Missing Class

“Oh, there you go, bringing class into it again.”

I’ve lived most of my life entirely missing class. By that I don’t mean I was a low-rent, no class kind of gal (at least not until recently), but that I really had no framework in which to PUT an idea like class. I thought it was something America didn’t have—you know… American Dream, land of equal opportunity, all that.

I understood that I couldn’t marry a prince, because I wasn’t born with royal blood (thanks mom, for wrecking THAT illusion), but that was only relevant in countries that HAD princes. Ours, my mother assured me, did NOT.

Even into graduate school I felt like Education was the great equalizer—if only we could improve the education of the poor and downtrodden—the people who, through no fault of their own, hadn’t had the same kind of opportunities… all they needed were educational opportunities and all would be GRAND!

After all, if ANYONE had had low class roots, it was me.

Shot-gun wedding by an 18 and 20 year old who met at the burger joint they worked in… six months later… moi. Dad dropped out of college. Mom FLUNKED out of college. He got a hardware store job where he never DID make as much as it cost him to drink. She became a ‘key punch operator’ (my understanding is this is the predecessor of computers, but without having to KNOW anything). They were destined to raise a child who fell into ruts.

And don’t get me wrong, I’ve fallen in some ruts, but I learned early that if you dived into the roll, you could roll all the way through and land on your feet again. No reason to pretend I never fell in—I had the shit all over me to prove it… but isn’t it better to have swum in the muck and lived a little than to have driven the long way and not know what dirt looks like? I always thought so.

And thus we arrive at the source of my lifetime Reverse Class Discrimination.

I happen to think (though there are some wonderful exceptions) that people who live a life of leisure, who have everything handed to them in a shiny silver Nordstom box, lack compassion. People whose parents are wealthy, faithful, and sober have vast areas of knowledge they just don’t get. In fact they often deal with life as if people get what they deserve, when in fact if that were true, no kid would be without. (I have dived dangerrously close to the source of my politics here, but note I managed delete the partisan joke, with some difficulty).

I have confessed to mother issues, but in my formative years, there were a number of things my mom did REALLY well that I think led to my class oblivion…

1) She repeated again and again that if I had my dad’s brains and my mom’s ‘try hard’ I could accomplish anything I wanted.

2) She reinforced my self esteem around every turn.

3) She reiterated the importance of making sure I had CHOICES (that an educated person was never stuck—she could support herself if she needed to)

And probably most importantly:

4) She proved the priority of a college education by returning herself when I was 10.

So I always figured class lines didn’t apply to me (or anyone for that matter). In fact it took moving to the other side of the Mississippi before I got it. You see… I always thought Ivy League meant Fancy Schmancy Private University that was hard to get into… I didn’t GET that there were specific schools that qualified and lowly schools next door that did not (are you freaks kidding me? If less than 10% get in, it’s a picky freaking school and people should be impressed when someone gets in.)

So what does this have to do with writing?

I guess there are implications for both class and geography. I KNOW there are ‘high class’ people west of the Mississippi—I dated a guy in college whose step father ‘owned things’—seriously… he made his living owning things. Don’t ask me how that works but among the wealthy, it is apparently quite common. They thought the shot-gun kid from hickville Idaho was the best thing that ever happened because I kept their son from flunking out of school (try hard thing... works for everyone)… they were high class but NOT CLASS CONSCIOUS (except the whole pretending to know movie stars thing, but that is endemic of anyone who lives near Los Angeles). Someone from the East Coast might not GET that. Likewise they would not get the Pacific Northwest anti-materialism chic... that people who have STUFF in Portland or Seattle are sort of 'sneered at' by the educated as having faulty priorities.  I mean you can have SOME stuff, but money is better spent learning about the world via travel, buying art to support third world villages... you know... stuff with value added, not just toys.

Just like yours truly doesn’t get the class thing. I can write about people with and without means, and I can write about social problems (sheesh, I study disparities for a LIVING)… but meandering through the meanings of social hierarchy (like the East Coast Aristocracy) or even the appropriate etiquette (like my vast stereotypes about the south)… I just have no class.



And THIS JUST IN!!!! SQUEEEEEEEEE!

CC Chronicles

I got an award today for being UGLY! (but that is the GOOD kind of Ugly). I had a friend Brian once who used to refer to the ‘Ugly to Cool’ Scale—if you’ve ever spent any time in the Pacific Northwest you’ll know this goes right with my reverse classism… when something is SO Ugly, it is cool again... like orange shag rugs. I sort of figure this is like that… A little Class in the form of a flasher…

What’s My Age Again?

I noticed some time ago that I had a penchant for teens. I’m not sure why they are so fun to write (as opposed to how fun they are to live with)… I was talking to my friend Kas about it this morning (she is also enjoying writing a teen). And I’m wondering… it this strange? Do Kas and I have unresolved issues we’re working out? (I should probably note that she is barely removed from legitimately falling into the domain… legally an adult, but not yet a drinker—in those nether years… I’m more than twice that.

The thought though, led to a desire to explore characters of different ages… what are the appeals and drawbacks of children, teens, young adults, middle age… the elderly… I’ve loved characters from all age groups, but what about writing them?

Children

I’m reading a book right now called ‘Elijah of Buxton’ by Christopher Paul Curtis (my son recommended it). The narrator is an eleven year old black boy, the first ‘born free’ in a community just across the Canadian border in Ontario (then called Canada West). Elijah is charming, but a huge amount of his appeal as a narrator is that he can see and describe things that he the boy doesn’t understand, but we the reader do. Children make wonderful ‘unreliable’ narrators and wonderful ‘fresh perspectives’. They can give us a reason to explain things that might otherwise be glossed over, but can add to the nuance and understanding. A child’s mistaken impression can add deep layers and emotional power. In CONFLUENCE I write from the perspective of Hannah, a five-year-old, and it was great to try on the naïve voice and wide open view of the world, though sometimes challenging, when there were things she really should not have been able to grasp.

Teens

So far these sassy, willful characters are my favorite. They’ve driven my stories in both my completed books, and one is driving my current WiP (my first male teen this time). Why not write YA, you ask? Because I do rotten things to them. My themes are adult, even if my characters are not always. But as characters teens can rebel, shake things up, act on their own, but are still worried about by others as children—bad things that happen to them seem more tragic than they would if they happened to an adult.

Young Adult

I haven’t written these, except the abandoned book I wrote when I technically fell into the demographic. I think, unlike the teen voice, it is just too recent to enjoy the recklessness of it. My half-written murder mystery has one for the MC, but she is an academic first in my mind—not typical of this age, though I am showing my agism by clumping all twenty-somethings together. In reality, they come in all shapes and sizes… some are even writer friends who will help me rule the world one day soon. I think though, I may have a fear of romanticizing a time in my own life that was a little self-destructive, master’s degree, marriage and first child notwithstanding.

“Real” Adult

There is a part of me that thinks this is what I ought to be writing, because theoretically, this is what I am. A career-aged person with family concerns… and I do seem to include these. Oddly though, this isn’t nearly as interesting to write… possibly because I am one… Maybe it’s because they issues they deal with are too real—there is no escapism to it. My NaNo heroine is exactly my age, chosen because I needed her to have been doing what she does for quite a while and it was easiest to keep the timeline straight if she and I had similar landmarks (college graduation, etc.). Her counterpart is eight years older, but that is just me knowing there is no more compatible pairing with a Firehorse than a Dog (Chinese astrologically speaking)—it is a loyal, friendly and ultimately compatible personality. Neither of these people though, is family people. He’s been married—no kids. She hasn’t been down that road. It makes them different… more fictional than the other people of this age I’ve written about.

