Musings

Jan. 2nd, 2020 04:57 pm
pjthompson: (musings)
Well, this Musings post is grossly long, and maybe a bit dated, but I started throwing things into the file, then got caught up in the holidays—and God forbid anyone should be deprived of my Musings. [insert barf emoji] At least it has a lot of pictures.

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One of my most profound mystical experiences, or contact with the numinous, was invoked by a dead cat. It changed me from near-atheist to "oh I get it now." Thank you, Mocha. The Mocha Hierophany.

Mocha, an old soul from the 80s:



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New Year’s Day sunset: Even enhancing the color on this doesn't come close to the intensity of the light. Nothing ever beats Nature. Thank you, Nature.



The same sky from my friend who lives a few miles from here. This one captures the immensity of the sky better than mine did, how the clouds seemed to go on forever.



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Here's a question for you: is poetry a purely mammalian response to the world? Is magic? Would intelligent and highly advanced reptiles, for instance, have that sense of wonder and awe and poetry? I don’t want to be Mammalian-Centric.

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I always think of the four of swords as the "rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated" card. (Yes, dad jokes help me remember the meanings.)



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A few days before the new year (December 30th) I found out that I share blood with one of the accused Salem witches (Mary Leach Ireson). We're descended from the same ancestor (Richard Leech) through the brother (Lawrence Leech) of my direct ancestor (Thomas Leech). Maybe that's why I've always been obsessed with these trials. I particularly like the "maybe you were a witch but didn't know it" line of questioning. Apparently, the "maybe I'm a witch but didn't know it" defense worked because she wasn't executed and lived until 1711.




As I’ve said before, women rarely appear in the historical record unless they’ve suffered some trauma.

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I have so much work to do and a limited amount of time. But time is not my enemy. If I focus on what needs to be done, not allowing myself to be distracted, I will do what I need to do. The only reason I say it isn't against me is because I will do what I can do. If time runs out, then it does. It will eventually anyway so why so sweat it?

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You know that weird stuff you have to clear from your parents or grandparents' homes when they pass? When you reach a certain age you can't be arsed about good taste. Sometimes you just want stuff that makes you giggle or because you know it will chagrin some of the people who inherit it.

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I finally got my Red Book set up so that people can actually see it instead of being hidden away in a room they can't go in.



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Last month I pulled my novel Venus In Transit out of the trunk. I started working on it in 1999. It was inspired by Patrick Harpur's Daimonic Reality and later given shape and spin by George P. Hansen's The Trickster and the Paranormal. Plus all those thousands and thousands of paranormal shows I've watched over the years and many another paranormal book. I had the novel in a fairly polished state and was getting ready to start marketing it when my mother had a stroke and my world went all to hell for several years. Then there was the very long and painful writer's block afterwards.

Things started to loosen up for me artistically after watching season one of Hellier last year—and that's when I had my Hellier related synchronicity storm. Which let me know I was on the right track creatively. I finished one novel this summer and started working on another. Then Hellier Season 2 came along. It fed my head yet again, and there was something about the discussion in that series of pushing through frustration that reminded me of the artistic process.

Whenever an artist, or at least any artist I know, reaches a point of frustration it's often the sign of imminent breakthrough to a new way of doing things. Pushing through that frustration is a vital part of the process. So I got out that old paranormal novel with an idea to see if it really was ready to market and I fell into a hole with it for about a week. That edit is done, but when I got to the part in the story where my investigator discovers strange, small, three-toed footprints with dermal ridges, I thought, "No one will ever believe I didn't get this from Hellier." But those are the breaks. Hellier2 did encourage me to pull it back out of the trunk and that’s got to be a good thing.

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Hellier is beautifully shot and edited. I remember when the granddaddy of paranormal shows, Ghost Hunters, premiered. They used that cinema vérité style which gave a feel of credibility (and because it was cheap to produce), but imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery. Most of what's come since has been crap.

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My life is a lot better since I've given up trying to find ultimate answers. I'm more content trying to find ultimate questions.

