Black Moments and Grand Finales

When I analyze book and movie plots, I can get very clean and structured. This is the crisis, that over there is the climax, and this other thing, it's the resolution.

But when I'm actually in the midst of the writing? I have no clue. Once I'm done, then I can look at what I've done, and see where the various pieces fall, but in the midst of the writing--I suppose it's that I've internalized it so well I don't have to consciously think about it, or something. Because I haven't ever forgotten any of the pieces, so far, anyway.

Every story has a black moment--that moment when all seems lost, the bad guys are going to win, and nothing will ever be right again. I don't care what kind of story it is, there will be a black moment. Little Red Riding Hood has a black moment ("All the better to EAT you with!"). The Wizard of Oz has a black moment (the wizard's hot air balloon leaves without Dorothy). Sweet romances and women's fiction and urban fantasies and every story has a black moment that sets up the climax--the point where the story begins rolling downhill to the resolution of all the conflict.

Each black moment, with its attendant climax, resolution and denouement, suits its own story. All together, these things create the conclusion of the story. The ending. Each thing has its own part to play. I have written endings that were 3 pages long, and I have written endings that were several chapters. Because I write adventure stories--romance or not--I tend to write big "grand finale" type endings. (I have a picture of an airplane on this post, because there are airplanes like that one in the current story.) There's usually a big final confrontation with the bad guy that coincides with the black moment and all the rest. I often stick in my characters' "dark night of the soul" and their "moment of realization" into the middle of this big battle/what-have-you. (Sometimes it's a battle, sometimes it's sneaking around, sometimes it's hand-to-hand combat or a rescue.)

I am in the midst of the "grand finale" of the current book. I'm not sure I've quite reached the blackest of the black moments yet--just the kickoff one. Things will get blacker yet. This particular story is a big, sprawling adventure and needs a big sprawling ending. I really don't want to rush it, and yet, I can't drag things out either. But, it's partly why I need this 100 words a day to get through it. There's a lot to it. Lots of action. Lots of emotion. Lots of character turmoil.

So, there you have it. Adventure stories need adventurous endings. Romantic stories need romantic endings (you can have the romance in the adventure--or at least the "thinking about romance"). Emotional stories need emotional endings. Quiet stories need quiet endings. If they're quiet and romantic, then both those things need to be there. In this book, I have to have adventure, and romance, and emotion, and...

Huh. Didn't realize I was doing all that. I'd rather not think about it. It will scare me into not writing again.

Yeah, I'm on Day 9 of the writing. Go me!

Eating the elephant one bite at a time

You write a book the same way you eat an elephant. One bite--one bit--at a time. It's a long hard slog. (Okay, an elephant reading a book doesn't have anything to do with eating or writing, but it is an elephant, and a book...)

I was going to say it's probably a good thing that stories aren't exactly like elephants, because a whole elephant would go bad before one person could eat the whole thing. (Not that I can imagine one person actually trying... A whole tribe of people, maybe...) Except, it's entirely possible that stories might rot a little before one finishes writing it. Or go stale, anyway. Still, that's not my point here. We don't want to stretch that metaphor right out of shape.

The point is that when you take on a task that is going to take a while, you just have to keep doing the next thing. Keep writing the next words. And the next ones, and the next ones.

I have fallen out of practice of doing the writing First, and I need to get back into it. If not First, then Whenever I Can.

And in pursuit of that, I have joined a "100 words" loop. The goal of this loop, generally, is to write 100 words every day for 100 days, no excuses, no exceptions.

There are some members who have slightly different goals--one is writing 300 words a day, with weekends off. (This will put her ahead of the 700 words a week pace...) One of the main rules is that, if you get More than 100 words, you can't say so. Just say that you got your words for that day. That way it doesn't turn into a competition, or something for someone to beat themselves up over. Oh, and if you miss a day--you have to start over with Day 1.

One of the members, Kay Hudson, has made it up to Day 300-something. Or maybe 400-something. She's now burning up the contest circuit with finals and agent/editor requests. And she's on Day 52 of the new cycle.

I'm on Day 3. I had to squeeze my words in yesterday between the dayjob in the a.m., and the dentist in the afternoon. (I now have my permanent, gold crown on my back tooth, and the sharp, hurty temporary crown is no longer hurting my tongue, and the tooth has calmed down and is no longer crazy sensitive to cold. I am happy.) But the words are squozed. I have made it through the scene I was unsure about, and I think it works. I am on the verge of the black moment, crisis, climax, etc. etc. and the end. I do tend to write extended black moment/crisis scenes, so we will see whether I can soldier through this before the grandboys come for sea camp.

I did get all their paperwork done and turned in and fees paid, so we are all set for them to come and stay and dissect fish and such in two more weeks (or three). It will be fun. And until then--the writing.

One bite, 100 words, at a time...

Seaweed Season

So, while we really haven't had any oil on the beach so far--none at all, from what I can tell--it is seaweed season. Every year, huge blankets of sargasso seaweed drift into shore. The picture is of Padre Island National Seashore, but our little sandbar island looks much the same during seaweed season. Except a lot of mornings, the blanket of seaweed is thicker, and wider.

It's perfectly natural. The seaweed is actually GOOD for the beach and part of the Gulf coast ecology, and it's interesting to walk on (though you don't want to much, because you can't see what's under it). It can be kind of stinky. Here, they tend to rake it up and pile it against the seawall to help anchor new sand dunes. Other places, I'm not sure they do that much.

Thing is, it's kind of a red-brown color, once it washes ashore and dries out. Very similar in color to the red-brown oil they're showing in the pictures on TV. Consequently, a number of folks in hotels along the beach would see the sargasso clumping up on the beach, and call downstairs in a panic to ask "What's that stuff on the beach?!?!!" It's seaweed. It belongs there. Just step over it, if you don't like the crunchy, textury way it feels. It'll be gone soon, and then it will be jellyfish season, and you'll be missing the seaweed. (Yeah, the jellyfish come ashore after the seaweed mostly stops. It doesn't really ever completely stop.) Still, when there's a choice of oil on the beach, and seaweed--give me the seaweed!

I did get some pages written today. Not many. I'm going to join a 100-words-a-day group and try to get this dang book finishes.