Older people

I haven’t really delved here, except parents of my adults, but there are some FABULOUS older people I’ve read. I always think of Maeve Binchy’s older ladies—often these stories involve a new sweet romance even, and I love the idea that when I am that age I would be so genuine, wise, and…. Fresh. (I love how she pairs the young and old actually--and older lady and a tween--there is a nice dynamic to that).

So I’m curious what ages writers like to write about and why. Do you stick with favorite ages for your MCs or jump around? Do different ages call on different skills?

Writer’s Block (A Mythology)

First—I want to apologize for my weekend absence, but it may be how I roll for November, what with this NaNoWriMo insanity still upon me… In fact I’ve written a calendar for the next three months (one of the many ways I am a geek) and am pretty sure I will be a writing fool until the end of January, as I intend to have my NaNo project done, but also the Conspiracy Trilogy (which means 1 ½ more books—probably a total of 120K words left for that project alone). But you know what? At the end of January, if it goes according to plan, I will have written FIVE books… That is just baffling to me (considering at the moment I’ve written two and a year ago I was staring at the as yet untyped conclusion of my first).

Anyway… In my observing of my fabulous friends doing the NaNo thing, I’ve been thinking about a philosophy I’ve had for a long time, and I thought it seemed like a good time to get it out there.

What brought it up?

Probably that a few simple rules… sitting down and writing every day, mostly… okay… that’s only one rule, but there is also the ‘don’t fear writing crap’ rule, so we’re back to two… one rule shy of what I think of as a few, but never mind… that two simple rules have turned a couple hesitant writers into prolific writers.

Inspiration as Mythology

This is I believe the biggest culprit of works that get abandoned… a belief that the muse must be present for the writing to flow. In reality, the crafty muses are fickle, and may only come around every once in a while. Usually they only show up before you ever start, taunting you with some fabulous idea and then disappearing entirely. Writing is actually a task of perseverance… of being willing to keep pushing, even in absence of any muse at all (unless you name your cat Muse, then she might stick around, provided you feed her and give her some string).

THIS is why we need to be willing to write a little crap sometimes… sometimes ANY MEANS NECESSARY is the only way to get from point A to point B, and we just need to be resigned to editing later. In fact LATER is when we will know how the whole ending goes and we can actually come back and put something in that foreshadows, or alludes, or has nice parallels with the later story. Having some things that will absolutely have to be changed is a bit of an opportunity… think of it THAT way!

Don’t want to write crap? Then don’t write anything. Put a note in there about the kind of connector you will put in later and skip ahead! There is no rule about a book being written starting on the first page and ending on the last page.

Perfect First Drafts as Mythology

I know those of us coming from Fan Fiction often write, proof read and post, without major editing. I think this serves a valuable role, but you might not want to hear what it is… I think editing is so onerous for most of us, that we might not WRITE something if we thought we had to edit the damn thing… so the format allows us to write in a way that encourages more writing. THEN when we are ready to take the leap… the next step… dive in to a domain where somebody might want to pay MONEY for what we wrote, THEN we can swallow the bitter pill that editing is just part of the process.

I have been reading Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’ (have to take it back today and I’m not done… Poo!) and the way he puts it is ‘the first draft is for you, it’s your story. Then you take out everything that isn’t part of the story, and that is the story for public consumption.’ (I’m paraphrasing of course) but our job is really just to get the story OUT, warts and all, and then we go back and pretty it up for others to read after the fact. First draft, door closed, second draft, door open (also his words).

I think that is a liberating idea to those of use who wrote in the closet for years (I literally did—my closet where I grew up was above our stairs and so was elevated with a slant to one side… it was a nice little nook to sit in and write when I was feeling particularly angsty.) We can sometimes feel like our writing is crap and not worth sharing, when in fact… it may be crap and not worth sharing, but ready for a nice sparkly polish and then it will be FABULOUS.

The whole idea that we need a muse to keep plugging away is nothing but a conspiracy...

The Veterans

I think people, after writing for a while, all get their bearings and so much of what they write is nearly ready for consumption, but I think it is STILL liberating to not think every line has to be perfect. I think even among the experienced, demand for perfection right out of the gate can be like an all cheese diet… likely to completely block you after a while, no matter HOW good it seemed going down.

Corrupting Young Minds

It’s really no secret that one of the goals of my Naked World Domination Tour is to corrupt young minds. You see… some people haven’t had proper exposure to such joys as pudding wrestling, cross dressing, or innuendo. I feel there is a hole in their education that needs filling, and I am just the person to do it.

Oh, sure… what kind of role model encourages people to get naked and have a good time, you ask. The kind that knows life throws a gazillion responsibilities at people, and thinks balance is the only way to stay sane. Someone who knows fun can be fleeting if you take things too seriously, and life really ought to be fun.

Occasionally, I get some evidence that I’m doing exactly the right thing.

My Fan Fiction Home

I got my writing start in Fan Fiction, which most of you know. HPANA is an extremely friendly and interactive format for that. I post part of a story, people read, and give feedback, pester me for updates... It doesn’t take very many such interactions before people are friends. A couple YEARS of it and it is more than that—a family of sorts.

When I first started WRITING fan fiction, I had read very little of it. I asked for a few recommendations, which led to some very good reads. But I also started watching for things my readers were writing. It’s a reciprocity thing. Now when you read the work of friends, and you’ve been interacting for a while, you get a feel pretty quickly for who just needs encouragement, and who could use some friendly suggestions for improvement.

And you know what? In a family there grows a feeling of obligation to the fledglings. I especially feel an obligation to young writers (I'm not alone, eh, Tara?). I wish I’d had someone encourage me when I was in my early 20s… my entire career path might have been different, and though I like the path it’s taken for the most part, I would love to have been an established author by this point.

And some of these young writers are amazing. They have a fresh voice and can tap into parts of themselves that bring amazing stories forward.

A Recent Facebook Discussion Incident

I am part of a couple groups that occasionally hold discussions about this or that writing topic. I find browsing comments is a good way to choose new friends. People with insightful comments are fabulous. Occasionally though, someone can get full of himself. A young writer made a comment recently about genre flopping in both her reading and writing. A man, older, and I believe established, said something to the effect that her voice couldn’t be very good if she didn’t know what she wanted to write.

I promptly sent one of those itchy crotch curses at him and encouraged her to just write. Voice can come across in different genres and I think when a person is young, testing different waters is a better way to learn than pigeon-holing in just one thing. Sometimes we have strengths we don’t know we had.

I hope that man is STILL scratching. I commented of course, also, encouraging her to try a lot of different things. She has tons of time to worry about whether she wants to stick to one genre or not. And her voice can shine through even if she genre flops all over the place. He tried to back-pedal, of course. I’m happy to have shamed him.  He clearly is not used to thinking of ANYTHING but his own grandiose head size, much less acting as mentor to people who will carry the day when he is dead and buried.

All of us who are a little more mature and confident should be nurturing young people (heck, even old people who aren’t as far process-wise need a little nurturing--I adore the generous people who've been so helpful). When we write into a void it is hard to keep going, so the nurturing is important encouragement.

NaNoWriMo

I convinced a posse of these people (some a little younger than me, most A LOT younger than me) to participate in NaNoWriMo, and as I watch their word counts soar I feel a little patter of pride. When these people reach my age they’ll have a dozen books published. They’ll be superstars. I can only hope they’re still naked.