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Well, I got within 100 pages of finishing Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson but my medieval porn book arrived so...sorry Neal.

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Cats exist simultaneously in this time/space and in hyperspace which is why they always seem to take up a vastly greater amount of space than their physical bodies would imply.

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I've been to both Disneyland and the "Disneyland of Cemeteries"—Forest Lawn—and I would choose to spend my eternity in neither of them. (Talk about terrifying!)



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Lt. Col. Vindman during the impeachment hearings reading that paragraph to his dad and talking about it? "Don't worry. This is America. We do what's right here." We have to justify his faith in this country. It's been what was true in the past and we can't let it fall away. DO THE RIGHT THING, AMERICA. And Rep. Raja Krishnamoorthi talking to Vindman about the pride of being an immigrant and being an American? Yep, that's the essence of what this country it's always been.

I’m game

Sep. 17th, 2015 10:20 am
pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

The talented and lovely mnfaure has put out a general challenge to writers as part of the 7-7-7-7 challenge, so I decided to play along. I’ll follow her lead and rather than challenging seven specific writers, I’ll just say that anyone out there who wishes to join in should feel free to.

The Challenge

Go to the 7th page of a work in progress, go 7 lines down, post the next 7 lines, then challenge 7 other writers to do the same.

My entry turns out to be part of a letter to the editor of a paranormal magazine called The Between Times—maybe not the most riveting part of the novel, but hopefully at least slightly amusing:

I wonder if you’d like to do an article about the Chupacabra that’s bothering my chickens? Well, I’d better close for now. I am a big fan of your magazine. I have been reading The Between Times ever since I discovered it on a trip to San Francisco three years ago to visit my son’s grave. That was the issue on life after death and I found it to be a great comfort. Keep up the good work, and let me know about that Chupacabra article. I’ll even write it myself if you like, though I’m no creative writer.

Sincerely yours,

Ramona Hansen Tattinger, Hansen Ranch, Dos Lunas County, California

This was seven lines in the ms., but seems to have a different shape in the post. Anyway. Happy writing!

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: astronomer (observing)

19 Apr
All I can legitimately talk about is my own process—in whatever. It’s presumptuous to assume everyone’s process will be the same. However, talking too much about one’s own process is talking too much about one’s self, so it’s something of a No-Win.

19 Apr
Conspiracy theory is just another form of denial.

19 Apr
I just realized I forgot to take the poem out of my pocket from Poem In My Pocket Day. But at least it’s in “my other pants.” :-)

23 Apr
In May it’ll be two years since I last worked on my last novel. I’d say where did the time go but I know: down the whirlpool of caregiving. I was born to take care of people, apparently. My life has no other meaning. There’s just no time for anything else. I can’t help feeling much of the time as if my life, everything I valued about my life, is over. I’m so tired most weeks I wonder if I’ll make it through to the other side. There are good days, but most days I just grind it out as best I can. Some days, it just piles up. But I’m still moving.

And being free of caregiving means someone I love is gone. There’s no happy ending, as my friend Lisa says.

There are millions of people out there just like me. Caregiving is the unrecognized and unacknowledged crisis in this country

My friends tell me my creativity will come back, that everything is cyclical, and I believe them, but it’s sometimes hard to see that from here. I keep trying. “I’ll just read a chapter a day, or part of a chapter.” But something always happens. And writing from scratch? Unthinkable at this point.

Okay, enough of the self-pity party. I took the time to reread the first chapter of that last novel and tweak it. Holds up well.

23 Apr
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

tp://bit.ly/ZnFRWA 

25 Apr
Jacob’s Dream was playing in the cafeteria so I just had to tell everyone about the Lost Children of the Alleghenies: http://bit.ly/ZPZC4t 
Everyone was properly riveted and scads went to You Tube and the links I provided.

