The Blinking Cursor of Doom

I sit here and I stare at it, and I swear, it's mocking me.

It's strange how I have faced extensive rewrites (book 2 was scrapped at 68,000 words and started fresh), major copy edits, NaNoWriMo on multiple occasions, and yet nothing is quite so daunting as a blank page, and that one little lonely black line. Sitting there. Blinking at me.

I think it's the unknown. The sheer overwhelming possibility of it all. Will it be a poem? A witty blog post? A dissertation on the feminist imagery on boxes of athlete's foot ointment? It could be anything!

What if it wants to be a novella, and I force it to be a dirty limerick? Or what do I do if my iambic pentameter novel-length epic poem turns into commercial jingle parodies? There are just so many ways this could go wrong.

It's not so bad, once you get the first line down. Even the first word. Then the page isn't blank anymore, and it's not staring at you all expectant like. You get the first few marks on the page, and it's tamed, ready to be molded into whatever shape you have.

But right now, what I have is a blank page, and a blinking cursor of doom. So I sit, and the cursor blinks at me, and buried under the sheer enormity of what might be, nothing is.

Wow, that sounded really deep.

I feel like I should find a video of college guys lighting farts on fire or something, just to counter it all.

My Mission

So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Yes, that’s the burning smell you detect.

Take a gander over to the left, and check out my little mission statement. I wrote that three years ago. Three! Can you believe it?? I wrote it before I ever dreamed up the idea that would become A DEVIL IN THE DETAILS.

And as I sit here and look at it right now, I have to wonder if maybe it’s a bit outdated. Maybe I need a new mission?

My original mission was to “survive the writing, the querying, and hopefully the publishing.” So let’s break it down.

Surviving the writing: When I wrote that mission statement, I was writing what can only be called an epic pirate princess fantasy. (Don’t judge me.) Shortly after I started this blog, hubby and I came up with this brilliant UF idea, and gradually it took over my life, and the epic pirate princess fantasy got trunked. 78,000 words. Someday, I might go back to it, but as it stands now, it needs a major overhaul.

So then I wrote this great UF thing we’d dreamed up. And I had high hopes for it! (and well, we all know how that story turned out.) In the time since writing Devil, I’ve finished four other books (counting Devil’s sequel) and I’m currently doing the research portion of a new project, just something for fun, maybe for NaNoWriMo this year.

So while yes, I have survived the writing, it seems that the writing is ongoing process, and therefore the survival should be an ongoing goal. So maybe that part of the mission statement should stay.

Surviving the querying: I queried Devil for six months. An eyeblink in publishing time, really. I know people who queried for years with multiple manuscripts before they found an agent. I sent out twenty-eight queries, again a teeny tiny drop in a huge potential bucket, and got favorable responses from a third of those. I signed with The Agent.

Now, I don’t envision having to go through the actual query-for-agent process again for quite some time. I LIKE The Agent. He’s awesome, and he deals well with my neuroses. And as far as I know, he’s gonna be an agent for a long time, so we’re settled for a while.

However, querying for an agent isn’t the only “query” in this big wide world. When I have a new project ready, I run it past The Agent. When I think there’s someone who might give me a blurb for one of my covers, I can ask. I send emails to book bloggers to see if they have time to review me, or if I can do a guest post or interview for them. All of these are essentially queries, in the sense that I’m putting myself out there. I’m waiting to see if I’ll be shot down.

So maybe that part of the mission statement should stay, too. Hmm.

Surviving the publishing: Holy crap, I did it. I have a book in print. I used to sit, in quiet times, and imagine what it would feel like to hold one of my books in my hands, and now I know what that’s like. As of July 6th, 2010, I am a published author.

But you know what? There’s a TON of stuff that has to happen even after the book hits shelves. How are my sales doing? How are my reviews? More blog appearances, con appearances if I can afford it, promo materials, give aways.

Publishing isn’t a one time occurrence. It’s not like Christmas, it doesn’t have one day and then gone. It’s a continual process, even not counting the sequels that are coming up behind the first one, which would kick me clear back to the first part of the statement, the writing.

So I guess I’m still surviving the publishing, too. Double hmm.

