Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Critiques

So, I'm not even half way through my WIP, but I decided to have my first chapter critiqued by my sister and my friends at Absolute Write. My sister got the entire chapter, all 3500+ words of it, but I only posted the first 977 words on the forum. You can find that post and all the lovely comments here.

Now this whole critiquing process was both good and bad for me. First we'll talk about the good.

Good Things:
A) It was a great lesson in having a thick skin and thanking people nicely for reading my work and taking the time to comment on it.
B) It showed me some of the very stupid mistakes I had made.
C) It gave me some great ideas/tips on what I could do to make it better.

Bad Thing: (notice I said "Thing" not "Things")
Now I want to go back and re-write the chapter and go a head and edit and re-write all that I have so far. This is not good. I can not afford to think that way. Because if I go back now and start re-working what I have now, I'll never finish the story.

There are people that I know that have been working on the same story for many many years but have never finished it because they've spent so much time editing the little bit that they have. I don't want to be like that. I need to finish telling the story. I need to see a completed first draft, all 70,000+ words that I'm hoping it will be. I need to know I can finish something before I go back and try to fix it.

But that is really hard. The Editor in me is dying to go back and work on that first chapter and make it perfect so that when people read it again they will have nothing to complain about. But i know that if I do, I'll get caught in that vicious little editing cycle and I'll never get back out.

So I must press on. Knowing that 90% of the words I type are total shit. I must keep putting my butt in my chair every morning and trying to finish this story. Because if I don't, my MC will jump out of my head, torture and then kill me in the slowest most painful way possible. And she can do it too, that's kind of her profession.

Oh, and as an ending note, I am not sure I'll make my self appointed deadline of May 26th. That gives me only 23 days to write more than 50,000 words. I'll try though, I'll try really hard.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

WIP Going Strong

So I thought I'd pop in here and say that my White Crow WIP is going good. I've got 10k+ words so far and the entire story line pretty much figured out. Now the challenge is finding the time to write. I can usually get a solid hour in while my son is taking his mid morning nap, but that's about it.

And I can do about 1200 words/hour. My word count goal for this project is 70,000 words. So, if you do the math, I have 60,000+ words to go, and if I can do at least 1200 words/day then that means I should have this finished in about 50 days or so. And 50 days from now is *goes off to count little boxes on her calender* May 26. ...Wow, I have never put an actual date on when I will finish a book like this. It's kind of intimidating and exciting all at the same time.

Well, I guess I'll say it, I will have the first draft of this book finished by May 26! It's in writing now, I guess I have to do it.

Monday, February 7, 2011

My Muse Rocks!

So now that I'm a stay-at-home-mom I have lots more time to write. Yay! But, my first week home, I didn't do any writing. Mostly because I was being super lazy, but also because I had no idea what to write about. It's been seriously long.

So yesterday I asked my husband, Daniel, what I should write about. And he quickly responded, "I want a short story about White Crow". Now, White Crow is a character that I've had since I was 13 and I've been struggling with her since then. There was a major plot hole in her back story. It was like a black hole in my mind, so that when ever my mind went in that direction it got sucked away into oblivion. But Daniel managed to come up with an ingenious idea that made all those problems go away.

Thus, Daniel is my new muse, sorry Pip. :(

Monday, November 29, 2010

Bad Writer

I'm a bad writer, I didn't do NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this year. In retrospect, it's a good thing because this month has been crazy. Plus, I didn't have an original story idea to work on this year. Heck, I have to finish my current project before I can start anything else. I've been failing in the writing department of my life. :( But that's ok. New Year's is coming soon, so I can make more promises that won't be kept! :D

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Need (Flash Fiction)

Need

I hadn’t noticed the door before, but it stood ajar, bright light beckoning, unobserved by the other dancers; so without looking back I stepped through. My red stilettos went from dusty wooden dance floor and on to white marble streaked with green. I stopped and stared at a never ending room filled with black marble columns veined with blue. The contrasting colors made my eyes water. As I stood staring I heard the door click shut behind me. When I turned to look at it, the door had disappeared and the columns continued in that direction as well.