26 Apr
Back at the ER this morning. Mom got an IV of antibiotics. Now we’re waiting to see if we can go home.

27 Apr
Even in stressful times there are compensations in this world: hearing David Sedaris sing the Oscar Meyer bologna song as Billie Holliday. Laughed so hard I cried. The guy in the car next to me looked concerned, like I might be having a fit. I was. The good kind. 

27 Apr
So my printer and my dishwasher went belly up the same night.  I’m sure there’s a pattern there but I’m too tired to figure it out.

29 Apr
Leaving Mom on mornings when she’s not doing well are heartbreaking but if I didn’t leave on those mornings I would have long since lost my job.

29 Apr
I find it absolutely hilarious that Hitler was a vegetarian. Even funnier? The ardent vegetarians that try to backpedal that fact. I know many fine human beings who are vegetarians but there’s a vocal minority that do seem to have something in common with Nazis.

30 Apr
“Dammit I’m mad” spelled backwards is “Dammit I’m mad.”

3 May
I guess the house is officially mine. I’ve just had my first plumbing disaster. This time it was the 50 gallon water heater that went belly up.

3 May
John Hancock Life Insurance is dicking around about paying me the money they owe me. I guess that’s why they have cock in their name.

4 May
It’s a morning for people saying stupid ass stuff and I am not in the mood to be nice about it.

 That tenderness of a few days ago is still there but having a harder time swimming up from the cesspool.

 That’s in the nature of this process, though. If you don’t like the mood you’re in wait an hour and it may change.

8 May
Now I know what was wrong with the opening of that novel: I put a gun on the mantelpiece and never used it again (figuratively).

 How many years did it take me to figure that out?

 I really love that opening (and it works in so many other ways) so I’ll have to find a way of using that “gun.”
 Although I do seem to recall another writing truism about using that gun to murder your something-or-others…What was that again?

8 May
My old, beloved neighborhood that I grew up in, has become the Shrine of the Unknown Hipster. You may have heard of it: Silicon Beach? I literally grew up on 4th Avenue near Rose, the very heart of Hipsterville now. I way preferred it when it was the ghetto: funky, beloved ol’ Venice.

9 May
You don’t get to be a crone just by getting older. There’s a experiential component to it. And man, is that a bitch. Which is also a separate thing from being a crone.

13 May
I’ve just come up with the last line for my novel, Carmina. I guess it’s a real story now.

13 May
Well, at least I made it down to the final 800 submissions. :-/ Probably just as well. I don’t have time for a writing career right now.

14 May
John Hancock Life Insurance, the company that isn’t giving me ma money, mistakenly informed the state of California that Mom is deceased—but only on one of numerous policies they have in her name. The others are still in force. Also, they told us a few months back that no other policies existed. Now all of a sudden they’re breeding like rabbits. Do not use John Hancock EVER.

15 May
Social Medea is the name of my next band.

15 May
I’m halfway through chapter six on the read-and-clean final of that novel I didn’t touch for two years.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

1. A sixth century vampire novel, part of a trilogy. King Arthur may be hanging around in it somewhere.  It’s a first draft, and it has a resolution of sorts at the end, but is one of those novels that most definitely feels like a continuation. (I hate those.)

2. A second world steampunkish adventure fantasy. This one can stand alone,  but is also part of a trilogy. It’s in a fairly polished state, but there’s a broken part in Act III. I think I fixed it, but I haven’t had the heart to reread the book to see if I fixed it as well as I thought I did.

3. A contemporary fantasy that’s in second draft stage, and can stand alone, but is…repeat after me, “part of a trilogy.” Chronologically, the middle novel in the trilogy, I still plan to begin the trilogy with this one as it gives the least away about the overall story arc. Probably closer to Charles de Lint’s Newford than urban fantasy or paranormal romance—if Chas wrote it for laughs, included Hot Sex, and Newford was a mythological rural county in Southern California.

There is no right or wrong answer here, just asking your opinion.

ETA: I have had one offline vote for #1.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

I’m dying to write something new, itching for it, and I know just what novel I want to work on next. It’s been plumping in my mind for weeks now while I work on other things.

