Where’s the time?

No time for writing much yesterday.  Or this morning.

I’m feeling guilty.

Usually about this time in the morning, I have a story in mind or I’ve already written it and posted it.  This morning, I’ve been working.  At home, I was doing some packing for my trip to AZ (for my day job).

That means all the writing has to happen tonight when I get home.  Unless I can squeeze some time here at work.

I was talking to someone here and she said, “You write an awful lot.”  I said, “You run, I write.  It’s the same thing.”

The thing is to make the time for it.  I need to write every day.  It’s as important to me as taking a shot.  More important, actually.

I MUST write.  And I will find the time to do so.

I started doing the planning stages of Tamerlane, and then I decided, “Screw this.  Why don’t I just let him happen?”  So instead of planning out his idiosyncrasies before the page, I’m going to do it as I go along.  Tamerlane is in my head at the moment; what I need to do is to let him out in dribs and drabs.  That will make it fun for me, and even more fun for the reader, I hope.

 

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Partnerships

The great thing about writing in tandem with other people is that you can bounce ideas off of each other, and give each other ideas to work with.

I love the three guys I’m RPG’ing with.  They’re all fans of my page of work, and they read the stories there.  I try to keep close to their characters, and they feel honored, I think, when they see their characters being used in a story of mine.  I know I felt that way when I read one of the guys who used Grim in his stories.

But, alas, he no longer writes.  I hardly see him play, too.  Because of that, my character has limited action with his character because I don’t know his character well enough and I don’t think I could portray his voice correctly.

However, the other characters’ storylines…epic.  Truly epic stuff.

I really want to write out Mal and Knight’s story because that is truly romantic and epic at the same time.  Their stuff could go on for years, and many books.

Grim, of course, is dear to my heart, and his interactions with Scott are priceless.

Tamerlane is a single character.  He’s on his own right now and told in the first person.  Maybe that’ll change.

1574 words yesterday.  I cheated.  I did a lot of it at work.

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Pantser or Plotter?

Julia Cameron makes writing sound so easy.  That’s because, she’s a pantser.

This is an ongoing argument in the writing community.  Should I plot or should I write?

I wrote Grimaulkin 1 Version 1 in a month.  I had an idea of what I was writing from (a Grim much older and wiser, admonishing the reader of the follies of power).  My idea was that the following things would happen:

He’d find out he was gay

He’d get a boyfriend

He’d go to the Academy

His boyfriend would break up with him

He’d get angry and do a deal with a demoness

Who would burn him and mark him as his own

He would get great power

Others would be afraid/jealous of him

He’d escape the Academy

He’d find someone new

He’d return to the Academy with this new man

He’d take over the Academy

He would bring magic to the masses.

The end.

I realize now, writing this plotline, that the whole Salem excursion (Grim 2) is worthless.  Well, not worthless – it was making the point about power and being responsible.  But most of it has nothing to do with this plotline.

I need to work on Grim 3.  I tried to plot it, but here’s the problem with plotting with me:  I write to hear the story.  If I plot it out, then I’ve told myself the story, so that’s it.  But the good thing about plotting is I can change my mind when I do write it (and often do).

So what’s best for me?

PANTSING.

I don’t care what the rest of the writing world says.  They’re talking about getting things done FAST.  “How to get your novel done in 30 days/90 days/1 year/overnight” is like that.

I think I have time.

The YA market (Grim might be going to that market, I’m not sure) is not going to go away any time soon, and the paranormal is going to be around for a long time.  Harry Potter-copy books – which is what I’m pushing Grim to be (“An anti-hero Harry Potter who’s gay”) will remain a big thing.

I’m thinking of writing for Samhain (A gay small press) using the Tamerlane stories.

Speaking of which, I need to write his novel.  Hm, who should I emulate?  Jim Butcher/Harry Dresden?  Alex Venus?  Drood?

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Self-Promotion

It’s one of those days that my meds are actually kicking in.  It’s a day that I want to promote myself.  A day I want to show off.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any tank tops to show off all my tats.  Nor can I really show off that I’m an American and I’m probably going to be the only person who speaks English at the Vocational Meeting that I’m going to.

But mostly, they won’t see my writing ability.

In reading the many how-to-write books I got, I found one thing common to them.  The authors there pushed their own books.  Only one book did I not find that: Writing as a Sacred Path.

