Tuesday, November 16, 2010


Yeah, I feel seriously guilty when I'm not writing the book.

Mind you, I've been writing other things. I haven't been a total lazy-ass. And right now I'm sick with several different maladies in addition to being annoyed at everything and anything for no real reason at all. Not exactly the most productive sort of writing mood. I feel weak in health as well as weak in spirit. It'll pass, but right now I'm mentally berating myself for not being able to write just one lousy goddamn chapter.

My muses have been influencing me like crazy. Shall I start referring to them as the cliched devil and angel on my shoulders? They both affect me so deeply, and they're both having a profound impact on this story. They've been flooding my twisted little brain lately, and yet all I'm able to do is blog about how lame I am for not having the energy to write about them.

Tomorrow, though. I hope.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

True story.

"You're adorable," he told me this morning, standing there in his underwear, looking down at me, blushing.

"So are you," I said, stepping up on my tippy-toes to kiss him.

"I mean it," he said, nudging me back to being flat on my feet. "I say you're adorable, but I really do adore you."

"And I adore *you*," I said for hopefully the first of many times, running my hands gently over his cheeks--surprised but pleased to hear whispers in my head, the soft sounds of two characters stirring as they, too, began to wake up...

* * * * *

Characters are melting pots. As the original idea for a character bubbles in its base form on the stove, I start adding things. A cup of that him, the original concept. A few spoonfuls of this him, to make that him seem more likable, more deserving of being cared about. A dash of my natural reaction to each him. A pinch of my feelings for each. A shot of my own imagination, for that fiction factor. But we know that fictional characters are often anything but fiction--or at least anything but complete fiction. They're this strange brew of people we've known, things we've seen, feelings we've felt.

I have never been the best chef...but it seems I can cook up a very intriguing character soup.

Sunday, October 31, 2010


I didn't understand would be vital to how I write this story:

How it feels to truly be in love with someone.

(And I don't think I knew how that felt until recently.)

I have a better understanding now of what sorts of things S might be feeling toward B, as unrequited as some of those feelings are.

I've always thought this story was, to some degree, an anti-love story. Not so much, though. It's more a different kind of love than anti-love. A weird kind of love. The kind many people read about rather than experience.

I've experienced some of it.

And I'm going to infuse this story with it.

Monday, October 25, 2010


Off from the day job for a few days to work on the book.

Inevitably, when I return, people will want to know how much I got done. Right now I've done three chapters. That number will surely increase.

But what they don't understand is that novel work is not all about just the writing. You can't always measure your work in pages. For me, it's about:

* Listening to that band whose work inspires me.

* Listening, for the first time, to Chopin.

* Reading lyrics. Then rereading them again. And again. And...

* Connecting with those people who inspire me, even though they might be bad for me. Good for the novel > bad for me.

* Reading things that other people have written (so much of writing is about reading--especially when you're constantly analyzing what you like and what you don't like, and what you think works or doesn't work in a story).

* Revisiting well-loved monsters. Hello, Dexter; hello, Benjamin Linus. Nice to see you guys again.

* Thinking about sex.

* Pondering the details of the sequel. And the next book, totally unrelated to this one and its sequel. (But only writing this book at present. Let's not overwhelm ourselves, shall we?)

* Taking long, hot showers. Often where I have some truly brilliant ideas.

I can honestly say that I've been working on this book all weekend long.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Just a little shaken up.

When I write, I can't be too happy. I also can't be too angry or sad--that distracts me. But I have to be some sort of weird medium. I'd call it a happy medium, but...no. I generally don't write well when I'm too happy.

I need to be in a mindset where I'm more or less content, but am just a little shaken up by...something. Maybe an episode of Dexter really got to me. Maybe "Unintended" came on the MP3 player unexpectedly. Maybe something happened with someone to shake me up, to awaken my own dark passenger.

Like, for instance, hearing from him. I've mentioned him before. There have been many men over the course of me writing this book, but there's only one him. For the record, no, I'm not still nuts about him. (I'm nuts about someone else who is similarly nuts about me. That's a good feeling.) But that doesn't mean that his words don't affect me. They do--possibly more than anyone else's words do. Four sentences from him can trip me out just enough that my literary dark passenger uncurls itself, stands up, stretches its wings...and grabs a pen.

He--that him again, he of the trip-me-out emails and text messages--wants very desperately to read this book. "It's art I know I want to read," he said. "It's you."

Except I don't think he knows that. I think he thinks that. Because if he ever does read this thing, I don't know that he's going to want to see it through to the end.

But he's right about one thing. It is me.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Fall is my best writing season; this fall is no exception.

I've been writing like crazy all week. It's fall, I'm inspired, I've had a bit more free time than usual, etc.

I've been kinda down on myself for not writing more, or not writing more quickly. I have always been my own harshest critic.

Then I thought of something I was shocked I hadn't really considered before. How many pages of single-spaced Microsoft Word pages equal one book page? I was pleasantly surprised that the general consensus seems to think it's about 2 book pages per Microsoft Word page. I have 60 pages at present. So that would be approximately 120 book pages. I'm aiming to write something that's between 200-250 book pages (I'd originally been aiming for 300, but I think that would be overkill for this story). Which means I'm about halfway to my goal.