All of which is a good thing, except I can’t work on anything new because I’ve got to finish revisions on Blood Geek first. Then there’s the question of when to finish the next round of revisions on Venus in Transit. I wasn’t entirely happy with it when I got through with that last hard slog. I’m not talking about perfectionism here. I’ve long since given that up. I’m talking about having a workable draft, something I can polish and start sending out.

Yet if I diddle around too long with old ideas, I’m afraid the new idea will die on the vine. It might anyway, because as I’ve said before, my writing time is extremely limited these days. I’m determined to chip out time every day, but weekends have become very difficult, and mostly the default has become my lunch hour at work. That’s always been somewhat sacrosanct, but last week, even that got eroded away. I had to run errands at lunch every day last week. It made me despair a little. Or more.

But this week I’m back on track with my revisions and feeling generally better about a lot of things. I think Venus will have to wait, though she’s notoriously impatient. I really do believe I need to balance the old with the new, the revisions with the creation. Carmina has been talking to me consistently lately: low whispers while I sleep, a sudden bright snatch of song as the sun dapples the leaves while I’m driving to work, shared shadowy confidences while I move down a hallway and turn a corner.

She’s there. She’s waiting for me to be ready for her. I really think I have to follow her lead.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (lilith)

The WIP in rewrites was at first losing words at a good rate, and I was pleased about that. Getting rid of excess, making things clean. I actually like rewrites, perverse creature that I am. Structural problems, however, made it necessary for me to add new material and so I’ve written three new scenes and I will be adding more. Deleting and rearranging more, too, but the word count is currently larger than when I started. Not as large as the first bloated draft, but growing. I am not too worried about this. I have to get the structure, story, and character stuff right first, then I can worry about slimming. There will be at least one more draft for hammering that out.

I’m only on chapter 8, though I’ve been at it a month. It’s taking forever because my writing time is so limited these days. The only block of time I can count on is my lunch hour at work Monday through Friday. Weekends are completely absorbed with errands and chores and by evening I’m so trashed all I can do is sit it the chair, drool, and try not to fall asleep. Weeknights are often the same. I feel like I’m having to steal time for the creativity, and I’m hoping that when things regularize, my creative time-space will expand again.

At least I still have words. I was worried for a time that I’d used them all up. Things aren’t as fecund as they used to be, but I still have something.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve told myself bedtime stories: little storylets to help me drift into sleep; sometimes multi-pronged epics that I’ve been telling myself for years, often too silly to actually commit to the page, but fun and comforting all the same. These days, I fall into bed and I’m either immediately asleep or my mind is full of things to do, or worries, or…anything but stories. I can think of only one other period in my life when I didn’t tell myself bedtime stories. It was during that four or five year-long writers’ block I had. As soon as the bedtime stories started again, I began writing again, so there is something fundamental about my process involved in those dreamy tales.

I still have words. I still have words. I must remember that. Some day I may have time again, and I may have hypnogogic yarns to lull me into dreams, and oh yes, I may have dreams again, even dreams that are fit to put on the page.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

Some of you who have known me for a long time, and read my stuff for a long time, may remember Hortensia Bustamante. She’s the strong-willed sister of the Bustamante Brothers of Dos Lunas County, the first white settlers to invade the Kintache Indian homeland.

Ever since I finished Venus in Transit, my Dos Lunas County novel, strong-willed Hortensia has been bugging me. “Where my novel?” she’s been asking.

I’ve explained patiently that I’m working on other things now, to make a change from Dos Lunas, but Hortensia has never been one to listen to the reasoning of her writer when she’s made up her mind about something. “Where’s my novel?” she repeats at every chance.

I staved off her insistence some time back by writing a 30k plus novella, but—although she liked it quite well—she’s informed me that it isn’t sufficient. Her story deserves expanding and exploring. I have been thinking along those same lines myself for some time and even had several ideas on how to do that, but I hadn’t thought of taking on that challenge at this juncture.

“It’s time,” Hortensia insists.

