Echoes in a Hollow Space

I'm trying not to think about word count too much--just hunkering down and writing. Everything else in the equation will be what it will be. I just have to write. I'll worry about making it marketable once the first draft is complete.

The other day I was reading this blog entry by pbackwriterfeed. I'm nowhere near her pace, of course--the job thing interferes with that kind of production--but I'm actually ahead of the "one page a day five days a week" pace talked about in the article she references by William Dietz. I produce 2-3 pages a day, five days a week--sometimes more. I also write on the weekend, but that's more dedicated to catching up with other stuff like critiquing and maybe playing with new stories. That life thing occasionally happens in there, too. Although recently I haven't had time for any of that on the weekends. It's all taken up with moving-related stuff. So, the only thing I can count on until the chaos subsides a bit is that Mon-Fri writing session. It's my lifeline. It's the one steady thing keeping me (what passes for) sane.

I'm fighting the urge to think it still isn't good enough, that I'm a slacker. I think that inevitably when you read about someone else's work pace being so much more productive, it tends to make you feel like you aren't doing enough. Or maybe it isn't you, maybe it's just me. :-) It's an illogical thing because I know my life circumstances aren't the same as hers. I have taken less time to write each novel and I dearly wanted to produce the complete first draft for this one in a year because my ultimate goal is to produce the whole package in a year, not just a first draft. Within one year, I want to be able to slap an entire caught-cleaned-and-gutted salmon on the counter, wrap it in newspaper, and send it off to be grilled.

And I think I'll get there. I've always been good about making deadlines, even occasionally the ones I set for myself. The process streamlines a bit with each novel. If I can write faster, hallelujah. But my main duty to my writing, it seems to me, I keep reminding myself, is to be honest about it. Set modest goals I know I'll be able to make so as not to discourage myself; increase them by small increments each time--and just keep working. Do the best job I can. I have absolutely no control about what other people do with their time. I can only control what's right in front of me and do the best job I can with the time, circumstances, and talent I'm allotted.

Even if on some days that doesn't seem good enough.

It isn't a perfect world. No one is entitled to success. So you'd better like what you do when you do it. It better be enough for you. Although the success would not be unwelcome.

This just in of the day: Apparently, you can have too many interests. In fact, you're limited to only 150, as I found out when I tried to add 151 and 152 to my LJ User Info. I'll try to be less interested in things from now on.

Weirdness of the day: CAUTION: THIS NEXT ITEM MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR OUR MORE SENSITIVE VIEWERS

I was watching a show last night on Animal Planet (so it's got to be true, right?) about carnivorous deer. The program was Unexplored, Unexplained (or is that Unexplained, Unexplored?) and they told the story of a remote place in the British Isles (I want to say Scotland, but at that part of the program I wasn't paying close attention) where the grass that the red deer forage on is mineral-poor. They aren't getting enough calcium and so they have taken to biting off the heads of ground-nesting birds and chomping down their skulls--a rich source of calcium.

Proving, yet again, that nature ain't for sissies.

Saying "Uncle" of the day: I have come to the conclusion that I cannot write, do research (especially with books already packed), write crits, and move my household all at the same time. I will have to write without that research that I can't quite remember at this point and realize it will probably have to be fixed. I will concentrate on writing. I will write. I will write. Write! Right? And if I can do the occasional crit, hallelujah. Hallelujah, glory be, hallelujah.

Five weeks from tomorrow. =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0 =:0

Screaming like girls of the day: I must say, Most Haunted was most disappointing last night. There was minimal screaming like girls, Stewart didn't panic even once, and Derek never came down with a case of possession. Given their usual antics, everyone behaved quite reasonably. I certainly hope this show doesn't decide to go legit. That would ruin its entertainment value immensely.

No Reservations of the day: Okay, I confess that I wasted at least an hour this morning watching interview clips of Anthony Bourdain at Travelchannel.com. I love his show, No Reservations, because he's such a bad boy and such a witty raconteur.