I have to say that the last three years of my life have been the scariest, the strangest, the saddest, and the super…est. (Hey, I was going for some kind of pattern there, and it kinda let me down. So sue me.) I achieved my dearest dream. I lost my mother. I survived cancer. I celebrated ten years with the greatest man in the world, and I watched this tiny creature I gave birth to grow into an amazing little person with her own thoughts and opinions and dreams.

And as I look forward to the next three years, at least two of which will be devoted to writing/editing/publishing the next two books in the Jesse James Dawson series, I have to wonder what wonderful and terrifying things wait for me there.

So I guess my mission statement stays, and ultimately I can just hope that I survive.

If you can't be an athlete...

Be an athletic supporter!

Yes, I still giggle at this joke. I’m secretly twelve.

But in all seriousness, I’ve seen a few conversations over on AW that have always stuck in my brain (trust me, there’s room up there) and I felt like pondering on them today. Those conversations inevitably start with someone saying “My parents/friends/significant other aren’t supportive of my writing ambitions, is it like this for anyone else?” Their stories often run the gamut from vague disinterest to outright and open mockery. And every time I hear that, my heart breaks just a little.

First off, this whole concept both baffles and saddens me. Why would people NOT be supportive of something that made a loved one happy? Yeah, most of us aren’t going to make that jump from writing in the corner to J.K. Rowling-level wealth, but often, that’s not why we write. So what’s the big deal, people? I mean, how petty and mean do you have to be not to just smile and tell someone “Good luck!” (and I mean in a genuine way, not in a snotty way)

For some folks, reading/writing just isn’t their thing. (I know! Mind-blowing, isn’t it? I mean, who doesn’t like to read??) For whatever reason, they don’t find enjoyment in it, and so maybe they just don’t understand their loved one’s passion. I speak from experience when I say that it’s very frustrating for all parties involved when there’s a disconnect there. The writer wants so badly to gush about a new idea they had, or talk out a plot snag they’ve hit, whereas their whoever-is-is just doesn’t understand why anyone would want to spend so many hours in front of a computer/with a notebook in hand.

For some, maybe they’re operating under the mistaken idea that they are “protecting” their loved one from rejection and disappointment. I guess I can understand that, to some extent. Sure, this writing gig is hard and roller coaster doesn’t even begin to describe the highs and lows. It’s rough, and it can be hard to watch a loved one go through that turmoil.

Still, how rejected and disappointed do you think they feel when they hear “Why don’t you get a real job instead of working on this little hobby?” or “I’ll read it if it ever gets published.”

Writing anything is like bleeding on paper. That’s part of you out there in the open. It’s me, wearing a bikini to the water park (trust me, no one needs to see that). You’re naked! And offering to show that to someone, ANYone, is one of the biggest leaps of faith a writer can make. It’s that one hurdle we all have to get past, if we ever want to move on to that big world called “publishing.” Some people never make that leap. Either they don’t want to, or they’re simply terrified to their very core to show that much of themselves to another soul.

And then on top of that, imagine having those people closest to you point and laugh at your pathetic little scribblings. It would be devastating. Crushing. Some of those people will never show their writing to another living creature again. Some will stop writing altogether, and it’ll be something they get teased about at family reunions. “Hey, remember when you used to think you could write?” Ha ha indeed.

I’m lucky. I have the most amazing family/friends/total strangers you can imagine. My hubby is the first one to say “If you want it, go get it.” He’s been my most enthusiastic cheerleader, dating clear back to high school when we weren’t even thinking of being a couple.

My real life friends are at once my greatest cheering squad, and my greatest critics, and I love them for it. At the same time they’re clamoring for more, they’re not afraid to say “Whoa, this sucks! What were you thinking?” (In a totally loving way, of course.) My online friends are just the same. They celebrate my victories, and bring me virtual alcoholic beverages when I need to wallow.

My family… They have always believed that whatever I said I wanted to do would be done. If I’d have said I wanted to ride a bike to the moon, they’d have sat patiently in front of the TV, waiting for the news bulletin with complete and utter faith that it was coming shortly. My mother-in-law is currently stalking bookstores, waiting for her moment to push my book into unsuspecting people’s hands. All of hubby’s family is the same way, bragging to anyone who makes eye contact long enough.

I have a support group that spans the entire U.S., including Alaska and Hawaii, a good chunk of Canada, Mexico, England, Sweden, and several tropical islands that I have only the vaguest idea the location of.