I find myself sighing fatalistically a lot these days. My imagination ping ponged all last week between chapter two of the Carmina novel and a short story, and I’ve been considering that maybe it’s time to start the rewrite on Venus in Transit. All the while Hortensia kept crooning in my ear: “It’s time. Where’s my novel? It’s time.”

I pulled the novella out today just to, yanno, look at it. Hortensia squee’d with glee. I told her not to get her hopes up. She scoffed.

So I don’t know what I’m working on now. Perhaps Hortensia would be the antidote to my restless. I’m sure Venus would be. Maybe I’ll let Venus and Hortensia and Carmina and Sea Eyes from the short story fight it out amongst themselves. Just let me know when you’ve figured it out, gang. Only, don’t start sending me tweets advocating for yourselves. That would be one step too far over the line.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

I don’t want to see it again for a long, long time, until the betas have had at it.

I’m moving on to something new!

Huzzah, huzzay!!!

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

Ever since the Syfy Channel’s new series, Haven, debuted I’ve been in a slight funk. You see, the novel I’m doing revisions on is a contemporary fantasy which involves people in a quirky rural Southern California county where the paranormal is an everyday occurrence and the inhabitants take it for granted. Much like the quirky small town of Haven on Syfy. It was bad enough when their show, Eureka, premiered. That was about a quirky small town in which wild experiments in fringe science took place, causing paranormal-like events to happen all the time. Everyone there pretty much took it for granted, too.

I think the story of my novel is original, but it can’t help but be overshadowed by all this quirk and all these strange towns. I continue to polish the novel, however. It’s what I have; I will market it. It’s a stand-alone, but it’s also part of a trilogy, see, and I really want to write those other books. Maybe even more than I wanted to write this one.

I first came up with the concept of Dos Lunas County, my quirky entry, about eleven years ago. Formulating the concept, the characters, the plotting took awhile, and this novel had at least two false starts before I finally finished it. This is not an atypical pattern for me, unfortunately. For a time I was finishing a novel a year, but those individual novels were often years in the making. One would come on strong, then need restructuring so I’d work on another until I solved the problems. About once a year, one of them would finally click completely into place and I could push forward to the finish. This has, as you can imagine, sometimes worked to my disadvantage, marketing-wise.

If only I weren’t such a slow writer. If only I didn’t think so much. If only I didn’t think up perpetual if-onlys. This isn’t a whine, not really, because I know that the fault, dear Brutus, lies not in my stars but in myself. I could get back to the novel a year pace, I think, but I seriously doubt I will be able to conceive, plot, and write a novel in a year. They surge and wane and surge again, so I’m always a beat or two behind the rhythm of the market.

I write on and continue to market my arhythmic novels. What else can I do? I am what I am, the market is what it is, and the zeitgeist is always pumping out ideas in multiple directions, hoping that somebody will take up the challenge and run (fast) with it.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

The heroine of my novel Venus in Transit has been named Marian St. Cloud for at least ten years, ever since I first started working on the beginning inkling ideas for the book. Now this movie comes along and I’m thinking the whole St. Cloud family of Dos Lunas might have to have their names changed. I’m not going to do that now, because that name is so entrenched in my consciousness, but I assume that everyone will assume that I stole it from the movie.

It looks like a fairly paint-by-the-numbers, dorky movie, too.

Of course, I still have to finish the read-through, the time with betas, the hardcore rewrite, then the marketing of this novel, so considerable time could elapse before even the possibility of a publisher or readers seeing it. Maybe ol’ Charlie will have faded from memory by then. Or maybe it will become a huge freaking hit, what with soulfully blue-eyed Zak Efron drawing in the sighing crowd. I don’t know.

Names and titles. They’re tricky business in the fiction game.

In other but related fictive news: Titles come to me out of the ether on a regular basis, often without a story attached. I keep a file just for those. Sometimes they’re so suggestive that I have to come up with a story to go with them. It becomes an obsession. Blood Geek was one of those. Ironically, sometimes the name that gets me to write the story becomes obsolete with the writing and has to be changed. Charged with Folly was like that. It became A Rain of Angels. Changing titles like that can be painful.