Good news of the day: Well, actually, this is from last week. I haven't talked about it until now because I wasn't sure I should make a big deal out of my egoboo, but it did please me a great deal. The first chapter of Charged With Folly got the Editor's Choice for best fantasy chapter in August on the OWW. The review was good and fair, and I agreed with about 98% of it. It was a nice thing to happen at this particularly chaotic time in my life, but what especially pleased me was that when I decided to go in a different direction with my next novel project, someone patted me on the head for it. So, thank you Jenni Smith-Gaynor and OWW.

Moving news of the day: Transported six boxes, five bags of books and miscellaneous craft items to the new residence. Discovered I had not recovered as much energy as I thought. Rested and started packing again. Tristram Shandy and Lolly Willowes made the cut, China Mieville and Lian Hearn did not.

Not much to report. I've got another lousy cold. I think stress may have something to do with this one, but I can't stop coughing, basically. I tried to ignore it all week but yesterday it nailed me good. I spent most of the day semi-comatose, although every once in awhile I'd get a burst of energy and I'd pack another box. Feeling better today, but I've had to cancel my tap dance routine tonight at Chez Minkie.

Hey, wait a minute. I don't tap dance. And I've never been to Chez Minkie. Huh. I didn't realize NyQuil gave you hallucinations.

At least tonight the funniest show on TV will be on: the Travel Channel's Most Haunted. This show is supposed to be spooky--and once in a blue moon they manage something atmospheric--but mostly, it just cracks me the hell up. You see, they go every week to a new haunted location in Britain and "investigate" the hauntings, but they aren't professional likes the guys on SciFi's Ghost Hunters. On Most Haunted. they don't try anything even remotely scientific. Mostly, they just wander around in the dark scaring themselves and screaming like little girls.

There's one guy, Stewart, who panics at least once a show. Once, when he and another guy were going through a haunted forest, the other guy got spooked and started screaming and Stewart actually had the nerve to tell him, "Stop screaming like a girl. You're embarrassing me."

And if things get boring, if there's no "ghostly" activity to make everyone scream like girls, their resident medium, Derek, will suddenly go all "possessed." Which is just about the funniest thing going. Normally soft-spoken and fey, Derek turns quite nasty and violent when possessed. Or sort of mock-violent. About the worst he's done is throw a lamp across the room.

It's a tremendously silly show.

Writing business of the day: I passed 117k words on Wednesday, the last day I did any writing. I think my dream of bringing this in under 120k has pretty much evaporated. I'm going to try for 125 or 130k. And my crystal ball shows me a lot of cutting in my future.

Movie news of the day: Wednesday night while still in denial about being ill, I saw The Corpse Bride with my Deppsomaniac friend. Her husband remarked, "You're going to see a cartoon with Johnny Depp in it? That's just so sad.

The animation was great, the cast was terrific, the visuals and story imaginative in the usual Tim Burton way, but it didn't leave much impact on me. It could have been because I felt lousy, so take that with a grain of...

News item of the day: Okay, the Gulf Coast has the flooding, here in SoCal we've got the fires. Any part of the country volunteering for the plague of locusts or the rain of frogs? Pharoah is not happy.

Notice how I said there wasn't much to report and then managed to blather on quite awhile?

I haven't got any newspaper, so I've been wrapping knick knacks in recycled pages of my ms. That should be interesting when I start to unpack. I'll be getting some newspaper tomorrow, so these will be little surprises scattered here and there.

Writing business of the day: I needed to reread chapter twenty to see how I handled a certain situation because I thought it had parallels with the chapter I'm currently on, chapter 28. I wanted to make sure I wasn't repeating myself. Parallels are a good thing; repetition, not so much. I think it's okay. Similar, but different, emotional subtext; different trigger; somewhat different outcome.

Typo of note: I took a depp breath

I must have been thinking of Le Johnny getting his hands in cement at the Chinese Theater. sigh

Cliché du jour: I nearly jumped out of my skin... My God, that's just about as bad as it gets.