Publishing (a mass perspective)

I thought for a change of pace today, I’d blog about something I know nothing at all about and see where it got us. My topic of choice, because I’d LIKE to know something, and have learned if you pretend to know something, somebody might actually talk to you about it and then you WILL know something, is book publishing.

I’ve never published a book. Even as a kid when I was illustrating books, they generally petered out on about page four, usually because I’d run out of silver crayon, and no princess story can be told without lots of silver.

The word on the street recently though, is book publishing is a dying field. (Say what? Then what are we doing?) We (and I don’t necessarily mean just the royal we, though if you want to exclude yourself, you can take it that way) HAVE NO CLUE what we’re doing. That’s the point. But clueless or not, I find some stinky fish to the idea that publishing is dead. Why?

Because there are other explanations that make more sense.

The nature of past year comparisons: I had a former life in advertising, and for our client we used to present sales comparisons. Guess what we compared to… SAME MONTH LAST YEAR. So lets just say LAST YEAR Stephanie Meyer put out her 4th highly demanded (for mysterious reasons I won’t ponder here) book about sparkly vampires that every teenage girl in the entire country (and a few of their mothers) had to own. This year, there is no comparable breakout book. You tell me this years sales look bad and my response is DUH!

Kindle and Company: I just got to say… not worried.  Kindle Schmindle. This may change the FORM some books take, but there is a business model, and they WILL find it, in which as many people or more make as much money or more off of books. Yes, some printers will suffer, but I don’t think we will lose as many of those as we will gain techy people figuring out how to make the EBook a truly rewarding experience. I’ve got some sadness that the electronics themselves will probably be produced in China, where printers are here, but hey, that is capitalism, and maybe with more money in China, they will want to buy BOOKS written here—that is a lot bigger market to open than the other direction.

The pathetic attention span of the masses: Poo, I say. Poo! When I was a kid the options for kids were poor. I wasn’t really a reader until I discovered Stephen King at 12. But I STILL managed to become a reader—latch key kid who’d seen every episode of Brady Bunch, Partridge Family and Gilligan’s Island at least a dozen times and I STILL learned to love reading. Now there are so many more options, too. There are people who will never be readers—always have been. But there are just as many who love books—always will be. If the percentage stays the same, then because it is a growing population, that makes readers a growth market.

It’s the Economy, Stupid: I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but we’ve been in a long recession (Michigan’s is going on 6 years now). At first people tighten their belts on big ticket items (car lasts an extra year or two, no remodel) but eventually, they have to tighten it on smaller purchases, too. I used to buy my kids a lot of books. They reread them, so it seemed a good purchase. Anymore I only buy books when a series they’ve been following gets a new one because it seems cruel to wait on the library wait list for six months when they’ve already been waiting that long. Books are a discriminate purchase. The only people I know who NEED books work at book stores to support their addiction. Most of us can get by reading LAST year’s books from the library. But you know what? When the economy turns around, so will book buying.

Because there is evidence to the contrary.

I am signed up to the free version of Publisher’s Marketplace. Yesterday and today there is news: Harlequin, up this quarter, Lagardere, up this quarter, Harper, up this quarter. (anybody spot the trend?)  Seems to me maybe people are buying books for Christmas… possibly at the expense of more spendy items, but I don’t CARE about THAT. BOOKS are selling. What that means, in my lame, clueless opionion, is eventually that has to trickle to publishers BUYING more books from agents, freeing up agents to take more clients because they need more books to sell and a recovered market.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

The Texture of Social Fabric

In research on social support there is a term called “Density” which, when applied to social networks means “how many of my friends and family consider each other friends and family?” Greater Density has some definite benefits (if something goes wrong, any given person knows how to call in the cavalry to help, and they can better coordinate to supply any needs). It can also have some social cost, most commonly known as the gossip tree (is nobody’s business sacred?)

But I’ve been thinking about this in terms of social networking. What is ideal? Do you WANT all your contacts to know each other? Are we one big happy family? Or does this lead to all of us, like lemmings, pouncing on the same stuff, and nobody having access to completely separate, new ideas and resources?


Apply all this to Facebook (just to see if we learn anything)

I’ve had my ‘personal’ Facebook profile for about two years. My initial friends were all people from my online fantasy world… Harry Potter geeks, writers… the people I also talked to OTHER places online. And there was HUGE overlap… the 37 of us all were friends with all 37 of us [/gross exaggeration]… you get the idea… very dense and yet very confined… Yes, we all had external lives, but most of us preferred the reality-free zone and only brought tiny pieces of real life to the internet.

Now I found a few ‘early adopters’ among my high school classmates… and those added at a trickle (oops, am I really naked in front of these people? They actually KNOW me?) but the early adopters, by definition, are an open-minded bunch… Marie… Burt… not worried about being judged--they are grooviness personified…

But then there was the Class Revolution… I’m talking here about the SWARMS of people from high school that seemed to all join together, or near the same time, and suddenly, I was totally outed. Not only THAT, though, I had two distinct, large groups of friends… no overlap whatsoever with each other, but almost full overlap within… I was the single common denominator. (freaky)… Add college… I went out of state to college (moved from Idaho to Oregon), so one or two of my college friends met one or two of my high school friends, but the overlap is VERY small and weak—I’m not sure if on FB any of them have friended each other. And then there are the smaller groups… my family, the other close friends or families of friends… one or two of my friends are friends with my family and vice versa because they were all AROUND together, but the overlap is slim. Add my friends from former jobs… two from advertising, six or so from McMenamins… and (eek gad) a few people from Ann Arbor (now THAT is scary—people I see from time to time in real life watching my insanity online).

So it isn’t a uniform blanket—it is more like a bunch of sewn together pillows (and me the only thread—isn’t that a song?)… But you know what—there are different groups that I would go to for different reasons. Class reunion—one set—NaNoWriMo—different set—USC Trojans DESERVED their tromping a la Duck—different set.

Now apply this to the Social Networking System

My writer profile network is majorly dense, nearly 800 people, only about 80 or so from my 'real' friends (or personal profile). I have ‘friends’ who share 600 ‘friends’ with me… one of us shares a link from another, and pretty soon we have a wonky clogged news feed because the same link has been shared 85 times.

In that particular set, there is an agent… my starting point, possibly as many as half dozen, but few, by comparison to the number of writers. But I also have friended two OTHER agents who just amused me when I was agent searching… THOSE people only have maybe a half dozen common friends with me, even though they have 400 friends apiece… do you see where I’m going? (erm... no?)

It’s those people with few common friends who we all need to carefully watch and bring THEIR news to the larger group. It’s important not to get complacent (as I’ve been) and just add all the ‘suggested friends’ because you have 346 friends in common. We also need to be searching out NEW blood to bring into the fold… because largely it seems the network density has benefits, but also has the limitation of being limiting (courtesy of the Department of Redundancy Department).  Seriously though... in a way, it is bound.

So I’m charging ya’ll (even though I’m not southern) with FINDING someone interesting and bringing them into the fold this week!

HA! You didn’t know you’d get homework, did you?

NaNoNews: on 8586 words… WAHOO!

Fresh or Familiar

The Beauty and the Beast of Branding.

I'm not talking here about series, because I think readers who choose series books have declared that they WANT familiar. But what about those prolific authors people consume like buffet style starches, piling them on and reading again and again. Where do THOSE authors draw the line (where should they?)

