Dude!

One crazy goal.

One crazy writer.

 One finished manuscript at 50,180 words.

I rocked NaNo’s socks this year.

And, yes, my brain in fact does hurt. Talk amongst yourself. I need a nap.

Confessions of a Romance (YA?) Author

It’s been, what, a week? I have no grasp on time only word count, since I’ve last confessed. For the I-told-you-so’s in the back *Cynthia*–hush. I’m still able to write sentences.

It’s been 30, 874 words since I last confessed….

I’m thinking in scene sequence though. So guard your loins and read on. It won’t be pretty…It has a Joss Whedon ending….

*Melissa wakes up and makes tea.*

*Melissa writes more dreck and calls herself triumph when she makes morning word goal of 600 words. Only 8k more to go.*

*Melissa notices wet substance coming out of her left ear. Fear sinks it’s teeth into her gut. It has happened*

*Brain leakage!*

Scene two:

*Melissa makes it to work with a different pair of shoes on each foot, a shirt stained with more brain leakage, and a zombie like smile*

*Melissa locks office door. “Must get to THE END.” Her motivation is simple in this scene: Hopes boss doesn’t come in while she’s typing. And not to ruin keyboard with the riptide coming out of both ears now*

*Sometime during lunch, heroine takes a break. Puts cotton in her ears. By now her eyes have a zombie like glaze to them. “Must Get To THE END!!!”*

*Twitter’s word count. Doesn’t realize she’s only typed “#*$($#(!*#&$” Melina and Karen become concerned.*

Segue into next day…

Scene Three…

* Heroine wakes up. Her hair looks like something a bird lives in. Her children whisper behind their hands, “Mommy, looks strange. Let’s not fight today. She has the look.”*

*By lunch time Melissa is sobbing over keyboard “There is no end in sight. All I wanted to do was finish a book for NANO. I wanted to win. I didn’t want egg on my face this year. The YA idea was incredible. I had to write it. But WHY, OH, WHY THE HUMANITY.*

*Children are now hidden safely in the room*

*Twitters “All…most…done…must..finish…”

*With no brain left for coherent thought, heroine finishes story. Goes back to read the first chapter.*

Segue to next day…

Narrative voice sounds over novel pages: Melissa Blue was fine until she read her novel. She ran out into the streets screaming “THE HORROR!” Her writing friend *Cynthia* predicted her head explosion. Melissa Blue will be remembered for her foolhardy feat. And taught as a tale of caution for all those who NaNo.

Getting To The End Never Gets Easier

I find it amazing that I was able tofinish my first novel. It was my first attempt at writing which also makes it rare. I think what got me to the end was ignorance. I knew very little about writing. When I learned a lot, getting to the end got harder. When I got down the basics (POV, conflict or more accurate the fact you were supposed to have some, characterization and the like), it became a feat to write THE END. When I discovered publishing, well I didn’t finish anything for months.

So, I’ve been trying to figure out what gets me to the end. I’m one of the few writers who loves beginnings. Yes, mine are fraught with issues, but I love getting to know new people. I love that intial journey. Who they are, what they can be, and what they need to learn.

Different story when it’s time to actually get on that road. Some of that old enthusiasm disappears into the ether. That’s when it gets really hard. I start to wonder if this dreck is worth spending however long it’s going to take to finish it. That’s when the crows of doubt land on my shoulder and start pointing out, “Exposition” “Backstory” “Um, you’re supposed to have conflict, ya know” “You need to do hours, upon hours of research before you write another word” which is always followed by “Wikipedia!” I can conquer this by turning my music up louder.

Sometime after this point things get confusing. I don’t know what happens inside my brain that gets me from this point to THE END. I don’t even have working theories.

Tell me yours or are you just as confused about what gets you to THE END of a story.

It’s Just Fiction, right?

Thanks to the lovely Cynthia for giving me an idea for this post. She may hate me afterwards though…

Anyway, in the blog post below a commenter pointed out, it’s just fiction. I shouldn’t care about the stacks of dead students and teachers racking up. Fall into the story. Enjoy it.

It’s just fiction, right?

My answer *which I never expect anyone to agree with* is no, it’s not just fiction. Well, not when it’s good fiction. When I invest myself into a writer’s world and I’m buying this world stock, lock and barrel, I expect them to stick to the rules of their world and not to kick me out the story. It’s kind of like when you love a show (or movie) and then they replace the character with a different actor.

It’s fiction, right?

