I think I’m having more fun writing the flashbacks than the main story. -_-
I think I’m having more fun writing the flashbacks than the main story. -_-
“The Highjorune Masque” is officially part of the next Valdemar anthology lineup, thank the Maker, pass the rum.
I wrote 1,000 words today to/from work, mainly by writing a section I wasn’t sure I was going to write, and also by dragging in an old new character who is fun and mysterious and (okay) sexy: Munin (one of Odin’s ravens, and a recycle from a manga proposal I was working on a long while back). I am continuously amused by what my main character does (she seems to have a limited sense of self-preservation), and I have a sense of the larger endgame, though the structure is still all over the board. Either I’m doing flashbacks or I’m not, and I don’t (yet) know how they work into the uberstructure.
But have faith in the process, and in the meantime the protagonist is puking up her guts and thinking her life is over, poor dear.
And Los Angeles is
burning still missing.
I’m writing two novels at the moment, both with a different set of characters and worlds. This is probably madness, but it also seems to be working.
The first one is modern times, but there’s still worldbuilding involved because I made Los Angeles disappear and my main character still hasn’t told me what, exactly, she is.
The other is more standard fantasy drama hero’s journey stuff except not. I have a pretty clear sense of who the first main character is, and there are about two more incoming who I have the vaguest idea of.
I’m writing in fits and starts. I get some time on the way to work in the vanpool, and I get some time at home. I dusted off my netbook, which is perfect for this: fits in my lap, does just enough to get me connected to music and my file sharing service, and that’s about it. I can’t browse with it, and I can’t game with it, and I don’t need to.
My goal is to finish (or get close to finished) by the end of the year on one of these. Right now they both have issues of I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m hoping that’ll sort itself out.
The next in the series of what I’m thinking of as “Lone Wil and Cub” has been written, it’s had the fine-toothed comma comb (comba?) run over it by my husband (notorious grammar hunter and devastator of passive voice) , and is now off to the editor. I realize at this point I should just assume it’s a sale, but I never assume it’s a sale. So I’ll update this when I actually get the “Accepted! For Realsies!” message.
How do I feel? Uh, pretty much how I always feel when I manage not to give my editors a nervous breakdown by not missing the date: relieved. One of the great things about the modern age is I can turn this stuff in at 11:59 PM the day it’s due and know it’s probably going to get to my editor in a timely manner. And if it doesn’t, they just send me email to let me know they need me to resend it. When I was younger, you had to have it postmarked and out the door a week in advance, and ha ha ha ha good luck and hope the USPS doesn’t lose your precious bundle. Times are much better now.
I wrote this story partially while sitting in the back of my vanpool, and have come to a solid realization: my laptop is too damn big to comfortably write in the back of a vanpool. Which is unfortunate, because I can’t exactly buy another laptop at this phase of my life. Or can I?
Anyway. I’m excited for this story because I honestly believe it doesn’t suck, plus certain characters get some badass moments, and I am all about the badassery. This is partially why I decided to shift focus from goofy Bard to slightly more serious Herald who has, as life has tenderized him, become less serious. The Herald has more potential for badassery, being what he is.
And now, having successfully completed what I set out to do at the start of the month, I am off to bed. G’night.
Trying something new with an old cast. I know it’s a cliche to say but — sometimes you just have to ignore what everyone’s been telling you and write what you want.
So that’s what I’m doing, and that’ll be 850 words today.
Finding the time to do this requires working around an 18 month old and a workweek that features a 2 hour commute and at least 8.5 hours of work. Challenging, but I’m trying.
Story is sold, the editor gods are pleased.
I’m probably going to use the money to get air conditioning for my family. So, y’know, that’s what my Valdemar moneys gets me and mine.
The story is sent.
I’ll update with more details if it gets approved. Until then, I rather like my superstitions, which say to not talk too much about something until you’ve got a contract in hand.
Okay, the story is now less crappy than it was a week ago. And still not done.
I think it’ll be done Sunday. Which then will give me a few more days to let it stew, then revise, then send off to the anthology editor.
I have killed many darlings in an attempt to trim wordcount, including a Companion politely telling his Herald to take a stick out of his posterior. IT WAS REALLY HARD CUTTING THAT JOKE YOU GUYS.
Interestingly, Scrivener doesn’t give numbers for amount of time spent in each section, so I’ve no earthly clue how many writing hours I’ve poured into this. I should track this someday; I would love to know if hours spent writing is equal to my hourly wages plus benefits.
I have often commented that part of why I don’t feel the drive any longer to become a Known Writer is that I have gainful employment that doesn’t suck. It’s a curse and a blessing…but mostly a blessing when you have a household to support. I would love to make enough money as a Known Writer, but based on what I know of the writing biz I am skeptical of being able to do so without selling my soul or writing the next Sookie Stackhouse. Or selling my soul to write the next Sookie Stackhouse.
I wouldn’t mind selling novels AND working at the gainful employment that also provides health care and retirement benefits. I would like to keep my soul intact. Assuming writing marketable novels is in my future, this could all be very possible.
And “The Whitest Lie” is an incredibly apropos song for this story. So much so that I am tempted to name the story after it.
If I lied, said I was fine
Would that mean anything?
The more you know,
The less you eventually find out.
Somewhere during the five-odd stories I have written thus far about my little Bard, I changed the name of one of the supporting characters for no other reason than I forgot how I spelled it originally…oops.
Also, having re-read all the stories (more or less), I think “Broken Bones” is my favorite. I know I am not supposed to play favorites, but that story was me working through some life issues that completely reversed midway through writing it, and I like the structure. And the story. The whole thing, really.
Lelia started out as a Mary Sue, and I’m not afraid to admit that. I wanted something lighter in tone than my previous Valdemar offerings, and the only way I knew to get there was to write what I knew, which was my then-loveless, struggling, and often hilariously off-kilter life. Somewhere, she stopped being a Mary Sue and started being just Lelia. I do paint echoes of my life into hers, or I did; there is actually a real-world counterpart that she became somewhere around “Otherwise Engaged” and I don’t really know how I feel about that. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened.
Anywho. All this is running around in my head as I set about on the next writing adventure. I meant to bang out most of the story this weekend, but caught a cold, and this morning had a raging migraine. The migraine has now passed, and I am once again banging away. Or would be, but my save file didn’t update on Google drive and I am waiting for a chance to rescue my laptop from my bedroom, where my husband is napping….
Long story short: I am writing.
And Malesa is now Maresa.
…another Valdemar anthology. This story will continue the Adventures of Wil. That’s all I’m saying about it right now.
Mostly, though, I’m trying to find something longform I want to write. I’ve been somewhat in a slump, and it’s possible that has everything to do with getting-married-buying-two-houses-having-a-baby but it seems unfair to blame life, like I didn’t have life before all those things. It does seem the more you bring people into your life, the less of your own, private life you have.
But Marion went through similar (and worse), and still managed to write, so the question is why haven’t I carved out the time? Well…I’m trying. Mainly what I’m trying is getting up earlier so I can write in the morning, before the other humans start encroaching.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my humans. Very much. My family is the best thing that ever happened to me. But I tend to be better adjusted when I write, when the private world gets a chance to vent. I know that. I just need to find a way.