Riverside writers' retreat

I was here over the weekend, and it was wonderful. (This was Saturday, after the rain stopped--the view downriver from the upstairs deck.) We had workshops with a creativity coach who talked about recapturing the joy in writing, and how to be happily interrupted and other such things, plus there was time to write, and a concert, and white elephant gifting. Some of the white elephants were lovely. Some were...not so much.

The location was a house on an island in, I believe, the lower Colorado River. The only access to this island is by barge, or aerial tramway. It rained all day on Friday, the day we arrived, too wet, really, to cross on the barge. So we crossed on the tram.

The tram was WAY up in the air! And it was small. The wind was blowing, and the car tilted sideways, and it swung back & forth when it crossed the towers (that's the first tower in the picture--the barge landing is right below it, to the left). And I'm real nervous about heights. But I did okay. I did not scream and clutch at the handrails or cower on the floor. And I stopped shaking once we got on the ground. ;)

It was just a wonderful weekend. Everyone brought potluck for meals, and we had WAY more than anyone could eat. We didn't even open the ham someone brought.

My BFF Belinda came down from Waco with her fella, and they spent the night Thursday. Then Friday, in the pouring rain, we drove the "back way" down to the river house. We had to come a different way from everyone else, because the others were all coming down from Houston, and we had to just slide down the coast and come inland some from our island. Belinda and I drove in my "bus" and Ken followed us. In the rain. He likes to drive around and look at the country side. We were driving through flooded fields on both sides, lined with moss-draped trees. It was lovely. (Okay, the several junk yards we passed by weren't so great, but...)

The only access between the downstairs "quiet" floor and the upstairs "brainstorming / workshop" floor was an outside staircase, so we got a little wet carrying things up and down. Mary (whose house it was) got REALLY wet, driving the golf cart to pick people up. She was so wonderful to open up the house to everyone, and work so hard to get everyone there.

B and I got there around noon, so we could just wallow in the experience, and wallow we did. Belinda had a one-on-one session with the coach. I did Tarot readings for at least half of those who came, including the coach. Some of them told me what their question was, and others didn't, but they all said the readings were amazingly spot on. Well, one said she didn't see some of the things, but... Anyway-- I got a kick out of doing that.

Saturday night, Kathryn the coach, who is also a singer- songwriter, gave us a little concert with some wonderful songs. She did not bring enough CDs for everyone, and I don't have mine yet. But let me tell you, the song LIVING WELL is a fabulous bluesy creation and You Need To Hear It. I fully expect to hear another of her songs performed by some bigtime country singer in the near future.

Then it was time for the white elephant. I didn't get an elephant. I got a gun rack (for my (non-existent) rifle collection). Yes, those are deer hooves. Real ones. With fur and everything.

As you can see, I did bring it home. It's going in the Lions' Club white elephant Christmas party game this next year. :)

I told my son to bring his friend Walter over to see it. Walter grew up on a farm/ranch outside Tyler, TX. I think he will appreciate it. (Yes, the picture is sideways, but the deer feet are the right way up.)

So now, it is time for me to run to the grocery store for ice cream and Cokes. (In Texas, all sodas are Cokes, whether they are Coca-Cola or not, but I really am going to by Coke Zeros.) And then pack my car and head off to the parents'.

I started rewriting a synopsis for White Elk, Red Sword while I was at the retreat. Mostly I was there to refresh and renew, but I did start on the synopsis. I finished it yesterday. So now I'm reading research books, and I hope to get back to work writing next week. I aim to get my head back into the story so I can do it.

I should Write Something Profound

Instead, I ... well, won't.

I got a great letter from my agent about my historical not-a-romance novel I sent her as a half-finished ms. She wants me to finish it asap. There are things I need to fix, and watch for as I write the rest of the book. I still have to do some research to get the ending right. It's still a romantic adventure story, like pretty much everything else I've written, but it's in an unusual-for-a-historical-novel time period and location, and it's less romance. The main plot of the story isn't a romance. So, I'll write a synopsis and get the current partial out the door, then I'll focus on Thunder in a Cloudless Sky.

I still have to bake cookies for my writer's retreat. (Instead of "Retreat-a-thon" we should be calling it "Eat-a-Thon" given all the yummy goodies everybody is bringing.) And pack. Decide which book files I'm bringing. And figure out how to get everything waterproofed. This location is on an island. We can't drive up to it. And the boat taking us over has no cover from rain. Rain is predicted all weekend. I may pack my clothes in an ice chest...

My friend B is coming in from Waco this afternoon, with her fella. We will go out for shrimps tonight. They're like us. Want to eat shrimp whenever they get to the coast. I got no problem whatsoever with that!

Okay, heading home to get ready.

I know I just did two blogs in two days--I'm trying to work up to Two blogs a week, instead of just one--and I will try to space them out better in the future, but I haven't made it yet. Y'all bear with me. :)

Retreats for Writers

Or maybe it was a Treat for Writers.

I went on my annual pilgrimage to Valley Mills with my writer friends for the Heart of Texas writers' retreat.

The place we go isn't fancy. There are cobwebs in the rafters, and the floor slopes across the back room from the bathroom to the back door. There are 3 bunk beds, providing room for 6 to sleep, and a double bed at one end of the front room. (There's a kitchen at the other end.) There is no heat unless you light the propane heater--and we didn't light it. It got COLD that first night...but warmed up later. My friend Belinda and I went out a day early because we both had the day off. And it was wonderful.

There'd been a lot of rain lately, so the tank (man-made pond, for you non-Texans) right behind the cabin had water running into it, and out of it--into a pretty good-sized waterfall not too far away. Lots of limestone makes for lots of waterfalls. When there's enough water to fall. This was the first time the tank's been full enough to have a good-sized creek running out of it, and the water sang to us the whole time we were there.

We critiqued my synopsis (B came up with the perfect last line for it.) We wrote our morning pages. Belinda and I are going through The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron together, and we were bad. We wrote our morning pages together, and we kept stopping to talk. It took us a couple of hours to finish. By the time we went into town for lunch and got back to the ranch, the other participants were starting to show up.

Friday night, we had 7 there by the time everyone got off work and came out. We ate sandwich for supper. (One great BIG sandwich in a ring, we cut into sections. We ate that sandwich a couple of days.) We critiqued the chapters of the people who sent them--four of us. We talked plot for the chapters we critiqued. I got too loud.