I’ve got another title that popped through the ether the other day. A drumbeat has started in the center of my body. Good stories begin in my brain, of course, but the ones which have to be written always eventually migrate to my core, to my second brain: the heart. I have no idea what this story is about, but it’s already migrated.

We’ll see what comes of that.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

ETA: This is a scam by a crooked “How to get published” con artist. You can read about it here: http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/012502.html

And I suppose it all depends on what parts of your ms. you choose as a sample. But here are my results: an unnatural mating of Stephen King and James Joyce.

A randomly chosen internalization piece from one of the characters:

SCAM MEME MESSAGE TELLING ME I WROTE LIKE STEPHEN KING.

A randomly chosen piece of description:

SCAM MEME MESSAGE TELLING ME I WROTE LIKE JAMES JOYCE.

A randomly chosen dialogue run:

SCAM MEME MESSAGE TELLING ME I WROTE LIKE STEPHEN KING.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

Revision isn’t usually painful for me.  It’s a chance to make better and I actually kind of like it after the agony of the first draft.  That is, until I hit the sucky chapters.  Then it’s embarrassing.  There are about three chapters in the middle of this book that are hellacious and need to be gutted, maybe completely redone, maybe scrapped.  The information in them is conveyed through to the end of the story, but there has got to be a better, more dynamic way to get that information across to the reader.  I’ve done a little of that kind of thing along the way, but these chapters will need a major overhaul, I think.

The urge to stop the read-through in its tracks and battle with these chapters is strong, very strong, but I’m going to press ahead.  The purpose of this read-through is to clean up language and frayed threads and places where I decided to take the story in a slightly different direction, not to do a massive restructure.  To make it readable, in other words.  I want to continue on, noting stuff I think needs to be slapped silly so that when I get to the second draft after betas have given me feedback I have a clear mandate for who and what’s butt to kick.

But man, those sucky chapters…really do suck.  And I really do want to fix them.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)

I always put a date in the filename when I start a new draft of a novel as a convenient reference for when I started, then tend to gloss over them and ignore them as irrelevant.  I just looked at the date on the file for the first draft of Venus in Transit: June 26, 2009.  That means I spent just about a year on the damned thing.  I would have sworn I was at least at the year and a half mark.  It seemed interminable.  It was a longer time span than other recent novels have taken to produce a first draft, and it was interminable, but dang.  I’m surprised.

Oh, and I was able to leave the draft alone for one whole day in order to fix up and post a short story I wrote about a month ago.  I woke up this morning itching to do the read-through on Venus.

I apparently have my writing Jones back.

Talk to me again when I’m halfway through the read-through.  My attitude may have altered somewhat.

pjthompson: (Default)

Thirty chapters, an epilogue, and over 120k (and ohmygod, that has to be cut down a lot), but for now I am

d-o-n-e.

pjthompson: (Default)
I gave myself an ultimatum Monday: although it is permissible to be stuck on a thorny conundrum for the ending of my novel, it is not permissible to not write. Therefore, I further ultimatumed myself, if I didn't work on the novel, I had to write something.

Typically, as soon as I told myself it was okay to put the novel aside for the moment and write something else, I wrote the opening sequence of chapter 28. Better yet, when I flexed my fingers and sat down to play, I found that in my absence, my backbrain had come up with a partial solution to my conundrum. It isn't pretty, but it may get me through the end of the damned novel. Then I can set it aside for awhile, let it and me breath and clean our wounds in separate corners before I come back into the ring and beat the hot holy crud out of it. (There! Two different metaphors in one paragraph! Wrrrrrrriting!)

In the between times, I've been rewriting old stories and sending them out, and thinking about how I want to finish off a new story I've been toying with for months, letting it think it's gotten away from me, then pouncing again, flipping it up into the air and seeing how it lands. (Three metaphors in two paragraph. Gosh. Ain't ebullience grand?)

