the Renaissance Festival counts, cause from what I’ve heard about cons they seem kinda similar. But in my mind, at least, writing cons are different from, say, comic cons or anime cons or PAX. Maybe because it’s less fan-based? I don’t know. Anyway, if I bring the first three pages of my story, there’s a chance they’ll get read and critiqued. I think I’m going to do it, because what could it hurt? But I know it’s the equivalent of a first draft again, quality-wise, so I’m a bit embarrassed of it. I know that it’s almost certainly going to change, that this isn’t as polished and squeaky as it could be. But, as Cassidy would think, “nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

On Monday, I shall regale you with the epic stories of GenreCon and how I took the writing world by storm. Until then!

Word count: 6,494 (ᥞ)

All the things!

I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders, and it makes me increasingly anxious.

Branden and I are hosting our weekly friend get-together this week, and I am maybe taking on too much. Maybe. Except a normal human could do it just fine before Thursday night, so obviously I will come very close to failing and have to spend Friday in bed doing nothing.

I have to make two giant loaves of bread, one less-giant loaf of bread, and roast some figs.

“What madness,” I hear you scream, and I agree.

That… will probably be fine. I’m hoping I can get my act together and tackle a couple of those tasks one at a time. The thing that’s actually stressing me out is: The Racing Snails.

MuckFest season is quickly coming. I haven’t assembled the whole team, done any fundraising, nor—and here’s the stressor—committed the shirt design to digital medium. That… really needs to get done, ASAP.

But it will probably take at least one whole day to do it. Which cuts into my writing time. I always think to myself, “Just do your writing first thing, and do the arting once you’ve hit your word goal,” and what a nice fantasy that is. But considering how I’ve yet to hit 2,500 words in a day (yesterday I managed 255), it just doesn’t seem realistic. I have to choose between them, and at some point, the Snails shirt has to be the one I choose.

It doesn’t help that by the time I’m done checking my internet (about 11am, today), I’m ready to go back to sleep for a couple of hours. Why am I always so tired, this is the worst. I could probably snap out of it if I got up and walked around a little, but the nature of being sleepy is that that’s the last thing I want to do.

Still, I suppose I shall do it. As nice as my naps were last week, I’m not willing to repeat them.

In the spirit of getting the body movin’, I’m gonna go do that now. We will talk again on Friday.

Word count: 4,768 (አ)

Scared of my feelings

As I’ve been making (slow, slow) progress through my book, I’ve realized something that isn’t very encouraging. I’m wondering if it’s normal for other writers, or if it’s indicative of my feelings for my book.

I get really excited when I’m thinking about the story, the twists and turns, and the way the pieces fit together. I enjoy thinking about it. But when it comes time to actually write it? It all drains away. It feels dry and uninteresting, and my overwhelming feeling is that the book is going to be “nothing special,” or possibly just a giant waste of time.

I don’t want to listen to that voice, for obvious reasons. I have ideas for other stories, and I haven’t yet tried to write them, so I can’t say whether or not I have more enthusiasm for writing something else. I really, really want to finish this book before moving on to another project, so I probably won’t be receptive to “just write something different for a little while” advice. Cassidy is my baby and there are so many things I want to say with this story. I just wish the stream of good feels didn’t dry up as soon as I start trying to put words on “paper.”

My apprehensions aside, I have been writing. I got Scrivener for Christmas and I’ve been trying out the “write scenes in separate files” technique that so many people talk about. Historically, I haven’t really thought in “scenes,” but more in progression of events. Trying it this way is definitely helping me understand where scenes are delineated in my writing, and that really helps me understand the flow of tension. Because if each scene needs to be a book-in-miniature, with rising- and falling-action and a climax, then I think it helps you get a feel for if the scene is doing what it is supposed to, and if it’s necessary to the story.

Tangent: just because it has the three ingredients, doesn’t mean each of these climaxes need to be dramatic and extreme. They just need to be identifiable.

Well, that’s all for now, folks.

Word count: 4,513 (ᆡ) (NaNo in May is... not. But at least it got me writing!!)

Writing: when it rains, it drizzles pathetically

In my continuing commitment to blogging more, I am blogging today! Observe. They’re gonna be short for a while, while I get back into the swing of posting.

Yesterday, though I seemed to be trying my hardest to avoid it, I actually managed to write over 1,700 words. It sorta feels like, even when I’m writing, I’m not making any progress. I am, though. Right now, it feels like the book is going to be incredibly short. I have no sense of pacing with this version. That’s okay. It truly is a new “first” draft. I’m in no hurry (obviously).