And the big secret is, if I had never found an agent, if I had never signed a book deal, they’d have all still been there for me. My success doesn’t matter a whit to any of them, so long as I’m happy with what I’m doing. That’s what a support group is supposed to be.

So, for all those writers out there who aren’t getting any encouragement from your family, your friends, I say to you “Keep at it! You can do it! It’s hard work, but if you want it, it’s there for the taking.” Because I’ll be your support group. I’ll loan you mine. There’s plenty to go around.

Musings on the Anniversary of My Natality

At the end of my senior year of high school, we all had to fill out these little questionnaires to be included in the yearbook. And one of the questions was “What will you be doing in 10 years?”

My answer was, “I will be married to (insert ex here) with two boys and working on my second bestselling novel.” Needless to say, by age 28, the ex had gone bye-bye, I had a gorgeous daughter, and my writing was…not there yet.

And as yet another birthday rolls around, I have to stop and look at what I intended versus what I’ve actually accomplished.

I was 31 when I signed with The Agent. I was 32 when I got my first book deal. I’ll be 33 when my first book hits the shelves.

I have many writerly friends (shout out to my Purgies) who are younger than me, and amazingly talented. They are in their early-mid-late twenties, writing novels, honing their craft, querying agents, getting deals. And sometimes, I’m majorly jealous. I think “OMG, I’m 33, I’m so oooooooold!” I wonder, did I waste all those earlier years? Should I have been working harder, writing more? Could I already be an established author NOW, instead of just debuting?

In all honesty, looking at what I was writing during that time period, there was no way I’d have been published. Project 1 (relegated to a farm with a family that loves it) was a product of that era, and re-reading pieces of it now make me want to cringe in shame. The encouraging thing was, the pieces I wrote at the beginning and the pieces I wrote just before relocating it are vastly different in style and quality.

I was getting better. Noticeably better. I found my own style, I learned not to infodump. I discovered the art of crafting characters that were real AND interesting. Every sentence I wrote, though I may never use it again, was useful. The writer I was then taught me how to be the writer I am now.

So maybe I didn’t marry the guy I thought I was going to, and maybe I have one girl instead of two boys. Maybe I didn't have any bestselling novels under my belt by age 28. Anything is possible, and an extra five years tacked onto that really isn’t that much, in the big scheme of things.

Happy Birthday to me.

Goal Achieved

Well, at least this week's, anyway. I crossed the 50K mark on project 3, despite a delay yesterday due to sick kiddo. Chapter 17 turned out way shorter than I would prefer, but it finally came down to the fact that I couldn't really add more to it to beef it up, so I moved on. I'm about 1100 words into chapter 18, and it's just barely started, so it is promising to make up for what the previous chapter lacked.

I'm also contemplating splitting chapter 18 in two (from what I have outlined) and bumping everything that comes after down one chapter. Considering that I still have an un-outlined gap between chapter 19 and the last two chapters (figure, this is a 1-2 chapter hole), it might help smooth over some of what I'm missing.

I've also been pondering why I seem to have problems with certain books (most recently Scar Night and Iron Angel come to mind). There's nothing wrong with them, but I have difficulty wrapping my brain around some of the setting. I really have to work at picturing what he's describing (not through any lack on his part, the defect is mine) because it's just SO different. And I realized the other day that it's because I am too hung up on applying THIS world's physics/idea of normality.

This may also apply to Project 3. It has occured to me that I may be working too hard to have a "real" explanation for some of the fantastic things I'm describing. A scientific reality behind the superstition and religion that my invented people believe in. Maybe, just maybe, I could just LET them be fantastic. Who's to say that it's not how my invented world works?

I guess, to quote Fox Mulder, I want to believe.

Dive right in?

So, I am reading Jay Lake's Mainspring and something struck me. (no, not a poodle knocked off a ten-story window. Geez.)

This book begins, literally, at what I'm calling the lynchpin moment. The moment that sets the events of the book in motion. We're introduced to the main character at the very second his life goes topsy turvy.

And I realized that I don't write that way. My own works always have a bit of lead in, a bit of time to get to know the characters in their natural habitat before I yank the rug out from under them.