I gasped and felt panic rise in my throat. “Why did I do that?” I asked the silent columns. “What possessed me?”

“Need,” said a light male voice behind me.

I spun around and came face to face with a tall, slender man dressed in an old fashioned tuxedo with a navy blue vest and bow tie. His dark hair was slicked back from his pale, angular face and the palest blue eyes I had ever seen.

“What?” I asked.

“Need. That is what brought you here.”

“How can need take me anywhere? Need is just an emotion.”

“Oh, not so,” the man said as he took a step closer. “Need is not just an emotion. Need is the emotion that propels everything. Need is very powerful.”

“Okay,” I said, folding my arms across my stomach. I glanced around, looking for some kind of exit, but all I saw where those blue veined black columns.

“You cannot leave yet,” the man said.

“But I need to leave.”

“Your Need is not strong enough. Once your Need is strong enough a way will become available for you to return to your world.”

“What?” my mind raced, trying to figure out what this place was. I glanced at the man, he was staring at me with such a bemused smile that I wondered if he could read my mind. “Where am I?” I finally demanded.

“A place neither here nor there. A place in between.”

“Between where?”

“Here and there.”

I glared at him, but he continued to smile.

He extended a hand to me, “Care to dance?”

“No,” I said, taking a step back.

“But you are dressed for dancing,” he said, waving his hand up and down to indicate my short white and navy blue homecoming dress.

I looked down at my strapless dress and my eyes fell on the bright red shoes. Mom had thought it would be tacky to where red shoes with a white and blue dress. But I had insisted that it was the latest fashion.

“They’re just so red,” Mom had complained. “Put a little sequence on them and they’d look like Dorothy’s ruby slippers.”

I laughed as I pranced out the door.

“I love the shoes,” the man said.

When I looked up, his smile was so warm; I found my hand in his. He pulled me towards him and placed a firm hand on my waist.

He swung me around and we glided between the columns. At first the only sounds was the clicking of my heels. Then music began to play, sounding as if it was coming from a great distance. As we danced the music would slide away and then boom in close to our ears.

I closed my eyes and imagined that the music was another pair of dancers that would come close to us and then swing away.

The man chuckled and my eyes snapped open, “What are you laughing at?”

“What where you day dreaming about just now?”

“The music,” I said, “and the way it dances around us.”

The man threw his head back and laughed, I could feel my face heat. He looked down at me, “Don’t be embarrassed. You are right, the music is dancing around us, you just can’t see it. Music doesn’t like to be seen, she is a shy lady.”

I smiled and nodded, letting him lead me around the columns. I felt my mind drifting, spinning around with our movements. My eyes settled on one of the many columns and blinked. The blue veins seemed to make a picture. As I stared the picture shifted into a small image of me and the man dancing. It shifted again, still showing me dancing, but with a different man, shorter and with lighter hair. A part of my mind knew who that light haired man was, but the thought floated away with the music.

The man and I spun around again and I was looking at another column, showing a different picture. It was me alone, in a dark place; a large figure looms behind me, grabs me and pushes me to the ground.

I gasp as the tall man and I spin again. The next column picture shows the large figure beating me on the ground. I cry out with the remembered pain and crumple to the floor. The tall man leans over me and places a hand on my cheek, the hand is cold, colder than the marble beneath me. Why had I ever thought it was warm?

“What do you Need?” he asks.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks, “I need to get out of here.”

The man shakes his head, “What do you Need?”

“I Need to leave,” I cry.

“Where do you Need to go?”

“I need to go back.”

“Where do you Need to go?”

“I Need to go back to life,” I’m sobbing, the pain is so intense. My whole body aches, every bone and muscle screams in pain.

“Yes,” the man nods, a sad smile on his face now. “What do you Need?”

“I Need to LIVE!” I scream.

