Restarting

It's a sad day when I'd rather clean the bathroom and mop than sit on my ass and write.

Then I remembered that it's Thursday and I don't have to write. Not today. It's a research/study day! And you know what qualifies as "research"? Watching movies! Reading books! Surfing the internet! Reading smut on the internet!! Reading the newspaper! Hanging out in the mall!! Going shopping!! Even watching talk shows, soaps, and daytime judge shows!! And what qualifies as "study"? Reading and responding to things on message boards!! Reading books!! Even role-playing online!!

Seriously.

See, I did a fairly good job of cutting myself off from the world a while back. The world annoys me. It grates violently on my nerves and so much of it disgusts me. More times than not, I prefer to be alone. Isolated. Completely and totally. No television. No music. No phones. No outside influences. Just me. I'd do well in one of those monasteries hidden in Tibet or some other such place.

The problem? I all but stop writing when I'm isolated. There's no spark. There's no drive. There's a whole lot of staring and meditating and listening to the blood flowing through my veins and to the noises inside my head. But there's no writing. No creativity of any sort, actually.

I've known for a long time that I need the world and that I need contact with people. In all but a few isolated cases I tolerated the need for the world grudgingly. I never truly accepted the need.

Until now.

And you know what? Since letting go of that almost desperate desire for complete isolation and accepting that I need the world, I've been writing. Ok, so technically it's been REwriting, but it's still progress. And I'm starting to have ideas again. The creativity is coming as a trickle, but it's coming.

And I'm itching to write. Really... write. I've got smut in progress. I've got Ophelia things in progress. I've got a class project -- a story about a bookish pacifist who, in a fit of grief, becomes a demon-hunter and, not knowing he's been lied to, goes after the demon that reportedly killed his cloistered sister -- in progress. And Holly was poking my brain last night.

Maybe I will write a little later today. But if I don't, I'm not going to sweat it because, technically, today is a research and study day.

I'm feeling a little smutty so I'm going to go do a little research now...

Possibly great idea vs. my own morality

Last night I had a great idea for a book. Actually, it's not a new idea, just one I found myself revisiting. Again. The story is ripe for the picking.

What's important to know, and really the entire issue, is that one of the main characters is loosely based on a woman I met online and is, thankfully, no longer part of my life.

Giving more thought to the ideas I had last night, I jotted down some notes this morning. I think this could work. Yes, it would be a rather unconventional book and chances of it ever being snuggled by a publisher would be slim at best. I realize that. I've tumbled this around in my head most of the night (sometimes sleepless nights are great) looking at it from all sorts of angles.

I also realize that it would be fairly therapeutic and educational for me, too. Therapeutic in that if I dedicate 50,000+ words to the bitch she'll finally be out of my system and I can shrug off the unease I feel any time I run into her on the internet, because I'm finding that she's everyfuckingwhere and it's driving me batty with the "can't go there, she's there and it'll cause problems" thoughts. It would be educational in that it would get me (1) plotting (because I absolutely SUCK at plotting) and (2) focused on something larger than a few thousand words. I'm sure there's more, but those are the highlights.

But it would also be extremely petty and even a bit vindictive of me to follow through with this idea, and that bothers me. The thought that I'm actually considering doing it bothers me. She's nothing to me, and yet she has managed to shove parts of my life into a blender, push the frappe button and then leave the damned thing running while she storms out in a tissy screaming about how evil I am. She's a highly destructive force of --

Of what? Energy? Maybe. I'm not sure what the most accurate word would be.

She's a petty, manipulative, destructive, self-centered, lying bitch. But does that give me the right to mock her in a story? Granted, such people often don't deserve the consideration or generosity (let alone compassion) of others, but if I did it -- if I wrote this book -- what would that make me?

Interestingly enough, my "tarot card of the day" is Justice.

Justice

This Deck: Morgan-Greer

General Meaning: Traditionally, what has been known as the Justice card has to do with moral sensitivity and that which gives rise to empathy, compassion and a sense of fairness. Since the time of Solomon, this image has represented a standard for the humane and fair-minded treatment of other beings.

Often including the image of a fulcrum which helps to balance competing needs against the greater good, and a two-edged sword to symbolize the precision needed to make clear judgments, this card reminds us to be careful to attend to important details. It's a mistake to overlook or minimize anything where this card is concerned. The law of Karma is represented here -- what goes around comes around.

I think this deserves further thought. But not right now. I have more important things to do at the moment.

