In love

It happened today. I fell in love again. That's right. I'm in love with my story. It's been a while. Our relationship was a fast and furious one. I pulled together all the ideas and put it down on my faithful word processor. We met together every day for weeks. I made time for it when I didn't think I could find time to even shower. (Good thing my story isn't a judgmental type. He put up with strange hours and lots of interruptions.)

Shortly after writing the fateful THE END on that perfect first draft, the flames fizzled. All my motivation drained down into the hard to reach areas of my left pinky toe. The rest of the world came between us with its insistent cries of "clean the house" and "feed the kids" and "pay the bills." The longer I let my poor story sit in the dark recesses, the harder it was to feel that same passion. I tried to resurrect it, but it seemed like a dying thing.

And now, the sun has broken through. I feel that desire to get working again. And for real, this time. Not the half-hearted attempts, but a full-fledged, throw myself off the balcony, run away to the circus sort of thing. I'm ready to feel the joy of doing something creative. Something that only I can do. Something that may not have any meaning to any one else, but is important because I feel like it is important.

You may have to take the backseat every once in a while, story, while I do the things that can't be ignored. Don't worry, though. I found you again, and this time, I think we can go all the way!

Reading leads to writing

I just finished a book. I don't know where I found the time, but I did. And it was great. My love affair with writing began when I learned to read. This particular book (Doomsday Book by Connie Willis) has sparked again my love for the whole idea of writing. It's an amazing thing how that happens.

Doomsday Book isn't the kind of book I would write. It's kind of sci-fi with future elements and time travel. It's also something like 500 pages. Immense! But so rewarding as a reader. She created two very distinct worlds and drew me in to them both. She never gave a huge exposition about what makes her world so special or different from anything else. She just told her story and let me fill in all the pieces. It was so refreshing to not have to sift through all the world building stuff you get when you read something like, for instance, David Eddings. (Don't get me wrong. I loved David Eddings' books as a teenager. He just goes into great detail about everything.) Reading Doomsday, I found it so easy to just sink into the people and places.

And I found a desire to write like that. Probably not as long. Heavens, I would probably shoot myself before I got through a complete edit. But to have that easy, flowing way of telling the story. That is what I want to do. (It also wouldn't hurt to win a Hugo or Nebula award. That would be pretty cool.)

So, now I have a new goal for my editing. Bring a better flow. Tell less. Show more. And I have a great example of how to do that. I just have to take for granted that people will understand my world. And chances are, they will.

Dilemmas

Well, here we go.

My house is mostly clean right now. Just doing some laundry. No big effort there. The accounting is all caught up for the day. I managed to feed the kids and sit down for a few quiet moments at the laptop. I have read through all the blogs I follow, left some comments, learned some things. Now, I'm ready to write.

I sit at the kitchen table. This is one of the few places in the house where I can still keep one eye on the kids, but they can't help me with the keyboard. (Unless an extra chair just happens to be next to the table. They'll climb up on that and try to see what I'm doing.) I open the document. And stare at it. And just keep staring at it. Wow. Where do I even start?

I've gotten some pretty good feedback on the first draft. The story is going in a good direction. It seems like it's just minor things that would make it sing for most of the people who have looked at it so far. Logistical things like "you kick a horse to make it go, not shake the reins." But, I'm not satisfied with making minor changes. I read these stories of the journey that people take to finish a book and think, "I'm not making nearly the same effort." I joke about having written the perfect (or nearly perfect, considering the reins issue) first draft, but I just can't believe that's really true. And I have no idea where to go with it right now.

So, I'm just staring. I know I'll get to it at some point today. I'll write a few words. I'll clear up the writing, tighten it up, show more instead of telling. And it will be great and I will feel satisfied having done something. Just this moment, however, I feel stuck.

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Inspiration just struck! Got to get cracking!

Are you kidding me?

Just changed the sixth poopy daiper of the day. My two year old is wearing his fifth complete outfit. The house needs a thorough cleaning before company comes tomorrow night. And I'm moonlighting as an accountant during end of year tax season for a company with employees who don't know how to count.

When did I think I was going to be a writer?