Several years back, on recommendation from a coworker who rarely steered me wrong (Carol Ann, I miss your book recommendations!), I read Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner. I loved it, so I got ahold of another of her books. About fifty pages in I thought, 'I've read this book'. Now that may not be fair. I haven't read MORE since then, and I may just have happened to pick the one that was most like her first (though I think it was her second). When 'In Her Shoes' came out as a movie I read reviews, and it sounded like even though there were several overlapping themes, it was good. And I should probably also confess that I approach Chick-Lit like sushi—I love it from time to time, but only if it is really fresh and handled perfectly. Otherwise it has made me nauseous often enough that I am afraid, especially in a land-locked location, but I digress.

But what about other authors? Grisham and his legal thrillers seems to have enough different twists that I've read maybe eight or nine of his without ever being bothered (I don't seek them out, mind you—I tend to run across them in the 'exchange books' places around work or on my mother's shelves). Anna Quindlen seems to strike a different enough story each time that her familiar voice hasn't worn on me (and she very nearly writes Chick-Lit). Nicholas Sparks on the other hand? Full at three, no matter HOW MUCH I adored The Notebook (again though—I take my romance in small doses).

How do the authors that hit it, hit it? Or am I the only one who grows annoyed if it is TOO familiar? Maybe this is why I prefer mainstream fiction to genre fiction for the most part—the genre stories have certain points all of them hit and I'd rather be surprised.  But besides that, add formula to the same voice and there is just only so much variation possible. I have also wondered if there is something to reading speed. I know many speed readers who consume a book a day and those people seem to me to only take away main points--the broad plot, a character or two, but they haven't read every word, so maybe the stylistic repetition isn't as wearing—maybe they don't even notice.  My husband wouldn't recognize subtext if it bit him because he just doesn't read that way.

I read every word—always have. It helps with retention for the non-fiction content I need to know, and I believe it helps with style in my own writing. But maybe it is also why I get tired of authors that don't shake it up enough.

Any thoughts?

Do you like familiarity?  Always?  Within limits?  And how do you read?

On a related note:  My survey from last week about hand versus computer... I've decided there are two primary factors:  the dominant one is what ELSE do you do on a computer?  If you do other creative endeavors, then writing via computer is fine.  If you do conflicting things... hand write.  Second is age.  Several older people prefer hand writing, even if for the sake of practicality, they don't do that all the time.

So there.

Dear Blog

My Dear Beloved Blog,

It's not you, it's me. I hate to do this to you. I'm sure we have something we can salvage, but I have fallen badly for another, and I feel sure I need to let it run its course. You see... you are stalwart and friendly, and are willing to tolerate my occasional bursts of madness... but he is... fast and sexy, and frankly, quite popular--I know that shouldn't matter, but the fact that he is so interested in me is flattering. I haven't had an adrenaline rush like this since... well since Legacy practically wrote itself.


I know you're detecting a pattern here. I am fickle and want the rush of the moment. But it doesn't mean I don't love you; I do! And I swear I will be back to full devotion one day soon, even if only to rush off again. I just felt I should let you know where things stood in the meantime, so you didn't worry.


I will be back when I can. Love to you always,


The Tart


******


So insanity aside... NaNoWriMo has begun and I've started writing. I'm sure you're all dying to hear my progress, or not, but that seems to be all I can conjur to the forefront of my mind at the moment. I wrote 5000 words yesterday with the intention that that would allow me to stick to 1000 words a day during the week. If I write more, I write more, but I've decided I don't want to completely dump my other projects, so that was what I felt was a reasonable compromise. (I wrote 750 words on my WiP last night, for instance)

My first line I am extremely please with: "I slept with Bill Clinton."

My main character is 'testifying' before a grand jury for a murder she has committed, though she has told them they don't have clearance for her to tell the truth and so she has no intention of it. She is responding to how she got into a program at American University in The United Arab Emirates...

The general idea behind the book is that she works for a super-secret agency charged with making sure American secret service, diplomatic, etc. are paranoid enough about being watched that they don't do anything they are not supposed to do (as defined by the US Government)--conspiracy stuff... I'm having fun.

One big change on this project is I've decided to write via computer... I've been a long-hand advocate for ages, but I want to verify this, and I think the content (half told from the persepctive of a CIA Psychiatrist) can bear the clinical tone.

ANNNNNNNND.... This just in!

I learned a new word this week--it is a Tart word if ever there was one. From here on out, all Tart Rituals can be assumed to follow this protocol: SCYCLAD is ritualistic nudity. It is apparently Wiccan, but I don't mind borrowing.

Perennial Pumpkin Party

This is my last blog of October and I can proudly say I managed to meet the mission of NaBloWriMo and post a blog every day in October.  Tomorrow I change modes and become a frenzied writer for NoNoWriMo and will probably fall back to my 5 days a week pattern that I had carried before October.  As Insanity descends fully, blogs will probably cease to make sense and I will babble incoherently.  Never mind about that though, the Typical Tart will return in December (soon if the novel gets finished, which... I have an odd history of meeting my deadlines early because I hate it when things loom...)

For those of you who don't know, I've decided to go legit with NanoWriMo and start a completely original story, one that came to me recently after a conversation with my friend Courtney.  This is the gist:

All secret service workers are paranoid. Everybody knows that. What they don't know, is they don't start that way. They are made that way--made that way because it saves lives. Liza Dahlmer has worked for a super secret agency for the last fifteen years instilling that paranoia through any means necessary, but what happens when the tables are turned?

In the meantime, I am leaving you with a Halloween excerpt from CONFLUENCE.  It is a fun one...

****************
Jessie had been happy to help Hannah with her costume, and it had been fairly easy. After all her years working with plays, she’d be a poor specimen if she couldn’t put together a pair of wings. She’d even already had the royal blue netting from a skirt she had worn for a strange fantasy production where she played a pixie.


On Saturday though, she passed on the pumpkin patch with Trish and her siblings. It didn’t sound like her kind of thing. Instead, she’d accepted Brian’s offer to go to a haunted barn. After some discussion they decided it was a group activity. Jessie invited Coqui and Lainey, and Brian invited Axe and Dave.

At seven Brian, Axe and Dave picked up Jessie and she guided them to Coqui’s where Lainey was also waiting.

Ms. Dexter was excited for them and had to snap a picture once Axe, Coqui, Lainey and Dave were arranged in the back of Axe’s truck. She winked at Jessie as they all drove off.

A skeleton waited at a gate, counted people and charged them their entry fee, handing Brian the receipt.

“This worth it?” Brian asked the skeleton.

“Scared the flesh off my bones,” the skeleton answered dryly.

They drove into a field of mud that was, fortunately, fairly frosted so they didn’t sink into it. As they parked, Jessie heard Lainey shriek and looked back to see a death mask fall below the tailgate.

“Nice. Started already,” Brian grinned.

There was a bang on Jessie’s window at which she started and said, “I’m coming out your side.”

Brian opened the door and hopped out, extending his hand to Jessie. Jessie could hear Lainey swearing and Coqui and Axe laughing. Dave just wore a smirk.

Lighting cast the parking lot in long shadows. Looking back they could see a few figures bobbing and lurching among the cars.

“Excellent!” Axe said as they walked, and then swore when somebody jumped out next to him then disappeared.

As they approached the line outside the door of the barn, they could hear screams and shrieks from inside, as well as the sounds that would accompany nearly any frightening situation they could imagine.

Suddenly a seven foot tall monster lurched out of the barn with a screaming girl on his shoulder. She appeared to be a normal visitor fighting to free herself. The Frankenstein looked at all the people and began to run away around the far side of the barn. A young man ran breathlessly after them. “Marie!”  He chased them.

“Wicked,” Coqui said.