Oct. 23 - 100 words

I can’t sit in my current desk chair for more than 10-15 minutes before my ass starts going numb and my legs start aching. The damnable thing is also causing all sorts of havoc with the muscles in my neck, shoulders, and back because of the lack of support. At this point, I would rather clean than sit at the computer and write. And so I clean. I actively watch tv. I cook. I do anything and everything I possibly can that will keep me out of this nefarious torture device dug up from some dungeon in the Middle Ages.

Oct. 20 - 100 words

The problem I’m having with the one hundred words a day is that I’m treating it as a separate assignment, and it really shouldn’t be. I suppose that sometimes it could or should be, but not all the time.

What I need to do is shift my focus from “write one hundred words a day and have it make some sort of sense” to “pound out two thousand or so words a day and throw out a random excerpt of exactly one hundred words”.

Or, you know, I could just write the first one hundred words that come to mind.

I should be cooking writing.

Last night I was talking to someone about Holly and he commented that he didn’t think he’d ever met her. Because it’s often easier to hand over a profile sheet on a character than it is to explain the character, I started digging for Holly’s profile. After about an hour of hunting through the computer, various disks (those are some ancient records), my filing cabinet, and several different notebooks, I realized that there is no working profile on her. I used to have one, but it’s been eaten by some computer critter or another over the years. Or maybe she’s been in hiding and covered her tracks really well. (Sometimes the characters hide from me.) However, since she’s pushing her way to the foreground again, I need a profile and there’s not one. I’m going to have to recreate her from memory.

This got me thinking that I don’t have any profiles on any of my characters. Not really. What’s in my head is pretty much it. This is a bad thing. A very, very bad thing. I need to find (or create) some sort of formulaic profile sheet and start filling in the blanks on all the characters I have in my head. (This will also give me something to work off of when I sit down with each of them for interviews and evaluations over tea and Twizzlers.) Ideally, this would be done on the computer then backed up (twice) and printed. Sadly, this is not an ideal world and I haven’t got the first clue how it’ll actually turn out.

Good thing I’m creative. Or so they tell me.

*********

Ophelia’s book is kicking my ass. The reason the progress bar has been reset to zero is that I’ve stripped the prologue and redressed it multiple times in the past few weeks, and now I’m thinking it shouldn’t be a prologue at all, but rather the beginning of the first chapter which means that I need to rethink the entire timeline of the story and rewrite the beginning yet again and Ophelia keeps insisting that the whole story line is “just wrong” and demanding that I “fix it”. (*BREATHE*) It doesn’t help that I’m no longer sure WHO is in the book, either. Again we have a rather pressing need for working profile sheets and bio-jackets on everyone.

**********

I still don’t have a plot for NaNo. Or characters. Or anything else.

Ophelia has let me know in no uncertain terms that she will not have any part of NaNo. She’s an unruly character that way, and I don’t think she can be bribed.

Maybe that’s why Holly is reemerging. Maybe HER story will be my NaNo project.

I’ll have to think about this.

Oct. 15 - 100 words

I started the scene with Holly yesterday but never finished it. I got distracted. Not by the deadly beauty taking a shower by the eerie glow of a glow stick in a grimy bathroom in some abandoned building, but by the guy watching her. The guy she couldn’t see despite feeling his gaze on her time and time again, even in the shower stall as she washed off a few days worth of her own personal funk. The guy she couldn’t see because he was not there.

Who is this guy? What is this guy? Why couldn’t she see him?

Oct. 12 - 100 words

Yeah, I have nothing tonight.

While my mother slept on my couch today (don’t ask) I turned my thoughts to Ophelia’s butterflies again. It’s a troublesome element for me. I need to explain them because undoubtedly someone will question them. Besides, it’s just proper to explain such oddities. An author can’t just throw something like Ophelia’s butterflies out into a story with no explanation. I know I wouldn’t accept it in a book I was reading, so I wouldn’t expect anyone reading my book to accept it.

But how to explain the critters? Genetic engineering? Magic? A little of both?

Oct. 3 - 100 words

So if I’m to understand everything I’ve read this morning (as well as the last few months) I can create the “outline” of my book by, basically, writing it. The short version of it, at any rate. The “you HAVE to read this book it’s all about…” version of it. Nifty. I think I can do that. If I can’t do that, well, then maybe I should rethink this whole writing business.

Wow. Grammar check is all over my ass today. Something about fragmented sentences this time around. It was something else earlier, but damned if I remember what now.

Oct. 2 - 100 words

I’m seriously considering participating in NaNoWriMo. It’s an insane consideration at best, but it’s the rare occasion when I claim any measure of sanity.