Are they showing us an example of what they mean by using their own writing?  Or are they trying to promote it?

Being the cynical person that I am, I’m of the opinion that they’re self-promoters.  Holly Lisle is notorious for this.  “In my novel this…  In my novel that…”  Do you only read your own stuff?

James Scott Bell also doesn’t self-promote, but his books are starting to sound the same.  Just get his “Art of War for Writers” and be done with it.

At least when I read Creating the Novel and Short Story, only a few authors referred to their own work.

I can’t wait until I read “Now Write” for Sci Fi and see how many people refer to George R R Martin versus Brandon Sanderson.  And heck, Holly Lisle who’s written so many books I’ve never heard of.  I’m going to count how many times authors refer to their own work and get back to you.

Meanwhile, I’m going to look for a tank top.  I want to promote good tattoo art.

 

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Hello, yeah, it’s been a while…

Not much…how ’bout you?

Now that I put that song into your head, I do apologize for not writing sooner.  Or as much.  It’s not because I haven’t been writing – oh no.  I’ve been writing nearly every day for the last year.

I’ve read a ton of books on writing, also, which I’ll get a chance to review here.  Right now I’m reading “Right to Write” by Julia something-or-other, the one who wrote The Artist’s Way.  It’s crunchy granola touchy-feely stuff, but realistic and down-to-earth.  She basically gives us all permission to “write badly”.

I know when I write, especially for 800 Words, I try to write a story.  Something fully formed like Athena from Zeus’s skull.  I write a plot, with characters, a beginning, a middle and an end.  I have the end in mind most of the time, but sometimes I don’t get it until the middle, or I get a different end in the middle, or it just writes itself to the end that has nothing to do with the beginning.  I’ve noticed a couple of items that the beginning rambles on.

I’m going to try and ramble here more often.  And tweet.  Hey, if I’m going to be a best-selling author, I have to keep my life up to date, don’t I?

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One second of your life

Could one second a day change your life? Here’s how!
via 
Time to Write by j4london@aol.com (Jurgen Wolff) on 12/10/12

Or, the idea I like best:

* At the end of each day, write one or two sentences about the most interesting thing you did that day, or the most interesting thought you had, or the most interesting thing you heard or read.

For writers, this could become a great source of ideas as well, and it means you’ll write at least a line or two even on days that you don’t have time for a proper writing session.

I suggest you get a nice notebook or datebook or even a calendar to use.

 

I did this last year, and found it to be not just a great way of keeping a diary, but also a place to put ideas and quick notations on the day.  I found that a full page-a-day was too large, and instead got a weekly/monthly calendar, and that was perfect.

All it takes if a few seconds a day to sum up your day, or something that you saw, or the germ of a story idea, and write it down.  You can also put it in your smartphone’s calendar.

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Review: Writer’s Workbook

Publisher: Writer’s Digest Yearbook.  Yearbook, Fall, 2012.  $9.99

This, I think, is better and a lot more up-to-date than most of the writing books out there.  It discusses not only fiction but also non-fiction.

Writer’s Digest is well-known for such things as “25 Ways to Improve your Writing in 30 Minutes.”  There’s an article of that here, written by different writers.  It’s also one of the best articles here.

The first part of the magazine is about “Essentials of the Craft” including grammar, starting stories,  and using gender  when writing.  The second section is about “Elements of Fiction” and includes and interview with Harlan Coben and RL. Stine.  It starts from the outline all the way to the conclusionof the story, and includes pacing, showing feelings, and dialogue.  The third part of the book is about “Non-Fiction Techniques”, including how to write up an interview, travel pieces, restaurant reviews, op-eds, and memoirs.

Unfortunately, this being a magazine, it’s only out for a limited time.  Pick it up when you get a chance, as this will help anyone who does any kind of writing, or who wants to try their hand at a different genre.

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Another day, more butt in chair.

There’s lots of quotes on how to be a writer, and most of them are variations of “do the work”. Put the butt in the chair. Arrive at the page every day. Even if what you write is garbage and has nothing to do with the project you’re on, you should write, every day.

During the months of November (NaNo!) and December, I hardly found time to write because of, you guessed it, my day job. Now that things have finally let up so that I can stick my head out of the proverbial piles of papers that is my Outlook inbox and look around to see what happened over the last two months.

My kid grew a couple of inches, is in the middle of another growth spurt, and is eating like a Hobbit (Second Dinner, anyone?).