“That wasn’t real was it?” Lainey asked.

“Earth to Lainey… Frankenstein…”

“No!  I mean the kidnapping. Did they really kidnap someone?”

“They’ve been doing this haunted barn for like… twenty years. If it was real, this place would have been shut down.”

Lainey didn’t look convinced and Dave draped an arm charitably around her shoulder which seemed to calm her. Jessie smirked at Dave.

It took almost twenty minutes to reach the front of the line and then a kindly, mystic looking woman carefully asked them whether their wills were in order and were they carrying an appropriate selection of poison antidotes. She checked their receipts, a light flashed, and she waved them through a door. Behind the door was a set of stairs, vaguely lit, which led to another door.

Through this door there appeared to be a stack of lightly lit coffins, though as soon as Axe and Coqui had cleared the door, it slammed shut behind them and all went black.

“Shit!”  Lainey complained.

There was a dot of red light, but nothing else. “I guess we go to that light?” Jessie suggested.

Suddenly a coffin next to her burst open and someone reached out to grab at them, a faint light emanated from the coffin so all else looked even blacker and only the corpse could be seen.

The whole building was like that, shadowed vision, blackness, something jumping out… chain saws, car engines, human grasping arms. Jessie had never been in a scarier haunted house, yet, she was able to maintain her rational ‘this isn’t real’ in the back of her mind… until the moment she was actually grabbed.

“Holy crap!  Brian!”  And she was pulled off to a room where she was blindfolded.

“Trust us,” she heard. “We picked you because you can handle it. We need a customer a few times a night to keep it real.”

As she was shuttled down some sort of corridor she felt her hand scrape on something. “Crap!  Ouch!"

“What happened?”

“I think I cut myself.”

She felt herself seated, “here, use this.”  A tissue was put in her hand and she wrapped it around the back of her hand. She felt her face being painted, her hair was ratted, a ragged, ripped coat was thrown on her. Her hand seemed better and the girl doing her make-up confirmed that it looked fine. Then she was scuttled down a corridor, un-blindfolded. A hot vampire winking hat her, took her tissue, and put her into what looked like an open grave. “Your friends are the next ones through, beg for help,” he instructed.

Jessie appreciated the brilliant theatrics at work. The people who’d taken her disappeared and another door opened.

“Brian!”  She called.

“What the… Jessie, what happened?”

“Down here!”  And then a light glowed by her foot.

Lainey screamed, “Oh my god, they killed her!”

“Help me out!”  Jessie pleaded.

Brian and Dave pulled her out and then a cackling man rushed through the next door. Brian and Dave both clung tight to Jessie as he grabbed her arm, so he kept running.

There was one last scare as the floor seemed to crumble, but they only fell about six inches and then they saw the last red dot of light and burst out into the exit area.

“Holy shit that was scary!  Oh my f***ing gawd!”  Lainey was beside herself and even Coqui and Brian looked shaken. Axe looked confused, as if he thought he’d been tricked. Only Dave and Jessie seemed to be adjusted.

“Photo of your petrified selves?”  A voice offered from behind a counter.

They stepped over. The man looked at them and pulled up a shot on a computer screen. “You,” he pointed at Jessie. “For being a good sport, you get one on the house. Everyone else, five bucks a print.”

“Good sport?”

“I’ll explain later,” Jessie said.

Brian and both girls bought a photograph of the six of them looking horrified. It was a funny picture.
Back in town at a diner Jessie explained over desserts.

“Well I’d be jealous except everyone here keeps staring at you like you’re insane,” Coqui offered.



**************
It hasn't gone through my final polish, but I thought it was fun an Halloweenish... so there you go...



Have a great Halloween!

Pesky Pranksters Past

This is not about writing, but it IS a true story, and it is rather Halloweeny, so I'm going with that...

It was a dark and stormy night.

Now wait... clichéd...

I was recently participating in a reading/writing blog and someone (in the spirit of Halloween} asked "what is the scariest thing that has ever happened to you related to a book or movie... I gave a short version of the story below and a woman contacted me asking if she could quote it in an article.  The article will be or was (need to find out) in the Spokesman Review (ironic, as it occurred just  80 miles from Spokane, when I am now so far, and the blog owner is in New York, I think).  It reminded me just how good a story it was...

I suppose I should set it up first...

I came to reading late... not the ability, but the love. The primary problem was I thought I was all that, as they say now... far too mature for 'kid's books' but not skilled enough for adult books. I read a little smut when I could get my hands on it (made me feel older) but it took me a while to find my genre. In sixth grade a girl moved in down the block... I'll call her Mildred for now (explained next section) whose mom read a book a day—voracious reader (and extremely nice lady)... in 7th grade Mildred read a book called Amityville Horror... and I borrowed it... and really liked it... I wanted more...

And then she showed up with The Shining... (also borrowed that from Mildred and her mom). I fell in love with the genre, the author, and reading (pretty important in the grand scheme of things). I loved all the psychic stuff I now know is called paranormal, I loved the setting... I loved that a book I was capable of reading had actually captured my attention and imagination. And yes... I liked that it was scary.

The Players...

[Beatrice, Mildred & Gertrude]

I had a lot of friends from a lot of different groups of people all the way through, but when I did things in a group, the group I was 'a part of' had four key people through most of Junior High. These three nuts, and me.

Junior High girls, being what they are, pass notes between classes so they have something to DO in their classes (heaven forbid they'd pay attention), but a few crafty teachers did things like posting all confiscated notes on the bulletin board, or reading them out loud... We were prepared... we tried code, but it was cumbersome... instead, we just gave everybody an alternate name and called it good... if nobody knew who we were talking about, it couldn't be all THAT embarrassing... I was Prudence (a name bestowed by Gertrude which I am obviously STILL trying to prove false)... the others, Mildred and Gertrude, (obviously), and Beatrice... there was at a time also Suzy Chapstick, but she moved at the end of 8th grade...

Our group of girls had a corresponding group of boys (as groups of girls are likely to do) and since I have no memory at all of what we called them in our notes, and I've done some thinking about parallels, I am going to call the three involved in this story Sirius, James and Remus [and no, to my HPANA friends who've heard me say I married Sirius—not this one, but YES, this IS the Sirius depicted in Awakening, though he plays a smallish role here... in fact it is possible it was a DIFFERENT 3rd with James and Remus *annoyed with faulty memory*]

Back to the story...

So Mildred and I had read the book and Beatrice and Gertrude had not when The Shining was made into a movie (for the first time) in spring of 1980. Of note is the fact that the movie came out 5 days after Mt. St. Helen's blew. In Moscow, Idaho, where we all lived, we got almost an inch of ash settling on the streets, creating a spooky apocalyptic feel and canceling school for the rest of the year, so there was a MOOD present, as well as the antsiness that comes from not being able to get out much and having school unexpectedly canceled.

We decided to go to the movie (only my second R movie, if I remember right) and then spend the night at Beatrice's house. [girls of 13 and 14 come in packs and rarely have a weekend without a sleepover, so this is all run-of-the-mill...]

We were all dropped off at the movie theater downtown (anyone remember stand-alone theaters?) and watched... the movie was not LIKE the book, but it had a few spooky additions... Jack Nicholson was divine... Overall I love the book much better, but I think the visuals of the movie played into the rest of the night.

We went back to Beatrice's house and sat around her kitchen table doing that finger thing Danny does, saying “REDRUM, REDRUM,” and “Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!”