That being said, yesterday I was thinking about my book and was suddenly overcome with a realization. It’s an obvious thing, nothing I didn’t know intellectually, but it sorta came home to me emotionally: This book doesn’t exist. It’s not out there, leaking through me onto the page. It has no rights. I’m not violating it by not writing it. It will never exist if I don’t write it. It felt both liberating and terrifying. It’s a big responsibility… a bigger responsibility than caring for plants, but probably a smaller responsibility than caring for animals.

But yeah. Your book doesn’t exist if you don’t write it. No one’s going to write it after you decide you don’t want to; it’s just going to never exist. Is that okay with you? Or would you rather just write the damn thing and be done with it? I know which side I come down on.

Because I said I'd blog more

So far, NaNo in May has been 100% unsuccessful. Naps struck me both Monday and Tuesday. Today I'm antsy and feel like I can't make my brain sit still, so I've written 54 words. Of course, my total is 2,328 so at least I'm not at the very beginning, but I do have mighty catching up to do. Maybe over the weekend. And just because I haven't written doesn't mean I wasn't productive. I worked on art resources for the P&C game my friends and I are percolating, and did some chores, and handled some money matters… not wasted time for the most part, but I still feel kinda irresponsible. Plus there are a couple of things that are in my to-do list that I'm dreading and thus haven't done: phone calls, obviously.

Six months ago I scheduled a Neurology appointment for April 21^st, which (unbeknownst to me at the time) was the same date as the Greeley Jazz festival that I go to every year. I had to cancel my appointment and have requested a new one via the website, twice. But I have heard nothing back, so I have to call them, ugh. Also my insurance decided to stop covering Adderall, which is straight crazy, so… another phone call. Both of these are relatively urgent, and I need to do them, so obviously I haven't.

On the upside, I'm covered in kittens (who have had nearly-immaculate litter box etiquette for a change!), which is probably the best thing ever. Today was a great day, I went for a long drive in the afternoon that unfortunately coincided with rush hour, but it was gorgeous and warm and beautiful. The weather went, in the course of 3 days, from white-out blizzard to have-to-open-the-windows warm, and I'm loving that. I want to make the most of the long days. Days are getting longer until the middle of June, and I want to make sure I squeeze out every last drop of sun! I should swim this year. Swimming is good.

Well, that's all I've got for now. Ciao word nerds!

NaNo in May

Good News Everyone! I have decided that I’ve been Doing Cassidy Wrong. I am starting over from scratch! Again! Yay!

There were things I had always wanted to include in the story that didn’t fit. Everything seemed too cluttered and a lot of things just didn’t really stick the landing after their logical leaps.

The good news is that my new story is much more on track. (Yes, I’ve said this before.) We’ll see how it turns out, of course, but I’m, like, seriously optimistic. I’ve started writing narrative and it’s going in fits and starts, with much use of the backspace key, but so far I’m liking it.

But because I’ve been feeling blocked on Cassidy by every fault of my own, I decided that I was going to write it like NaNo again. After all, this is basically a new first draft, and it’s going to be ugly and sticky and in need of much revision. But I need to extrude it quickly so that I can stop beating myself up about it and hopefully finish it at some point. So, I’m going to try for 2,500 words per weekday in May.

Fuckered that up already, since instead of writing yesterday I took a nap and then read my entire blog over again. But oh well, I got good advice from my earlier self who knows where I am and what I’m going through. She was a smart lady.

I finished my Blender model. It was very fun and I didn’t limit myself at all. Ended up with 800k+ polys (target number in the end will be 1,500 at most), so the next goal will be to make a much simpler model. Then I’ll try rigging. But not in May, most likely.

I’m also going to try to blog 3 times per week again. Blogging is good and I like it. I also like what I’ve written, for I am a smarty.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for tonight! See you tomorrow!

Poem: Depression

Hello to the monster that lives in your head,
He’s got nowhere to be until after you’re dead.
Hello to the monster that lives in your heart,
He volunteers to tear you apart.
He calls pride ‘integrity,’
He calls help ‘contempt,’
He helps you resist any grace that might tempt.
He says friends are great, but just not right now—
You have more loathing to do than time will allow.
When your friends speak, he helps your flawed hearing,
Shifting “needful” into “weak,” kudos into jeering.
You see a way through, but he steers you away,
Kindly explaining it will lead you astray.
He plugs your ears to any bid for surcease,
Determined your frailty should not bring you peace.
He says solutions are shortcuts and suffering is noble,
As his cement ’round your feet makes you immobile.
In this fashion he puts a knife to your vein,
And in your desperation to end your pain,
You forget every escape he made you disdain.

***Edit: 4/29/16*** This poem is not about me. I'm fine! Sorry if I alarmed anyone!

Backwards progress

This one’s gonna be short, faithful readers.

I have come to the realization that I need to get the gym back into my routine. There are things I can do to mitigate the paralysis that seems to come over me after the gym—but there’s no way to mitigate the stiffness, muscle loss, and declining energy levels except to start the body movin’.

