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.