My computer sounds like an airplane. A new one is due.

I have six gig of RAM in my computer instead of eight all of a sudden.

Champions Online is eating up my CPU. Wait, I have only one CPU? I thought I had two.

The Patriots are aiming for another Division East championship. I think? I don’t know, I know that they are winning.

And why did they make a Hobbit movie? Don’t they have like three of them already?

I am going to make April (Script Frenzy) be my NaNo this year. I had a great idea for NaNo, but it sounded too “Twilighty” for my tastes. I may post my garbage-writing here, or on 800 words (marked down to 500 words) or even on Protagonize (I’m under warwriter). I think maybe the polished stuff on Protagonize to get the maximum amount of exposure, and the first drafts on 800 words.

That’s my new years’ resolution this year – to get feedback and criticism. I’m going to try to not write in a vacuum.

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Day 7 (more)

Because Kate knew she wouldn’t do it, she knew that Niva would.  And Niva would continue to do this work for her, because she had no idea how much Ana was going to use her.  At that moment, Kate disliked Ana enough to turn on her heel and walk into her room, shutting the door quietly.

Kate couldn’t control Ana, or Niva, but she could control her reactions to them.  Right now, she was angry at Ana for trying to use her, and angry at Ana for using Niva.  Maybe at some point she would sit down and talk to Niva about how Ana was going to abuse her, but for right now, she had to do some normal studying.

 

-3-

The vacuum sucked up the last bits of popcorn from the floor.  The anger and hate that Kate had the night before had cooled into a pool of disgust.

It was raining today, a perfect day to crawl into bed with her books and a cup of tea.  As it was, she was busy dusting and cleaning the two common rooms of the apartment.  The kitchen was cleaned first, and it was spotless; now she was vacuuming the living room and would soon be finished with the dusting.  She had found Ana’s books on the coffee table and piled them at the door to her room.

Lynn was lucky to have gotten three hours’ sleep before heading to the bus stop to catch the bus to campus; Niva had presented Ana with a perfectly typed paper that morning, adding to Kate’s irritation.

Kate looked at the clock after the vacuuming and decided she was going to take a quick walk to the convenience store across the street and pick up something special for lunch.  She really wanted a tuna sandwich, but needed the key ingredient.  She hoped that the store would have chunk white, but would be happy with the simple chunk light instead.  She got her coat on and went down the three flights, pausing at the second floor to hear a baby cry.

She didn’t know that one of the girls on that floor had a baby, and she knew from the landlord that was a particular no-no, as this was for single college girls.  If they had boys over, that was their prerogative, but no children were allowed.  Maybe someone was babysitting.

The baby’s cries were stopped suddenly, though she heard nothing to make it stop.  She shrugged and kept on going to the store.

The store was empty except for three older men who leered at her and then at the Kino screen, watching small bouncing balls hit numbers on a TV.  She went up and down the aisles, searching for tuna.  She finally found some, a pair of dusty cans, and plucked one from the shelf, checking the expiration date.  There was one month left.

She shrugged, and brought it to the counter.  After paying three dollars for it, she pocketed it without a bag and ran back to her house.  As she approached the second floor, she heard the baby cry again.  She hesitated at the door, not wanting to disturb anyone, yet, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, either.

Back at home, it would be perfectly all right to knock on someone’s door and ask if they needed any help or had a cup of sugar.  But this was the big city, and people here were not as friendly or as forthcoming as they were from her hometown.  She had her hand raised at the door, to knock, and thought long and hard.  What would the girl say if she knocked on the door and said she heard a baby crying?  “Yes, and I know it’s a bad thing but I have no where else to go”? “Yes, please don’t tell the landlord”? “Yes, I’m babysitting”?

The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was probably the last.  It wasn’t her problem.  She brought her hand down, and as she turned to go upstairs, the door opened and a harried girl stepped outside.  The baby was still crying.

“Excuse me,” Kate said, and the girl stopped for a moment.

“Yeah?” she said, fumbling to lock the door.

“Do you hear that baby?”

“What baby?” she asked, and hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder.

“The baby crying?”

The girl gave her a look that Kate immediately read as, “You’re off your rocker,” while the girl said, “Yeah, right,” and went down the stairs.  The baby stopped crying again.