In other news, I have been playing around with Blender. Although my current rendering of Jane Lane from Daria looks like a horrifying monkey-slash-nightmare demon, just doing it really strips away the terror related to trying something new. I’ve also finished all of the Christmas stockings for the spouses. Now I just need to do the chibis; but first I gotta decide on a design for them. Also I need to take a break from knitting for a while.

Gnar turned one whole year old yesterday. Little miracle kitty! So glad he picked me.

I’m actually making slow progress with my Cassidy outline again! The story keeps changing on me. How’s it ever going to hold still long enough for me to write it all down?!

Gonna hop on writing now. Else I’m wasting my time at Cafe 44 with my fellow writista Bridget. Buon viaggio!

Diversity in the hardboiled genre

So, in working on Cassidy, I’ve been struggling with diversity. I originally conceptualized a diverse cast, including people of different sexualities, differently abled people, and people of color. Predictably, I fell into some tropes, primarily because I didn’t know they existed (but that's no excuse!). So I revised. And revised. And am revising again.

I’m discovering an unsettling stumbling block.

In the hardboiled genre, most notably in the literature of the 30s–50s, pretty much everyone is despicable. There are very few characters who haven’t done something awful that they’re trying to conceal from Johnny Law (or Jane Society). The only “innocents” are idealized as such, put on pedestals, and not given the opportunity to have any real contribution to the story, presumably because doing so would get their white shoes all dirty. Ironically, people of color and homosexuals are present, but their despicableness is their color or their sexuality—they are not innocents, in the mind of the authors of the day.

More recent works have done better, though still not always great. Perhaps that’s because the genre is about the filthy underbelly, where innocence has no place. I'm okay with that, really. I’d rather see innocents not represented than represented as powerless icons, but eh, I’m not an authority. There’s room for argument on both sides. Anyway, this is all beside the point.

I don’t want to cast any group of people in a negative light with my writing, and I’m doing my best not to. But when your cast is dirty cops, prostitutes, murderers, and rapists, I feel like you have to dance a merry jig to make sure that you're not slapping labels on people. Because I'm not going to stuff my cast of characters with extras just to make it clear that “not all «insert demographic here» are «insert negative role here»s.” I know much of that can be done by populating what extras are there with members of the demographics that are being negatively portrayed elsewhere. No reason the barista can't be of Chinese descent, right?

But it’s been very strange, and a bit uncomfortable. I’ve been having an urge to make all my villains and victims white, because I don’t want to negatively represent demographics to which I don't belong. But in the hardboiled genre, there are few other roles, so… to represent or not to represent?

Let me know what you think. Until next time, word nerds!

The Inhibitor

I believe I have a piece of hardware installed in my brain. It’s called the Inhibitor. It plugs in between my want-tos and my can-dos, and effectively shorts the circuit with overwhelming gibber signal, mostly consisting of “but that would require you to…” and yawns. I’m not unique in this way. It seems that every writer (or otherwise creative person) is asking for advice on how to bypass their inhibitor. I’ve gotten sick of whining about it. But sometimes, it feels like a very physical thing.

And then, of course, there are the have-tos. From time to time, the have-tos are chores or errands, but the largest number of have-tos are literal necessities. Going to the bathroom, eating food, sleeping, that sort of thing. When my Inhibitor starts to fail, the have-tos are the redundant fail-safe. And the have-tos are hard to argue with. They seem to eat up my days.

Right now I have a conundrum. I’m finished with my have-tos. It’s barely 9am. I’ve bathed, eaten breakfast, checked the whole internet, and essentially run out of reasonable distractions. There are so many creative endeavors I’ve been dying to do, and inspired to do, and motivated to do… when I’m unable to do them, of course. Now that I have no have-tos between me and my goals, the Inhibitor is working overtime. “But you have three unfinished Christmas stockings to do! Those count as creative!” … true, but I’ve watched so much Netflix in the last couple of months that I’m about to run out of shows. Like, all shows. It’s getting boring. “You’re really sleepy! You know you are. Go lie down.” I’m never not sleepy. If I let that affect my activities, I’d never do anything. “You know you’re not supposed to force it…” Force it, sure, but I should really at least give myself a chance to do these creative things I’m so excited about.

I’ve had writing dates with my writer friends the last few weeks. On each of these, I’ve had some excuse not to write. The first one, I spent the time moving Cassidy into Scrivener, so at least it was tangentially related. The next time, I was writing emails to people. It was actually important, don’t get me wrong, but I sometimes feel so defeated. I’d really like to write with my girls, because it seems like the only time I actually get into it.

Well, at any rate, it seems like maybe my Inhibitor has leashed my blog into its dark service. I’ma cut that bitch out, for today anyway.

TTFN dear readers!