This is where I don't make any statements about feeling good and productive and ebullient for fear of jinxing the whole damned thing. Let's just say that there is movement in the land and an excess of metaphors, and lo, it is . . . you know, that word that I dare not say that means not sucking so much.
pjthompson: (Default)



I am moving forward on the WIP, but some days it's just not there, or I only get a little bit done. I don't feel stuck, exactly, but it's definitely inching along. Rather than waste my precious writing time on the days when the WIP isn't moving, I've been working on other things. Stories. Older novels. Novels-coming-up-next.

*sigh* This book has really blown my novel-a-year pace out of the water. Maybe I'll get back to that pace some day because the imagination certainly hasn't deserted me.

One thing that's been tickling my mind is an old novel, my second, Blood Geek. Not the novel so much as the world I created for it: a small, very strange carnival traveling through the Midwest in 1938. Sound familiar? When people started telling me about the HBO show, Carnivale, I despaired and was glad I wasn't trying to market my carny novel. Subsequently, I've learned that while the outer trappings of that show are the same, my novel is very different.

Besides, what's tickling me these days is not really the old novel but a character who played a minor role in it. Those who read the novel expressed a lot of interest in her and I've always thought she deserved her own story. I guess I must be seriously considering it because I just went online and ordered volumes one to three of A Pictorial History of the American Carnival by Joe McKennon. There are a number of books on carnivals now, but back in the day when I was doing research for Blood Geek (1992ish), there was not a lot to be found. Tons of stuff on the history of circuses, but carnivals are very different fish. Although they've featured prominently in fiction and movies, there wasn't a lot of hard facts to be had, or it was in rare book collections and hard to get access to (for someone with no travel budget like me). McKennon's book was a lifesaver when I found it at a local library. The used book trade online wasn't really up and running at that time, so I still had to depend on the UC system library catalogue (online/offline) and etc.

And what about Blood Geek? I did try to market it back in the day, but I probably won't be marketing it again. It's the closest thing I've written to a paranormal romance, but it's not really a true paranormal romance. Loads o' sex, sure, but there are some very dark elements—and it is an early novel, after all. I haven't reread it in years, and shudder to think what I might find there, but there are characters in it who really think they deserve books of their own and who might be rather interesting protagonists. Maybe they'll get a novel of their own—one of these days, if I can ever finish the current WIP.
pjthompson: (Default)
But if you keep marching, sometimes you get a break right there at the end and a momentum, almost a giddiness, takes over. At least for me. Though not for every one of my novels. Some remained death marches until I typed The End.

Happily, I think I've made it through the death march phase of this one and the juices are flowing again. I'm actually having fun. I sometimes think the amount of stuff I have to edit out is in direct proportion to how much fun I'm having, but I'm in that place of not caring much. I'm having fun, I'm getting the story down on paper, and I can smell the ending. It has the fragrance of green and verdant nature, beckoning.

And I shall go, tra la, tra la, traipsing through the long, green grass, unafraid of snakes and tigers! Tra la!

Venus in Transit:



(Actually, I'm sincerely hoping it won't go this long, but I've traipsed through this kind of greenery enough times to know that I usually wind up at about 120k and then have to edit down. *sigh*) (But that's infinitely better than being stuck in the quicksand.)
pjthompson: (Default)
The novel has been moving along since I allowed the POV shift. I knew Ramona, the character I shifted to late in the novel, would have a great deal to say, and she does. Getting her to shut up again so I can write the climax from the original narrators' points of view will be tough. As with everything she's ever been in, she wants to take over.

Which makes me worry that once again I'm writing two climaxes and dei ex machina are blooming all over the place. Because Ramona has escaped my leash and headed off across the landscape. I'm willing to let her run a bit because she might tell me something I need to know, but this novel already feels like a Mulligan stew. I don't need any more ingredients or it's going to wind up tasting vile.