Four of us spent the night, one more came back around 10:30 a.m. And we did some writing drills--the ones where you take an assortment of items out of a bag and write a scene that includes all of the items. We plotted stories for me and another lady. B and I walked around the tank and down where we could see the waterfall from the front side. Sort of. Then we jumped the creek to get back. I took off my shoes and socks, in case I fell in. I didn't have walking shoes, and I almost slid out of the backs of my clogs climbing the back side of that tank, because clogs don't have backs.

We spent some time writing on our own stuff. B and Diana (the middle person in this second picture--Belinda is on the right and Shelley on the left) went into town to get Diana some water, and brought back pizza for supper. After supper, we watched the movie "Twilight" and then analyzed its plot points. We used the plotting method from the Save the Cat book by Blake Snyder, and found it interesting that the main plot was the romance between Edward and Bella, and the subplot was the bad vampires. Most movies are the other way round. We talked writing until midnight or so, and it felt like we'd hardly got started.

Of course, after sleeping 3 nights on those bunk beds-- they weren't bad, but they weren't the best beds in the world either-- we weren't exactly looking our best. Belinda did not want her picture taken. I haven't seen all the pictures taken of me. I'm hoping I can cut myself out of the worst ones... Yes, I forgot to take my camera. I forgot my sleeping bag--you think I'd remember my camera? (The beds had clean sheets and blankets that worked just fine.) I remembered all the critiques I'd printed out, and my notebook for the morning pages. The important stuff. (Also my toothbrush and blow dryer.)

Sunday, we got up and did some other exercises, then cleaned up, threw away our trash, divvied up the remaining groceries (I got the Fritos, a package of bagels and the blueberry cream cheese), hugged everybody good bye and went home again. We're going to try to do this again in the spring, so we can have a spring and a fall retreat, more than just once a year.

So now my synopsis is fixed, my partial's been critiqued, and I'm printing it out to send off to the agent. I really like retreating... :)

Worst Sky Rat: Seagull, Pigeon, Grackle??

Okay. So, I went walking out by the water today. It was a rather surfy morning with lots of wind and birds (royal tern, snowy egret, cormorants, pelicans, willets, first ring-beaked gull of the season, as well as herds and flocks of laughing gulls), and I saw these ladies feeding the gulls.

As I walked nearer, more gulls arrived. They were flying over from--from miles away, or it seemed like it. The gulls already present didn't seem to be making much noise. No cries other than the usual, from what I could tell, and not many of those. And I decided that seagulls must have telepathy.

There must be some extrasensory sense they use to tell each other when somebody's throwing food. Because there might be One seagull when the first breadcrumb gets pitched, and dozens mass out of nowhere to fight over it.

I'm pretty sure these ladies aren't local. Most of the locals are not fond of seagulls. They're too much of a nuisance to want to feed them. There are a few locals who will feed seagulls. The matriarch of a local restaurant kingdom used to feed the seagulls from the balcony of the hotel next to their flagship restaurant. There's a statue in the restaurant of her, or someone, feeding gulls. There's a story going round (I don't know how true it is) that she died falling from the balcony while feeding the gulls. But let's leave that depressing digression and return to my next thought.

Which was: Which is the worst nuisance? Pigeons, grackles or seagulls?

They are all known for gathering in great swarms. They are all known for pooping on everything in range. Frequently, with great disgustingness and stench. But which one is the worst of the sky rats?

My vote goes to grackles.

Seagulls? They're stuck by large bodies of water. They have webbed feet , so they can't sit in trees and poop on the cars parked under them. (Take note, director of 300 where a seagull sits on a spear--not possible. Webbed feet can't grasp a spear!) Their cries aren't that annoying. Laughing gulls have a lower pitched cry than other gulls, so it's less annoying than those others. They're also smaller birds, as gulls go, so they don't poop as much as the big herring gulls. Also, I haven't seen them sitting on the beach in groups larger than, oh, maybe 30 or so. Mostly less.

Pigeons have a wide range. We have pigeons on the beaches. Sometimes. They do sit in trees and on statues and stuff, and I think there may be a pigeon ESP as well, because they seem to gather instantly when somebody starts throwing bread crumbs. But they don't seem to gather in flocks as large as the grackles. Also, they're edible. And they coo. Nice, soft, cuddly-sounding coos.

Grackles? They're as big as pigeons, beak to tail, but they're skinny. No meat on their bones. And they collect in flocks that can take over whole city parks. Thousands of birds. We took this picture in February/March (around Mardi Gras). The power lines are not that thick. There are birds along every line, and they're all over the lines across the street, and along the rooflines, and in the trees (there aren't many) and Everywhere. Massive, Alfred-Hitchcock-worthy flocks.

Besides all the pooping and gathering and flocking, grackles do not coo. They do not tweet or chirp or cheep. They Screech. Like nails on a blackboard. Literally. And they clack. Sort of like a 3 Stooges "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk," but louder. And more clacky. And then they screech again. Endlessly. Back and forth at each other in their ginormous flocks.

If I have to have grackles, or pigeons, or seagulls, I will take seagulls. If I can't have seagulls, I'll take pigeons. If only I do not have to deal with grackles. Unfortunately, on the island, we have all three. Sigh.

Oh. I took a picture of a little sand crab too. It was very cool. I almost didn't see it, it's so tiny, and so close to the same color as the sand. Can you see it in the middle of the picture? It's casting a pretty big shadow. The whole thing, from one end of its little legs to the other, is about the size of my thumb, to give you a size comparison. I only spotted it (and the other, smaller one I saw) because they were running across the sand. Back to their holes, maybe.

I did write today. I got all the way to the end of the action in the synopsis. I now need to write the emotional denouement. I am not sure what it will be. I also pretty much left all the romance plot out of the synopsis. I'm trying to lean harder to one way or the other in SF or romance. I do pretty much half and half, most of the time. I can write the romance in the story, but I'm having trouble writing it into the synopsis. It's like--the romance happens while they're doing this other stuff. We'll see how it works. Maybe this story is the other way round. Ah well.

So--what's your vote? Grackles? Pigeons? Seagulls? Which is the worst nuisance???