Mildred was decidedly spooked, telling the rest of us to stop. Gertrude was hysterically amused, laughing and not particularly sympathetic to our spooked friend. Beatrice and I... middle grounders... went back and forth a little. My memory may be playing tricks on me, but it seems to me SHE was more participatory downstairs, while I was my meek mild mannered self *glares at unbelievers*. The reason I think so is strictly this... as an only child, I had not mastered (or learned to enjoy) teasing somebody and she is the younger sister of a MERCILESS teaser, and so had.

We all went upstairs to get ready for for bed. As we walked into Beatrice's room (on the second floor, mind you) across her bedroom window was REDRUM in red.

Mildred screamed... and screamed and screamed and screamed. I think I screamed at first.  Beatrice screamed but then got MAD (I now believe because of how upset this had made Mildred), Beatrice's mother ran in, stark naked, to see who was dying... and all the while Gertrude was laughing hysterically—she'd never SEEN anything so funny. I went back and forth... I mean... It was a GOOD JOKE, but I was sympathetic to the upset Mildred, or so I remember it... I'm not positive it came across at the time...


In the aftermath...

We learned that the Marauders, who knew we'd gone to the movie that night, sat outside the kitchen window and listened to us scaring each other (laughing all the while). Remus and James (at the very least... I don't think Sirius made it to the roof) then climbed onto the garage roof with a tube of lipstick stolen from one of their mothers (probably Marilyn, as Remus called his mum), and wrote REDRUM (of course they remembered that from the OUTSIDE for it to look right, what they really had to write was MURDER. They didn't make it off the roof before we came in, and I think it was James who twisted his ankle leaping off the roof.

And I'm pretty darned sure Beatrice's mom called and made them come over and get on the roof to clean the lipstick off the window a few days later, but I might be making that part up... it would be very in character, though--Beatrice's mom has a certain undeniable authority when she gets that look in her eye, even today.

Oh, that's a fond memory... Even Mildred enjoys it in retrospect!

Peer Pressure Persuades Posse o' Participants

Okay, that's overkill, isn't it?

S'not. It's only 3.

That's that Monty Python Math again, isn't it. You're trying too hard.

It's Thursday. I'm nearly always silly on Thursday. And no. That is NEW Monty Python Maths, which is entirely different from old Monty Python Maths (see how when we're British, Maths is plural—in the US we claim to only have one math, but it's a LIE!). 'Nyway... The seventies were about exaggeration (old MP Maths). Now we are cutting back (new MP Maths).

Oh. Right.

IS EVERYBODY NAKED? Don't forget! It's Naked Thursday in the Common Room!

I am not really a follower, and in many respects that is the personality you want in your children. The trouble, is some independent leaderly-minded children just may take my approach and haul their friends full speed ahead into trouble. That was me this week. Yes, we're talking about NaNoWriMo again. Just thought, since it was Naked Thursday I would bare myself and share some of these tactics for peer influence in case YOU TOO want to shame, persuade, tempt, or dare your friends into action.



Social Ostracization.

Used this just yesterday and nearly nabbed Mari! Of course it is one of the tactics that WORKED with Stacy. Repeat after me: “All the cool kids are doing it!”

In case you're slow... (and I'm not saying you are) this implies nearly subliminally, almost invisibly, but ever-so-understandably, that anyone who is NOT doing it must not be cool!

The Carrot (or whatever phallus seems most tempting to your target)

In this case I dangled a Chippendale dancer. I knew my target from years of association, and felt this would be the most effective form of temptation. After all, we've only ever eaten one meal together, so I'm not even sure she LIKES carrots. Nearly Naked, peck laden, washer-boarded, eye candy with dance talent on the other hand... *fans self*

Begging

I've often heard puppy dog eyes as the expression for PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE. I've had the picture next door thrown at me. In this case however, I gave llama eyes. Have you ever LOOKED at a llamas eyes? Llamas have deep soulful eyes, with unusually long lashes. They're really quite exceptional. So I took my chances that my subject had been up close and personal with a llama (aside from me that is) and gave her llama eyes...

Gross Exaggeration about how easy and fun it will be

“Only 1667 words a day! That's nothin!” (and in the presence of inspiration, it really ISN'T bad.) Absent inspiration? Huoah boy... But I had FAITH that my subject is properly inspired, after all, I'd just dangled Chip & Dale in front of her, along with the full 64-pack that is their abdomins!


And finally, the big guns. THREATS...

We'll talk about you if you aren't there! This taps into the insecure teen in all of us. NOBODY wants to be TALKED about! (well maybe me, but I'm freaky that way).

So if any of you are wanting to exert undue influence on your friends and loved ones, just follow these simple measures...


Now go out there and have a GREAT Naked Thursday!
(all the cool kids are doing it)

THIS JUST IN!!!!  MARI HAS JOINED THE MADNESS!  WAHOO!!!!

Pen and Paper Pathways

Like many writers, I survived my angsty youth by writing. I credit part of the discovery to my friend Melinda, who I met at camp between 5th and 6th grade who was the world’s BEST pen pal. I’d write. She’d write back. I’d write back… For over a decade we wrote probably a dozen letters a month. We shared pre-teen stuff, then early teen… in our teens we added in song lyrics and poetry (mostly stuff I wrote from my end—she did more seeking out of things that fit). She introduced me to the Psychedelic Furs (angsty stuff if ever there was any)—you see, I was in a hard rock town. She was across the state border in a much more cosmopolitan place (Pullman drawing students from Seattle—a resource Moscow just didn’t have). Oh, sure… chuckle if you like. It is how I saw it then.

A year or two after I met Melinda I began journaling… adding boys to my pen pal list… writing that bad poetry I mentioned… I don’t know what other kids did after school, but largely I sat with the television on and wrote. Sure, I had a lot of friends, and did things with them sometimes (more often weekends it seems). And I did gymnastics (yes, I realize I’m almost six feet tall, but my balance and flexibility were at one time quite good). But I wrote wrote wrote.

In college I kept up the pen pals. And for a couple years I kept up the journaling, until I had a boyfriend who felt that not SHOWING him was hiding stuff from him. Fine. I just won’t write then (I know now I should have just drawn the line with the boyfriend—it’s private and if you can’t live with that, I can’t live with the relationship).

I majored in Journalism and Psychology, but with Journalism, I actually feared the writing… okay… not the writing… I liked that… the TALKING TO PEOPLE. That is the part I feared. Interview? No way… Advertising was my emphasis… I know a lot about the media. I know the rules of copywriting and press releases… but I never did take a news writing class because I was afraid of talking to people.

Enter the Computer:

I only took one term of computers in college and it was a strange Mac programming class, but when I graduated I knew I’d have an advantage if I learned a little, so I signed up for a Dos/WordPerfect/Lotus class that summer that I did my internship. When I got my job at the end of the summer, that class made me the expert in my office for using the solitary computer the account service people shared.

I used it to type minutes from meetings (because they always needed editing) but the typewriter at my desk was for letter (at first)… As I got more proficient, I used the computer for more (after all, I was the only one who could).

THEN I took my business hiatus… you see… I got a little wary of advertising… it lost its glamour and so when I got a new HORRIBLE boss, I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to find another advertising job. Instead I took up waitressing and applied to graduate school.

GRAD SCHOOL! Now, four years later, everything is EXPECTED to be done by computer… I bought a Mac and did what I needed. The summer between years of graduate school I even wrote half a book on my Mac (directly into the computer, no less). It was a horror novel, and must have been terribly campy, thinking back on it (I only have it on an old Mac disc that I may at SOME point try to retrieve, but I already know it’s bad. It would only be for nostalgia.