Kate went back upstairs, and no longer heard the baby cry.  When Lynn came crawling in around dinnertime, Kate saw from the look on Lynn’s face that she had an up close and personal date with her bed, and so she let her go.  Niva came home next, followed by Ana at around nine, smelling of cigarettes and booze.  The tromped into the apartment, and was obviously drunk.

It’s not my problem, thought Kate, shutting off her light.

The next morning, she had a ten o’clock class, so started to leave to go catch the eight o’clock bus.  One of the girls from the first floor, a Vietnamese girl named Thanh fell into step with her.  She was born in America, and her mother was dead.  Her father was working three jobs to put his four children through college.  Kate thought that was crazy.  “He loves to work,” Thanh said as they sat on the bus.  For once, she didn’t have her earbuds in.

“Did you hear the baby yesterday?” Kate finally asked.

“What baby?”

“The baby crying, on the second floor.”

“No, we’re not allowed to have children in those apartments.”

“I know, but I could have sworn I heard a baby crying yesterday.  This girl out and out lied to me when I asked.”

Thanh shook her head.  “No, I’ve never heard any babies on that second floor.  Creaking beds, maybe, but no babies.”

The two laughed over that, and Thanh promised to come upstairs sometime to visit, while Kate promised to do the same.  Neither had the same classes, as Thanh was one year ahead, but Thanh said she’d be happy to have her along as a study buddy.  Especially for her Western Civ class.

Kate went to her Algebra class and then was free until noon, when she worked at the computer lab for three hours before heading home on the three-thirty bus.

She got to the second floor and heard the crying again.  Finally, she could take it no more and knocked on the door.  An African-American woman opened the door.  “Yes?”

“Hi, I’m from upstairs and…do you have any…sugar?”

The woman looked her over, and Kate knew that she didn’t look like she was baking, seeing as she had just come off the bus.  “I think so, how much do you need?  Come on in.”

“Thanks.”  Kate stepped inside.  She expected the crying to be louder in here, but it wasn’t.  It was the same volume as it was out in the hall.  Kate looked around the kitchen, furnished as it was like hers upstairs, with one kitchen and a large living room, and bedrooms off the kitchen and living room.  In this set up, the TV was opposite the windows, and there was a doorway as opposed to an archway to the living room like her apartment was.

“How much do you need?”

“Much – Oh, only half a cup.”  As soon as she spoke, the crying stopped.  The woman took down a large tin from the cupboard and then took out a zipper plastic bag.  She measured a half a cup with a measuring spoon.  As soon as she poured the sugar into the plastic bag, the crying started again.

The woman gave her the plastic bag, and Kate murmured, “Thanks.”  Then she asked, “How can you stand the crying?”

“What crying?”

“You don’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The baby – there, it just stopped.”

The woman smiled, “Honey, there’s no baby here.”

“I can hear it crying.”

“I swear, there’s no baby here.”

Kate frowned.   “Okay, well, thanks for the sugar.”

“You’re welcome.  Anytime you need anything, just come over.”  The woman quietly shut the door behind her.  Kate shook her head, thinking that the woman must think she’s crazy.

Kate heard the baby again and went up the stairs.  As she did, she bumped into the landlady.  “Hi, Mrs. Cohen?”

“Hello,” she said, her accent harsh.  “I left a note upstairs.  I got a complaint yesterday that one of you came in late singing up a storm.”

“I know who that was,” Kate said, her head down.

“You tell her I do not tolerate this here.”  She started to walk back down the stairs.

Something occurred to Kate.  “Mrs. Cohen?”

“Yes?”

“Was there ever a baby here?”

Her face went cold for a minute.  “Does someone have a baby?”

“No, but, and this is going to sound crazy, but I hear one.  And I checked, but there isn’t a baby there.”

Cohen looked at the second floor door.  “I won’t let babies here anymore.  I did once, once.  It was awful, awful.”  Then Cohen knocked on the second floor door.  The same woman as before unlocked the door.  “I want to check your place,” she said.  “I heard you have a baby.”

That was just what Kate did NOT want to happen, and the woman said, as she closed the door, “I told her that we don’t – “ and the door shut.

Kate went upstairs and immediately jumped onto her computer.  She Dug her own address.

There it was, in black and white, a newspaper report from the ‘80’s.  A baby was found in a closet, suffocated.  The mother was an 18 year old college student who had suffocated her two month old baby because it wouldn’t stop crying.

Now it wouldn’t stop, and there was something in that apartment that was making it cry, making its soul stay behind.