Intuitive Writing Process

I've taken part recently in a discussion (I read the blog, read all the comments and made a comment of my own--and now can't remember where it is...and Google isn't spitting it up) about whether becoming a writer had destroyed my ability to read as a reader. I contend that it mostly has not. Because it hasn't.

Part of that, I think, is because I'm a very fast reader. The other part, however, has to do with--I think--the fact that I honestly don't have any idea how I write. I'm not a very structural writer. More intuitive.

No, I do not sit down and just write. I have to have a semblance of a plot outline before I can really jump into the story and get where I want to go. I think this is because I am so VERY disorganized and--well, intuitive--in the way I write, that if I don't have that minimal amount of structure--a road map, or point-to-point guide--I can't get anywhere.

But when I'm reading my own stuff, I don't necessarily know what's wrong with it. I can usually tell when something's reading slow, and I need to thin it out. Or cut it entirely. But I'm not real good at analyzing scenes--especially when I'm in the middle of writing them. I just write what feels like needs to be there.

It's possible I'm more analytical than I realize I am. I do remember writing dialogue scenes and having to stop and go back, because I didn't get some information in that I wanted revealed, or the characters didn't say what I wanted them to say. Sometimes, I stop and rearrange all the dialogue, because it doesn't lead logically from one thought to another. (dialogue doesn't always, but I do try to keep the non-sequiturs to a minimum.) And sometimes, I cut stuff out, because Somebody already said that once. Or twice. And yes, this happens on the first draft through.

Anyway, I think this relates to my ability to still read as a reader. Sometimes I stumble over things--misused words, or historical anachronisms--but if it's a good story, it's not much of a stumble. I keep flying through. Then at the end of the book, I have to stop and think "Okay, what did I really think about that book." Because sometimes, I reach the end with the feeling that something is just a bit off, or maybe a lot off, and I have to think about why.

I'm in the middle of a book right now, which I have been enjoying less and less as i've gotten deeper into it, and I can tell you exactly why. It's depressing. In the beginning of the book I was willing to give the characters some slack, if they were maybe a little too mean, too callous, too selfish to really like them. There were other, more likeable characters to follow. But then the author killed off the decent characters, had others fall apart, let the roguish character go a little too roguish, and let the bad guys loose to be really, really bad.

I know he's doing the "dark before the dawn" thing--but I'm only on about p. 1782 (out of 3345--it's on my Sony reader, and I have the print turned up to medium-this is a really LoNG book), and there's a lot of dark ahead of me, and there's only one character left I even sort of like. I'm not sure I have enough reason to finish it. Especially since it's science fiction, and thus no happy ending guaranteed.

This is why I read, and write romance. Because the characters are likable, and there's a happy ending.

Write fast? Write slow?

Seawall mural is looking sadly bedraggled since Ike. Wonder if they'd like volunteers to try to spruce it up...

Anyway. I have taken to checking in at Twitter, and clicking on all the referrals to articles & such until I have a whole row of tabs across the top of my Firefox. And when I have a minute more, I read them all. And now I can't remember which one I read that made me think.

It was an interview with Ron Charles, who is an editor and book critic with the Washington Post and just won an award. He sounded like a fascinating man (especially since they have been trying to find a Romance novel reviewer who doesn't write things like "If you like this kind of crap..."), and I found the interview interesting. But there was one thing that tweaked a few thoughts. I've thought this before, but I don't know that I've blogged about it before. If I have, and you read it, forgive me, and skip down to the beach report.

He mentioned how he tried to be respectful of the fact that the novelist might have poured the past 8 years of his or her life onto the book when he reviewed it. And I got to thinking about a writer's pace of writing.

There are a lot of folks out there who think that a book more slowly written must inevitably be a better book than one written quickly, all subjectivity set aside. I do not agree. Furthermore, I have a sneaking suspicion that if a person takes 8 years to finish a book? They were doing a whole lot of other stuff (most likely a day job) while they were writing that book.

I have a book I'm working on that I have been working on since, oh--1981, or earlier. I'm still not finished with it. But I have not been writing on the book every day of that time. I decided, back in '81 or so, that I did not have the craft and skills to write the book at that time, since it had a complicated plot, would have to be told in flashback, and had a difficult character to write. So I set it aside for about 20 years.

In the intervening time, I have written 5 or 6 books which will never see the light of day. I have written 8 more, which have or will be published by various publishers. It's not like I haven't been writing. I just haven't been actively writing on THAT book.

If I count only the time in which I have been actually writing and researching Thunder in a Cloudless Sky (working title), I've probably been working on it 6 or 7 months.

I don't consider myself a fast writer. I can't whip out a draft in a week. Or even 2 weeks. Or a month. But. I do write an average of 6 pages a day, which is faster than the 1 page a day book in a year that some writers manage. And I don't write multiple drafts. My first draft is pretty darn close to the final version. I might add a scene. More likely I've cut several scenes (I tend to write long.) and reworked it to smooth things out. I've probably cut and smoothed some dialogue. Corrected grammar and typos. Fixed inconsistencies here and there--like changing eye-color, or minor character names. And that's about it. I prefer the "all at once" method.

Still, despite all that, it does not take me 8 years to write a book. Even Thunder, which is a huge book, will not actually take me that much time to write. I posted here last week: it took me 10 weeks, 2-1/2 months, to write 450 pages. And I don't even spend all day writing. I do my composing/drafting in the mornings, then I do other stuff--PR, e-mails, blogging, etc.--in the afternoon. I do it this way because I have found that I tend to fall asleep over the desk if I try to draft in the afternoon. I just have a sinking spell, as my Great Aunt Jessie put it, about that time. So I get those 6 pages written in half a day.

Other award winning authors write faster than I do. Some write slower. The thing is--how you write is how you write. Faster does not necessarily equal better. Nor does slower. Working eight years on a book (or six, as in Dan Brown & The Lost Symbol) does not mean it's going to be a masterpiece. It might be a darn good read. But it might not.

Personally, I think I write better when I write faster, because I keep my head in the story. I'm more immersed in the story world. I do not think about it all the time. I think it's better to shove everything back into the swamp where my stories live, and ignore them, until it's time to pull things out again to go to work. The swamp does a better job, most times, of letting the right stuff bubble up when I need it than if I actively think about it. I might think a little bit if I'm working morning pages a la The Artist's Way, but mostly, I don't. The subconscious is smarter than I am about a lot of things.