Not when I’m going into a movie theater, or opening a book, or turning on the t.v. I’ve made a silent agreement with the author. I’m going to believe this is real for the time being. Entertain me. And the author tells me “hold onto your hat.”

Bad fiction…different story.

But, with this type of trust I’ve been able to imagine a place like Cheers does exist. Frasier does in fact bicker with Niles ALL the time. Harry Potter defeated evil. Clicking some sparkly red shoes can take me home. Vampires are hot if they look like Brad Pitt. A guy can touch dead people and bring them back to life for one minute. The best of the best world is one where Tucker Longstreet swings, shirtless on a hammock. And, that I have every right to not be wowed by State Farm Insurance commercial ’cause that cheating SOB from Waiting to Exhale should not be trusted. (Well, no, I just can’t afford them, but I do shudder every time the commercial comes on.)

Hmm, my life is exciting when I think about all the “just fiction” I’ve allowed in it.

Is it just fiction to you?

*Cynthia, you may now hate me.*

The One Problem With Buffy

Um, dead bodies found every where? Seriously, my high school wasn’t small. (both of them) But if someone turned up dead everyone knew about it. Every one talked about it. A year after graduating the VP of my school got caught in a park’s bathroom soliciting men. It was all over the news. So far and having not watched every episode there have been:

1 decapitated teacher
1 principal eaten in his office
A student who “committed” suicide
Same episode, a student with a broken neck
A student’s mother attacked in her home

This would be fodder for years. And, years. A consistency hole the size of Texas.

Joss still rocks* “My penis is the hammer”, anyone?*, but come on, people.

Okay, back to my Buffy break. *yeah, I know.*

Sidenote: Crystal you are like a real mother with all the guilt trips. You shall be added on the ‘morrow.

FANCAST Saved Me

So, I felt the wall, a block coming at me like a frieght train last night. I knew I had to do something and then nothing came. In times like this I watch t.v., but I wanted to see Pushing Daisies. No new episodes. I watched some Monk and then they wanted me to download. So, I’ve been hearing about Buffy. You’d be shocked to know I never watched ONE episode of this show. I would flip through the channels stop and then move on. What was so interesting about a girl who wanted to be a cheerleader? *No, I never liked cheerleaders. Call me prejudice. Go ahead.*

But last night, desperate, and bored I watched season 1, espisode 3 and then 4. If I hadn’t been buzzing with new ideas, knowing I was on the right track with my story, I would have watched episode 5.

Thank you, Joss Whedon.

Thank you, Pam for bragging about how wonderful this show was. (You are totally getting a shout out in my next book.)

So, I have a 5,000 word goal to meet today. (I’m so close to the half-way point of 50k, I can taste it.) It’s not going to write itself.

Sidenote: I surfed the NaNo boards last night and realized I’m not crazy. Some people have already hit the 50k mark. (some above) They pfft at my measely 21k. Some are even trying to write 10k in five hours. Insane. I tells ya. Insane. *of course I totally want to try it.*

Gift Books

I don’t think I’ve ever talked about these types of books. I know I did mention my NaNo book was given to me on a silver platter, but not what it’s like to write one.

Over night, with a gift book, the compulsion to write is insane. With regular books you might have lulls where no ideas are coming to you and you have to force yourself to sit down and write. Gift books–the scenes come faster than you can write them down. For me at least, while I’m sitting down writing one scene I’m getting ideas for the next two.

The characters in gift books are real from page one. Most importantly they talk to you. There is nothing worse than having a character who isn’t willing to tell you their life story. One whose dialogue is stiltled because you haven’t connected with their real voice yet. It’s painful writing characters like that. As a writer you do learn ways to get into a characters head. But with gift books from the opening line you are in it. You know who owns the story, their conflict, movtivation, and when you are really lucky, the true reasons for their motivation.

It doesn’t surprise me that the two other gift books I’ve had are published. Given How Much You Want to Bet? had to wait for me to have the chops to write that story, but really even without knowing plot, GMC, characterization Gib and Neil were real. They didn’t change as I learned more and was finally able to write it.

Gift books make you believe in the magic of writing and stepping aside. The latter is the most important part. Books suck when the author gets in the way to tell a story their own way, instead of letting the story tell itself. I know, I’ve written some.

So I bet after reading this you are wondering how is my NaNo going. By the end of week one you are supposed to have 11, 669 words written. I have 17, 864. My goal is to have 23k (the amount you are supposed to have by the end of the second week.) It’s hard to write this much in so little time ’cause you do need sleep. You do need a break to let your mind rest, but I’m getting scenes just sitting around doing nothing. I’m going where the story is taking me. I don’t even know if I’ll make the full 50k, but this is a gift book and I’m sure as hell not complaining.