I guess my point is post grad school I’ve written quite a lot professionally, all on a computer. But the content is scientific. The grammar is proper and cool, and the content is given in a prescribed way.

Four years ago (last Sunday, in fact) I began my first effort at fiction after the 1993 effort at a novel. A dozen years later a few things were different. I had two children, my home computer was no longer sitting in the center of activity, and I’d gotten in the habit of taking a bath every night to unwind. So I began The Other Prince (a fan fiction story about Eileen Snape) in my bathtub…recycled paper (no lines) on a clip board, mostly, all long hand.

I was surprised how easily the story flowed… then again I’d had a plan for some mid points and the ending (something I’d never had before and learned (read: finally accepted) made for better books from my Harry Potter discussions).

Since that time, I’ve written a few ‘episodes’ at the computer, and I have several short stories I’ve written that way. You know what? People notice. My ‘voice’ is not the same at the computer. It is either clinical (my professional voice) or overly zany (my forum/blog/Facebook voice). I don’t get the characterization right. My dialog is jilted. So I have come to a conclusion…

Digression:

You know how there are things you can do that you can’t explain? Skills that are so automatic that trying to teach someone is just really difficult. The brain is an amazing thing. People who injure part of it and have to learn new methods of doing things are acutely away. I’ve heard to this referred to as brain paths—the routes our thinking takes to accomplish something. And everyone can learn new paths, provided there are enough alternate routes, but it takes time.

I believe my brain path for ‘creating’ is intertwined with the handwriting, and that the path that goes through computer usage has been filled with the tails (the super serious and super silly) of the kinds of things I can produce.

I’ve asked my HPANA friends this, but am curious about others. I think this is related to three things: 1) age, 2) a habit of having hand written (journaling, letters, etc) and 3) conflicting things you might use the computer for.

So informal poll… how do you do it, and what are the answers (generally) to the above three questions… then I can provide some stats for you!!! (okay, so nobody gets excited about stats like I do… it still might be interesting…

Parade of Primal Peeps

I've noticed an interesting trend... or rather, lack thereof...

I emerged as a writer in the Potterverse, deeply immersed among like minds... like an underwater birth, and I swam with people who were as in love with the content as I was for months (years now). I'm not saying they would have liked anything I wrote, but they are an open-minded bunch, so long as nobody does anything TOO far out there. I know... if anyone is going to be far out there, it is me, but I was always a canon stickler, so my shocks were more outrageous in other ways, than in ways that tend to rile up this crowd. In fact by now, most of them have joined the Naked World Domination Tour. They are my people.

I've been thrilled, but not terribly surprised, that much of this group has either come along this independent writer journey with me, or at least been regularly supportive as I transform from a fan fiction writer to an original fiction writer. This group ALSO was the source of my first Facebook friends, so they have gotten the day to day madness all along.

But What About All Those People Who Love Us… Like from forever?

[I’m in the middle of the back row]

Among my friends accumulated over a lifetime, it has been downright intriguing to see who is interested and who is not. It may be as simple as those with a writing interest are interested in the process a writer is going through, but the takers and the 'non-takers' among those old friends could be the content for a psychological dissertation I think.

I should probably confess I am a lousy correspondent. Pre-Facebook I lost a lot of people for years at a time. I am lucky if I get Christmas cards sent every third year. I don't like the telephone and rarely use it. I live on the other side of the country from most of my friends and family. I'm a recluse. That said, I AM the one among my high school 'clique' who gets a group email going now and again so we can all catch up... I tracked down several people in my high school class to pester them into joining Facebook. Being anti-social doesn't mean I don't LIKE people (I adore people, in fact I think I have far fewer people I dislike than average—I can find things I really like about almost everyone). It just means I am more comfortable interacting in written form, but have managed to get too busy for the individual letters I used to be so prolific with. I only have about two friends I correspond with one-on-one with any regularity via email, and one of them was part of my new batch of Harry Potter friends who I just happen to have a lot in common with. So I think I'm clear I'm not exactly dishing the love, either...

But back to my train of thought...

Artists for the most part, are interested... they are among those who create, who know that part of the soul goes into what we do... painters, sculptors, singers... all of them. They are happy for other artists succeeding, and supportive of the process. The artists among my friends, even people who were once more peripheral friends, are FABULOUS this way.

Other than that, I haven't been able to sort the hows and whys. There is a little bit of 'who has time', but that isn't entirely it. Of my aforementioned high school clique... not one. No takers. They haven't a clue what I'm doing (or if they do, have not said 'boo' about it, in spite of my flashing nature, so they KNOW I have written a book)--yes, a busy group mostly, but I find it odd. Yet other friends from high school I've had long conversations with—some I didn't even know all that well at the time, but they've been amazing and hugely supportive (including ALL the people who are friends with my author profile or follow here)...

College friends aren’t quite so mysterious, as I was terrible, terrible, terrible at keeping in touch with this set after college, so I am just honored ANY of them are around, and there are a few.

My family? My cousin's wife reads. I know my uncle HAS and he is always really nice when he does. But my aunt and mom have both received portions of CONFLUENCE and have never said a word (maybe it is the swearing in chapter 1). I just find the whole dynamic fascinating. I guess it’s possible they hate it (and there are some not very nice mothers in there, so it’s possible I’ve offended, though neither of these are based on MY mother—other than the neat freak thing, but the BOOK neat freak is sort of a cold fish and my neat freak mother is very warm (possibly too warm… she doesn’t grasp why I am more aloof)—my point being, neither mother has anything to do with mine.

I am really curious what other writers have found. I am PARTICULARLY curious if it changes on publication... if maybe people keep their distance because they are skeptical--incapable of being supportive without evidence. It's possible I have a really wonky batch of friends ( I KNOW I have a wonky family), or maybe this is why so many writers stay in the closet so long... but I'd love to hear.

Also from FOLLOWERS… is it a curiosity about the WRITING or the WRITER? Though I suppose that is an awkward one to throw out there… I am just deeply curious about the WHY of the people who are interested.  Hoping for some insight on the NOT.


NaNoWriMo

All that said... there is another parade of peeps going on... I have been comfortable with my writing legs for a little while now. It has been four years since starting to share what I write, three since diving into CONFLUENCE in a committed way—my first original. I now have two books under my belt and am well into a third. But this NaNoWriMo thing has sent me running for the comfort of companions who have been part of this process with me all along.

I mentioned Tara and Maria both joining yesterday. [everybody pray to the computer gods for Tara’s laptop] I found out about another taker, Auriga, who I admire all to heck, because not only does she tell a great story, she tells them in English, when her native tongue is German. A couple more might join and I just have to say, that as much as I ADORE the new writing community I've become a part of, it gives me a little extra courage to be surrounded by peeps who've been with me since I first came out. (Tara was my first ever reader!)

Pre-Phrenzied Phobias

Last night I had what can only be described as anxiety dreams. You know the kind... you show up to work naked, class with no pants (which never seemed to bother me, oddly). You have a test and have never been to class before (this was my early iteration). For me my most recent variety is the restaurant I am waitressing at is slammed and I can't even seem to get one drink out to them. Do you know what last night's anxiety dream entailed? Blogging. Blogging about NaNoWriMo no less. I think it is conclusive proof that I am caught up in the frenzy.

So let's examine the matter. Why would signing up for something that only amounts to 5,000 words different in a month than I already try to do anyway stress me out?

Is it the Big Brother effect?