I registered with the site this morning. I’d like to claim sleep deprivation as the responsible culprit, but I don’t think I can make it stick.

Besides the serious time constraints that always come with the month of November, the biggest issue I face is the lack of an idea. I have several works in progress, but the rules say I can’t work on them even though one of them has less than 2000 words written.

Oct. 1 - 100 words

I have the energy of a five-year-old today. By that I mean that I’m an unstoppable blur of energy and motion for two or three solid hours then crash hard for a few hours, then make with the Tasmanian Devil/Flash Gordon imitation again.

Unfortunately, I also have the attention span of a gnat today. And by that I mean that I’m getting distracted by every noise I hear and every thing I see, unable to concentrate on any of it for more than five minutes at a time.

It takes too long to write one hundred words. At least today…

Mercy...

So here it is less than 4 hours after I went to bed and two hours and 15 minutes before my alarm is set to go off... and I'm up again.

Up to pee. Up to get a bottle of water. Up to write.

Because the characters in my head woke me up.

I think I might need therapy. Or maybe some good drugs.

Adventures in Hell; Day 31

The bathroom is still incomplete.

The kitchen is better, but still not complete.

Despite everything, I am starting to write again. This is a good thing.

New Layout (and stuff)

I set up a new layout this morning. It's something I picked up from FinalSense and tweaked a little.

I changed the font; I just think the typewriter-esque look of the Courier family looks better on the lined paper background.

I changed some of the colors because I didn't like the way the originals looked. They didn't look bad, they just bothered my eyes. I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with some of the changes I made, especially the links. I'll look at it again tomorrow when my eyes are less willing to bleed from a night of fragmented sleep and other irritants.

I wish I could have changed the background color because I'm not so crazy about what was offered, but without remaking the graphics, it just wasn't possible. Well, it WAS possible, just hideously ugly. And since I'm not remaking an artist's graphics, I'm stuck with the color until I find a layout I like better. Or make one.

~*~

The books that I ordered last week showed up yesterday. They weren't supposed to be here until Wednesday. Go United States Postal Service! Because I don't want to break my (already faltering) stride on another project I have going on, I won't be touching the books until Wednesday night or some time on Thursday. Possibly Friday (I feel a massive headache that could easily become a migraine starting to form just at the base of my skull and behind both eyes). I've already slotted them into the books on the shelf above the computer, though, so each time I begin considering a nap or slowing down or delaying the completion of the current project, I can see the books. They are begging me to read them. I want to read them. I am going to read them. Just not today. Or tomorrow.

And speaking of that other project, I need to get back to it. I just stopped for a cup of tea and mild distraction. Break time's over.

Progress update (of a sort), and some musing.

I've almost finished reading one of the books that was recommended to me (Fear of Writing by Milli Thornton) and the other book that was recommended (How to Write a Damn Good Novel, II: Advanced Techniques For Dramatic Storytelling by James N. Frey) should be here by the middle of the week. Tracking scans show it making progress on the journey.

I also ordered two other books that looked helpful or, at the very least, entertaining. Plot & Structure: (Techniques And Exercises For Crafting A Plot That Grips Readers From Start To Finish) by James Scott Bell and Write Great Fiction: Characters, Emotion & Viewpoint : (Techniques and exercises for crafting dynamic characters and effective viewpoints) by Nancy Kress. Needless to say, I'll be very busy reading during the later part of next week and the week after that.

The last day or two has had my mind tumbling titles for the book I've been working on. I'm only searching for a working title because some editor/publisher somewhere will probably insist on changing it someday. Also, I'm only searching for a working title because I can't keep calling it "O's Big Adventure". I just can't. It sounds too much like porn and if when I call it "Ophelia's Big Adventure" I get images of Pee Wee Herman in my head. I cannot write with that in my head. (Besides, it looks really dorky on the progress meter.)

The suggestions that were made to me on certain parts of O's book have also been rolling around in my head these past few days. I'm going to give my brain somewhere between two and seven more days to tumble everything around and get everything straightened out (it's like tumbling raw gems and rocks; it takes a while to get to the pretty shiny stage) then I'm going to start making daily progress. (Not to mention that next week is the week before school starts and the calendar is starting to look pretty frenzied; I'm not sure I'll even be able to check my email on a few of the days... at least, and not make it to bed on time, too.)

I've also had the issue of "how much do I post on the internet?" rolling around in my head lately. Do I dish the details of the book (soon to be books) in progress? Do I post unedited excerpts? Roughly edited excerpts? Polished excerpts?