Contests

I've been following the blogs of several literary agents/editors/really cool people who write. It might just be the time of year, but there's a lot of contests on blogs right now. I even entered one on Nathan Bransford's blog. Write a teen diary entry. It felt pretty amazing to start out on this grand journey of writing. I sat down and composed a diary entry, loosely based on one of my own high school experiences. I lovingly went over the draft, making sure that it conveyed the sentiment I intended. I tweaked the words until it fit my idea of a high school voice. (Or at least, what I might have written at the time, had I actually written something.) I copied and pasted it into a comment and hit submit. And instantly regretted it.

Not because I think I am a bad writer. I don't. It also wasn't because I saw a spelling error just after I clicked the button. It was everything I had hoped it would be. No. I merely realized that I probably don't stand a chance.

I've checked back at the thread where diary entries are being posted in droves. The last I saw, 620 or so people had put finger to keyboard in a similar endeavor.

And many, many of them are amazing. I can't say I read every entry. There are just too many of them. I did read a lot of them and I immediately felt inadequate in my own ability.

My own little story wasn't particularly angsty or cutting edge or "troubled." It was just a girl who likes a boy. He's way out of her league and only talks to her when no one else is around. It's something very real for me, and terribly poignant.

We'll see how it goes. I can't imagine that out of 600 entries, mine will rise to the top. It's a starting place, though. I just keep having reminders of how much I have to do before I get to where I want to be. Here's to all the work ahead. Cheers!

A novel update: the first of many

At least part of the purpose of blogging for me is to be accountable to myself. I'm trying to find time to polish the two books I wrote last year. Putting it out here for any one to read is supposed to motivate me. And so far, I think it's working.

I have taken a bit of time off from the whole book thing while I waited for some feedback on the first draft of my current work in progress. Mostly, the reviews have been really positive, with lots of good suggestions for improvement. In fact, I only had one review that said, "You just aren't any good at this. Try something else." Okay. That wasn't exactly what it said. It's what it felt like. I really got derailed for a little while. I kept going back to that one response and dwelling on it until I lost all motivation completely.

Fortunately, I have the most supportive husband on the face of the planet. Not only does he encourage me to write, but he helps me put things into a good perspective. He hasn't read the whole manuscript yet (he wants to read the finished thing), but he had some great suggestions based on the concerns I have been working through.

So, I started editing yesterday. It felt great to get my hands on the story again. I still have a lot of work to do. More than I realized when I was still caught up in the first rush of finishing. (Of course, I am the first person to have written the perfect first draft, right?) I have the basics of the story in place. I just need to figure out what I can do to take out some of the predictability. (It's an ambitious project for a fairy tale retelling. Every one knows how the story is supposed to end.)

The nicest thing is that I'm in love with writing, all over again. Watch for more to come. I've got a long way to go if I'm going to meet my goals to query both books this year!

A lazy Saturday

Right now, I am sitting on the couch in my living room. There's a king sized fuzzy blanket in a delightful shade of green to wrap up in. I should probably have been doing laundry today, but didn't really feel like it. Also, at some point before I go to bed, it will probably be a good idea to clean up the house a little, but I can't seem to find the motivation. I think I am taking a vacation from my vacation.

My 2 year old is standing on the other side of the room, just where the light shines in through the closed curtains. He's just learned to spit in the last few weeks. He calls it "blowing bubbles." At this point, he's spitting into the light, watching the little droplets forming as they spew forth into the air in front of him. It's kept him pretty much entranced for nearly ten minutes. I forget sometimes what it's like to find joy (or in his case, fascination) in the simple things.

The thing about two year olds is that everything is wonderful like that. Does this plate roll on its side? Do the pictures in this book change if I read it again? What happens if I take off my socks and put them on again? Is this shirt better than the other one? Or the one before it? Or the one before it?

Sometimes, I don't really appreciate how amazing life is. It's really easy to get lost in the day to day stuff and ignore the wonder around me. I have to do the laundry, clean the house, feed the kids, go shopping, or whatever else it is. (And all of those things have to be done.) I just don't have to lose sight of the fact that I am surrounded by everyday miracles.

Especially when that two year old helps with the dishes or laundry, wants to vacuum or make his bed. Or does something sweet and funny, just because that's who he is. And I think he really has the right idea. He's happy pretty much all the time, even if all he's doing is spitting into the sunlight. Shouldn't we all be like that?