My eyes pop open and all I see is darkness and blurry faces. There are voices too, but they’re even burrier than the faces. Everything seems so far away. The music is drifting away, coming close and then drifting again. Is someone calling my name? I close my eyes and darkness overwhelms me.

A couple days later I wake up in a hospital bed, my face swollen and bruised, bruises all over my upper body and two cracked ribs. When I ask what happened, my parents tell me that Tom, my ex-boyfriend came to homecoming, saw me with my current boyfriend, Mark, and beat me up. The doctor informs me that for a moment they thought they had lost me. I took several blows to the side of the head, and they were going to do some test to make sure I didn’t have any brain damage.

As I lay in the huge MRI machine I thought about the tall man amongst the columns. I closed my eyes and I could see him as if he was standing there in front of me again, dark hair slicked back, pale blue eyes glowing. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

“We will dance again, Michelle. But not for a long time I fear. Promise to remember me and our dance among the columns.”

“I’ll remember,” I whispered, “I promise.”

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Been Kind Of Dry Here

I have not actually written in over 22 days. I’m not saying that is an accomplishment, I’m just stating it as fact. But that does not mean that I haven’t been actively working on my story. I stopped writing 22 days ago because I got to the point where I had stopped outlining a while ago. You see, I’ve had a pattern with this story, when I first came up with the idea I pounded out a disgraceful prologue and a couple chapters and then I stopped. I had no idea where I wanted to go. So then I sat down an outlined chapters 4-12. When I finished outlining chapter 12 I was stuck again, I didn’t know what direction I wanted to take. So I figured that I’d just start writing and see where the flow of the story took me when I got to chapter 12. And thus, 22 days ago I finished writing chapter 12 and only had vague ideas of what would happen next. So I fell back to outlining.


Thus far, I have outlined chapters 13-18 and am working on 19. I used to hate outlining. Back in the days when I had to outline research papers, I thought it was such a waste of time. And I hated it when an outline was part of your final score. But with this project I have found that outlining is good. It gives me time to think and brain storm. And even though I didn’t do all the outlining at once I think it’s been helpful to do a little of each off and on. It’s a good balance of freedom and structure.


And normally, outlining wouldn’t take me this long, but life has been crazy. What with work, home duties and starting a new business, I’m surprised I write at all some days. And admittedly, I do 90% of my writing at work (as I’m doing right now ;)). The benefits of working at a super slow branch. I even managed to write 3837 words one day. How awesome is that?

Thursday, September 9, 2010

In Over My Head

I think I’m in over my head. First person is hard! Especially when the person I’m using as the narrator is absolutely nothing like me. To explain, I’ve decided that having the entire story told from the MC’s point of view would be very boring. Even though it is very easy to write her. I’m not ashamed to admit that my MC is a good deal like me. But, now I’ve started writing a few chapters with the Bad Guy as the narrator. The Bad Guy is a 50 something year old man who is a religious freak, very intelligent and is lacking some humanity. I’m not sure how much more different he could be from me and so I’m having a very hard time getting into his head.


In my original draft I wrote a chapter about him, but it was in third person and it worked very well. But, in an effort to get into his head so I could write a later chapter with him as the narrator, I rewrote that chapter into first person. I knew as I wrote it that something was wrong, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. So I sent the finished chapter to my sister Carrie who is not only a grammar Nazi, but is much smarter than me because she’s actually going to college for English. In the end, she made me realize that all my fears about writing this character were real.


So now I’m at a point where I’m wondering if I should even write my Bad Guy in as an occasional narrator. I’m sure I could do it, given the time, but time is something I don’t have. I can’t really dedicate myself to writing this character while I’m at work. The environment is all wrong. But I really want to have him as a narrator! I know my story will suck if I don’t use him. The reader has to have a chance to see things through his eyes so that they can understand why he does what he does. I want that emotional impact, I want the reader to almost feel bad for him.


Blah! Writing is hard, why couldn’t I find some other creative pursuit, like scrapbooking, or sewing, or something else simple?