I worry about someone stealing what I've written and claiming it as their own. It's happened to me before and is, in fact, part of why I quit writing when I did. Someone was taking Ophelia short stories and scenes from larger stories that I had posted in the Ophelia journal, posting them in their own journal, submitting them to groups, and claiming them as their own. Then the thief pointed to me with the accusation of "THIEF!!". All while simultaneously telling me via comments and emails how badly I wrote.

Yes, I've seen the little copyright statements authors put up when they post raw scenes and excerpts to their blogs and websites, but has that ever really stopped anyone from stealing them? It didn't stop the person stealing O's stories from me.

I know that authors should have web pages where editors and/or publishers (not to mention readers) can get to know them, become familiar with their writing, or whatever else it is that they do (which is why I have this blog and eventually a multi page website). I've also read many authors' blogs and websites and seen a lot of raw scenes and quite a few polished excerpts from unpublished books and/or works in progress posted. I've also seen some pretty detailed explanations about the current book in progress, and even one daily and very detailed recap of what was written or rewritten. I don't need to buy that book should it ever be published; I watched it be written, step by beautiful step.

So, how much is too much? Is there such a thing as too little in this situation? I'm happy to share what I've written if it entertains someone, but I'm finding myself being extremely cautious in the matter.

Writing well, expectations, and why I write.

The spousal-unit wants me to become the next J. K. Rowling or Stephen King, that is to say, write lots of books and make tons of money.

Honestly, I don't care too much about the making lots of money part and though I do wish to be published, I won't be devastated if it never happens.

What do I want? I want to write well.

You can have the worst story ever in the history of story-telling but if you write it well, it will still be better than a fantastic story written badly.

~*~

In one of the on-line writing groups I'm a member of, the topics of the term "artist" being a creative blocker and how expectations can be damaging were addressed. Both topics struck nerves with me.

It's been a long time since I've seriously written. The truth is that I'm just now clawing my way out of a six year writing freeze brought on by various expectations and their results. In fact, I've not even been able to maintain a blog or a hand-written journal over the past six years thanks to a careless off-hand comment of "You're so creative. Why is your blog so boring?" from someone with access to my personal blog. That innocent comment still haunts me every time I start to type or pick up a pen. Even with this, my writing blog, I have difficulties with entries. I still keep trying with both blogs, though, because I've realized in the last year that writing is part of me.

The last six years have been, well, an overall mess. I don't blame the lack of writing, but I can see now that without the writing outlet it was a much harsher strain on me emotionally. The last year has been a slow climb up during which I've reevaluated a great many things in my life. I never had that many expectations in life, but the few I had were fairly big. Even so, expectations have been something I've been trying to rid myself of, both in myself and in others.

Part of the whole dropping expectations thing is getting past what others have expected of me in the past and currently expect of me as a writer, not to mention the train wreck those expectations have caused and continue to cause inside my head. It's hard to write when I'm worried about disappointing someone by writing badly or not telling the story they think I should be telling. More than once I've had well-meaning people tell me I'm telling the story wrong or that the events I've written are all wrong. I'm learning to say the words "I'm writing for me, and no one else. If someone likes what I write, I'm glad to have brought them some pleasure, otherwise they can go write their own story." and truly mean them with all my heart.

And it's working. I'm writing again. Not on a daily basis, but I'm getting there.

As for the label "artist"... I hate being labeled in any way and I'll leave it at that, except to say that I do find myself creatively blocked by the majority of labels. I'm learning not to let that stop me, though.

~*~

The question "Why do you write?" always seems to come up from somewhere. I've never been able to answer that question... until now.

I write because I love to write. Writing is the natural progression in the evolution of my life. And truthfully, there's just more room outside my skull than inside. Besides, my mother taught me to share. I shouldn't be the only person in the world entertained by the characters living inside my head. ;)

I need the world

I'm stuck again.

I really should get out more. I'm realizing that the lack of outside stimuli - even just quick jaunts to the grocery store or lengthy stays in the library - is damaging my ability to create interesting characters. For that matter, it's also crippling my ability to come up with ideas for scenes.

It would seem that I need the world around me.

On another note, I do believe that I need to get Season 1 of the television show Supernatural. I'm not sure which season is currently rerunning for the summer, but I'm finding it interesting. I'm also feeling lost. I don't understand a lot of the references to past episodes. I have two options: buy them as the come out and catch up, or stop watching all together.

I think I'll buy the seasons as they're released.