Halfway fucking through.

It doesn't feel like I'm that far along, but now just knowing that I actually am that far along makes me feel a renewed sense of optimism. It also makes me feel like I don't have to clutter the story up. I'd been worried that for my story to reach the amount of pages I'd originally wanted it to reach, I'd have to add more. Well, I like writing, but I don't like adding anything unnecessary--that'll take away from the story. I like keeping things succinct and concise. Knowing that I don't have as far to go as I originally thought I did to meet my "book pages" goal makes me absolutely ecstatic.

To add to the optimism, I was doing some research on the internet and came across an interview with an author whose books I don't even really like--but the interview offered up some extremely helpful tidbits of information both on her own publishing process and where to go to replicate some of the steps she took to get published. That whole "potentially getting published" thing brings a smile to my face.

That being said, I won't have anything to publish if I don't go ahead and finish what I'm writing. Aiming for 70 typed Word pages by the weekend's end. Can I do it...? :)

Monday, June 14, 2010

This author nailed it... Figuratively speaking, of course!

This. All of this. So, so true.

Read it by clicking here. And remember to not jump to conclusions about the authors you read. ;)

Sunday, May 9, 2010


My novel-writing work has doubled lately.

See, I have always known that Starlight would have a sequel. But I never really knew what it would be about.

Now I do. And I have the first four chapters written. And I really, really dig 'em.

It seems to be helping me to write both novels concurrently. They're like yin and yang--they give one another balance. Perhaps one novel cannot exist without the other.

So now I have two novels-in-progress*. When I am finished with both, I will approach agents about getting these babies published. And I think that the two books will be easier to get published than either one of them on its own. I'm confident. I can do this. This, and...now also the other this. :)

This, of course, is preferable to the also-entirely-accurate phrasing of "Oh, fuck, now I have TWO novels that aren't done yet." ;)

Sunday, April 11, 2010


7 consecutive nights of story-writing. Yes--that's what I did over the past week! Took last night off intentionally so I don't burn myself out, but I think 7 nights of writing is my longest streak ever. I'm proud of myself!

I've been trying to push him out of my head because he shouldn't matter anymore, but when he e-mails me to ask about the novel, that is un-ignore-able. I write back although I really shouldn't, and then he lingers in my head for hours.

Some days my main character and I are apparently not so different after all.

Monday, April 5, 2010


I write a chapter a day, this book will be done in 9 months. Like a baby. Which is fitting, since writing this novel feels like I'm giving birth. The mania, cravings, ups and downs (but luckily not the weight gain!).

One chapter = 1-2 single-spaced typed pages (12-point font). The goal: 300 pages. I'm not holding myself to that, exactly. If I've said all I have to say and I'm only at 250 pages, then I'm only at 250 pages. If I need to use more than 300 pages to write this, then I do, and I will.

I'm giving myself what I call a creative structure. Making myself focus on two things outside of my day job: writing this novel and working out. If I can work out once a day and write one chapter a day, it's not too huge of a time drain, and it will keep me in a healthy pattern. If I give myself too much structure, I freak out, get rebellious, and do exactly 0% of what I'm supposed to do. This seems like the perfect compromise.

I anticipate writing another chapter tonight--as I have done for the past two nights. And the really good news? I'm liking what I'm writing. I'm liking it a lot.

Sunday, April 4, 2010


asked me how the novel was going.

I toyed with sending various responses, including:

"I can write you SO much better than you actually are."

"Fabulously! It's 5 AM and here I am, still at it..."

"Too slow. Never enough time."

"It's going. I miss you."

"You are infinitely less annoying in the book than you are in real life--three cheers for artistic license!"

"Didn't I ask you nicely to stop contacting me?"

"You'll really regret your stupidity when I'm a famous writer."

But I finally settled on this: "Every time I remember meeting my muse, I smile a smile that is completely unique to that memory, and I'm flooded with inspiration again. I have to write this book so it can do to others what my muse's work has done to me."

Diplomatic and truthful, saying so much without really saying much at all.

In case you're wondering, the person who sent me the letter is not my muse--but he knows who is.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Progress feels wonderful!

I wrote three chapters tonight.

There wasn't any big epiphany or anything. I just, like, wandered over to the computer, sat down Indian-style on my chair, and brought up the file. Started to write.

The chapters were not lengthy, but they were also not easy. To some degree, each one is a little sliver of a certain type of heartbreak.

Ironically, I'm convinced the reason I was able to write--and write without even a shred of my usual writer's mania in me--is because I'm presently very, very happy. I'm nervous because I want this happiness to stick with me for a long, long time. I hope it will, feel like it will, but--of course--am mildly terrified that it won't.

I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter, that I don't need anyone else to make me happy, but I have to admit, this is the first time in a long time that I've felt this amazing, and I don't think it's a coincidence that I was able to write so fluidly. My head is in the right place. And may this be just the beginning...