In the end, I am still skeptical of those people who claim to write full time for years to produce a single book. I just find it hard to believe they're writing all that time. If I took six years--or five, or two--or even one--to write a book, you can bet that a whole lot of that time would be spent doing other stuff.

I'm not saying it's wrong to write slowly. Your process is your process, just like mine is the weird thing it is. I just have trouble comprehending what they're doing with all that time...

Because, you know, if you write just one page a day, at the end of a year, you have enough pages for a book. I wrote a whole hour & a half today, and got TWO pages. And they were synopsis pages, which, as we all know, counts the same as Four pages of story, because it's twice as hard to write a synopsis...

Beach report: Yep, went out to the beach to walk. Went late, at 9 a.m. instead of 8. Sun was bright and hot, humidity is heavy enough to make the windows of my house sweat all day. Temp about 82 F/28 C, but it felt hotter because of the sun & humidity. The water was pretty surfy today. More waves than we've had lately, white water all the way out past the jetties. The seafoam was white. When I went out Saturday, it was kind of greenish. Weird.

It was still a nice walk. I found a big, pretty shell. Will try to remember to take a pic of it soon. Met a cute little dog. (Did Not take Dolly.) Not many birds out that late, but lots of little crabs were digging the sand out of their holes. Didn't see any cool crab footprints though...

Better go put food on to cook.

Lifelines - or How To Keep Going

The princess wussy dog and I went for a walk this a.m. She makes me walk faster, so I get more out of it. I intended just to walk on the seawall (I have to wear actual shoes when I'm walking with her from the house--too far in flipflops) but she was a good dog--didn't bother any of the people while we were out walking, and she kept looking over the edge of the seawall. She hasn't jumped off since that first time. I imagine the 10-12 foot drop gave her pause. So we went down the stairs and walked back along the water. She was very good then too--did not slip her collar to chase birds and did not upset the small children by going too close. It was a beautiful morning for a walk, cool & breezy. (Cool for Galveston = hot for many other places. It's probably 80F/27C) I threw in this picture of the "Do Not Swim Too Close To the Jetties" signs because I thought they looked festive with their red and yellow floats on the ropes--but you can't really see them in the picture. Oh well.

Walking on the beach is one of the things I really enjoy about living here. We can walk from the house (which we never do with the grandkids, because we don't want them to know just how close it is), or drive up and save the walking up time for beach time. I was going to use that as a segue from talking about my beach walk to talking about lifelines in writing--but I can't figure out quite how to do it. Except that writers have to do non writing things to "fill the well" that the writing comes out of, and walking on the beach is one of the things I do.

Now, I am going to talk about those Lifelines mentioned by Ali Hale. She talked about how lifelines are other people who keep the writer honest. They keep us writing and working toward the goal of finishing a longer work, so that we keep writing those 10 pages a day, or 6 pages, or 2 pages. (There have been times that I struggled just to get a half page written.)

She mentioned writing critique groups, online or in person. And critique groups are great. I belonged to a fabulous group in Waco about 15 years ago, before I moved away from the area. Of the first 5 members, four of us have been published. I do believe in critique groups. The problem is, not everybody can find one where they live. I moved from my small town near Waco (I lived about 30-45 miles (48-73 km) out of town) to an even smaller town in the Texas panhandle, about 60 m (97 km) from Amarillo, the nearest city. No critique groups available. There are online crit groups that work very well for some people. I've never been able to make them work for me, because so far, nobody in any group I've tried to participate with has been consistent in either critiquing or writing. Which kind of defeats the purpose of a lifeline.

See, a lifeline is a form of accountability for those deadlines. When you set your own deadlines, there's no penalty if you don't make them, except maybe guilt, and getting down on yourself. However, if you're producing 10 pages a week for your crit group, and they expect those 10 pages, (we met every other week, and shared 20 pages each time) you work harder to get them done.

That said, a critique group, for all that I love them and would love to have one again, is not the only kind of lifeline there is. The past 3 years, I have had a Goals Coach.

Back in 2006 I took an online class by Gwen Shuster-Haynes on creating a writing career plan for introverts and extroverts through the Kiss of Death mystery/suspense chapter of Romance Writers of America. I got a lot out of this class--I took it, I think, just before my publication contract with the LUNA imprint of Harlequin got canceled, and it really helped me organize myself and keep moving forward. Anyway, one of the things I got was the idea of a goals or career coach.

How this works, or how it's worked for me, is that I teamed up with another person, we wrote down our goals for the week every Monday (or as close to Monday as I could manage), e-mailed them to each other, and then the next Monday, when we e-mailed our next set of goals, checked off what we managed to get done in the last week's goals. My first Coach was Shari Bouillion, (I may have added or left out an I in there) who insisted we work out yearly and quarterly goals with dates. (I tend to be real wishy-washy about dates.) And that we include family, work, writing, and spiritual/personal goals. It's obvious she was MUCH better at this goals coaching thing than I am. We coached each other for over a year, and her life got so complicated, she had to drop out.

I was bereft! I still wrote up my goals every week, and printed them out and stood them up on my lamp where I can see them if I ever get stuck with what else I need to do, but it's not the same if you don't have somebody to be a bit of a nudge. I limped along on my own for a while, when on an e-mail loop I'm on, someone asked about how to keep going through the end. So I did my goals coach pitch on the loop, and asked if anyone was interested, and now we have a 3-way goals coaching group going between myself, Natasha Moore who writes for Red Sage Publishing, and Carol Stephenson, who is one of those right on the verge of publication, that last frustrating phase before you finally make it over that final hump.

Natasha has very short goals lists. She confines hers to just writing. Carol prioritizes hers. She has a Must Finish section--which are not all writing goals--and a Priority 2 section which is "If I have Time & Energy." I put all my goals in one long list, but the ones at the top of the list are top priority, and the ones at the bottom are lower. (I need to move "Exercise" higher on the list!) And it's time to nag them (though usually it's Carol that does it) to post some goals for the last quarter of the year.

