.

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.

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.

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...? :)

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. ;)

Doubled.

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." ;)

7!!!

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.

If...

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.