I don't know that one style is particularly better than the other, but the difference caught my eye enough that I felt compelled to remark upon it. And in case you're wondering, Mainspring is really good so far (I'm only a few chapters into it) and I recommend it highly.

On the submission front: Sadly, my one full request turned into a pass today. But honestly, the agent took a great deal of time to tell me what he found lacking, and he had awesome things to say about my writing (and my future as an author, from his lips to the gods' ears please). He also said that if I find myself revising in the future, to please keep him in mind. This could almost count as a win.

The one thing that really interested me was that he felt my main character wasn't three-dimensional enough, but that my plot was well-constructed. All along with project two, I felt my character was the strong point, and that my plot might be a bit weak. Just goes to show that it all depends on your perspective.

Detachment

I finished chapter 6 today, coming in above my word count goal. But I've been pondering something.

I don't feel emotionally attached to this new project. I mean, yes, my heart pounds at the exciting places like it is supposed to, and I love my characters and the world they're in but... I don't know what it is.

I wrote project 2 in a flurry of inspiration, scrambling to get it all down on paper while it was still hot in my brain. Sure, I outlined the chapters first, but even that was a trial and error process, figuring out what worked and what didn't. I stumbled a lot, and blundered my way through unknown places, but it came out good in the end.

With project 3, I made extensive notes, did research, made most of my outline way in advance. And now, I more feel like I'm following a map with the trail well marked. I don't know that it's a bad feeling, per se, just different than my previous experiences.

It's also possible that I feel this way because, while I wrote project 2 only when the inspiration hit me, I'm forcing myself to write on project 3 whether I "feel" it or not. It's going to do wonders for my word count and progress, but I wonder if it adds some distance as well.

I suppose part of me has believed that I would eventually find the method that "worked" for me, and I would stick to the same process for every book that followed. But maybe it will always be a work in progress, and what worked for project 5 won't work for project 8 and project 189 will have to be done in some completely off-the-wall manner.

Meh. I'm rambling. It's the allergy meds talking, maybe.

Trunk Novels

I have been operating under the assumption that my 1st WIP is actually my first novel. This made me sad, because the general consensus is that first novels are drivel, and should never see the light of day. They should be written, and then trunked.

But, I realized last night that I am wrong. In reality, it is my fifth.

My first novel was written in middle school, back when I was still typing it out on my mother's old Brother typewriter. It was horrid, but one of the supporting characters later became my current protagonist in my 1st WIP, so it was not without value.

Then, in highschool, I had a creative writing teacher who was way too lenient, and in place of doing daily assignments, she let me go to the computer lab and work on my "book". I must have been reading Anne McCaffrey's Rowan series or something, because I remember it being about telekinetic/telepathic teens. I guess, in retrospect, it was borderline urban fantasy, before I even knew what it was.

Somewhere along the way, I got involved in roleplaying games (notably Vampire: The Masquerade) and when I was in my first few years of college, I wrote two books involving the characters my friends and I created.

None of these were publishable, and I didn't even try. I didn't even go into it with the intention of publishing them. And truthfully, the last three were probably more novella length than novel. But, I choose to say it counts. I have written four books, prior to the two I am working on now. When I look at it that way, I'm actually kind of impressed with myself.

The Value of Force

Runners, especially long-distance and cross-country, will tell you that you reach a point when your body says "Screw you, I'm going home!" but you just keep running. Push through the wall, go for the burn, whatever.

I am wondering about the value of applying that to mental exercise. You see a writer's block. For me, this doesn't mean that I can't write at all. (obviously, I'm typing this) So, it shouldn't be inconceivable to put words down on paper (harddrive) regardless of what they actually ARE. So, is it worth it?

When I think about my 1st WIP right now, reaching for images in my head is like grasping at smoke. They wisp away, just out of reach. But, what if I stopped trying? I know the basic plot points I want to hit in this section I'm stuck on. It's not like I don't know what happens. What if I just sat down, and wrote those out? No prettiness, just basic words. A happens, and leads to B. Then C occurs. D feels X about said event. Can I do that? More importantly, if I do it, can I go back later (preferably sooner, but who am I kidding?) and fix it, flesh it out?

Is it possible that I'm just too damn neurotic to be writing at all?

Greetings and Salutations

I am participating in AW's Blog Blitz, so a hello to any of those folk who swing by here to leave comments!