We don't critique. We all write Very different things. We write at different paces. Sometimes, we don't post any goals for a week or two. I tend to disappear when we have company (friends & family love to come visit us at the beach). Carol moved house a while back and is still dealing with that. Natasha goes on RV trips. (Jealous!) But we come back when we need to, because it's a way of keeping ourselves on track.

It seems to work best in a smaller group. We could probably add one or two more, but I don't know that I'd go higher than four.

So. There you have it--another kind of lifeline for writers to stay on track. If you have a critique group that's working for you, great! But if you don't, you might try finding one or two other people who can help keep you on track by exchanging weekly goals.

Official Title for Harry & Elinor

It is official. The editor and I have just agreed. The title of this new book in my blood magic Victorian steampunk series, the one starring Harry & Elinor, will be HEART'S MAGIC. Because that's the kind of magic that brings about the happy ending...

Also, Twitter is very bad for me.

I am there, since ... Tuesday? I think so. Look for me. GailDayton. One word. Easy-peasy.

Have to go kill the Monster-Kitty!!

Wow--love this review!

I try to avoid reviews, because if they're bad, they just aggravate the snot out of me, and if they're good... Well, it's hard to know if they're going to be good or not. But this one--

I am honestly in awe. I not only love what this blogger said, I love how she said it. I never knew that was what I wrote--but I guess I did. I remember doing it. Anyway, go forth and read it if you are so inclined. It's at Tempting Persephone.

(Yeah, I'm on leave from the p-t dayjob to write the book. Got 8 pages today. Will be at the grindstone--er, desk--to write more tomorrow.)

Oh, and the picture--it's blurry because the gyroscope was moving, under the muscle power of my darling daughter who got to try it for the first time because grandparents were at the museum to chase the doodlebug (aka the middle grandboy) instead of her. I missed the "when she was upside down" shot. Oh well.

Back from Washington

I went to the Romance Writers of America national conference last week and got home last night at midnight or so. It was a great time, but man, am I tired now. Of course, the tiredness is mostly because I walked to the National Zoo from the hotel, and all through the zoo, and back to the hotel again, and my calves are knotted up like a macrame plant hanger. The rest of my legs are just sore.

I will try to get pictures downloaded this week and posted. The grandboys (and their daddy) have come to visit for the week, and their dad is sleeping in my office, but I bet I can get some pictures onto the blog. I have pictures of the panda bears and an orangutan crossing the zoo on the special "O-line" cable, and a wolf, and a few other animals. Do not let me forget the pictures!

I took many more pictures at the zoo than at the conference--I kept forgetting to get the camera out--but I do have a few. It was a good conference. I sold about 12 copies of New Blood at the literacy signing--more than half of those donated. The big news about that was that they were all sold to people I don't know. It's easy to sell books to your friends, but not so much to strangers. A number were made curious by the steampunk label, so that was all good.

Had my first "OMG, you're Gail Dayton!" moment, complete with a hug like we were long lost sisters. That was fabulous. And my "fangirl" was a librarian with the Portland-area King County library system. Who did a little "favorite library story" podcast thing with me. I left her card at home, so I'll have to get back to you with the link.

Got to see the cover to Heart's Blood, WHICH WILL BE RELEASED IN JANUARY, instead of February as I had thought. I will get it up here and on the website asap. It is gorgeous, and I can't wait for y'all to see it.

I moderated two workshops, and volunteered at another where the moderator didn't show and the speaker had transparencies to put on an overhead projector. I swapped out the pages. I went to a number of interesting workshops, but of course, I can't remember which ones they were at the moment. Several of them helped me figure out why I am struggling so much with this book--the 3rd in the steampunk series--though the biggest thing I just figured out last night/this morning. Which is:

I am once more trying to cram two books' worth of plot into one book. So I will have to pull all the extra stuff out and focus on the correct main plot. This ought to help tremendously in the "get the &#@$!%*! book written" department. I am now re-doing all my plot points and such. Trying to get it sorted out. I may do this "Save the Cat" style. Yes, I finally found the book.

So--I'll do my best to get pictures and such downloaded and posted asap. Again, nag me, if I don't.

Beach observations and other news

I meant to post this yesterday, but got too busy. Today's no less busy, but I am determined.

First, want to say thanks for the "Awws" from Catie and Barb. I have decided that I need to walk more often, but not quite so far, because I get tired and don't pick up my feet and trip over stuff. My bruises are better, and my hand is doing that "getting well" itching. :)

I drove down to the beach to walk yesterday, because it's more fun, and because I wanted to spend my walking time actually on the beach, not getting to it. And I didn't take Dolly. I tend to observe stuff more when I don't have to deal with the dog.

First observation: The seaweed has come in. Blankets of it. I was thinking maybe it's a little early for the big piles of seaweed, but maybe not. We're almost halfway through May... I saw some logs that had floated in that looked like they had fur. Greenish fur, but furry, nonetheless. (Yes, I know it's algae. But it looks like fur.) And a tennis shoe that had been in the water long enough that it had those lipstick clams attached to it. Quite a few decent sized ones... I only saw the bottom of the sole, not the top, so I don't know how much of the upper shoe survived, but that sole had been floating around a long time.

I only saw one seagull. I was out there by 8 a.m., but I think because the sun's coming up earlier, the seagulls are giving up their "standing by the edge of the water waking up" earlier. I saw lots of sanderlings and ruddy turnstones, all of which had two legs. They have a little butt wiggle when they're running away from you...

I also saw a shark that had washed up on shore. It was about a meter/yard long (give or take that difference between a meter and a yard), and it didn't have a tail. I don't know if it died and got washed up because it had lost its tail, or if it lost its tail after it got washed up. It didn't look like any scavengers had been at it... I have no idea what kind of shark it was, though. I've been looking--not a nurse shark. Dorsal fins aren't right. Its nose was really square across, so it's not a pointy-nose shark or a round-nose shark. Hmm. It was gray, with that straight-across nose, one rather pointy dorsal fin, no barbels (catfish-like whiskers), gill-slits in front of its side-fins, and small high-set eyes. Haven't found the right picture for it yet. And having its tail missing takes away another thing to help ID it. Oh well.

In other, more interesting news, New Blood is a recommended read by the Virginia Beach Public Library! It's a lovely review--and they're recommending it!! I'm excited.

I got my copy edits for Heart's Blood (Grey's story), and have finished them up, except for the chunk of 25 pages that got left out of the ms they sent me.