Your Birthdate: September 22

While sometimes employing unorthodox approaches, you are capable of handling large scale undertakings. You assume great responsibility and work long and hard toward completion. Often, especially in the early part of life, there is rigidity or stubbornness, and a tendency to repress feelings. Idealistic, you work for the greater good with a good deal of inner strength and charisma. An extremely capable organizer, but likely to paint with broad strokes rather than detail. You are very aware and intuitive. You are subject to a good deal of nervous tension.

Blackout of the day: I guess there was one. Here in Santa Monica we didn't feel it. I imagine when I get home tonight, leaving the city of Santa Monica for the city of L.A., the power will either still be off or some of my appliances will be blinking on and off.

Writing business of the day: Took my first gander at chapter 19 since I wrote it in April. One of my reviewers was right: too much mush. I'm not going to edit it out at this point, though.

I did one of my periodic "the novel so far" outlines on Friday to see how much junk, er, plot I still had to get through. It is winnowing down, but I see a lot of cutting in my future when this thing is done. Such is always the case with me. My first two novels didn't seem to have that problem, but all the ones since have. I've abandoned many of the "tricks" I employed back then, with good reason, but perhaps there are things I could learn from my younger self? My plots have gotten denser and denser since then, it seems.

Or maybe I just take longer to say things. My voice evolved into something rather more lush than I expected. The roots of the plump-style writing were always there, I suspect.

Developing a voice, it seems to me, is about learning bit-by-bit to be comfortable with who you are; realizing that sometimes that means you aren't who you thought you were when you started out; about being okay with that because you can't really be what you're not. I admire spare prose that packs a lot of punch in few words, but I know I'll never be able to do that. It's not a matter of training. It's a matter of voice. Like the color of your hair and eyes, it's something you're born with, I think. Some way of perceiving and conveying the world that is innate.

Significant milestone of the day: I packed my first box of books last night--the first of thousands. When one has thousands of books, one pays the price. When I moved into my current apartment I had 30 boxes of books. I've bought many more since. This is going to get ugly. Either the book carnage will be mighty and used bookstores and senior citizens centers all over the city will benefit--or I will be packing a lot of fricking books. I'll be curious (and horrified, no doubt) to see what the real box total turns out to be.

The other day I needed to get out of the apartment so I wandered through a bookstore. I felt comforted just being there, surrounded by all those words. I know that's kind of strange--but I know I'm kind of strange. It wound up being a frustrating experience because I found books I wanted but couldn't afford to buy. I bought one anyway, the paper back of Isaac's Storm by Erik Larson, which I've meant to read for ever-so-long because I'd heard it was ever-so-good. This seemed like a good time to read it. And it is good. The writing is quite lovely and it's structured rather novelistically. And I suppose I'll be packing that up one day soon, too.

( Poetry of the day: )

I've been in a bit of a null and void zone this week.  Last week I packed up my office of seven and a half years and this week I've been unpacking and adjusting to a brand new office.  Nice office—but it's weird to be doing the same work in a new space.  But it looks like I'll be able to find space to do my writing during lunch over here.  That was a big worry.  For years, I've skulked off to vacant offices and had a precious hour each day in the middle of the day when I could write.

I've been in a bit of a null and void zone where my writing is concerned, too.  I've finished the big revision push of the summer for my novel, Shivery Bones, but I sure as heck don't feel like starting a new novel right now, though I've got several ideas swimming around in the imagination pool.  We'll have to wait and see which one breaks the surface first.

In the meantime I've been revising a story, a short novelette,  I wrote about two and a half years ago:  "Eudora's Song."  Near the time I wrote it, I posted it to the Online Writing Workshop and got some positive feedback, plus an Editor's Choice runner up.  Back in the day, they did reviews of the runner up stories on OWW so I also got one of those.  Oww!  Well, okay, Kelly Link said some nice things about the story—about the language and the concept, the MC.  But she also said there were some other serious problems with the construction of the story, the pace, the non-build to the climax and the limpness of said climax.  One or two of the OWW reviewers hinted at the same thing so I knew I'd have to do some more work on the story, but it's never easy to hear those things.  I made a pass at revision back then, but I just didn't have enough perspective to do the job needed.  I was too close to it, too wedded to the story as written, even though I knew it was flawed.  I  trunked the sucker, thinking I'd get back to it in six months or so. 