The fact of the matter is, a nudist rather parades her stuff all the time anyway. I am constantly flashing. Look at me! But you know what? It is only when I'm naked. When I go in for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, you don't hear about it. So maybe it isn't so much the audience nature, as the CONSTANT nature. That waitressing dream was like that. It was the relentlessness that made it suddenly hard to handle.

Is it because the blind are leading the blind?

I've convinced at least two friends, possibly more, to do this with me. Do I know what I'm doing? Not at all. So what do I do? Pray on innocent victims. One assures me she has considered it before, and the other is part of my writer's group who I would VERY MUCH like to have the confidence of a done novel behind her because she is working on something BRILLIANT but often has life get in the way (and lack of appropriate hardware). So I don't feel terribly guilty on that front.

Is it the frantic pace?

I think this might be it. I just spent a weekend at that pace. 2000 words each on Friday and Saturday, and 2500 last night. It is a doable pace, but normally I settle down for my writing time and start with a SUDOKU or something... sort of relax my brain... Oddly, after Friday's acupressure session, I don't feel I HAVE to have that to write (concentration was on relaxing and letting creativity flow), but maybe I do have to have that so the writing doesn't get to me--write first, SUDOKU after... Jury is still out on that one.

Whatever the case, I can see how this who process is a major group rush and why it seems to be addictive for the people who try it.

Outlining Orgy

So like everything else in my life, I typically fly by the seat of my pantslessness on outlines... sort of... I outline, but vaguely, and only when it sort of occurs to me what I can't possibly forget to include and how it ought to flow. I start with the set-up, a few characters, and if an ending doesn't occur to me soon, I know I have some thinking to do before committing (the simmering stage). Then I map a few key events and start writing, not REALLY outlining, ever, but mapping a main point per chapter when it finally occurs to me... much easier to write with a path.

So COINCIDENCE is the second in a trilogy, and the first is DONE and the last is partially planned, so I knew where this one had to END, but the middle has been more murky as I dug in... how to get from point A to point C is obviously B, but what font? Do I need serifs? Uppercase? Lowercase? Am I overdoing the metaphor?

I was plugging away regardless, but on my (YAY) power walk this morning, I went back to a thought that had occurred to me when I first added the main twist that stuck... and I dug deeper... and I think I understand now where I have to go! That all sounds a little cryptic, but I feel like it has to, because unlike hints in a first book, hints about a second give TOO MUCH on the first.

Teasers on my thought process...

This trilogy started with a dream that I was writing and felt 'watched' and realized there were kids living in the walls and hidden rooms of my house.

Second block... a song from The Living End about a woman who misunderstands her husband's 'double life'.

Then the letters thing I've blogged about before that stuck Athena into the mix... and a whole lot of spiraling mojo having to do with Romania, Portland, etc.

FIRST BOOK DONE, POOF, VOILA, JUST LIKE THAT.

First NEW block for book 2...

Offspring song about the kid who turns out mysteriously to be a pretty good assassin (though the song isn't clear if it is metaphor)--whatever the case... an unlikely bad guy.

And I was plugging away, but without the serious mojo... But that idea, of an unlikely bad guy... someone who does the wrong things for the right reasons... planted a Star Wars thought... Anekin. So I've been looking at his motivations and my OWN plans have finally begun to solidify for at least this strand of the story. YAY!

I love it when things finally fall into place.


More News

I am officially signed up for NaNoWriMo and if anyone wants to buddy me there, I would LOVE some friends along for the ride. I am hartjohnson, as I didn't know people used silly, fun names until I signed up. Even before it starts it feels a little crazy and chaotic... I think I'm supposed to be at a meet up right now, but life got in the way...

Orthogonal Order

Yeah, yeah. It's a statistical term, but I swear it will make sense by the end. The only challenge is following my wonky brain that far.

Acupressure

I've mentioned before that my intention is to be really hot by my book tour, right? Never mind that I haven't found an agent or publisher yet. I WILL, and by that time, I need to look much better if I am to inflict my naked self on the reading public. But for the last two years, I've had repeated attempts of micro-progress, then giving up. I don't seem able to follow Weight Watcher anymore (something I've had great luck with in the past—never mind that I can't seem to keep the weight off for more than a couple years—3 at my longest stretch—it is always a major routine change that blows it—moving, new job, pregnancy—though that last one is no longer a possibility, thankfully).

I've also mentioned finding an old college friend who does acupuncture and acupressure, the later focused on food cravings. Www.karasorenson.com. So I had my first session yesterday. She likes to focus on one food category at a time, because it is more effective that way, so I chose.

Confession time. I focused on alcohol, because those are the empty calories that I was loathe to give up—drink after work, two in the tub when I write. I felt like I needed the first to let go of my day, and the latter two to sort of let the creativity flow.  Unfortunately... relaxed inhibitions also lead to more snacking, so I felt this would be the biggest bang for the buck, so to speak.

So the session focused on not needing the alcohol to relax—in other words, on relaxing in OTHER ways, and it was pretty cool. I got home and felt no compulsion to do my normal thing (fetch a glass of merlot). I filled a water bottle, stretched, typed a little, got called to dinner, and you know what? I wasn't as starving there either, even though we didn't work on that. We had stew and I bypassed both roll and seconds (typically I might do both, surely at least one). I even recognized my stomach feeling full as something I'd sometimes mistaken for hunger (weird, that—hubby thought it was really strange until I explained HE didn't have food issues. I did.--he is now considering acupressure for smoking.)

Evening was fine. Bath was fine. And strangeness of all strangeness... I wrote a whole chapter. It is 10 pages, though I did incorporate about two pages I had set aside when I went back and started earlier in the story—but fresh 2000 words... so alcohol-free creativity—definitely accessible.

This Morning's Power Walk

So this morning I had a few bills to pay and mail so I decided to walk the opposite direction of what I normally do because I pass the post office, but wanted to drop mail earlier than later in my walk. I seriously considered going another route from there, and then it occurred to me... why do I ALWAYS go counter clockwise? The session yesterday had an integration piece at the end-uniting left and right brain, which reminded me of the chick up top... spinning one way if you use one side, the other if you use the other.

I am a statistician who uses my left brain almost all the time... but it is the RIGHT brain that is creative, yes?

So I walked the route I normally do, but backward. I was tempted to take all these tangents and do all these other routes, but I kept going (funny, because walking the normal way, there is no tangent temptation whatsoever... but it felt like an integration of sorts...

And so what does Statistics have to do with this?

When a person asks a set of questions that gets at... say, COPING (something I did a lot of analysis on this week at work) then the questions can get at DIFFERENT components of that idea (say, passive coping and active coping, just to simplify it a lot). The NORMAL assumption is that the questions that measure one kind have nothing to do with the other kind... they are INDEPENDENT or OBLIQUE. Now that's just a lot of silliness when the ideas are part of the same thing (COPING). In fact wide dependence on one tells us there is less dependence on the other... they are correlated (if negatively), and so ORTHOGONAL—overlapping, but separate pieces of one broader idea.

Now I am thinking the brain sometimes gets into ruts and behaves obliquely... no communication between the two, and it takes some effort for us to change mode. Having a strong left brain tells us NOTHING about what the right brain can and cannot do (some are great with that too, others not so much--knowing one, doesn't tell us about the other). But this process has given me an orthogonal brain! They are talking, and what one does is moving with the other.

My conclusion... I think that session integrated more parts of my brain than just those necessary pieces to not count on alcohol to relax... it freed me to go back and forth a little more easily... I am excited to see where I can go with it, and if it lasts.

[note:  she always goes counter clockwise for me and today she is going clockwise)