What do you think of Blood from Stone as a title for Harry & Elinor's story? Stoneheart? Heart of Oak? Working on villains for the story... Villains are such a pain.

Anniversarius

Again, a quiet weekend. The fella and I had an anniversary Friday--number 33--and he sent me a gorgeous huge orchid plant with many red-speckled yellow flowers blooming on it. HUGE plant. Good thing, because for dinner, we went to the college pot-luck awards ceremony. I did get the promise to go out again the next night.

Saturday, I decided I really needed to write at least a LITTLE, so I sat down for an hour and got 2.5 pages done. Happiness! Then we went out and ran errands. Like getting a birthday present for Idbit (AKA the littlest grandboy)--whose birthday was Saturday, and we had thought about his birthday and a present the week before, and promptly forgot about it until the day before his birthday. (sigh) Typical. We'll hand deliver it.

I tried out office chairs at Office Depot -- the paper is getting me a new one--and then we went across the causeway and got some frames for the two antique map reproductions the fella bought. That took a little time. Also found a frame (finally) for my sunflower-sand dune painting. Then we came home, took naps and went out to dinner at Landry's for our "official" anniversary date. I really love their shrimp Fresca... Then we came home to watch "The Perfect Man" romantic comedy movie and discovered that the orchid I got was actually the perfect romantic occasion gift. Roses are great, but orchids... they're the best. So it's official. I received the perfect romantic anniversary gift. :)

I like orchids a lot. Have one on the back patio that survived the hurricane and the winter... I hope I can keep this one alive too. :)

The writing continues to go. Sometimes I'm not sure where it's going, but at least it's going...

Readers, Writers and how they (should) relate

Haven't posted a blog here in a week, so it's time. Because, you know, I try to post at least once a week. I can't manage to post every day, but once a week--you can check by and see what's new, but I don't overburden anybody. (Especially me!) (I'll get round to the topic in the title, eventually. Bear with me.)

I did an essay for Dear Author on Why I Read and Write... Y'all can go read it. And tomorrow, I'm posting a blog at To Be Read: So Many Authors, so little time... about how I'm so forgetful. (I was supposed to blog on Monday over there.) So it's not as if I haven't been blogging at all.

I have been thinking, off and on, about readers and authors and the relationship between them. It started with all the sound and fury over the fourth Twilight book, when so many readers got all up in arms about the way Meyers finished her series. Then I wandered across the post at John Scalzi's Whatever blog about "Pissy fans," which got me to thinking again (though it's really about other factors). Plus, there is the perennial Hate for Laurell K. Hamilton for the direction she's taken Anita Blake--which doesn't bother me at all. I still glom onto the books... Suzanne Brockmann even had problems with readers getting upset because certain characters got together with characters other than those that were expected--or hoped for. And now, I think all of that thinking has gelled to the point where I know what I think, and I think maybe I know why I think it. (Profound, I know.)

This may relate to a long-ago post of mine (I'm not going to go look it up right now because I'm supposed to be doing Bulletin Board) about Protecting the Work. Because I firmly, truly and deeply believe The Story Belongs To The Writer.

That's why I started writing stories in the first place. So I could tell the story I wanted to tell. My story, not somebody else's.

I read Hamilton's books to see where she's taking the characters. I'm along for HER ride, not mine. If I didn't like where they were going, I wouldn't ride along--I've stopped reading a number of authors for just that reason (George R.R. Martin's series among them--well written books, but not for me)--but I sure as heck wouldn't get mad at them for not writing the story I wanted. Because it ain't my story. It's theirs.

I think this is why I stopped writing fan fiction long before I really got to writing my own stories. I understand loving the characters and wanting certain things to happen. I can even understand feelings of ownership, because of that huge love, but guess what? Readers don't own the characters. And if the author sufficiently motivates the event--the love affair with the new/different character than the one the reader wants/expects, say--I'm perfectly willing to go with it.

In the case of Brockmann's Dark of Night, in which characters who have been pining for each other through five or six books wind up with someone completely different, the book worked perfectly for me. I think in part it's because "real life" doesn't always work out like we want it to--but if we're open, we can see that the change of plans is even better than what we originally thought we wanted. Maybe the folks who got all upset are that way in real life too--wanting what they want without being open to the possibility of something else. Or maybe not.

My point is--and I hope it's clear that I have one--the relationship between readers and authors must include the recognition and acceptance of the fact that The Story BELONGS to The Author.

By publishing a book, we are inviting the reader to come along on the journey with us, whether for one book, or fourteen--but the author is still the one in the driver's seat. That's just the way it is, my dears.

If you want to tell a different story, Go for it! Write the story the way YOU want it to go. But please, use your own characters and your own universe. And that story will belong to you. Until then, enjoy the ride!

New week, new stuff

According to my goals list, I didn't get a whole lot accomplished last week. It felt like I was spinning my wheels most of the week too. Got my opening scene written, and then stalled out. Couldn't figure out where to go from there. Part of it was an "order" issue. I'm a linear writer, which isn't the same as a plotter, or a "pantser"--someone who just starts writing and figures it out as they go. The other kind of writer is a "puzzler" who writes scenes as they come, and then figures out what order they go in. I Really can't do that. I have to write mostly from beginning to end, because my scenes build on each other. If I leave something out I decide I need, I can insert it without much of a problem, but during the first draft stuff, I pretty much have to have stuff in the order it happens.

I am also trying to do my first draft on the computer this time. Not really because of the time issue, but because of my vision issues. So I'm doing a LOT of stuff on the computer. I also have a lot of my thinking files on the computer--including a scene list. I put the scenes I've already written in red for his POV and in blue for hers, and the ideas for future scenes--if I know I need the scene, it's in black, and possible scenes are in purple. I'm not very far ahead. I sort of know where I'm going, but my roadmap is REALLY vague.

I also need a new title for Old Spirits. It sounds like booze to the New Yorkers, and isn't "romancey" enough. (I don't know what was so "romancey" about New Blood...) So I have to get my brain in gear and figure out a new title. Not my best topic. All suggestions invited. (The Conjurer's Apprentice?) And I have to do a few revisions on it, ramp up the action early on. I think I know how to do that. (First, cut out all the boring stuff that I didn't already cut out.)