That was an incredibly productive time for me so I didn't get back to it that year, and by the next year I was launched on writing The Novel, so I didn't get back to it last year, either.  I finally pulled Eudora out of the trunk back in May or June and at first I was quite encouraged.  The mood, the tone, the writing that people liked was still there, still drew me in (even though I could see a lot of fat that needed cutting) and I was really gratified by that.  Then I hit the point in the manuscript where the climax was supposed to happen.  Oy.  It was so blatantly clear to me just how much the story fell apart there.  I saw everything everyone had said about it so clearly.  For maybe the first time.  I had tacitly agreed before that the flaws were there, but now I could see them, feel them, myself. 

I put the story away.  It contained elements of beauty, but it just didn't work and I didn't know how to fix it.  I wasn't crazy about the suggestions some of the reviewers had made.  I just didn't know if that story would ever work.

Apparently, my subconscious, right brain, whatever you call it, had other ideas.  Apparently, the dark morass of the hind part of my brain had been working on it while I was preoccupied elsewhere.  I just had a feeling this week that I needed to pull it out of the trunk, and when I did I knew what to do.  And coming off four months of very intense cutting of saggy, baggy, flatulent language in my novel, I had my knife at the ready to cut, slice, and dice what needed ridding of.  There's such a sense of virtuous accomplishment when you can finally see and when you can finally do something about it.

I'm not saying the story will be perfect when I'm done.  It may still be flawed.  And the sense of virtue and accomplishment will pass, it always does.  But every once in a while it's nice to wallow in a sense of progress and of doing what needs to be done.  Too often I wallow in the other side of the morass.

So I think I've finally dragged myself back out of the slime of this cold I've had all week. Nasty, nasty, nasty one. I only managed a half day at work for the entire week and my sick leave is gone, gone, gone. I finally turned a corner yesterday and felt like a human being again, but my energy levels are still a bit on the low side. Still, it's nice to have rejoined the human race.

As a consequence, not much writing done except for the stray LJ comment and email here and there. Wednesday I started to feel a little perky and decided to read through a story that's just about as tight as I can make it. I've been editing it on and off for three years now—sending it out and each time it comes back and finding more to fiddle with—but still had gotten it down to only 9.5k. I think it truly is a novelette, not a short story, precious little left to fiddle even after trunking it for six months and getting some perspective. But I did think perhaps I could get rid of that extra 500 words (since they weren't 500 exactly but just over 300 in truth, rounded up to the nearest 500). That would open up a couple of more markets for it. I did manage to get it down to 9k and felt so perky I sent it off to one of those markets. I suspect it will be nolove, but what the hell? It definitely isn't getting published in the trunk.

And I thought if I felt good enough for that, I really should be going back to work and went in Thursday. It shortly became apparent to everyone that was a bad idea. I slunk home again with my tail between my legs and had a bit of a relapse. But yesterday, I actually ventured out and still felt okay and although I was real tired when I got home, no longer felt like slime. And I still feel unslimelike today. So, huzzah.

I hate this intimation of mortality. I usually bounce back quickly from stuff, and when I don't it starts to feel like I'll never feel human again.

When I get back to work tomorrow, I start packing up the office for the big move to the new building. Hmmmm...Maybe I'm feeling sick again. :-) Nope, no no no—anything's better than the primordial ooze.

On another note: Boyfriend and Girlfriend upstairs did not move out at the end of September as Yuri said they would. No only did they wake me up having raucous sex Friday October 1 (actually early Saturday October 2), but at 8 a.m. Saturday she woke me up stomping around in her clodhopper shoes as she does every Saturday morning. She also came in and stomped around just before 3 this morning and was up again at 8:30 for more stomping. *sigh* Either Yuri lied to me (always a possibility) or was mistaken (also always a possibility) or B&G got an extension on their eviction (seems unlikely). As long as my You Know (which I don't want to name for superstitious fear of causing it to happen) doesn't get broken into again, I can live with this, but I think I need to have another talk with Yuri and give him the opportunity to lie to me again.

Life—it's a beautiful alternative.