She had to find Daniel, he could find the thing that was making its soul stay behind.  But she had told Daniel to leave her alone.  What an idiot she was.  She turned right around and bumped again into Mrs. Cohen.  Apologizing, she ran down the stairs and to the bus stop.

Kate sat in the middle of the bus, hoping he would be there, but he wasn’t.  She said he lived in a castle in Longwood, so she got off the bus at the terminus and walked the four blocks to the beginning of Longwood Mall, a long expanse of trees and woodland where, according to him, the Summer Fairies were.

She walked along it, and it grew dark around seven; pretty soon she was stumbling around on the outskirts.  Then she saw a house from a distance, a house bathed in light, with a fountain also bathed in light, facing the Longwood Mall.  It looked to her like a castle on a hill, made of light.

She headed for it.

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Day 7

Daniel had said something about a castle on Longwood.  She hadn’t been there, but knew it was just off campus.  Maybe she would go there Friday.

“Lucy, I’m home,” yelled Ana as she stomped into the apartment.  Kate heard a thud, probably Ana’s backpack hitting the floor.  She next heard a knock on her door, since it was right off the kitchen.  “Come in,” Kate called.

Ana threw open the door.  “Hey, can you read over my paper and tell me what you think?”

“What’s the paper on?”

“Moby Dick.”

“I never read Moby Dick.”

“Neither have I.  But I want to make sure it doesn’t sound like the Yellow Notes.”

“Ana!”

“Could you please?”  She held out a few hand-written papers.  “I’ll type it up later.  Just look it over?”

“Will you make me dinner?”

Ana sighed.  “Oh, come on.”

Kate said, “Nevermind, I already had dinner.  Let me see.”

Ana stomped into the room on huge platform shoes and handed the papers to Kate.  Ana turned back and left the room.  “Mark up what you need to,” she said, and slammed shut Kate’s door.

Kate sighed and sat down to read.  It sounded too much like the Yellow Notes, using words Ana would never use, such as “armistice” and “moribund”.  She crossed the words out and at first started to fill in some words that Ana would use, simpler ones, but then just crossed the words out.  She wasn’t going to write Ana’s paper for her, and she’d be damned if she was going to help her like this.  The more she read, the angrier she got, until she got to the third page and just tossed them aside.

Kate glared at the hand-written notebook paper, and picked it up, then threw open the door.  The TV was blaring in the other room, and Ana was in her usual spot, laying about on the couch.  She had a bag of microwave popcorn and was eating it, getting popcorn bits all over the rug.  The rug that she would have to vacuum tomorrow.

“Ana,” Kate said.  Ana said nothing.  “Ana!”

Ana jerked up.  “Oh, done already?”

“You copied this right out of the Yellow Notes.”

“Some of it.”

“Most of it.”

She shrugged.

“Don’t you think your professor will know?”

“He’s old.  He’s not going to know.”

“You do know that he doesn’t grade his papers.  A grad student usually does.  That grad student probably read the Yellow Notes at one time.”

“Oh.  Can’t you make it sound like it’s not from the Yellow Notes?”

Kate dropped the papers onto Ana’s lap.  “I tried, but this is direct plagiarism.”

Ana shrugged.  “I’ll get Lynn to read it.”

“Lynn’s got clinical tonight.  When’s it due?”

“Tomorrow.”

Kate knew something like this was going to happen.  She vowed that she wasn’t going to let Ana walk all over her and use her.  She knew Ana didn’t have a computer, and it was too late for her to go back to campus to use the computer lab.  She wasn’t going to be the one who was going to pander to Ana.

However, the person who was ended up walking in the door.  “Niva!” Ana yelled as soon as she cleared the threshold.  She was up and out of the couch in a flash.  “Niva, hon, can you do me a favor?”

Niva stopped at the door, not even shutting it.  “Of course, Ana.”

“Can you read my paper over?  I want to make sure it doesn’t sound like Yellow Notes.”

“Surely, I can do that,” Niva said, and dropped her books immediately.  She shut the door and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

“And, uh, I might need to use your computer.  I didn’t get a chance to type it up at school, and…”

“Do you have a flash drive?”

Ana frowned.  “No, I don’t.”

“I will be happy to let you use my computer.”

Something told Kate that Ana was going to somehow get Niva to type up her paper for her.  Kate would not do it.  Would not.

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