Last week was a really lazy week. I did take Dolly the granddog to the vet, because she apparently ate something that made her sick. She quit eating and almost quit drinking, and acted like a sick little doggie. She's all better now, though. Back to her high energy, Gigi-exhausting self.

I am enjoying my new Sony e-reader. Alternating between reading a book on it, and reading one of my backlist TBR books. I have caught up on my RITA books. Finished them off, unless I'm asked to do a second group, and can read stuff just for fun. Or from my TBR Challenge list. I have Sabriel off the shelf, sitting on my desk... Okay. After I finish Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand, I'll read that one.

Oh, and I have two articles to write this week, and a list of interview questions to answer. The first article is due Wednesday (I think.) The questions need to be answered before next Tuesday, and the second article is due next Thursday. Need to doublecheck on the newsletter topic.

AND, I need to get a newsletter out to my newsletter subscribers. New Blood is out NEXT WEEK. How did it get to be almost March so fast? Ack!

Okay. Off to work.

Valentine's Mardi Gras

Galveston celebrates Mardi Gras. Not quite as big time as New Orleans--but it's not nearly as large a town. Even before Ike washed away about half the population. So you wouldn't expect it to be quite as wild, or as big. But it's plenty big enough for me.

Saturday was Valentine's Day, but we mostly did Mardi Gras. There were three parades on Saturday, all down the seawall on Seawall Blvd. One at noon (Krewe of Aquarius, I believe), one at three (the Firetruck Parade) and one at 6 p.m. (Krewe of Gambrinus), complete with fireworks over the gulf at the 37th St. Pier. I was invited to ride in one of the noon parade entries--a convertible, not a float--and throw stuff at people. We had candy, beads and college promo freebies like keychains and rubber bracelets to throw.

There was a time I could throw a softball or baseball pretty well. But that was a LONG time ago, and I wasn't sitting in a car while doing it. Now--I basically suck at throwing. I have no arm, and I'm a klutz anyway. So I took on the job of throwing bracelets. I had to take each bracelet out of its little plastic zip bag, because if you threw them in the bag, they would plummet to the asphalt about a foot from the car, but if you took them out, they had a chance of flying a ways out, at least to a spot safe to pick it up. However, you must take into account the fact that I was throwing them.

Some of them flew right to the folks I was aiming at. Some sailed over their heads. Some sank like a rock. Some hit the balloon tied to the side mirror and went in strange directions. Some went practically behind the car because my arm got all contorted into a crazy side-arm sort of throw... Anyway, the bracelets were very popular, perhaps because they were different. Not your usual bead.

Saturday was a rainy day on the island. It sprinkled lightly while we were waiting for the parade to kick off. It cleared up right as we were heading out (we were about 30 minutes into the parade). Then it started sprinkling again harder when the parade was almost over. We ran out of stuff about 54th St. The parade went to 59th. Oops.

We went back to our house afterward--at about 2:30--to have lunch and warm up. It wasn't that cold out, but when wet--I had hot chocolate. It was wonderful. :) And while we were eating our homemade soup (I didn't burn it!) for lunch at 3 p.m., just as the firetruck parade was starting, the sky opened up and the rain POURED down. It rained really hard for about 20 minutes, then just rained for another half hour or so.

And after a little nap, we went back out to watch the evening parade and fireworks. We walked. It's not far from our house to the seawall. But we walked all the way down past 45th St. so we could see the fireworks. The rain had stopped, but it was still foggy and cloudy. I thought they were going to do the fireworks after the parade, but they started shooting them off before the parade reached us (which admittedly, was an hour and a half after the parade started). They looked very cool lighting up the clouds. We walked back to 45th St., met some friends and their kids and grandkids, and watched the parade with them.

The floats were fabulous, the people all dressed up on them, and I caught a lot of beads. Or rather, I picked up a bunch from the ground in front of me. I actually caught one strand. But I had beads up almost as high as my ears... And I danced with a member of one of the bands marching by. As former band members, we were hollering and cheering for the bands, so when this one--North Forest High School out of Houston--stopped right in front of us, and the tubas and drums took over the music, the kid took my hand and we boogied till he had to march off again. It was hilarious, and no, the fella did not get the camera out of his pocket fast enough to get a picture. (Thank goodness!) But it was fun. Then we went over to our friends' house for a glass of wine and some stuffed grilled jalapenos. Yum.

We have pictures. I'll try to remember to download and upload them when I get home.

We also finally found and ordered a sofa to replace our old ratty white one. We've only been looking about 2 years to find something we liked. It will be a while before it arrives, but not another year, which is probably how long we'd go before trying to shop again... We still need lamps and end tables and recovered chairs and... Lots of stuff. But not today.

I'm up to p. 33 on the book. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, right?

Dancing in the streets!

Okay, actually, there's no dancing. Just lying around and reading books and playing videogames. I took a whole day to do absolutely nothing but what I wanted to do. Why, you ask?

Because I FINISHED THE BOOK! (Snoopy dance) Finished it. Cut out all the boring stuff (I hope) and cleaned it up, and sent it off to the agent and editor. It came in at 576 manuscript pages. One page more than New Blood. Just over 135,000 words. New Blood has just under 134,000 words.

Today I played. Even went out and walked along the seawall--but didn't go down on the beach, because they've piled the sand up 4 feet high (or so) and it requires climbing down a cliff to get to the hard-packed sand, and I didn't want to do that. Maybe if it's warm enough for my flip-flops tomorrow... The seagulls have their black heads back, so it's already courting season for them, or will be soon.

And tomorrow, I have to start the next book. Oak and Iron? Maybe I can do a hyphenated adjective to go with the noun of the title... Need something to go with both elements and with plants. Hmm. I also have to figure out the magic processes a little better. Wish me luck.

Today's count

Down to 586 pages at 9:04 p.m. CST.

Had Shrimp & Stuff dinners out and took time to watch Jumpers with the boy. Back at work. It's going to be do-able!

Edited to add: 11:39 p.m. Reached the end. I'm at 581 pages.

The last hundred pages was a lot tighter. It gets that way.

I have two scenes I want to thin out considerably--they're repetitious, padded, and boring. I'll do that tomorrow. Then--maybe--do one more read through and ship this puppy off.