I got a measley 200 words done yesterday on the rewrite, but I think it's a good jumping off point for today's work.

Is it strange that I keep thinking of things to include? And I don't mean plot things. I mean details about this world I've created. Superstitions, religions, ceremonies... It probably won't get more than a brief mention from me, maybe once. But I think including it would make things richer. I mean, what society doesn't have fears and tall tales? And those stories can tell a lot about the people who believe so fervently in them.

I also keep thinking about descriptive things to include. For example, winter in a marble palace would be coooooooold. So, my characters will need heavy robes, even inside. They'll need bed warmers. (no, not nubile young girls. Perv.) Just, things like that.

Again, small things. Things that, when reading it, the reader won't probably even realize. But for me, it was a minor epiphany.

The Error of My Ways

For as long as I've been plotting out WIP #1 (3+years now), there was one scene that I KNEW I needed, but that I could never write convincingly. The idea was to have my main character and her love interest have a bitter argument, and for the love interest to resign from his job and storm out. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't come up with a good motive for the fight. No matter how I thought of it, it felt contrived and forced. A deus ex machina for the sake of plot progression.

And now, as I start working through this rewrite, my main character has evolved beyond the two dimensional person she was. And it occurs to me that perhaps having them fight is not the right way to go anyway. Maybe, I couldn't come up with it, because that's not how the story is supposed to go? I mean really, all I need is to have him leave the building he's in for the plot to progress. Could he not do that just as well after a moment of tenderness between them? I think it would still accomplish the same thing emotionally (for the reader).

I find this an interesting concept to explore, and it would fill in one of the huge gaps that I was struggling with in the original writing.

Yay for rewrites!

Feeling Left Out

You ever sit around people who have known each other forever, and they all laugh at jokes that are old news to them, but make no sense to you? All you can do is just chuckle politely and wait for them to talk about something that might include you? That's kinda how I feel about a couple of my characters.

Doesn't seem to matter where I want to steer them toward, they're quite content to sit and just chat it up and joke around, and leave me sitting there feeling like a third wheel. I'm obviously not one of the "in" crowd.

This is probably going to lead to me cutting almost every paragraph I wrote yesterday, once I can get them up and moving again. Stupid prima donna characters.

Criticism

So, because I was super-bored today, I typed up a rough rough draft of a query letter, and posted it on a critique site. Now, I know the letter itself was crap, and the responses I got were about what I expected, which actually makes me feel good in a way. At least I'm doing all right in recognizing my flaws. (the first step to preventing/correcting them) But some of the other comments rather puzzled me.

Some of the people didn't like my main characters surname, because it had an apostrophe in it. Now, I could understand if her name was something like Ula'gu'kna'*clickingsound*'gotc'kuk. But it's not, and it isn't even the name they'll be seeing most often, it's her surname. And sadly, I spent a lot of time figuring out why the surnames in my book are the way they are, having to do with lineage in a noble house and everything.

Another didn't think that the names (people, places) "matched" each other. Which, if you are going with an earth reality (french, greek, etc.), they're right, they wouldn't match. But I'm going with a world I made up, in a city that is known for it's blending of cultures due to being a trade hub. And granted, the person making the comment couldn't possibly have known this from the query letter I presented either.

Now, the point they made that perhaps I didn't want to dump all this on an agent right in the query letter is valid. There are places where I can eliminate names to make it less confusing, and let the sample pages or whatever speak for themselves. Still, it's amazing to me what people choose to object to.

Needless to say, this is something I need to get used to. (and I'll need a much better query letter, when it's time)

The Home Stretch

I read a comment recently that said the last 20% of a novel is the most difficult to complete. Considering that I'm currently struggling with just that (almost 20% exactly), I'm inclined to agree. Other people say that the end is their greatest part, though. That once they get on that exciting downhill slide, the words just pour out. I envy that.

I also got into a discussion this morning about how many books a writer generates in a set time period. I see authors out there who put out three and four books a year. On a writers' board I frequent (read: lurk on), one person says it takes them three months to write a book and then perhaps another nine months total on final revisions.

I have worked on this book for probably three years now. Granted, I haven't been able to devote all the time to it I would have liked, but I still know that I couldn't generate this in three months. A happier goal for me would be to take a year to write a book, then maybe a month for the first Big Revision. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing this wrong.