At least I've reestablished regular, daily writing sessions. This block—or whatever I've been going through—has wreaked havoc with my routines. I used to be a regular writing machine, doing my daily count day after week after month after year. They were never huge word counts, an average of three pages a day, but they were steady. Brick by brick to git 'er done.

I recently came across an old journal (I'm slowly digitizing them as well as my old files). It happened to be the one I kept in the year following my dad's death, which was also (not coincidentally, I think) when my worst writers' block ended. That block went on for nearly five years and was excruciating, but there's nothing like a crisis to remind one of the shortness of life and need to get one off one's a**. Writing became my pressure value in that terrible year. My escape, too.

I began by dabbling in occult things: rune readings, tarot, etc., listening for answers that existed inside me but that I couldn't hear through the white noise of grief and confusion. Then I began writing poetry. Next came erratic spurts of writing fanfiction for X-Files and Forever Knight, which led to long discussions with fellow members of the X-Files and Forever Knight lists I belonged to regarding the nature of vampirism. And then came The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron which opened me up to a daily routine and to giving myself permission to be whatever I needed to be, artistically speaking. After that I began to apply the things I'd been learning and doing, and started making up my own characters and universes. Next came my first vampire novel, Blood Geek. I haven't had a bad case of writers' block since.

Well, until now. But this one wasn't nearly as severe as that and may have been fed by bad body chemistry. Whatever, it seems to be thawing. I see signs of spring. Although I'm a little superstitious about stating that openly, I think it's going to stick. No fanfiction or occult readings led me through this time, but there was poetry. It's either all uphill or downhill from there, depending on your perspective.
pjthompson: (Default)
I've been steadfastly dividing the narrative of my WIP between two characters, but I've reached an impasse where the next series of scenes I need to write can't logically be told from either of those POVs. I hate it (hate it hate it) when a novel is cruising along in one or two POVs for most of its length, then a new one is thrown in for only one or two scenes. If there have been a number of narrators throughout, that's one thing. I think you can get away with new POVs late in the book. But I've been writing in fairly tight third person.

I've been thinking for a week and can't find a way around this dilemma. I'm considering, for the sake of completing this damned draft, of succumbing and writing this new POV, then figuring a way to clean it up in later drafts. Because it's definitely holding me up, and having come to the brink of these scenes with no resolution, I'm wondering if that's what's been holding me up for some time now. The hind part of my brain has been anticipating these scenes, maybe, and putting the brakes on. Outlining the end helped get me over some of this, but the story is refusing to take that next step.

At times, my writing psyche is like a jump-shy horse. If it doesn't know how to solve a particular problem, it's been known to shut down a project altogether. It does no good to try to force the jump. It just won't go. For the most part, I've been used to not worrying about these things in my writing. I'll head off in the direction of home without knowing exactly what route I'll take, and almost always by the time I get to the quadruple fork in the road that's been worrying me for the whole journey, my backbrain will have come up with something and I'll know which path to follow.

Except sometimes.

It's hopeless asking my forebrain to try figuring it out. Forebrain just wants to put its fingers in its ears and start singing, "La la la la la, I can't hear you!"

So I've been working on stories in the interim, hoping that will jar something loose. It hasn't. Maybe I've reached the natural limits of my bag of backbrain tricks. Maybe this one will permanently stump me. It makes me all fidgety. It makes me feel all un-disciplined and dilletantish and failurish…

New POV, here I come…
pjthompson: (Default)
I have this genealogy program which I recently upgraded mostly to get access to old files, but another strong motivator was that I wanted to do a family tree for one of the characters in my WIP. So now I have this lovely, full color flow chart of the people who went into the making of my character. I won't use ninety-nine percent of it, but it sure does look purdy.

Which reminds me, I need to update my map of Dos Lunas County.

And I flowed right into the end of chapter 23 today. I've done 3,000 words in the last three days. For some of you, I know, that's a daily word count, but when you've been eking out 500 words on a good day and zero on many, that's a good amount of words. I am a happy woman.



Venus in Transit:

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