Have you ever written a gift book? What was it like?

400 Words to My Name from Yesterday

But I’m not complaining. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past 221 years, something big happened last night. For the first time I sat down on an election night and watched all of it unfold. After they called the winner (thankyouverymuchCalifornia) and McCain gave his awe-inspiring concession speech, the air around the world became subdued. The buzz of the win was still there, but the feeling of the night changed. I just didn’t get it. In my defense, it takes a while for things to settle on me. *It took 10 hours for me to get excited and to start screaming that I was going to be published.*

This morning I was listening to the radio and one man said, *paraphrased* “Everyone can now look at their child and say you can be anything you want to be and it has meaning.” I started to cry. I’m crying now as I typed that. Because I can say to my son and daugher, whose skin is black, who will come from the wrong side of the railroad tracks that they can be anything they want to be. They can shoot for the stars and they can pluck one from the sky.

I really don’t care who you voted for yesterday, but I hope you will carry that message with you.

Also, last night on the Champage (General) Rosebuds Bestseller list was How Much You Want to Bet? as #1 and See Megan Run as # 2. Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to start screaming.

Confessions of a Romance (YA?) Author

It’s been two months since I last confessed.

And, you’ve never seen rambling like this before…

First, the novel is rocking along. As of 9:11 p.m. I’ve written 9,126 words in three days. My mind is gone. I can’t speak on what it’ll look like on the 30th of this here month.

My children have been fed. My daughter is watching Finding Nemo and I can hear my son playing under the sink, in the cubboards, with my spare car keys. (not enough jingle for my real keys)

You can call me certifiable insane by now. My head is full of this story. I’m thinking of the scene I’m writing and what scene will follow. I really don’t want to stop to take a break, but I have to get up early tomorrow. (Which just means I’ll fall into bed around 12 a.m.)

My house is clean. It hasn’t looked this way since I moved into the house. So I have no excuse to NOT write. I know folks, I did this to myself.

Well, not my house, but the living room, kitchen, bathroom and my room. My children’s rooms looks like disaster areas. One of these days my kids may walk into their room and I’ll never hear from them again.

As I’ve said, at this time I’m ceritifiable.

I never realized how typing fast is a plus until I started NaNo. That 80 words per minute is making my word count look impressive.

Shh. Don’t tell anyone, but this book is craptatic.

I’ve been eating LOTS of Halloween candy. Sugar is sooooo not good with crack in a cup.

My characters are funny.

My characters are supposed to be in their teens, but they sound just like the adults I write except there are no smoldering looks and no sex. No velvet shafts going on here. Nor has anyone said or mentioned the words breasts, mounds, kiss, grasp, (I have used gasp), absolutely no writhing.

Here’s a snippet:

“…There are consequences for everything you do that isn’t part of the natural of things in the magical world. So, when you die the bunny will still live. Unless of course it starves to death.” Cian pulled something else out of the frog. Jalani fought the gag.

“And this is humane?”

“No, it’s science. These frogs died natural deaths. A company shipped them here and voila—anatomy 101.”

No you may not steal my craptastic brillance. Copywritten: The Year of the Certifiable.

If I play “Bust Your Windows” by Jazmine Sullivan one more time, I’m going to be brainwashed into finding one of my ex-boyfriends and busting out their car windows.

My son is now watching his himself in the mirror. I think he’ll be vain when he gets older, but I still love him. Wait–he’s now singing his own made up song: “I’m wiping my mouth!”

I think my daughter actually went into her room. I should call the police for search and rescue.

No, really I’m fine. I’m not certifiable * There is nothing to see here folks.* Yeah, I know. The crazy person is always the last to know. (Just imagine what my book looks like if I’m writing post like this.)

I took my daughter to go see High School Muscial on Friday. If I had a loaded gun by the fifth song in that freaking movie, I wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions. No jury would have convicted me.

This is your brain on NaNo. Just say no.

Seriously, I warned you this would be the ultimate rambling post.

That is all.

Go Vote!

Of course you have to be registered first, but if you are go and vote. People are saying this is the most important election of our time, but I think that’s beside the point. Every election is important. (cue people who didn’t vote both times Bush got into office.) Every time there is a new inititive on the ballot it’s important.

I came out of my writing cave just to say that. And to add this widget. I thought it was cool.

So, if you haven’t already, are you voting tomorrow?